I need help with holding a job
Let me start off by saying I have Asperger Sydrome and I know it's common for people of my diagnosis to be underemployed. I'm by no means an idiot. I have had a lot of personal successes in my life. I graduated high school, quit drinking by the age of 22, I have a girlfriend, have lived on my own since I was 18, went from homeless to now renting a 1 bedroom apartment, did Junior ROTC in high school, was a lifeguard, volunteered my time in my church and was a volunteer firefighter before i moved away from my hometown. I got my drivers, a boaters license, and a motorcycle endorsement when nobody said i would ever have anything but 6x6 cell or 6 feet of dirt to call home. I did have a rough childhood, run ins with law, and other issues. I'm almost 23, I try to attend church every Sunday live in a 1 bedroom apartment with my girlfriend who also shares my diagnosis however she is able to work full time while somehow I am not.
Her upbringing was starkly different than mine but not perfect. She had always had both her parents, 3 siblings, her father and brothers both have both been volunteer firefighters. Her father a Corrections Lieutenant and a Marine Corps Veteran. Her mother works with dogs.
My parents however, both are alcoholics, divorced, and extremely negative. My mother, if it isn't alcohol it's painkillers. She cheated on my dad, got sole custody of my 2 siblings and I, was on welfare, and just a generally aggressive and abusive person. I was never pushed to do well in school and there really wasn't anything I could do that she, or my father would approve of.
Anyway I have seldom held a job for more than 3 months. I washed dishes at a restaurant for about 6 but it wasn't without, laid off, fired and rehired twice. More recently I've worked in mechanic shops, landscaping, and other restaurants, all for a few days, weeks, maybe a month before I get fired. I never really see it coming either. I never really get told that I'm doing a shit job, I always show up 15 min early at least, I appreciate every opportunity I've been given and frankly feel grateful to have a paying job for a few days. However after a few days or weeks I usually end up back to relying on social security disability, food stamps, etc to survive. I do have a driver's license and a car to get me to work. I don't want to continue this cycle. What am I missing? What am I doing wrong? I usually don't want to talk to employers about my past but I don't want to appear like I have things to hide either.

I don't really know how to start this, but I'm an overall healthy 30 year old female, and is an issue I've had all my life but was never severe enough to mention to my doctor. As I've gotten older, however, the symptoms have ramped up/ its been brought to my attention no one else really experiences these things.
My feet can sometimes go through periods of being uncomfortably hot. It's almost like all the heat in my body is coming out of my feet. My feet aren't red, itchy, or swollen at all- my skin is just hot. At first I was worried it was in my head/ a nerve issue, but other people around me have commented that my feet are extremely hot to the touch and can feel the heat radiating off of them during these spells. It happens randomly and doesn't seem to have a consistent duration; sometimes it can last for 2 minutes or 20. The only thing that really helps is letting it go away on its own or putting my feet on something cold/running them under cold water. It's quite uncomfortable and can keep me from falling asleep at night sometimes. I can't wear tight pants that trap the heat in my legs for too long or my legs and feet will get hot.
I can't find anyone else who's had this type of experience, and I'm super curious if anyone on the sub would be able to at least point me in the direction of a potential explanation

This could be a bit ranty and long. So I had chemo for 6 months, Apr-Sept 2022. I didn't notice numb feet or hands for awhile. I lost 40lbs on chemo and gained it back and then some as I got better, thank you medical marijuana munchies and depression making it hard to move much and generally emotionally overeating.
So anyhow, a few weeks ago I started working out regularly with a local running/walking club 3x a week. Figured I'll start with the walking group and work my way up. I noticed after 10min my feet are numb bricks and it pisses me off. Is it my shoes? Delayed neuropathy from chemo? Neuropathy from being a bigger gal? My sugars have been normal and none of my doctors ever mentioned diabetes so maybe I can rule that one out. What psychs me out is it's only after a few minutes of walking, it's all numb all the time, and I don't notice numbness when sitting or other times. Not experiencing any pain or tingling. Just numbness. I want to blame myself for being extra heavy, even though other bigger girls in the group don't complain of the numb feet. So I'm trying hard not to be down on myself but it's difficult.
I've tried two different shoes from my local running store. Then I started using a few Try Before Your Buy options on Amazon after doing more research for my gait - I'm a supinator and tend to walk with a forefoot strike. Fell down a rabbit hole of active neutral shoes. I've tried so many shoes. My first choice no matter the sock left chafing on my outer sole. Switched to a new shoe and the burning chafing feeling went away but then my feet were just pure numb. Switched to different lacing patterns. Nope, still numbness after a few minutes.
The most suggested Max cushioned shoes - Ghost Max and Fresh Foam 1080v13 - feel good when standing or even walking around the running shoe store or house or whatever. Then once moving a longer distance outside the feet go numb again.
Driving myself crazy wondering if it's the cancer chemo side effects coming back to bite me. Or is it my weight and the numbness would get better if I lose even just those 40lbs again (god knows I am trying). Or am I tying my shoes too tight. I said to my therapist - is it me or the cancer? That's what's bothering me. It's a problem and I don't know how to fix it.
I tripped over my feet once last week but didn't fall down. Only my walking partner was aware. This morning, I first tripped over a crack - ok that could be written off as clumsy. Then as our walking group heads out before the runners, I tripped on the edge of the trail in front of the entire running pack behind us (sounds like a pack of wild animals and I was trying to get to the right enough in time and my feet didn't get the memo to act normal and they kind of tripped over each other). Then everyone asked if I was ok and told me to not walk on the very edge of the trail (and a few times I'm reminded to move more to the center and I'm wondering why I can't walk in a straight line even wtf feet). My coach asked if I was ok and insinuated I might be embarrassed and I'm like God no I don't mind that I tripped in front of the whole of this club, I've been through way worse. I'm more pissed off at my numb feet and possible neuropathy and not being sure which doctor I should contact to ask about it since I have too many doctors now (then talked about cancer since two of the ladies were new and didn't know and I don't mind talking about it).
I'd think it was more shoes if I didn't test so many pairs. And then I started noticing more things with my hands. Like if I'm laying down with my phone up, my hands go numb. Like my arm isn't pinched in a way that should make my hands go numb. My hands often go numb while driving. I can write that off as gripping the wheel too tight and not realizing. But the biggest thing is dropping things more often recently. I've always been clumsy. But with the numb feet I notice more since I'm walking more, if I drop something like a plastic water bottle now I'm starting to connect dots I don't want to connect.
I figured talking with my cancer therapist might help me process my anger last week, but I'm even angrier today with the tripping in front of people. But I'm not due to see my medical onc or surgeon onc until October. Should I message one of them? Is there a test to confirm neuropathy or just my thoughts? Because like most of us I play the game is this cancer or am I just getting older and so I'm not sure? (Or a variation like, Am I unfit or is this just the wrong shoe? lol). Is there treatment if it is a delayed chemo response? A prescribed cream or pill or something? Or if any active runners/walkers here, any tips?

I visited this beautiful country between May 1 - 11, but was not prepared for the amount of tourism, which I must say ultimately left me a little sour about the experience. We stuck with all the major attractions and sights so I know we shouldn’t be surprised by the crowds, but I’ve still never seen tourism at this level. That said, I may have had a better time if I didn't try to pack everything in as much as I did.
Our itinerary was:
Day 1: Land in Milan
Day 2: Train from Milan to Lake Como
Day 3: Train from Lake Como to Cinque Terre (my favorite part of the trip)
Day 5: Train from Cinque Terre to Florence
Day 8: Train from Florence to Rome
Day 10: Train from Rome back to Milan for our departing flight the next day
Lake Como and Cinque Terre (CT) were my favorite parts that I wish I allotted more time for.
While Lake Como is beautiful and I wish we had more time to explore some spots I had saved, it did feel a little soulless. We stayed in Varenna and took the ferry to Bellagio. Both areas feel like resort towns that exist solely for tourism. Other areas might have a less catering vibe. Also, the number of young women taking shots for the 'gram and giving you dirty looks because you ruined their 20-minute photoshoot is nauseating.
The train that runs between the 5 towns in CT gets packed to the brim with people during peak hours (~10 a.m. - 5 p.m.). On our arrival day I tried to get off the train for our final stop and I literally got stuck between people; I was able to lift my feet off the ground for a few seconds and not get anywhere like a cartoon character.
We visited CT to hike the Blue Path and no regrets there. Absolutely stunning and the only time we didn't feel overwhelmed with people (started hiking around 8 a.m. in Monterosso). But if you're just taking the train between towns you'll do almost as much hiking from the train stations to the main parts of all 5 towns. The only one we didn’t properly visit was Manarola so maybe that town has a short walk from the train station? I think there are vans/buses that take people from some of the train stations into town, but you'll be waiting amongst crowds and nothing is clearly noted.
Florence: we stayed right near the Ponte Vecchio and I do not recommend. Again, the number of people and crowds ruin it. I thought it would be nice/convenient staying near the Uffizi and the bridge, but it wasn't worth it. Unless you’re shopping for jewelry, the bridge can be much more appreciated from a distance. The location also isn't ideal because no matter what I tried we couldn't get a taxi; I downloaded apps, called taxi hubs, tried Uber, but no one would come to our location or offer alternative pick up spots. The city is very walkable, but we came down with food poisoning so by the end I was hoping to grab a taxi to the train station to alleviate some of the dejectedness I was feeling. We visited the Uffizi, Accademia, and the Piazzale Michelangelo, but I was happy to leave Florence. I felt like I couldn't escape the smell of cigarettes the entire time.
Rome: I think by this point were a bit weary from the food poisoning, crowds, and the amount of walking we did with our backpacks. Thankfully though no issues getting taxis/Ubers around Rome. Despite what people say about Trastevere being "overrated" now, stay there. It's easily the nicest part of Rome. My second recommendation would be Prati. We had tickets to visit the Vatican Museum and I wish we made the effort but this was the last leg of the trip and we were just over it so we spent our full day in Rome walking to all the sights: Colosseum, Trevi Fountain, Pantheon, Roman Forum, and Janiculum Hill.
Rome was nice and I enjoyed it more than Florence, but it also felt run down. We had a running joke that ambulances were following us because we could not escape the sirens. I know, it’s all part of history and maybe I’m just not sophisticated enough to appreciate its historical magnitude, but honestly, pass.
Public transit: Getting on ferries and trains felt like a fight each time which added some physical and mental fatigue. I highly recommend sticking to high-speed trains if possible because you can reserve your seat; it doesn’t matter if you book first class or standard, they’re basically the same. Trains where you don’t reserve your, good luck. We stood for 1.5hrs from CT to Florence CRAMMED in. Each time the train stopped more people would squeeze in but eventually we had to stop people from boarding.
The trains were occasionally running a couple minutes late and there was a 24hr strike during our stay but nothing that impacted our trip. Don’t feel like you must show up for your train more than ~10 minutes in advance, your train’s platform number likely won’t be displayed until about 5 – 10 minutes out. You’ll just stand around unnecessarily stressing yourself out otherwise.
Was this a magical trip? No, not really. Would I visit Italy again? Possibly with some time and with plans to stick to the more natural scenery. I did want to visit the Italian Dolomites but they were still snow covered during our visit.
I think another factor that contributed to it not being the “magical” experience you hope for is we had to stick to schedules the entire time and that’s not a typical fun vacation for me; whether it was the trains, museum/attraction entrance times, or dinner reservations, we frequently had somewhere we had to be. This type of trip didn’t allow for spontaneity. E.g. when we visited Scotland we rented a car and were able to visit random castles and museums without prep work or fighting crowds. Perhaps I could’ve had more fun or spontaneity by seeing less (I definitely wouldn’t want a car within Florence or Rome proper but I think the countryside/smaller towns would be okay), but when you only get so much time off for work, you try to squeeze it all in.
Food: Everyone comes for the main attraction which of course is the various pastas, but Italy does so much better than pasta. Yeah, I said it. The chicken I had there on two separate occasions from two different restaurants? Immaculate. I’ll never have more perfectly cooked chicken again. The deli meats? So flavorful. I ordered a yogurt with lemon and honey in CT (where they grow a lot of lemons) and I’ll think of that fondly for years to come. I also had a fantastic affogato in Florence.
As I mentioned, we did get food poisoning which can happen while traveling, but I did notice unless you’re going to a proper sit down restaurant, you might see people handling your food in ways that are unappetizing. In cafes and sandwich shops and quick bite places like that you won’t see food handlers using gloves and you’ll likely have dirty cups/plates/utensils. Not a big deal for some, not for me though.
We avoided the super touristy areas for our real dinners, but while the pasta was done well, the red sauce just wasn’t hitting for either of us.
I apologize if this comes off as a less than idyllic portrayal of Italy. It’s a beautiful country that is worth a visit, but I wanted to share my experience and maybe highlight it’s not for everyone and that’s okay.
Edit: formatting

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

<>
/uw hi! this is my first (and probably not only?) lorepost as Monarch! this is mainly gonna be written in the third person, so out of character, and with bits of dialogue. enjoy! /rw
Monarch was born into royalty. The royal family of Cascadia, to be exact. His mother and father were kind people, and harsh but fair rulers. Together, they ruled over all of Cascadia, commanding armies, ruling their people, and taking care of Monarch, their only son. For 17 years, all was peaceful.
Until the Federation, a global superpower, began using Cascadian resources to wage war on their enemies. The rulers didn't like this, so they attempted to withdraw from the Federation, rescinding their membership. And when the people heard of this....
Suddenly, Monarch, a young adult, still technically a child, was escorted from the castle, the place he had been all his life, to go to an unknown, secure place. As he was rushed from the castle, an explosion went off behind as planes had begun to fly overhead. One message was clear; The monarchy was dead. A civil war had begun.
Monarch was thrust into a world he knew nothing about: a war he knew nothing about. So he ran. Ran like hell, until the world stopped spinning and he was away from the chaos. He ran from the people meant to protect him, trusting nobody. All he knew was that he was in danger, his parents were dead; and he. wanted. vengance.
The war waged on for several years, but only quietly. The anti-Federation forces struggled against the global superpower, and their pro-Federation forces: people who used to be part of Cascadia. The traitors. Monarch, in the meantime, was training. He was going to be a pilot. A fighter. However, he failed out of flight school, for "taking too many unnecessary risks". He, personally, disagreed. He thought it was funny.
However, in his time at the flight school, he was noticed by someone. A man named Arnold Frenken, going by the callsign Kaiser. He was the leader of a mercenary group, and he liked how Monarch flew. Monarch agreed to join this merc group, one named Sicario. In the beginning of his time at Sicario, he proved himself to everyone by out-killing them on his FIRST CONTRACT.
After this contract, he was put in a group with three others: A girl with the callsign Prez; real name Robin; who was assigned as Monarch's co-pilot. She was the only co-pilot able to keep up with the insane g-forces Monarch consistently put himself through. A boy, callsign Diplomat, more often called Dip; real name Peter. He was assigned as one of Monarch's wingmen, Hitman 2. He was the son of a political ally of the king and queen; one who died in the same castle bombing as Monarch's parents. He was a good pilot, and was in the Cascadian Air Force before deserting at the same time as the next member of Hitman Squad. Another girl, callsign Comic; real name Evelyn. Another former Air Force member, having been discharged, then picked up by Kaiser at the same time as Monarch and Dip. All together, they were known as Hitman Squadron. They were the best that the Sicario group had, and sent on high-value missions.
During all this, Monarch slowly began being referred to by others as "the King of the Sky." This all culminated in his callsign being given to him, not created by him: "Monarch." It helped that he had.... somewhat of a collection of butterflies. He had always liked them... so had his mother.
One day, after a contract, Sicario was contacted by the anti-Federation forces. They needed help, and they were willing to pay. The war had settled for around 2 years, each side seemingly building up resources for a large clash that hadn't come. But the message was clear. It was time.
The war began. Sicario was sent first to reclaim parts of the country, then destroy certain parts of Federation infrastructure. Until their sixth mission. It seemed like a normal mission, and the objectives were completed by Hitman Squadron. Until the Peacekeepers arrived. The Peacekeepers were the Federation's best air fighters, only deployed to contain major threats. The squadron was the infamous Crimson squad: the best pilots that the Federation had. As all the other Cascadian forces retreated in a panic, Monarch realized something. This was the squadron that bombed the castle. This was the squadron that killed his parents.
Monarch, despite the warnings from his squad members, Sicario's leader, and even his co-pilot Prez, charged them. Despite taking some hits, and flying slightly sloppily due to the pure rage he was in, managed to shoot down one of the Crimson members, leading to their hasty retreat. As Monarch and Prez landed at the base and stepped out of the plane, they were met with nothing but silent, incredulous looks.
The war waged on. Monarch knew his target. He just waited. Kept carrying out missions. Until they got their biggest one yet. Over the Bering Strait, the biggest air battle in history was about to take place. A purely air-to-air combat scenario. This was to decide who had the best air force, and who won the war by extension. Hitman flew into the area, seeing nothing but planes, missiles, and smoke. They flew into combat, and the communications array lit up as both enemy and friendly comms could be heard.
Allied Pilot: We got new mercenary IFFs in the area, who do we got? Allied Pilot: Positive contact, looks like Sicario's here! Allied Pilot: Yeah, well, the only team worth a damn is Hitman! Federation Pilot: Watch it, those pilots that the Peacekeepers keep talking about are here. Federation Pilot: That asshole with the Crown with them? Allied Pilot: Their flight lead is worth every cent we’re paying him, look at him. Allied Pilot: I didn’t think mercenaries like that were around anymore, not after Oceania. Federation Pilot: Taking on a king in a battle royale, just our luck.
They knew who he was. They ALL knew who he was. Or at least... they knew his callsign. They didn't know that behind that visor, that pilot's helmet, was the rightful prince of Cascadia. More chatter was heard.
Allied Pilot: “Monarch?” Hell of a TAC name. Allied Pilot: Self-proclaimed? Sicario Pilot: Entire kingdoms are founded by people like him. Allied Pilot: He’s still a merc. Mercenary Pilot: Not every king is just.
They couldn't know. He could trust nobody but those who already knew.
Federation Pilot: Put a crosshair on that Crown, we take out the king and the rest will fall!
Federation Pilot: That flight being led by the Crown, those are the ones who got away from Crimson. Federation Pilot: We’ll show those blowhards what a salt-of-the-earth pilot can do.
They... They thought he was the leader of the rebellion. The figurehead. The king. As he shot more and more down, he smiled. In the midst of the pure chaos that was this air combat, he felt calm.
AWACS Galaxy: We’ve got inbound, pop-up bandit group at bearing 230, looks like they pulled back for one last push, there's a lot of them. AWACS Galaxy: IFF confirmed, Federation Peacekeeping Squadron Crimson identified with more reinforcements, this is it! Hitman 2 Diplomat: Ah shit...
Crimson 1: Crimson Squadron, ready the MLAAs, we’re putting an end to this party. Crimson Pilot: Looks like it’s those mercenaries, think they might turn tail and run again? Crimson 1: Not this time, open fire.
And as he heard Crimson Team arrive, he was enraged as before. And he did something he never had before, at least while flying; he spoke. Just one word.
Monarch: <>
And combat began. Monarch ended up shooting down half of Crimson team before they retreated, and he was still tempted to follow them. He was only calmed down when he noticed something: All of the friendly pilots had formed up on him. They were all following him. It was a sign of... respect.
Perhaps he was more of a leader than he thought.
The war waged on.
And then the capitol of Cascadia, it's pride and joy, Presidia, was hit with a nuclear bomb that set off cordium in the ground, causing a cataclysmic event and turning the land into a fiery hellscape. Despite this, Monarch and the rest of Sicario survived, shooting down many along the way. Encountering Crimson Team one final time. Shooting them all down. Until it was time for one final battle. And in the middle of this final battle, this climax to the war...
A ceasefire. The war was over. Cascadia and the Federation were.... stopping? Just like that? Monarch was... angry. His parents died for THIS? Despite this boiling rage.... Monarch accepted it. But someone else... someone else had not.
A sudden explosion. Presidia was turned into a fiery crater in an instant. A bomb, a nuclear bomb, had gone off. No. It had been set off. By HIM. Crimson 1. Monarch's rival, his Federation counterpart. One final duel. No wingmen, no reinforcements, nothing. Just Monarch, his trusted co-pilot Prez, and Crimson.
Hitman 1 WSO Prez: I don't know if I can do this, Monarch...I'm braced...
Prez was scared. Monarch knew that. But this was no time to run. He needed this fight.
<>
Crimson 1: You're a slave to history, Crimson 1: even after Calamity, you fight against the only order that can guarantee the safety of your people, Crimson 1: you solely are responsible for this.
Monarch absorbed every word Crimson said. But he didn't care. It was time to gun down the man who caused this. Who destroyed his country. Who killed his parents.
Crimson 1: What do you have to show for yourself, merc, blood? Gold? A broken throne?^\note 1]) Crimson 1: I will bury you so completely, the earth will turn over a thousand times before your body is dug up.
Shut up.
Crimson 1: You can't run, you can't hide, you made this decision long ago, you can't back out of this deal!
Shut up.
Crimson 1: I'm Cascadian, you think I take joy fighting over my homeland, killing my own countrymen?![^\note 2])](https://projectwingman.fandom.com/wiki/Transcript:Kings#cite_note-note2-2) Crimson 1: If you never showed up, I never would have lost all that I have!

SHUT UP.

They flew, firing at each other, Monarch putting himself and Prez through extreme g-forces to keep up with the former Peacekeeper, who was in some sort of experimental aircraft. But eventually, he landed enough hits to make Crimson speak again.
Hitman 1 WSO Prez: [grunts] God-[grunts] Monarch...I can't keep up...I can't...I can't...
Hitman 1 WSO Prez: I'm...sorry... [thud]
Prez was down. Monarch knew that. Whether she was passed out from the g-forces, or.....
Best not to think the worst. He would win this. For her.
Crimson 1: Me and you now. No distractions, no wingmen, no war, just me and you, whoever wins is the best pilot. Crimson 1: Every safety's coming off, no second chances.
No second chances. Kill him.
Crimson 1: "Monarch," you use the name of a king, but what do you rule over, the dead?! The Federation fought for peace in this war and you denied them that! Crimson 1: The people of Cascadia, do you know what you've taken from them?! Their homes! And for what, to secede from the world?! What, you think you can fight this war again in 50 years' time, do you really think history will see it your way?! Crimson 1: You don't even care why you're here!
To avenge him. Her. His people.
Crimson 1: How does it feel to not have a country, to not have borders to define yourself against the world?
This WAS his country. His borders. His people.
Crimson 1: The Calamity erased mankind once, our chance to start again, this is how you've dealt with it?!
Silence. Monarch still offered no response. Crimson was getting angrier and angrier. Let him slip up. Then strike.
Crimson 1: You drove me to this...this death and destruction over the Federation, millions of lives lost... [sighs] So many ghosts... Kill me...or be killed!

Kill. Kill. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. Kill.

Monarch kept flying. He needed to do this. End this. Reclaim his country.
Crimson 1: This is my home!
His as well.
Crimson 1: Here we are, fighting for Cascadia's soul. Crimson 1: That's the deal you made, right?
Cascadia's soul was rightfully his. He was the pri- no. Monarch was the king. It's just that nobody knew it yet.
Crimson 1: What happens when you shoot me down?! Can you even think?! What will you return to?! Where will you go?! We both know how this ends!
What... would happen? Would he rule? Reclaim? or simply... fade away?
Crimson 1: Kill me, kill me and see what happens to this world! Crimson 1: Either way, your life ends today! Crimson 1: And my squadron, do you think they deserved it?!
And Monarch spoke his first, and only words of the fight. Not to Crimson, but to himself: <>
Crimson 1: The Federation might try to forget about you, but I won't, this is for the good of the world, Crimson 1: die, mercenary!
But it wouldn't be Monarch dying that day.
Crimson 1: No...no, not yet!
It was time.
Crimson 1: God damn it, Crimson 1: come on, I've almost got him!
The truth was there.
Crimson 1: [panting and angry screaming]
They were both incredible pilots, fighting until the bitter end.
Crimson 1: Come on, come in for that kill, you dog!
But Monarch was simply....
Crimson 1: God damn! [coughs]
Better.
System: Hostile Eliminated.

Crimson 1 was shot down.

Crimson 1: Monarch, when you hear the thunder...
<<...?>> Crimson 1: ...when the storm...comes for you...
<<...>> Crimson 1: ...remember me.
<<....I will.>>
And as Crimson went down, Monarch flew away, towards the others. And as he landed, he got Prez out of her seat, praying she woke up. And as she did, they hugged tight.
Both of them sat for a moment, before the plane's communication systems crackled back to life.
Hitman 3 Comic: Transmitting a beacon. Dust Mother, he better pick this up...
Assassin 1 Kaiser: They had to take this from us! We'll burn them all, we’ll burn down the Federation!
Hitman 2 Diplomat: Eve? Eve!
Hitman 3 Comic: [gasps] Hey, I’m over here! Hell's bells, I was about three seconds away from putting a bullet in you!
Hitman 2 Diplomat: It's alright, I probably deserved it at some point, are you good to move?
Hitman 3 Comic: Yeah, yeah. It's all gone to hell, the world is about to be remade.
Hitman 2 Diplomat: We're finished here, we gotta disappear for a bit, I don't want to get caught up in what's coming.
Hitman 3 Comic: What about what we're owed?
Hitman 2 Diplomat: Monarch will collect.
Monarch: <>
They traced Monarch and Prez to the plane, and all of Hitman squad simply.... sat.
Monarch: <>

Later....

Cascadia was whole again. As the world worked together to rebuild the destroyed lands, they all promised that never again would another war of this scale be allowed to happen. Of course, there were still rebellious groups. Groups that needed mercenaries to clear those rebellious groups out. And Monarch was thrust into the world's light, as not only the son of the former King and Queen of Cascadia, but the killer of Crimson 1.
However, instead of becoming a king, he created a council. A council of those he trusted, his "family". The ones who would hold power over certain parts of the country. But he never truly lost his lust for the air, for adrenaline. So he gave power of the country to them, and.... simply went back to being the best mercenary the world had ever seen.
Until the Pilot rolled around. Or, more aptly: flew around. He was from another universe, one that supposedly had... wizards? Magic? Of course, Monarch was intrigued. This "Pilot" man also seemed to... know who Monarch and Prez were, and specifically asked for them. So he followed.
<>
*Monarch stands, and walks away.*
/uw HOLY SHIT! This might be the longest thing i've ever written, at more than 8 PAGES. This took me like 2 and a half hours. hope you enjoyed!