https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gGRTRt2NWZg
OK, so there's a long theory here that got deleted while I was on my phone while posting this, but I'll summarize briefly...
Kanako is The Key to Monsterkind's Salvation using Determination Extract, Because Determination is In The Ketsukane Household's Names that describe the 3 routes: "Devoted, Decisive, Determined", meaning that The Ketsukane Family is not too dissimilar from Humankind, what with their roots being based in Kitsune Folklore & Whatnot.
That aside, I think I know why...
When the Determination Extract was leveled enough to be put into Kanako at an extractable level capable of not harming a monster, Chujin had almost perfected the perfect serum to protect Monsterkind against Becoming Amalgamates when they have too much Determination in their body, the keyword being "Termination", whereas "De-termination" is the eradication of...something, depending on what, it eradicates it, "Terminating" it as if it were a terminator of sorts. I am not saying that all humans are terminators, rather that "Determination" itself is a terminator by it's own proxy of it's own usage in how it is actually used, the keywords being, "Determined", as in, willing to go the distance to accomplish your own goals, as a Player.
However, something struck me as odd when Kanako got hurt by the bubble impact by the Needle not having the air pushed out of it properly... When the air impact struck, it likely hurt Kanako the same way as if a bullet were to accidentally hurt Clover or Frisk, since Bubble Impacts CAN kill, if inserted into a normal, living being!
Such to the point where it can kill, if not handled correctly!!! There's a lewd "1000 Ways to Die" episode that explains how she died was because the woman in that episode was so horny, that a huge air bubble impacted her veins, & suffocated her using her own veins against her, ceasing bodily functions from not having enough oxygen to the brain.
Now, if Monster's Organs work anything like Monster Magic Do, it's probably because they are made out of Monster Magic, but that is a topic for another day at another time or so ago later on today probably. Right now, we need to analyze Kanako's Critical Condition of Being An Amalgamate.
The fan-animation explains that Kanako did not Melt strangely enough, & I explained why: Because Ketsukanes, much like Humans, are Determined. Determined, being a reference to UT Vanilla's "Determination", which also likely means that Kanako's Experiment Ceroba knew next to nothing about when researching Chujin's Analysis on his Experiments, likely means That Chujin Almost Found A Cure to Stop Monsterkind from Becoming Amalgamates with too much Determination! And I think I know what happened next...
Deltarune, happened, or some sort of AU of Undertale where Monsters DO IN FACT BLEED, From Being Lightners. Lightners, being, The Gods of The Darkners as well, since all Darkners are objects that exist somewhere in Deltarune. "Why am I bringing this up?", you may think I am asking myself. To answer that, we first have to Analyze What Happens to Monsterkind once the cure serum is created...
MONSTERS. BLEED. Yes, you heard me right! With enough of a minimal amount of Determination, Monsters CAN IN FACT BLEED, which would explain why Sans bleeds in Undertale as well, since Deltarune & Undertale are likely a Timeloop of events that keep unfolding & surrounding each other, if Deltarune isn't actually a type of AU Sequel to Undertale as well. The main point being that which, we as Monsterkind have an obligation to fulfill that All Monsterkind is Looked After While Being Experiments on. Meaning, The True Lab is actually a type of Hospital for Amalgamates. I can already hear many people typing as soon as they've read this far saying "But Talon! That isn't what happened! We see Monsters DIE in The True Lab!" Not really, since they are more than likely resting, since even Snowy's Mom, Snowdrake dies probably long after Undertale, as indicated by Deltarune. However, you can talk to her before beating The Pacifist Route in UT Vanilla by going back through The Underground & Talking to Her & Her Family about what's going to happen next for them right away as well!
Things are...going grimly for Snowdrake, so much that she will die if nothing is done: The context right there is the key, that "Determination... Can Kill too as well."
[Insert Genocide Determination Theory Here As Well] The point being, that when taken to the extreme, Determination CAN Kill. We also see that Clover's Level of Violence is one that is from rage, a Deadly Sin. However, it raises an interesting point in us as humans... Can we get too angry that we gain temporary Levels of Violence? Depends on how VIOLENT you are being in UT Yellow. By that I mean, COMPLETELY SLAUGHTER MONSTERKIND IN A GENOCIDE ROUTE. Otherwise known as... The Vengeance Route. Vengeance being an unlawful for violent revenge used as justification for fulfilling a sense of Justice that just "feels deserved" when done right in UT Yellow, since it feels so earned as well. In UT Red & Yellow, Clover first depletes our Hopes by Half, & then Justice Blasts us so hard, our game crashes, & our save file is erased from existence, except that Now, Clover wants us to try a Pacifist Route Instead, & calls us out when we do it again over them.
By this point, Clover is clearly trying to steer us on the right path of our own Determination using Justice, which also means that Clover only wants what's best for everyone as well, Justice for Monsterkind using Pacifism in the True Pacifist Route of Undertale R&Y or UT Vanilla as well.
Meaning that regardless of whether Clover knew about Ceroba & Kanako, one thing remains certain... With Enough Determination, Monsterkind can potentially become somewhat normal & also mortal in Deltarune, as we also see in several versions of Deltarune Yellow as well, which also means that since Kanako lives in that timeline from no Amalgamates existing, Amalgamates weren't created because The Experiments were a complete success!!! Which also means that in Deltarune, Chujin actually made the perfect Serum that Ceroba tested on Kanako to make sure if Chujin's work efforts were correct or not, regardless of if she disobeyed Chujin's Instructions to use Another Boss Monster Instead, or even just by being convinced by Kanako that IT WOULD WORK... Almost.
Kanako does not change forms as an Amalgamate, Alphys explains. She stayed the same, likely because Ketsukane's Are "Determined", meaning they have Determination! The Ketsukanes are The Key to Monsterkind's Salvation, once Kanako was discovered that she neither died nor changed forms, & remaines stable, because NOW we know that Kanako can provide a Clue as to How Much Less Determination that Monsterkind would have needed!!!
Looking again at Snowdrake, Snowdrake Monsters are actually quite large, so you'd think she'd have a lot of Determination injected into her, right? Well, you're right about that, but the key-wording is "how much", since we also know that Snowdrake, Snowy's Mom was also injected A LOT OF TIMES with A LOT...of DETERMINATION as well. Which also means that depending on the size of the mass, it must be proportional the size of the monster, just like in-real-life medicine would be applied to conduct experiments on people & animals as well, because we all know that science provides experiments with human test-subjects, which also explains Why Kanako Needed Less Determination than What She Was Given to Become More Like a Human & Be able to bleed, & also become more like a Deltarune Monster.
• • • TL:DR: Uh Oh, Spaghettios, Kanako had too much Blue Determination Lasagna for lunch, & now has a bad tummy ache from almost dying & choking on an air bubble by becoming an Amalgamate after almost dying...!
Yes, these are 4 sentences explaining what happened very shortly to Kanako in my theory, why do you ask? Thank you for reading. Hope you like my theory! ^w^

Fascism has a number of essential characteristics but the most distinct is palingenetic ultranationalism: The myth that the nation is an organic body composed of a downtrodden but authentic "common people" who have been betrayed, victimized, and derived of land and money by out-groups (especially Jews, LGBT folks, immigrants, and liberals), and the nation must be reborn and grown larger, phoenix-like, from the ashes of its downtrodden state through the cleansing fire of violence against those out-groups and their allies (especially their allies among the "common people") and the seizure of their land and property, regardless of how many "common people" must be sacrificed in this process of violent "purification"
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Palingenetic_ultranationalism
Palestinian nationalism has all these definitional features. Its central myth is that "the Palestinians" (whose language, Arabic, lacks the letter P) have been betrayed, oppressed, and deprived of their land and money by Jews, and "Palestine" must be reborn and grown larger, phoenix-like, from the ashes of its current corrupt theocracy through the cleansing fire of violence against Jews, LGBT people, and liberals (especially liberal Arabs who believe in co-existence with Jews and LGBT people), and all those who support them, regardless of how many human shields, child soldiers, and hospitals with bunkers underneath them must be sacrificed in this process of purification
This Palestinian ideological mythos entirely reverses victim and perpetrator
In the real world, there is an extensive and well corroborated archeological record (starting with the Merneptah Stele) showing the continuous residence of the indigenous Jewish inhabitants in the land between the river and the sea, but that Stele alone independently establishes their presence for at least the last 3200 years
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Merneptah_Stele
In contrast, the Arab-Israeli conflict started relatively recently, with the battle of Tel Hal on March 1st 1920, when an Arab militia attacked the Jewish-owned farms at Tel Hal in an attempt to find French soldiers, eventually burning it to the ground. Prior to that there was no organized violence between Arabs and Israelis in the region:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_Tel_Hai
The next incident in the Arab-Israel conflict was the Nebi Musa riots a month later, on April 8th 1920, when Amin al-Husayni (who later allied with the Nazis and was a big fan of Hitler) gave an incendiary speech from the balcony of the Arab Club, kicking off what resulted in an Muslim mob of around 60,000 ransacking of the Jewish quarter of Jerusalem:
https://www.palquest.org/en/historictext/6709/palin-commission-report
That's what started the war. It started with Arab people committing mob violence against Jewish people and that has never stopped to this day. Genocide is what Nazi and Communist-inspired Arab mobs and armies have repeatedly tried to do to the indigenous Jewish people of the land between the river and the sea, starting from the 1920 Nebi Musa riots, and continuing on through 1948, 1967, 1973, 1982, 1987, 2000, and most recently on October 7th
They keep trying to eradicate Jewish people off the land their ancestors lived in continuously for thousands of years, they keep getting their asses kicked every time they try it, and they deserve it every time they do
This makes sense when you understand the history of the region, and how Arab-ness was imposed by force (along with Islam) by multiple relatively historically recent waves of conquering Muslim settler-colonists
The Ottoman Empire was the culmination of those waves of Muslim settler-colonists, and after World War I it collapsed and in much of the Middle East was followed by Pan-Arab nationalism, which was a remarkably Nazi project. The founder of modern Palestinian religious nationalism (Amin al Husseini) was a close ally and personal friend of Hitler
https://time.com/4084301/hitler-grand-mufi-1941/
https://www.timesofisrael.com/full-official-record-what-the-mufti-said-to-hitle
After waging and escalating series of genocidal pogroms against the indigenous Jewish people (culminating in their alliance with the Nazis in World War II) and getting their asses kicked, Palestinian nationalism (as distinct from pan-Arab nationalism) emerged a fundamentally Soviet project
That is not an exaggeration. 100 years ago most people in the region defined themselves as Ottoman, by their village, or by their religion. Arab nationalism is a relatively new socially constructed weapon, made up by unambiguous fascists (like Sati Al-Husri, Abdulrahman Badawi, and Amin al-Husseini) and communists (like Fawaz Taraboulsi or Suhayl Idris) to mobilize hate against and justify the murder of their imperfect but much more reasonable democratic enemies (who also happened by the enemies of the Nazis and Soviets)
https://www.tabletmag.com/sections/israel-middle-east/articles/liberation-arabs-global-left
Palestinian nationalism, as opposed to Arab nationalism, was created by the KGB after the repeated defeats of the USSR's Arab-nationalist proxies in 1948 and 1967. The blueprint for the PLO Charter was drafted in Moscow in 1964 and was approved by 422 Palestinian representatives hand-selected by the KGB. At that time, the USSR was in the business of creating "people’s liberation" fronts. The KGB founded the PLO as well as the National Liberation Army of Bolivia in 1964 led by Ernesto "Che" Guevara, and the National Liberation Army of Colombia in 1965
The “Palestinian Liberation Army” was contrived by the KGB, much like the KGB devised the Bolivian National Liberation Army, Greek People's Liberation Army, Malayan National Liberation Army, etc etc. It created this Arab army in the early 1960s following the failure of the troops of various Soviet-puppet-ruled Arab states to destroy Israel. The KGB drafted the Palestinian National Charter and handpicked the 422 members of the PLO council that approved it. As the KGB's director said at the time, "We needed to instill a Nazi-style hatred for the Jews throughout the Islamic world, and to turn this weapon of the emotions into a terrorist bloodbath against Israel". Likewise, both the Palestine National Covenant and Palestinian Constitution were drafted in Moscow
https://stanfordreview.org/deception-palestinian-nationalism/
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Soviet_involvement_in_regime_change
The most popular Palestinian faction currently, Hamas, pointedly opposes multi-ethnic pluralistic democracy. That's what Israel already is and they hate it. Hamas also explicitly opposes a two-state solution, wants to expel and murder Jews, and impose an Islamic theocracy by force
The founding covenant of Hamas, which they created their terrorist organization around in 1988, opens with a message that precisely encapsulates Hamas’s master plan. Quoting Hassan al-Banna, the Egyptian founder of the Muslim Brotherhood, of which Hamas is a constituent member (Article 2), the document proclaims, “Israel will exist and will continue to exist until Islam will obliterate it, just as it obliterated others before it.”
After some general explanatory language about Hamas’s religious foundation and noble intentions, the covenant comes to the Islamic Resistance Movement’s raison d’être: the slaughter of Jews. “The Day of Judgement will not come about,” it proclaims, “until Moslems fight the Jews, when the Jew will hide behind stones and trees. The stones and trees will say O Moslems, O Abdulla, there is a Jew behind me, come and k-ll him.”
Article 11 spells out why this annihilation of Jews is required. Palestine is described as an “Islamic Waqf”—an endowment predicated on Muslim religious, education, or charitable principles and therefore inviolate to any other peoples or religions. Accordingly, the territory that now encompasses Israel, Gaza, and the West Bank is:
consecrated for future Moslem generations until Judgement Day. It, or any part of it, should not be squandered: it, or any part of it, should not be given up … This Waqf remains as long as earth and heaven remain. Any procedure in contradiction to Islamic Sharia, where Palestine is concerned, is null and void.
In sum, any compromise over this land, including the moribund two-state solution, much less coexistence among faiths and peoples, is forbidden.
https://web.archive.org/web/20231010215457/https://www.theatlantic.com/international/archive/2023/10/hamas-covenant-israel-attack-war-genocide/675602/
And Hamas has the support of somewhere between 65-80% of the Palestinian people
https://www.awrad.org/en/article/10719/Wartime-Poll-Results-of-an-Opinion-Poll-Among-Palestinians-in-the-West-Bank-and-Gaza-Strip
To understand the Palestinian strategy in this latest phase of their forever war, see here:
How Hamas Uses Civilians as a Weapon - The Dark Side of Clausewitzian War
https://deadcarl.substack.com/p/how-hamas-uses-civilians-as-a-weapon
Both Palestinian leadership and street have repeatedly acting as willing pawns, first of the Nazis, then of the Soviets, and now of the contemporary fascist Axis that includes Russia, China, and Iran. The historical Palestinian embrace of Nazi, Soviet, Islamist, and modern Axis fascism (and their rejection of democracy and equal rights) only makes their rationale for doing do so, and the nature of their project, more clear
In this context, Biden's support for Israel should not be surprising. Palestinian-ism is fascist, and everyone who understands and opposes fascism should oppose it

As a mother, I cannot ever imagine even saying the words you claimed Zack and by proxy, Kristen, has said. Even IF it was true, and it’s unimaginable, no mother would ever want to utter those evil words and even just putting that in the universe even if you are accusing someone of saying that. I could never bear to repeat it. And here you are trotting it out so you can make yourself look better and a victim simply because you’re not winning the reality tv jackpot? It’s sick and grotesque. Even just thinking words within that context is enough to freeze any mother’s blood. For you to be that cavalier “repeating” the alleged sentence is beyond anything I can imagine. We know you read and trawl this. No one here wants you to suffer a mental breakdown, but if you cannot be kind to others, be kind to yourself and your child. Reality TV is a tough gig and if it’s driving you to speak unspeakable words and place priority on people you don’t know and applause from strangers over the genuine things in life that matter, you need to reassess yourself.
Also, Kristen suffered an actual miscarriage, one of the most traumatic experiences in a woman’s life. Dredging up and strongly implying she was also saying those words without regard for her is evil. You’ve glibly and selfishly lost focus or maybe it wasn’t even in your rear view mirror as you serve her volley after volley of vitriol. Give it a rest.

Hello, I have 2 containers wireguard from wg-easy and cloudflare warp from warp-docker. How can I route all the traffic from wireguard container through cloudflare warp container? So that I can get my traffic routed through cloudflare warp without needing to define proxy settings or needing to install cloudflare warp on existing devices which are already using wiregaurd.
This is what I wanted to achieve but I could not understand the configuration - https://medium.datadriveninvestor.com/how-to-transparently-use-a-proxy-with-any-application-docker-using-iptables-and-redsocks-b8301ddc4e1e
For non-medium users: https://file.io/HeptRA5GwMDi

There is no direct war with China and India, right? There is no Ukraine - Russia between the two countries. They can only afford to fight in unarmed skirmishes so the nukes as a deterrent are working. If Ukraine had nukes Russia wouldn't invade. There has never been a direct war between two nuclear nations only proxies. Nuclear weapons are a deterrent. Yes, I understand that as of this moment, we do not have the funds, facilities, maintenance, or governance to have a nuclear arms program but we should keep a plan for it in the future. We have been invaded 3 fucking times and you guys think China gives a shit about a UN CLOS they are in the UN Security Council they will veto anyone trying to get in their way. The only reason why China hasn't invaded Taiwan and the Philippines is because we have America - the most powerful army and the country with the largest NUCLEAR arsenal in the world on our side because of geopolitical interests. Our country obviously needs to fix the economy, and education system, and weed out corruption first before starting this program but we should put aside a budget and plan to implement it in the far future. Defense should be one of the country's main objectives. And please don't fucking Iraq as an example of why we shouldn't have nuclear weapons. First off, America has a defense treaty with us they cannot attack us, 2nd The war on Iraq was about military posturing it was never about WMD's, and there were none. Read the documents, Bush wanted to use Iraq as an example. I don't want China to invade us like Russia is doing to Ukraine. And no Israel supporters please I don't wanna hear any genocide supporters chime in you Mossad agents are traitors and read the Talmud.

tl;dr I'm running Pi-Hole via docker compse on my network. I'm familiar with pihole but very new to docker. I'm wanting to run a couple of wordpress instances along side pihole and it seems I need to setup nginx to be able to handle everyone trying to use port 80, which is fine but I have no idea how the recommended docker compse with nginx works and how to incorporate that into my existing pihole deployment.
Being new to Docker, I don't really understand the example provided here: https://github.com/pi-hole/docker-pi-hole/blob/masteexamples/docker-compose-nginx-proxy.yml
What I think I'm understanding is that the compose yml provided there will setup nginx and point to a pihole instance all in one place but I don't really understand how and if I need to trash my exsiting pihole container or could I use my existing one with the nginx service details added on.
I was also looking at a way to setup nginx so I can run multiple instances of wordpress and the compose yml I was using for that looked pretty different: https://techblog.travelhackfun.com/setting-up-multiple-wordpress-blogs-on-raspberry-pi-with-docke
So where I'm falling off is how to get the best of both worlds here? The reason I'm posting in pihole is because I'm trying ot leverage the official example of nginx with pihole but maybe I'm approaching this the wrong way?

Hello everyone, so I am trying to write a chat app in swiftui. I'm using firestore as my database, and I'm trying to fetch more messages while maintaining the ui view. I want a ui update that looks like instagram's effect (https://youtube.com/shorts/ZBGCDmPy8CE, a loading circle then new messages show in the top of the current ui). But in my own app (https://youtu.be/EnemRxESOm4), when I fetch more messages, the ui will re-render then jump to the message that I want, which makes the user experience laggy. How do I make the effect that is same as instagram?
Also, is there a more elegent way to detect wether the user scrolls to the top of the vstack? I'm using ScrollOffsetPreferenceKey to keep monitor where the view is, which is annoying since I need to keep updating the variable.
These are my code:

struct chatview: View { @State private var scrollPosition: CGPoint = .zero @State var messages: [Int] = Array(1...30) @State var nextElement = 31 @State var lastScrollPosition = 1 @State private var lastAddElementTime: Date = Date() private let addElementInterval: TimeInterval = 3.0 // only update at most once every three seconds var body: some View { NavigationView { ScrollView { ScrollViewReader { proxy in VStack { ForEach(messages.reversed(), id: \.self) { message in Text("message \(message)") .frame(height: 30) .id(message) } } .background(GeometryReader { geometry in Color.clear .preference(key: ScrollOffsetPreferenceKey.self, value: geometry.frame(in: .named("scroll")).origin) }) .onPreferenceChange(ScrollOffsetPreferenceKey.self) { value in self.scrollPosition = value if self.scrollPosition.y > 0 { let now = Date() if now.timeIntervalSince(self.lastAddElementTime) >= self.addElementInterval { self.lastAddElementTime = now self.lastScrollPosition = messages.count addElement() DispatchQueue.main.asyncAfter(deadline: .now() + 0.25) { withAnimation { proxy.scrollTo(self.lastScrollPosition, anchor: .top) } } } } } .onAppear { proxy.scrollTo(1, anchor: .bottom) // show the most recent message at the bottom } } } .coordinateSpace(name: "scroll") .navigationTitle("Scroll offset: \(scrollPosition.y) \(scrollPosition.x)") .navigationBarTitleDisplayMode(.inline) } } func addElement() { // add 10 messages in each update for _ in 0..<10 { self.messages.append(nextElement) nextElement += 1 } } } struct ScrollOffsetPreferenceKey: PreferenceKey { static var defaultValue: CGPoint = .zero static func reduce(value: inout CGPoint, nextValue: () -> CGPoint) { } } 

Thankyou guys for helping me.

A lot of hero shooters have lore every season to keep players engaged. But Overwatch deciding to add pve has ruined that multi-season arc format, leading to less engagement from players and outside interest in the game.
In Apex Legends, there is no pve. But we have in-game video comics, launch trailers and stories from the outlands (basically cinematics). These add to the story every season, where we currently have Alter seeking horizon for some mysterious reason. All of these being updated on a seasonly basis keeps players engaged and helps bring outsiders into the game because their characters look cool.
It's the same story with Valorant. They have a new cinematic every episode (season) and update Brimstone's voicemail to reflect changes in the world, along side banners which add to the lore. Like I said, another marketing stunt to keep players engaged and get outsiders to see the cool agents and their abilities.
Overwatch used to have this with their comics and Cinematics. But adding a story mode to the game forces them into a ditch they can't escape, meaning the story generally needs to stay in limbo until the next pve drop. Nothing significant can be added or changed that would affect the "main story" which absolutely sucks. Venture is great example, they're a cool hero but they practically have zero lore and we don't even know what talon wanted to steal in her animated trailer because if we did, it would affect the story and pve by proxy.
Even basic things like comics aren't released every season, and they aren't even available in the game. I'd argue adding video comics to the game (similar to Apex) would be amazing, but that still doesn't fix the stagnating story issue.
Pve should've never been created. Not only has it killed Overwatch 1, but it has killed on of the most important things Overwatch has been known for since 2016: it's story. Without those cinematica I wouldn't be here today. It's sad to see them go.

First of all, I wanted to thank everyone for their kind words and support from the last post. A lot has happened since then, and a bunch of context is needed, so I hope you'll bear with me as I explain the details.
***
Back during the peak of the blinking crisis, I remember having a lot of difficulty sleeping. It was common for me to average only four or five hours a night, and the little sleep I did get was marred by terrible nightmares. One in particular recurred many times.
I was only eight, but somehow I was in the driver's seat of our family's old SUV. My arms were long enough to steady the wheel, but my legs didn't quite meet the pedals. It didn't matter though, since the car seemed content to continue on at a constant pace. I looked over and saw my mom in the passenger seat. Her face was a blurry likeness pieced together from the dozen or so picture's I'd seen of her over the years. I tried to bring her into focus, not only because I missed her dearly, but because she was speaking—pleading, even. She waved frantically at me, then brought her leg up and slammed it down on the floor mat several times. I didn't understand what had her so upset until she pointed out the front windshield, and I saw we were hurdling directly toward a giant tree that had fallen in the middle of the road.
Panicking, I stomped for the brake, but my seatbelt protested and pulled me back like an invigorated dog on a short leash. I sat up and tried clicking it off, but it wouldn't budge. My breaths became hollow cries, and I felt my heart beat against the bars of its bony prison. I grabbed the steering wheel and pulled it to the left, then right, attempting to swerve off the road, but it was as if whatever kind of glue was locking up the seatbelt was also fixing the steering wheel in place.
"Mom! what do I do!?" I yelled, tears streaming from my eyes. She was yelling back at me, but it was as if there was a divider between us, and neither of us could hear each other. I turned back just in time to see the giant Oak tree meet the front bumper, and then I jolted awake with a piercing pain in my chest that radiated up through my throat in the form of a giant scream. My little legs kicked under the covers and tears rained down on my pillow until my dad ran in and knelt at my bed.
"Lauren, are you okay? Did you have a bad dream?"
I grabbed my pillow and hugged it so my face was covered, then effused a "Mmm-hmm" in a long wheeze while rocking to either side.
"Oh, honey," he soothed and brushed my hair, then the tears from my face when I would allow it.
Time would pass in silence, and when I began to get the sense that my dad was ready to leave, I'd chirp out, "stay" in that way children do when they're embarrassed about wanting something.
"Always," my dad would reply; then he'd post up on the floor with my large tomato plushie as a pillow.
One night in particular, it was deep in the night, and I had woken to a tapping sound outside my window. I was so afraid that a monster had snuck into my room while I wasn't looking that I made him lay next to me and face outward. I'd peek my eyes open every minute or so to check and make sure my dad was there, staking out the room. Eventually, he rolled in close and said something that I still remember to this day.
"Hey, baby, guess what." he whispered.
"Mmm" I mumbled.
"I think you scared the monster away."
I tried to picture this through the fog of my fatigue. Something seemed off about the statement, like it wasn't logically possible, but before I could piece together the words to express that, my dad cut back in.
"It was scared because it realized you're a superhero. And you know what your greatest superpower is?"
I shook my head, making sure to rub my forehead against his shoulder so he could sense it in the dark room.
"You're greatest power is that you get to tell the monsters what to do. Because the monsters are only as strong as the stories you tell about them. And there's all kinds of stories. Happy ones. Sad ones. Scary ones. Tell me, this monster you think snuck in, would you say he's part of a scary story?"
"I don't know," I said, confused. "Maybe"
"Hmm," he hummed, contemplating. "Well, I want you to remember this. You have the ability to tell any kind of story you want. Maybe there are monsters, but that means there's heroes and angels, too, right?"
I was beginning to doze off to the comforting sound of my dad's deep voice, but I gave another affirmative "Mm-hmm".
"So, if you're ever scared, honey, just dream up a better story. A story that will bring you peace. Do you understand?"
But I was already out.
***
I woke up the next morning to the feeling that someone was in the hotel room with me. The drapes were drawn and the only sound was the AC unit blowing cold air, but when I looked toward the dark corner of the empty coat rack, my mind conjured the face of my dad, smiling at me, chanting that same, awful line—Oh, Lauren… you know who we are.
I was no longer a child, but it took a couple minutes of cold focus before I muscled the courage to ascend from the safety of my covers and flick on the lamp light. The small amber radius extended to where my dad's feet would have been if he was standing there. But there was no one. I let out a sigh and collapsed back onto the mattress, thinking back on all those years growing up. The same man who had helped me conquer my fear of the dark was now the monster hiding in its shadow.
I looked over my shoulder and saw the clock read 10:15. My meeting with Trent was in three hours. I moaned and stretched my arms back until they knocked against the headboard, then I collapsed back onto the mattress, meditating, gathering energy like a compressed spring. All at once, I jumped up and glided over to the drapes, opening them in a single, fluid motion. I grimaced at the sunlight, but the warmth felt good against my face. I stopped by the nightstand and gulped down the final few swigs of a bottle of Mello Yello that I had purchased from a vending machine the previous night, then undressed and hopped in the shower.
The warm water wasn't enough to wash away the previous night's memories. When I closed my eyes to lather my hair, I was back in my living room, standing opposite the demon that had taken on my dad's form. His smile. His laugh. It was like someone in my head was flipping a switch between the man I loved growing up and a terrible monster. But the fear was more powerful. I heard something drop onto the tile floor on the other side of the curtain. The noise made me gasp, and I opened my eyes while shampoo was still streaming down my face. I swiped the shampoo out of my now burning eyes and squinted at the curtain, trying to see through it, but I couldn't make anything out. "I-is anyone," I started, trembling, afraid to finish the sentence. I reached out and pinched the end of the curtain. My heart was in overdrive. I swallowed, then pulled it toward me and peeked out. I scanned the room, but I couldn't see anything out of place.
It wasn't until after I finished showering and wound myself up in one of the hotel's too-small towels that I saw what had made the noise. I bent down and picked up the stub of a razor blade that had fallen onto the tile right next to the puffy, gray shower rug. It wasn't mine, and I was pretty sure hotels didn't keep unguarded razor blades just laying around. When I held it up, it occurred to me that if it had simply fallen a few inches to the left, it would have been buried in the rug, and perhaps I would have stepped on it. I stared at myself in its steely reflection. Cold. Lonely. Small. What if I—was all I was able to think before the blade blinked out of my hand.
I threw on some clothes, packed up the few belongings I had into my purse, then checked out of my room. I didn't feel safe going back home after what happened, but I also didn't want to go anywhere else. I got in my car and drove aimlessly up and down the town's streets, focusing only on the car ahead of me. Anytime I started to travel down an avenue of thought, I'd make a turn, or speed up, or hit the brakes: anything to keep my mind distracted. It was sweltering outside, but I'd turn the heat on for minutes at a time until I felt drenched, then toggle max AC until I was cool, then back to heat. I repeated the basic driving tenet "10 and 2", "10 and 2", "10 and 2" like a mantra—a chant to focus my attention on a single point, and then I pictured that point disappearing. I began to think that maybe I wanted to disappear.
I fully intended to keep going that way until 1:00, but after about thirty minutes, my meandering route had led me to St. Mark's Catholic Church, where a large group of people were gathered around a long line of tables in front of the building. I slowed down. At the front of the venue was a large, white cardboard sign which read, "Plant a Seed, Share the Joy". I wasn't sure what that meant, but my boredom had come to a head, and I rationalized that if there's any place on God's green earth that would be safe, it was this one. I parked along the closest side-street, then walked over to the church.
Rows of white tables were covered with cardboard boxes filled with small plants that were wrapped up in individual paper pots. I watched from a distance as people behind the tables carefully removed the plants, one by one, and offered them to passersby. I continued down the line, a sheep in the herd, and allowed myself to sink into childhood memories. I had somehow made it out the other end near the Narthex when I heard a woman's voice call to me.
"Hey, deary, have you gotten one yet?"
I turned and saw a small, gray-haired lady with rose-colored glasses. "Oh, no," I started, attempting to decline, then paused. The old lady grabbed one of the plants and held it out for me.
"Here," she said. "Come on, I won't bite."
As far as you know, I thought, and stumbled forward with a sigh. "Thanks," I said and took the plant. "What is this all for, anyway?"
"It's a giveaway," the old woman responded. "Staff have been growing these plants—tomatoes and garlic, mainly—so they could offer them to members of the Parish. The idea is to have the members grow the produce, then donate it to St. Mark's Food Pantry to give to those in need."
"Oh, that's actually pretty cool." I replied and inspected my plant which was at present nothing more than a small green stem. "So which kind is this one?"
"That one is—" the old lady stopped and inspected the other plants near where she had grabbed mine—"tomato."
"Tomato," I repeated. "Well, thanks again."
"Of course, dear." the old lady beamed. "We're all responsible for each other."
I nodded, then continued back through the crowd toward my car when, through the large vestibule windows, I saw a Priest speaking to a young couple. It had been a little over a decade since I had attended a service (I stopped going during High School when I started studying other religions), and I didn't recognize this Priest. He was short (just over five feet tall), bald, and African American. He wore the customary black robe and white collar, and there was something in his smile and the way seemed to be affirming the couple that made me yearn to speak with him. I considered for a moment, a bit embarrassed to be stepping back into church after all this time, but the thought of being able to burn ten minutes talking with someone who might have some insight into my situation was too tempting to pass up.
I waited near a portrait of Mary Magdalene, my tomato plant in hand, staring off at the pristine series of stained glass images portraying the death and resurrection of Jesus. About a minute in, the Priest met my eyes; he smiled, his way of telling me he knew I was waiting, then finished up with the couple and made his way over. He had a bit of an accent when he spoke—it was Ugandan, from best I could tell—and a proclivity for laughing at the end of his sentences.
"Hello, Miss, I don't believe I've had the privilege," he said and held out his hand. He leaned in as he spoke, and his smile tugged on the corners of his eyes which were already marked with use.
I shook his hand and returned what I'm sure was a weak smile. "No, I don't think so. My name's Lauren. I used to come here when I was little. It's—been a while."
"Well, I see you picked a good day to visit. If you're into gardening, that is." He remarked with a laugh and gestured toward the plant. "It's nice to meet you, Lauren. My name's Martin—Father Martin, if you prefer."
"Father Martin," I repeated, "I have a friend named Martin. It's a good name."
He laughed and said, "Thank you, I'll pass that one along to my mother. She loves the praise."
I laughed back. He carried himself in such a carefree way that I was put immediately at ease. Almost to the point where I forgot what I wanted to talk to him about. "Um," I started, attempting to word my question in a way that didn't sound like I needed psychiatric help. "I have a couple of religious questions for you, if you have time."
"That's what I'm for. Ask away."
"They're about… miracles. Like the ones in the Bible. I was wondering, do you think that miracles still happen today?"
"Miracles, huh," he started. "You mean like water into wine?"
"Kind of, yeah,"
"Hmm…" he contemplated. "Well, I haven't seen them, myself. You know, I may be a Priest, but I also have a degree in Physics. I think God made the world according to laws, right? But I do think God has the power to intervene. Yes. I just have never seen it… like … you know, the biblical type of miracles. To me, there are miracles happening all around us—miracles we can't see."
"Exactly," I responded, thinking about how no one else could see the blinks, "those kinds of miracles. What are those miracles we can't see?"
One of Father Martin's eyebrows raised and he rubbed his chin. "Well, I think the greatest miracle is the miracle of God's love which was perfected in Christ and offered to each of us. It's his power to heal even the most troubled mind. By coming into alignment with God's will for us, we can see the true purpose of this existence."
No, he's not getting it, I thought. I scrambled to my other entry-point. "What about the story of Job? God made a bet with the Devil that Job would stay faithful to him no matter what the Devil did to him. Do you think that kind of situation is possible?"
Father Martin's expression drooped into a concerned frown. "There's quite the difference between miracles and the story of Job. I suppose I see what you're getting at, though. Job's suffering is in some ways the antithesis to positive miracles. In this life, we are tested, sometimes to the point of losing everything, but even that person who has more reason to hate God than anyone else can once again find peace and eternal happiness through faith. In fact, it's often the person who is lowest in the pit of suffering that needs the Light of Christ more than anyone else."
I thought back on the first night that I prayed. It was in my moment of greatest helplessness that I reached out to God, and I thought I had found my answer in Him. But now, after what happened last night, after all these years of chaos—not merely losing things that were important to me, but my very sanity—I needed more than just blind faith. I couldn't just sit idly by and hope things would get better. I smiled at the Priest and said, "Thank you, Father, this has been very insightful."
"Of course, sister. I'm sorry if I couldn't have been of more help."
"No, I think I understand now. I've been… wrestling with something, and I think God wants me to confront it. I think I've been running away and hiding from it for so long that I'd convinced myself it disappeared."
Father Martin nodded in understanding. "Well, in that case, will you let me leave you with a prayer?"
I was a bit taken off guard by the request, but I accepted. "Sure, Father."
I watched as he made the sign of the cross, then he lifted his hands and closed his eyes. "Dear God, I am so happy to have had the privilege of meeting with Lauren today, especially on a day such as this where we are offering gifts for those who need them. You have heard her desire to confront the things that are troubling her. I ask that you bless her with strength and peace and a clear conscience, that she may overcome these challenges. God, bless us with your spirit, that we may see your hand in our lives. Amen."
"Amen," I said.
As I was leaving, Father Martin called out to me and said, "Oh, just so you know, this Friday at 7 we are having a barbecue at the Parish Center. I would love to see you there, if you're able and wanting."
Turning back, I smiled and said, "Oh, ok, thanks Father. I'll think about it."
The priest nodded, and with a smile, he sent me off.
***
I walked into the Deli at 1:00 on the dot. The customers who had arrived for the lunch rush were already cleaning up their trash and heading out. I dodged past a few of them on my way down the long, narrow path leading to the front counter. While I waited behind a couple of elderly folk who were picking which soup they wanted to pair with their Ultimate Grilled Cheese, I looked around for Trent. He hadn't sent me a picture or any way of contacting him throughout the day, so I wasn't sure what I was looking for, but I figured I'd see some man half-hidden behind a newspaper, scouting me out. Maybe I watch too many movies, I thought.
"Ahem, ma'am. You're up." croaked the teenager behind the register.
"Oh, right, sorry" I replied and stepped up to the counter. "Uhh," I muttered, scanning the menu for something that looked edible. "Could I just get…" I made sure to mouth every syllable as they were words of their own.
"We have a deal—the try two combo. Sandwich and a soup for $9.99." the cashier repeated for what was probably the fiftieth time that day.
"Yes, that sounds good. I'll do the Italian sandwich and potato soup. And a drink, please."
After I paid for the food, I wandered around the tables, hoping to find someone who looked like a Trent. I was picturing a short guy, runner's build, with long brown hair, tucked somewhere neatly away in the corner. So I was not prepared when the Hulk's stunt double growled my name from a table smack dab in the middle of the restaurant. He had a pale, square face that was spotted with freckles and a sinking property that comes with the lethal combination of stress and age. His hair was relatively short. Probably it was brown or auburn, but since it was slicked back, it looked almost black. And he wore what looked like janitor coveralls. There was even a cloth tag pinned to his chest which read, "Trent".
"Lauren?" He repeated.
"Yes, that's me." I said and took a seat across from him. I saw a brown tray on the table in front of him, and on the tray was a large, white soup bowl. It was empty and beginning to crust along the edges. He must have been here for some time already. "I didn't know where you'd be, so I was worried we might miss each other. I'm glad you found me though." I said while looking over Trent more thoroughly. His large hands were stretched out in front of him on the table. He wasn't wearing a ring, so he probably wasn't married. And his face, it was stern. He seemed like a no-bullshit kind of guy. Then I saw his eyes. They were sapphire blue—probably the most stunning I'd ever seen.
"We only spoke on the internet, so I hope you don't mind, but I usually run a preliminary test on anyone I meet who claims to have abilities such as yours." Trent said while reaching into his pocket and removing a device that had the size and shape of an electric razor. "All you have to do is look into it. It takes maybe five seconds. Ten at most."
"Oh, um, sure," I said reluctantly. "Do I just—" I asked while reaching for the device.
Trent clicked a button and released the cylindrical head which opened, revealing a glass circle about the size of an iris. "I'll hold it, just look into the center. A red cross should appear, then it'll take the picture."
"Okay…" I replied and did as he instructed, leaning my head forward to look into the device. Sure enough, a red cross appeared. "Is it…" was all I got out before the light turned blue and I saw a gray fog disperse and billow throughout the inside of the tube, extending for what I perceived to be miles. My jaw went slack and I couldn't breathe for maybe five seconds. Then Trent reshuttered the device and turned it over.
"Damn, 72." He said with a hint of shock. "That's the highest I've scanned to date." He looked back at me, more relaxed now, and muttered to himself. "How have you been able to function for this long? At this level, you should basically be half in, half out."
I rubbed my forehead, feeling a mixture of pain and frustration and fatigue and impatience which all poured out at once. "Listen, Trent," I said as sternly as I could, "I came here because you said you knew what was wrong with me and that you could help me. I get you have to make sure I am who I said I am, but now it's your turn to pay up. How do I know you know anything about my condition? You said my mom might still be alive. What does that even mean? I saw her die right in front of me. I want answers."
I waited for Trent to respond, but he only lifted his head. I turned around and saw a girl holding a tray of food.
"Um, hi, sorry to interrupt. I have an order 36 for Lauren."
"Oh, yes, thank you." I said. The worker placed the tray down on the table in front of me, and when I saw the food, I suddenly realized how hungry I was. Trent must have also realized this, because he folded his arms and said, "go ahead and eat. I'll explain while you do."
I wanted to protest, but my salivating mouth made other plans. "Fine," I said. I grabbed the metal spoon off the tray and started on the soup, bracing against the steaming heat of the potato chunks.
As I ate, Trent moved all of the items on his tray off to the side, then he flipped the tray over so it was raised slightly off the table. He took his cup and placed it face down in the center, then he rolled up a few of his used, blue mayonnaise packets and charted a track across the tray.
"What are you doing?" I croaked out between bites.
Trent ignored me and continued by ripping up a napkin into strips and placing them alongside the mayonnaise packets. Finally, he snapped ten toothpicks in half and stuck them in the tomb of a dozen overlayed napkins. "It's your diorama," he said at last.
"It's my what?"
"From the story you sent me. Your diorama. When I read about it, it gave me a good idea of how to explain the 'blinking'."
I pointed at the cup in the center. "Is that supposed to be a pyramid? Because I'm pretty sure you're in the wrong geometric neighborhood with that one."
"It's an analogy," he said.
"Of an analogy," I quipped back.
"Look," he picked out one of the toothpicks and held it out in front of me. "This could be a person, an animal, a crowbar—whatever you want. The point is, this diorama is a stand in for our universe. This is everything that exists, that we can see. Okay?"
"Okay,"
"Now, me," Trent placed a hand over his heart. "I'm not in the diorama. I don't exist in the universe."
"In the universe where a cup is a pyramid, or the actual universe?" I said, unable to control myself.
Trent grimaced.
"Sorry, keep going. I get it."
"Things pop into," Trent threw the toothpick back onto the tray, "or out of," he picked the toothpick back up, "our universe at will, based on forces," he patted his chest again, "that exist in other realms" he gestured to the room, "that are connected to our universe," he tapped two fingers against the tray. "These things could be objects, like, say, a toothpick, or entities, like the one you encountered yesterday. The blinking experience that you described aligns with the typical experience of a moderate Antenna. That's what I call people like us—Antennas; because we can pick up on signals others can't."
"We—you mean you see the blinking, too?"
"Yes, but not to the same extent as you. If all the blinks are gathered in a giant picture that you can see, I'm traversing the image through binoculars, maybe even a microscope, depending on where we are."
I thought about this. I guess it was possible there were other people like me out there, but since I had never met anyone, I didn't really consider the idea until now. And then for him to say my ability was somehow much stronger than his… "But," I started, "I haven't even seen that many blinks since I was a child. It's just more focused and malicious now."
"Yeah," Trent scratched his head, "that's the thing that got me really interested in you. Somehow you seem to be able to control it without gear, just by praying. And, look, that's all well and good, but I don't want to give you the false impression that I'm some kind of religious leader. I like to look for logical, scientific explanations for things. So that's the frame I'm coming at this from."
I took a sip from my drink. "That's fine," I said, "the truth is that's why I reached out to you in the first place. I wanted an explanation I could understand. An explanation that was directly related to what I'm going through."
"Then we should get along just fine."
I was scooping out the last potato that was stubbornly gliding along the bottom of the bowl when, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of the old man from the line shooting up from his bench and standing in army-erect form. I felt a tingling sensation tickle the back of my neck. I didn't want to turn toward him. I knew what I'd see if I did. "Trent," I whispered, trying to tip him off.
"Huh?" he grunted. Then when he saw my expression, he snuck his right hand under the table and said, "Do you see it? Is it here?"
I cocked my head to the left, signaling toward the old man that was now facing us, but Trent didn't seem to notice him: his eyes just kept scanning the entire front of the restaurant. Then I saw the old man take a step in our direction.
"Lauuurennnn, oh Lauuuurennnn, I've been looking for you, Laurenn." The old man said in a low, gravelly voice that gave the impression he was gurgling liquid tar. I turned and saw his face. It was cold and expressionless, and a butter knife was poking out of his left fist. When I met his eyes, he smiled that horrible smile."You're a slippery bitch, you know that?" He spat. "Why can't you just stay put? Don't you get tired of running from your old friend? Or have you forgotten about me?"
"Trent," I mumbled out. "Right there."
"And this guy. You think he can help you? He's only here to help himself. If that's not clear, you really are a lost little lamb."
"Quick, give me your hand," Trent instructed.
I was silent, my eyes still pinned to the old man.
"Tsk-tsk-tsk," the demon possessed senior wagged his finger at me, taking a step, then another step, shortening the distance as much as he could while I was entranced. Then, suddenly, he sprinted forward at a speed that shouldn't have been possible for a man his age.
"Trent!" I screamed.
"Lauren, give me your hand!"
I spun around and grabbed Tren'ts outstretched arm just as the old man lifted the butter knife over his head like a pickaxe. Then I saw Trent pull out what looked like a toy gun from under the table and point it at the demon.
"Got you," Trent remarked. I braced for a gunshot, but there was no noise. After a couple seconds, I looked back and saw the old man sitting in the booth opposite his wife, his hand tremoring as he reached for his large drink.
"What did you?" I asked, but Trent was already pulling me out of my seat. "Come on, we have to go," he said, "the effect is temporary, he'll be—"
Before he could get out the last word, I saw the cup-pyramid on Trent's tray blink out of existence. The sound of a plate shattering rang out from a table up ahead. The lone woman standing there slowly turned around, smiling, with a fork in one hand and a piece of the broken plate in the other. Trent shot her with the toy gun as we ran past and then barreled through the front door.
"Where—are we going?" I asked between gasps.
"My van. It's loaded with kit."
"And then where?"
"Your house" replied Trent who stashed his gun back in his pocket and took out a key fob.
"My house? But that's where he—it appeared."
"Yeah, and that's where you banished it."
Trent waved me into the passenger seat of his RAM 3500 Promaster. I noticed right away the dash which looked more like it belonged in a new limited-edition EV than a cargo van. The ignition kicked on automatically, and I heard the beep of a sonar ping precede an English woman's voice calling out like some auxed-in GPS saying, "scanning for anomalies". Trent shifted the van into gear, and I heard the wheels sputter as we accelerated backward and whipped out of the small parking lot.
"What's your address?" Trent asked. I gave it to him, and then speaking to his dash, he said, "Car, take us to ****."
"Redirecting to ****," replied the British woman. "Currently detecting 31 novel emergences. Updating pings every 300 milliseconds. Chance of contact: 0.23%"
"What does that mean?" I asked.
"The van has sensor equipment which can detect blinks. It's much more accurate than either of us."
"And it sees 31?"
"Yes, that's not as many as it sounds." Trent said and tore past a car that blinked out of existence right as we turned onto the main street.
We drove on for another couple minutes, the Englishwoman updating the number of novel emergences every ten seconds or so. Her constant babbling eventually became a comforting background noise, and I was able to think again.
"In the message you sent me, you said my mom may still be alive." I looked at Trent to see if he would react to me bringing her up, but he remained stolid. "What did you mean by that?"
Trent thumbed his steering wheel. "I shouldn't have sent that." He said at last.
"Shouldn't have… What do you mean? You can't just say that now."
Trent took one hand off the wheel and turned toward me. "Look, we're going back to your house because we need to determine your origin point. All Antennas have them. It's a place of high energy where many realms intersect, kind of like a station, and it's the place where you first acquired your abilities. Based on everything you wrote, I'm guessing that place is where the forest where the accident happened when you were a young child. But I need to confirm it. Once I confirm that that's the place…" Trent hesitated.
"Then… what? You want us to go back there? To the place where my mom died, or at least where I think she died until you told me she might be alive but are now taking it back? That place?"
"It's the only way to—"
"Now detecting novel agent," the Englishwoman interrupted. We both perked up as she gave another update. "Net anomalies: 437. Novel Agents: 1. Chance of contact: 78%."
"Shit," Trent muttered. "Car, course correct."
"Attempting course correct to avoid collision. Attempts made: 10, 50, 75, 79… No alternate route detected. Chance of contact: 96%."
"Time until contact?"
"Time until contact: 13 seconds."
I shuddered. Looking out the front windshield, I saw cars pop out of existence left and right, opening up a clear path to the four way intersection ahead. In a blink, the streetlights all turned green, and then they vanished completely. It was as if the entire world was being stripped down bare, and all that remained was the road, boxed in by the rows of buildings along either side. In the distance I could see a large tanker barreling toward us.
"Trent,"
"I know," he replied and clicked a different button on the console which opened a new toggle for the shifter labeled "TD". He pushed the stick forward, engaging the new mode, then pressed the accelerator all the way to the ground. "You're going to want to hold on."
"What are you doing!?" I yelled, grabbing onto my seatbelt.
"No time to explain. Car, release phase lock."
"Phase lock released."
I watched in horror as the color drained from the road and buildings and sky, transforming it all into a dim tunnel, with only the headlights of the oncoming semi-truck visible up ahead. I had the sudden thought that this was all a dream, just like the ones from my childhood. I looked over and no longer saw Trent, but my mother. And then I realized this wasn't a dream. This was hell. I was being forced to relive the worst moment of my life, over and over again. Just when I thought I had escaped, I was pulled right back into that car, helpless as we approached but never arrived at our impending fate. I closed my eyes right as the lights engulfed the windshield and braced for the usual pain in my chest, for the feeling of breaking.
But it didn't come.
"Shift" was the last word out of Trent's mouth, and then I was infused with the sensation of being at the pinnacle of a roller coaster. I was suspended there for what felt like hours, but somehow I knew that not even a second had passed. Everything inside the van: the dashboard, windows, ceiling, doors, even Trent himself began to radiate enigmatic particles. They were a mass of constant motion, like raindrops falling through the air but never landing. I looked down at my hand, but it was gone. Diffused into an unknowable number of untraceable particles. The world outside, once devoid of color, was now nothing but color. When I tried to focus on a particular spot in the infinite geometric folds of whatever realm we were traversing through, I could sometimes detect a trace of our world.
The old lady from the church. She appeared as if through a window, standing behind a table, holding out a plant. Only this image was so much brighter. And the plant she was holding was pure gold. Then I'd catch a glimpse of the razor blade. It was large, many hundreds of times larger than the van, and surrounded by darkness. These ghostly images appeared like holograms or reflections that caught the light at just the right angle, then dissipated.
I stayed there, looping between the archetypes of my life for a long, long time.
***
I knew we were returning when I felt the first sense of motion. Breath filled my lungs for the first time in what felt like a day. I blinked. And then we were back in town, driving down the same road with the blue sky above. People were jogging on the sidewalk past the little street shops. The streetlights were active. I checked the side mirror and saw the tanker had just passed by.
I looked over at Trent, who met my eyes. We shared a look of knowing, and unknowing. For some reason, that was enough, and we continued on in silence.
***
We agreed to stay the night at my house.
Trent had parked a couple blocks away in front of a couple vacant houses so as not to arouse suspicion from the neighbors. Then he lugged a large duffel bag with his equipment in and set it up in the living room. He scanned the scrapbook which contained the newspaper clippings from the accident several times and confirmed that was likely my 'origin point'. I simply nodded and then went back out onto the back porch. I sat there for hours, basking in the sun. Something had changed in the past day, but I couldn't pick out what it was. Too much had happened. I had too little time to process any of it.
When the sun set, I went inside and Trent told me about his plans for the next couple days. He said he needed to run a few errands in the morning, then meet up with a couple of his associates. After that, we could begin our drive to Southern Illinois. He said it was likely that the entity that was chasing me had first tied itself to me during my childhood accident. For whatever reason, we came into contact, and now it didn't want to leave. Trent would help me get rid of it. He didn't go into many details regarding how that was to happen, but I don't think in my tired state I would have been able to understand much anyway. He had a plan, and that was enough for me. At least for a while.
After our meeting, I made sure Trent had enough pillows and blankets like a proper host, then I retired to my room. I laid down on my twin bed and stared up at the cream-colored ceiling. Then I turned and saw the participation awards for my junior soccer league stashed on my dresser. I pictured myself on the field, running with the ball, out ahead of everyone except the goalie. I took a shot, but it was blocked. Then I ran back to defend. How can such a simple game be so much fun? Was the last thought I had before drifting off to sleep.
I woke up only once during the night. It was still dark out. The room was warm despite the small, flower petal fan churning away, shifting the hot, humid air from one pocket of the room to the next. I waited in apprehension, sensing that something had disturbed me. I saw the tomato plushie peeking out at me from the slightly ajar closet door where I had stashed it so many years ago. I felt like I was missing something. Something important.
And then I heard it.
There was a tapping at my window.

Part 1
First of all, I wanted to thank everyone for their kind words and support from the last post. A lot has happened since then, and a bunch of context is needed, so I hope you'll bear with me as I explain the details.
***
Back during the peak of the blinking crisis, I remember having a lot of difficulty sleeping. It was common for me to average only four or five hours a night, and the little sleep I did get was marred by terrible nightmares. One in particular recurred many times.
I was only eight, but somehow I was in the driver's seat of our family's old SUV. My arms were long enough to steady the wheel, but my legs didn't quite meet the pedals. It didn't matter though, since the car seemed content to continue on at a constant pace. I looked over and saw my mom in the passenger seat. Her face was a blurry likeness pieced together from the dozen or so picture's I'd seen of her over the years. I tried to bring her into focus, not only because I missed her dearly, but because she was speaking—pleading, even. She waved frantically at me, then brought her leg up and slammed it down on the floor mat several times. I didn't understand what had her so upset until she pointed out the front windshield, and I saw we were hurdling directly toward a giant tree that had fallen in the middle of the road.
Panicking, I stomped for the brake, but my seatbelt protested and pulled me back like an invigorated dog on a short leash. I sat up and tried clicking it off, but it wouldn't budge. My breaths became hollow cries, and I felt my heart beat against the bars of its bony prison. I grabbed the steering wheel and pulled it to the left, then right, attempting to swerve off the road, but it was as if whatever kind of glue was locking up the seatbelt was also fixing the steering wheel in place.
"Mom! what do I do!?" I yelled, tears streaming from my eyes. She was yelling back at me, but it was as if there was a divider between us, and neither of us could hear each other. I turned back just in time to see the giant Oak tree meet the front bumper, and then I jolted awake with a piercing pain in my chest that radiated up through my throat in the form of a giant scream. My little legs kicked under the covers and tears rained down on my pillow until my dad ran in and knelt at my bed.
"Lauren, are you okay? Did you have a bad dream?"
I grabbed my pillow and hugged it so my face was covered, then effused a "Mmm-hmm" in a long wheeze while rocking to either side.
"Oh, honey," he soothed and brushed my hair, then the tears from my face when I would allow it.
Time would pass in silence, and when I began to get the sense that my dad was ready to leave, I'd chirp out, "stay" in that way children do when they're embarrassed about wanting something.
"Always," my dad would reply; then he'd post up on the floor with my large tomato plushie as a pillow.
One night in particular, it was deep in the night, and I had woken to a tapping sound outside my window. I was so afraid that a monster had snuck into my room while I wasn't looking that I made him lay next to me and face outward. I'd peek my eyes open every minute or so to check and make sure my dad was there, staking out the room. Eventually, he rolled in close and said something that I still remember to this day.
"Hey, baby, guess what." he whispered.
"Mmm" I mumbled.
"I think you scared the monster away."
I tried to picture this through the fog of my fatigue. Something seemed off about the statement, like it wasn't logically possible, but before I could piece together the words to express that, my dad cut back in.
"It was scared because it realized you're a superhero. And you know what your greatest superpower is?"
I shook my head, making sure to rub my forehead against his shoulder so he could sense it in the dark room.
"You're greatest power is that you get to tell the monsters what to do. Because the monsters are only as strong as the stories you tell about them. And there's all kinds of stories. Happy ones. Sad ones. Scary ones. Tell me, this monster you think snuck in, would you say he's part of a scary story?"
"I don't know," I said, confused. "Maybe"
"Hmm," he hummed, contemplating. "Well, I want you to remember this. You have the ability to tell any kind of story you want. Maybe there are monsters, but that means there's heroes and angels, too, right?"
I was beginning to doze off to the comforting sound of my dad's deep voice, but I gave another affirmative "Mm-hmm".
"So, if you're ever scared, honey, just dream up a better story. A story that will bring you peace. Do you understand?"
But I was already out.
***
I woke up the next morning to the feeling that someone was in the hotel room with me. The drapes were drawn and the only sound was the AC unit blowing cold air, but when I looked toward the dark corner of the empty coat rack, my mind conjured the face of my dad, smiling at me, chanting that same, awful line—Oh, Lauren… you know who we are.
I was no longer a child, but it took a couple minutes of cold focus before I muscled the courage to ascend from the safety of my covers and flick on the lamp light. The small amber radius extended to where my dad's feet would have been if he was standing there. But there was no one. I let out a sigh and collapsed back onto the mattress, thinking back on all those years growing up. The same man who had helped me conquer my fear of the dark was now the monster hiding in its shadow.
I looked over my shoulder and saw the clock read 10:15. My meeting with Trent was in three hours. I moaned and stretched my arms back until they knocked against the headboard, then I collapsed back onto the mattress, meditating, gathering energy like a compressed spring. All at once, I jumped up and glided over to the drapes, opening them in a single, fluid motion. I grimaced at the sunlight, but the warmth felt good against my face. I stopped by the nightstand and gulped down the final few swigs of a bottle of Mello Yello that I had purchased from a vending machine the previous night, then undressed and hopped in the shower.
The warm water wasn't enough to wash away the previous night's memories. When I closed my eyes to lather my hair, I was back in my living room, standing opposite the demon that had taken on my dad's form. His smile. His laugh. It was like someone in my head was flipping a switch between the man I loved growing up and a terrible monster. But the fear was more powerful. I heard something drop onto the tile floor on the other side of the curtain. The noise made me gasp, and I opened my eyes while shampoo was still streaming down my face. I swiped the shampoo out of my now burning eyes and squinted at the curtain, trying to see through it, but I couldn't make anything out. "I-is anyone," I started, trembling, afraid to finish the sentence. I reached out and pinched the end of the curtain. My heart was in overdrive. I swallowed, then pulled it toward me and peeked out. I scanned the room, but I couldn't see anything out of place.
It wasn't until after I finished showering and wound myself up in one of the hotel's too-small towels that I saw what had made the noise. I bent down and picked up the stub of a razor blade that had fallen onto the tile right next to the puffy, gray shower rug. It wasn't mine, and I was pretty sure hotels didn't keep unguarded razor blades just laying around. When I held it up, it occurred to me that if it had simply fallen a few inches to the left, it would have been buried in the rug, and perhaps I would have stepped on it. I stared at myself in its steely reflection. Cold. Lonely. Small. What if I—was all I was able to think before the blade blinked out of my hand.
I threw on some clothes, packed up the few belongings I had into my purse, then checked out of my room. I didn't feel safe going back home after what happened, but I also didn't want to go anywhere else. I got in my car and drove aimlessly up and down the town's streets, focusing only on the car ahead of me. Anytime I started to travel down an avenue of thought, I'd make a turn, or speed up, or hit the brakes: anything to keep my mind distracted. It was sweltering outside, but I'd turn the heat on for minutes at a time until I felt drenched, then toggle max AC until I was cool, then back to heat. I repeated the basic driving tenet "10 and 2", "10 and 2", "10 and 2" like a mantra—a chant to focus my attention on a single point, and then I pictured that point disappearing. I began to think that maybe I wanted to disappear.
I fully intended to keep going that way until 1:00, but after about thirty minutes, my meandering route had led me to St. Mark's Catholic Church, where a large group of people were gathered around a long line of tables in front of the building. I slowed down. At the front of the venue was a large, white cardboard sign which read, "Plant a Seed, Share the Joy". I wasn't sure what that meant, but my boredom had come to a head, and I rationalized that if there's any place on God's green earth that would be safe, it was this one. I parked along the closest side-street, then walked over to the church.
Rows of white tables were covered with cardboard boxes filled with small plants that were wrapped up in individual paper pots. I watched from a distance as people behind the tables carefully removed the plants, one by one, and offered them to passersby. I continued down the line, a sheep in the herd, and allowed myself to sink into childhood memories. I had somehow made it out the other end near the Narthex when I heard a woman's voice call to me.
"Hey, deary, have you gotten one yet?"
I turned and saw a small, gray-haired lady with rose-colored glasses. "Oh, no," I started, attempting to decline, then paused. The old lady grabbed one of the plants and held it out for me.
"Here," she said. "Come on, I won't bite."
As far as you know, I thought, and stumbled forward with a sigh. "Thanks," I said and took the plant. "What is this all for, anyway?"
"It's a giveaway," the old woman responded. "Staff have been growing these plants—tomatoes and garlic, mainly—so they could offer them to members of the Parish. The idea is to have the members grow the produce, then donate it to St. Mark's Food Pantry to give to those in need."
"Oh, that's actually pretty cool." I replied and inspected my plant which was at present nothing more than a small green stem. "So which kind is this one?"
"That one is—" the old lady stopped and inspected the other plants near where she had grabbed mine—"tomato."
"Tomato," I repeated. "Well, thanks again."
"Of course, dear." the old lady beamed. "We're all responsible for each other."
I nodded, then continued back through the crowd toward my car when, through the large vestibule windows, I saw a Priest speaking to a young couple. It had been a little over a decade since I had attended a service (I stopped going during High School when I started studying other religions), and I didn't recognize this Priest. He was short (just over five feet tall), bald, and African American. He wore the customary black robe and white collar, and there was something in his smile and the way seemed to be affirming the couple that made me yearn to speak with him. I considered for a moment, a bit embarrassed to be stepping back into church after all this time, but the thought of being able to burn ten minutes talking with someone who might have some insight into my situation was too tempting to pass up.
I waited near a portrait of Mary Magdalene, my tomato plant in hand, staring off at the pristine series of stained glass images portraying the death and resurrection of Jesus. About a minute in, the Priest met my eyes; he smiled, his way of telling me he knew I was waiting, then finished up with the couple and made his way over. He had a bit of an accent when he spoke—it was Ugandan, from best I could tell—and a proclivity for laughing at the end of his sentences.
"Hello, Miss, I don't believe I've had the privilege," he said and held out his hand. He leaned in as he spoke, and his smile tugged on the corners of his eyes which were already marked with use.
I shook his hand and returned what I'm sure was a weak smile. "No, I don't think so. My name's Lauren. I used to come here when I was little. It's—been a while."
"Well, I see you picked a good day to visit. If you're into gardening, that is." He remarked with a laugh and gestured toward the plant. "It's nice to meet you, Lauren. My name's Martin—Father Martin, if you prefer."
"Father Martin," I repeated, "I have a friend named Martin. It's a good name."
He laughed and said, "Thank you, I'll pass that one along to my mother. She loves the praise."
I laughed back. He carried himself in such a carefree way that I was put immediately at ease. Almost to the point where I forgot what I wanted to talk to him about. "Um," I started, attempting to word my question in a way that didn't sound like I needed psychiatric help. "I have a couple of religious questions for you, if you have time."
"That's what I'm for. Ask away."
"They're about… miracles. Like the ones in the Bible. I was wondering, do you think that miracles still happen today?"
"Miracles, huh," he started. "You mean like water into wine?"
"Kind of, yeah,"
"Hmm…" he contemplated. "Well, I haven't seen them, myself. You know, I may be a Priest, but I also have a degree in Physics. I think God made the world according to laws, right? But I do think God has the power to intervene. Yes. I just have never seen it… like … you know, the biblical type of miracles. To me, there are miracles happening all around us—miracles we can't see."
"Exactly," I responded, thinking about how no one else could see the blinks, "those kinds of miracles. What are those miracles we can't see?"
One of Father Martin's eyebrows raised and he rubbed his chin. "Well, I think the greatest miracle is the miracle of God's love which was perfected in Christ and offered to each of us. It's his power to heal even the most troubled mind. By coming into alignment with God's will for us, we can see the true purpose of this existence."
No, he's not getting it, I thought. I scrambled to my other entry-point. "What about the story of Job? God made a bet with the Devil that Job would stay faithful to him no matter what the Devil did to him. Do you think that kind of situation is possible?"
Father Martin's expression drooped into a concerned frown. "There's quite the difference between miracles and the story of Job. I suppose I see what you're getting at, though. Job's suffering is in some ways the antithesis to positive miracles. In this life, we are tested, sometimes to the point of losing everything, but even that person who has more reason to hate God than anyone else can once again find peace and eternal happiness through faith. In fact, it's often the person who is lowest in the pit of suffering that needs the Light of Christ more than anyone else."
I thought back on the first night that I prayed. It was in my moment of greatest helplessness that I reached out to God, and I thought I had found my answer in Him. But now, after what happened last night, after all these years of chaos—not merely losing things that were important to me, but my very sanity—I needed more than just blind faith. I couldn't just sit idly by and hope things would get better. I smiled at the Priest and said, "Thank you, Father, this has been very insightful."
"Of course, sister. I'm sorry if I couldn't have been of more help."
"No, I think I understand now. I've been… wrestling with something, and I think God wants me to confront it. I think I've been running away and hiding from it for so long that I'd convinced myself it disappeared."
Father Martin nodded in understanding. "Well, in that case, will you let me leave you with a prayer?"
I was a bit taken off guard by the request, but I accepted. "Sure, Father."
I watched as he made the sign of the cross, then he lifted his hands and closed his eyes. "Dear God, I am so happy to have had the privilege of meeting with Lauren today, especially on a day such as this where we are offering gifts for those who need them. You have heard her desire to confront the things that are troubling her. I ask that you bless her with strength and peace and a clear conscience, that she may overcome these challenges. God, bless us with your spirit, that we may see your hand in our lives. Amen."
"Amen," I said.
As I was leaving, Father Martin called out to me and said, "Oh, just so you know, this Friday at 7 we are having a barbecue at the Parish Center. I would love to see you there, if you're able and wanting."
Turning back, I smiled and said, "Oh, ok, thanks Father. I'll think about it."
The priest nodded, and with a smile, he sent me off.
***
I walked into the Deli at 1:00 on the dot. The customers who had arrived for the lunch rush were already cleaning up their trash and heading out. I dodged past a few of them on my way down the long, narrow path leading to the front counter. While I waited behind a couple of elderly folk who were picking which soup they wanted to pair with their Ultimate Grilled Cheese, I looked around for Trent. He hadn't sent me a picture or any way of contacting him throughout the day, so I wasn't sure what I was looking for, but I figured I'd see some man half-hidden behind a newspaper, scouting me out. Maybe I watch too many movies, I thought.
"Ahem, ma'am. You're up." croaked the teenager behind the register.
"Oh, right, sorry" I replied and stepped up to the counter. "Uhh," I muttered, scanning the menu for something that looked edible. "Could I just get…" I made sure to mouth every syllable as they were words of their own.
"We have a deal—the try two combo. Sandwich and a soup for $9.99." the cashier repeated for what was probably the fiftieth time that day.
"Yes, that sounds good. I'll do the Italian sandwich and potato soup. And a drink, please."
After I paid for the food, I wandered around the tables, hoping to find someone who looked like a Trent. I was picturing a short guy, runner's build, with long brown hair, tucked somewhere neatly away in the corner. So I was not prepared when the Hulk's stunt double growled my name from a table smack dab in the middle of the restaurant. He had a pale, square face that was spotted with freckles and a sinking property that comes with the lethal combination of stress and age. His hair was relatively short. Probably it was brown or auburn, but since it was slicked back, it looked almost black. And he wore what looked like janitor coveralls. There was even a cloth tag pinned to his chest which read, "Trent".
"Lauren?" He repeated.
"Yes, that's me." I said and took a seat across from him. I saw a brown tray on the table in front of him, and on the tray was a large, white soup bowl. It was empty and beginning to crust along the edges. He must have been here for some time already. "I didn't know where you'd be, so I was worried we might miss each other. I'm glad you found me though." I said while looking over Trent more thoroughly. His large hands were stretched out in front of him on the table. He wasn't wearing a ring, so he probably wasn't married. And his face, it was stern. He seemed like a no-bullshit kind of guy. Then I saw his eyes. They were sapphire blue—probably the most stunning I'd ever seen.
"We only spoke on the internet, so I hope you don't mind, but I usually run a preliminary test on anyone I meet who claims to have abilities such as yours." Trent said while reaching into his pocket and removing a device that had the size and shape of an electric razor. "All you have to do is look into it. It takes maybe five seconds. Ten at most."
"Oh, um, sure," I said reluctantly. "Do I just—" I asked while reaching for the device.
Trent clicked a button and released the cylindrical head which opened, revealing a glass circle about the size of an iris. "I'll hold it, just look into the center. A red cross should appear, then it'll take the picture."
"Okay…" I replied and did as he instructed, leaning my head forward to look into the device. Sure enough, a red cross appeared. "Is it…" was all I got out before the light turned blue and I saw a gray fog disperse and billow throughout the inside of the tube, extending for what I perceived to be miles. My jaw went slack and I couldn't breathe for maybe five seconds. Then Trent reshuttered the device and turned it over.
"Damn, 72." He said with a hint of shock. "That's the highest I've scanned to date." He looked back at me, more relaxed now, and muttered to himself. "How have you been able to function for this long? At this level, you should basically be half in, half out."
I rubbed my forehead, feeling a mixture of pain and frustration and fatigue and impatience which all poured out at once. "Listen, Trent," I said as sternly as I could, "I came here because you said you knew what was wrong with me and that you could help me. I get you have to make sure I am who I said I am, but now it's your turn to pay up. How do I know you know anything about my condition? You said my mom might still be alive. What does that even mean? I saw her die right in front of me. I want answers."
I waited for Trent to respond, but he only lifted his head. I turned around and saw a girl holding a tray of food.
"Um, hi, sorry to interrupt. I have an order 36 for Lauren."
"Oh, yes, thank you." I said. The worker placed the tray down on the table in front of me, and when I saw the food, I suddenly realized how hungry I was. Trent must have also realized this, because he folded his arms and said, "go ahead and eat. I'll explain while you do."
I wanted to protest, but my salivating mouth made other plans. "Fine," I said. I grabbed the metal spoon off the tray and started on the soup, bracing against the steaming heat of the potato chunks.
As I ate, Trent moved all of the items on his tray off to the side, then he flipped the tray over so it was raised slightly off the table. He took his cup and placed it face down in the center, then he rolled up a few of his used, blue mayonnaise packets and charted a track across the tray.
"What are you doing?" I croaked out between bites.
Trent ignored me and continued by ripping up a napkin into strips and placing them alongside the mayonnaise packets. Finally, he snapped ten toothpicks in half and stuck them in the tomb of a dozen overlayed napkins. "It's your diorama," he said at last.
"It's my what?"
"From the story you sent me. Your diorama. When I read about it, it gave me a good idea of how to explain the 'blinking'."
I pointed at the cup in the center. "Is that supposed to be a pyramid? Because I'm pretty sure you're in the wrong geometric neighborhood with that one."
"It's an analogy," he said.
"Of an analogy," I quipped back.
"Look," he picked out one of the toothpicks and held it out in front of me. "This could be a person, an animal, a crowbar—whatever you want. The point is, this diorama is a stand in for our universe. This is everything that exists, that we can see. Okay?"
"Okay,"
"Now, me," Trent placed a hand over his heart. "I'm not in the diorama. I don't exist in the universe."
"In the universe where a cup is a pyramid, or the actual universe?" I said, unable to control myself.
Trent grimaced.
"Sorry, keep going. I get it."
"Things pop into," Trent threw the toothpick back onto the tray, "or out of," he picked the toothpick back up, "our universe at will, based on forces," he patted his chest again, "that exist in other realms" he gestured to the room, "that are connected to our universe," he tapped two fingers against the tray. "These things could be objects, like, say, a toothpick, or entities, like the one you encountered yesterday. The blinking experience that you described aligns with the typical experience of a moderate Antenna. That's what I call people like us—Antennas; because we can pick up on signals others can't."
"We—you mean you see the blinking, too?"
"Yes, but not to the same extent as you. If all the blinks are gathered in a giant picture that you can see, I'm traversing the image through binoculars, maybe even a microscope, depending on where we are."
I thought about this. I guess it was possible there were other people like me out there, but since I had never met anyone, I didn't really consider the idea until now. And then for him to say my ability was somehow much stronger than his… "But," I started, "I haven't even seen that many blinks since I was a child. It's just more focused and malicious now."
"Yeah," Trent scratched his head, "that's the thing that got me really interested in you. Somehow you seem to be able to control it without gear, just by praying. And, look, that's all well and good, but I don't want to give you the false impression that I'm some kind of religious leader. I like to look for logical, scientific explanations for things. So that's the frame I'm coming at this from."
I took a sip from my drink. "That's fine," I said, "the truth is that's why I reached out to you in the first place. I wanted an explanation I could understand. An explanation that was directly related to what I'm going through."
"Then we should get along just fine."
I was scooping out the last potato that was stubbornly gliding along the bottom of the bowl when, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of the old man from the line shooting up from his bench and standing in army-erect form. I felt a tingling sensation tickle the back of my neck. I didn't want to turn toward him. I knew what I'd see if I did. "Trent," I whispered, trying to tip him off.
"Huh?" he grunted. Then when he saw my expression, he snuck his right hand under the table and said, "Do you see it? Is it here?"
I cocked my head to the left, signaling toward the old man that was now facing us, but Trent didn't seem to notice him: his eyes just kept scanning the entire front of the restaurant. Then I saw the old man take a step in our direction.
"Lauuurennnn, oh Lauuuurennnn, I've been looking for you, Laurenn." The old man said in a low, gravelly voice that gave the impression he was gurgling liquid tar. I turned and saw his face. It was cold and expressionless, and a butter knife was poking out of his left fist. When I met his eyes, he smiled that horrible smile."You're a slippery bitch, you know that?" He spat. "Why can't you just stay put? Don't you get tired of running from your old friend? Or have you forgotten about me?"
"Trent," I mumbled out. "Right there."
"And this guy. You think he can help you? He's only here to help himself. If that's not clear, you really are a lost little lamb."
"Quick, give me your hand," Trent instructed.
I was silent, my eyes still pinned to the old man.
"Tsk-tsk-tsk," the demon possessed senior wagged his finger at me, taking a step, then another step, shortening the distance as much as he could while I was entranced. Then, suddenly, he sprinted forward at a speed that shouldn't have been possible for a man his age.
"Trent!" I screamed.
"Lauren, give me your hand!"
I spun around and grabbed Tren'ts outstretched arm just as the old man lifted the butter knife over his head like a pickaxe. Then I saw Trent pull out what looked like a toy gun from under the table and point it at the demon.
"Got you," Trent remarked. I braced for a gunshot, but there was no noise. After a couple seconds, I looked back and saw the old man sitting in the booth opposite his wife, his hand tremoring as he reached for his large drink.
"What did you?" I asked, but Trent was already pulling me out of my seat. "Come on, we have to go," he said, "the effect is temporary, he'll be—"
Before he could get out the last word, I saw the cup-pyramid on Trent's tray blink out of existence. The sound of a plate shattering rang out from a table up ahead. The lone woman standing there slowly turned around, smiling, with a fork in one hand and a piece of the broken plate in the other. Trent shot her with the toy gun as we ran past and then barreled through the front door.
"Where—are we going?" I asked between gasps.
"My van. It's loaded with kit."
"And then where?"
"Your house" replied Trent who stashed his gun back in his pocket and took out a key fob.
"My house? But that's where he—it appeared."
"Yeah, and that's where you banished it."
Trent waved me into the passenger seat of his RAM 3500 Promaster. I noticed right away the dash which looked more like it belonged in a new limited-edition EV than a cargo van. The ignition kicked on automatically, and I heard the beep of a sonar ping precede an English woman's voice calling out like some auxed-in GPS saying, "scanning for anomalies". Trent shifted the van into gear, and I heard the wheels sputter as we accelerated backward and whipped out of the small parking lot.
"What's your address?" Trent asked. I gave it to him, and then speaking to his dash, he said, "Car, take us to ****."
"Redirecting to ****," replied the British woman. "Currently detecting 31 novel emergences. Updating pings every 300 milliseconds. Chance of contact: 0.23%"
"What does that mean?" I asked.
"The van has sensor equipment which can detect blinks. It's much more accurate than either of us."
"And it sees 31?"
"Yes, that's not as many as it sounds." Trent said and tore past a car that blinked out of existence right as we turned onto the main street.
We drove on for another couple minutes, the Englishwoman updating the number of novel emergences every ten seconds or so. Her constant babbling eventually became a comforting background noise, and I was able to think again.
"In the message you sent me, you said my mom may still be alive." I looked at Trent to see if he would react to me bringing her up, but he remained stolid. "What did you mean by that?"
Trent thumbed his steering wheel. "I shouldn't have sent that." He said at last.
"Shouldn't have… What do you mean? You can't just say that now."
Trent took one hand off the wheel and turned toward me. "Look, we're going back to your house because we need to determine your origin point. All Antennas have them. It's a place of high energy where many realms intersect, kind of like a station, and it's the place where you first acquired your abilities. Based on everything you wrote, I'm guessing that place is where the forest where the accident happened when you were a young child. But I need to confirm it. Once I confirm that that's the place…" Trent hesitated.
"Then… what? You want us to go back there? To the place where my mom died, or at least where I think she died until you told me she might be alive but are now taking it back? That place?"
"It's the only way to—"
"Now detecting novel agent," the Englishwoman interrupted. We both perked up as she gave another update. "Net anomalies: 437. Novel Agents: 1. Chance of contact: 78%."
"Shit," Trent muttered. "Car, course correct."
"Attempting course correct to avoid collision. Attempts made: 10, 50, 75, 79… No alternate route detected. Chance of contact: 96%."
"Time until contact?"
"Time until contact: 13 seconds."
I shuddered. Looking out the front windshield, I saw cars pop out of existence left and right, opening up a clear path to the four way intersection ahead. In a blink, the streetlights all turned green, and then they vanished completely. It was as if the entire world was being stripped down bare, and all that remained was the road, boxed in by the rows of buildings along either side. In the distance I could see a large tanker barreling toward us.
"Trent,"
"I know," he replied and clicked a different button on the console which opened a new toggle for the shifter labeled "TD". He pushed the stick forward, engaging the new mode, then pressed the accelerator all the way to the ground. "You're going to want to hold on."
"What are you doing!?" I yelled, grabbing onto my seatbelt.
"No time to explain. Car, release phase lock."
"Phase lock released."
I watched in horror as the color drained from the road and buildings and sky, transforming it all into a dim tunnel, with only the headlights of the oncoming semi-truck visible up ahead. I had the sudden thought that this was all a dream, just like the ones from my childhood. I looked over and no longer saw Trent, but my mother. And then I realized this wasn't a dream. This was hell. I was being forced to relive the worst moment of my life, over and over again. Just when I thought I had escaped, I was pulled right back into that car, helpless as we approached but never arrived at our impending fate. I closed my eyes right as the lights engulfed the windshield and braced for the usual pain in my chest, for the feeling of breaking.
But it didn't come.
"Shift" was the last word out of Trent's mouth, and then I was infused with the sensation of being at the pinnacle of a roller coaster. I was suspended there for what felt like hours, but somehow I knew that not even a second had passed. Everything inside the van: the dashboard, windows, ceiling, doors, even Trent himself began to radiate enigmatic particles. They were a mass of constant motion, like raindrops falling through the air but never landing. I looked down at my hand, but it was gone. Diffused into an unknowable number of untraceable particles. The world outside, once devoid of color, was now nothing but color. When I tried to focus on a particular spot in the infinite geometric folds of whatever realm we were traversing through, I could sometimes detect a trace of our world.
The old lady from the church. She appeared as if through a window, standing behind a table, holding out a plant. Only this image was so much brighter. And the plant she was holding was pure gold. Then I'd catch a glimpse of the razor blade. It was large, many hundreds of times larger than the van, and surrounded by darkness. These ghostly images appeared like holograms or reflections that caught the light at just the right angle, then dissipated.
I stayed there, looping between the archetypes of my life for a long, long time.
***
I knew we were returning when I felt the first sense of motion. Breath filled my lungs for the first time in what felt like a day. I blinked. And then we were back in town, driving down the same road with the blue sky above. People were jogging on the sidewalk past the little street shops. The streetlights were active. I checked the side mirror and saw the tanker had just passed by.
I looked over at Trent, who met my eyes. We shared a look of knowing, and unknowing. For some reason, that was enough, and we continued on in silence.
***
We agreed to stay the night at my house.
Trent had parked a couple blocks away in front of a couple vacant houses so as not to arouse suspicion from the neighbors. Then he lugged a large duffel bag with his equipment in and set it up in the living room. He scanned the scrapbook which contained the newspaper clippings from the accident several times and confirmed that was likely my 'origin point'. I simply nodded and then went back out onto the back porch. I sat there for hours, basking in the sun. Something had changed in the past day, but I couldn't pick out what it was. Too much had happened. I had too little time to process any of it.
When the sun set, I went inside and Trent told me about his plans for the next couple days. He said he needed to run a few errands in the morning, then meet up with a couple of his associates. After that, we could begin our drive to Southern Illinois. He said it was likely that the entity that was chasing me had first tied itself to me during my childhood accident. For whatever reason, we came into contact, and now it didn't want to leave. Trent would help me get rid of it. He didn't go into many details regarding how that was to happen, but I don't think in my tired state I would have been able to understand much anyway. He had a plan, and that was enough for me. At least for a while.
After our meeting, I made sure Trent had enough pillows and blankets like a proper host, then I retired to my room. I laid down on my twin bed and stared up at the cream-colored ceiling. Then I turned and saw the participation awards for my junior soccer league stashed on my dresser. I pictured myself on the field, running with the ball, out ahead of everyone except the goalie. I took a shot, but it was blocked. Then I ran back to defend. How can such a simple game be so much fun? Was the last thought I had before drifting off to sleep.
I woke up only once during the night. It was still dark out. The room was warm despite the small, flower petal fan churning away, shifting the hot, humid air from one pocket of the room to the next. I waited in apprehension, sensing that something had disturbed me. I saw the tomato plushie peeking out at me from the slightly ajar closet door where I had stashed it so many years ago. I felt like I was missing something. Something important.
And then I heard it.
There was a tapping at my window.

We sometimes need to manually block some abusive IP's, previously we've done this on the ingress level (within our proxy blocklist)... but in some cases, since traffic is still going through our networking stack even if were immediately tossing it has caused down time.
I've considered blocking this at the NACL or SG level (AWS), but worry about the limits... We usually don't have more than 100 ip's blocked there at once.
Thoughts? Where should IP blocklisting be done?
Edit: So it seems like it should be blocked as close to the source as possible.. but NACL only accepts 40 rules and SG doesn't have deny... Any other ideas?

I was toying around with blocking VPN clients I didn't need or ever will use, and enable blocking on all Proxy. VPN went down as expected, but when I set this back to Allowed it's as if the thing is never going to allow it again. No matter how many times I reboot or reload Zenarmor it's now permanently blocked and impacting some work VPN stuff. Any suggestions? This seems like unusual behavior. This is installed on a OPNSense box.

Hello,

TL;DR section with actual questions below.

I am aware of rule 7, so that there should be no duplicates. This comparison was asked few times already, but most (not all) of the questions were clueless, since they only asked who should they pull, regardless of the character skills/roles.
I have single copy (epic) of both of them and I am not totally sure about who of them should I prioritize. I am aware of some of their strengths, but I got these characters just recently and still finding proper situations to use them.
I am aware, that they have different roles (although to some extent, they are both supports - Scarlita for first 15 seconds).
I also haven't yet reached Abyss.
If I miss something in my opinion, then please correct me. I might be overlooking a critical benefit of one of the characters.
...
(you can skip my summarization, though)

My opinion on Reinier

I am aware, that investment into Reinier will significantly help me with Dream Realm and he is totally awesome for offense in PvP (using Enlightening spell - you can drag out critical enemy without swapping your character and generally fight 5v4).
But while he might help you with a difficult specific stage or enemy, he feels very cumbersome, since the lineup is not always the same and he may actually not do anything, if you go on auto-battle mode. Not sure if he is even able to give the ally Legendary+ ATK boost, when no swap is triggered.
So as far as I am concerned, he is Dream Realm king (25% damage taken to boss + extra sustain for a specific character) and exceptionally strategic character for arena offense. Not to mention, that his utimate spell makes the fight eventually 5v3, which obviously is very bad situation for enemy.

My opinion on Scarlita

While Reinier seems not to be a good fit for auto-battling, Scarlita seems like a perfect choice.. since if any of your characters die early (tank especially) you are usually dead.. Scarlita prevents this by adding a shield to the allies, which need it the most. So she allows tank to survive longer, so tank may activate some of its skills to be capable surviving on his own. At S+, she also give these allies pretty decent defense.
So when Scarlita made sure, that the early fight went well and tank's survival is established, she then comes to battlefield to finish, what is left undone. Providing heavy crowd control and dealing true damage. She also executes enemies under 20% health (but up to 25%) - somewhat similar to Odie, if I am correct.
....................................................................................

TL;DR

Questions

...while Reinier is obviously powerful for offense in Arena with Enlightening spell..
Is there some viability to use Reinier in DEFENSE arena team? (how?) I am slightlly worried about it. Worst case scenario I can come up with would be, that he will teleport enemy S+ Grannie Dahnie to me. Which would cause HUGE problems, especially if enemy has Scarlita and Hewynn too.
Also even for offense with Reinier some enemies are already aware of this possibility, so they put tanks behind their DPS characters and Arena map 5 may limit quite a lot. My core damage unit is Supreme (without +) Carolina, so she should be able to deal with tanks (except Thoran and Grannie).
Does Reinier deal some damage at higher rarity, or is his damage laughable compared to carries like Carolina, Odie, Florabelle and Cecia?
How to protect myself from Reinier attacks in my Arena defense team?
As I already said, map 5 may provide some advantage, but I haven't tested that out, but I think I will figure it out eventually, how to place units, since I can always peek into enemy configuration and check, what he is capable and what he cannot do.
What happens if I will only use two columns in my arena defense and the last in these columns will be Damian and Scarlita?
Will Reinier just pull the toy chariot or the unit before Damian?
Will Reinier just fail to do his job at all, when doing his swap against Scarlita or he swaps the targer before her?
...
Concerning Scarlita for PvP, I have very little doubts about her consistency and efficiency. She seems to be an ideal pick for arena defense especially.
At most I wonder, how she compares to Koko in overall arena performance..?
...
I do not seem to have any further questions. But I might be missing some informations, so if you fill me in, I would be really glad.
As for the Abyss, I have not many informations, so I only expect it to be a very hard strategical challenge. Scarlita seems to be ranked better than Reinier for it and I am already building Grannie Dahnie (I am somehow not a big fan of Thoran even though I have him on wishlish, because he is a must for King Croaker and he amplifies team damage - maybe because so many people claim, that he is the best tank, but then I see so many AFK challenge proxy battle and their only invested tank Thoran simply cannot hold the line, where Antandra would have no problems).
So yes, basically I have last question.
Reinier will certainly help me getting more Dream Realm currency, but if Scarlita is stronger in Abyss.. does not she actually help me get more ex-weapon currency?

Thanks for reading and possible feedback!

It is clear that the only thing that arabs consider a loss is loss of land. Loss of life’s is glorified and used as currency by the Palestinians.
It is already in the opinion of most arabs and their supporters that Israel is a colonial state, and the only day they view as loss is Naqba, and the war of 67’ both of which resulted in land loss.
The hate runs deep among the older as well as the newer generations, and re education won’t go far in a place where radical principals have traditionally been stronger than modern worldviews.
Israels best course of action to truly establish it self as middle eastern super power and keep the power on the side of the West instead of giving it up to Iran, is to settle Gaza and turn into a militarized zone, similar to West Bank.
I don’t think Israelis want this, but I also don’t think Gazens want the PLO to govern them unless forced to in designated areas inside the big cities, with Israel controlling movement throughout.
This will ensure the rockets aren’t fired, and that events like October 7th will be impossible to execute.
Let’s face it, Israel has no way to win in the popularity contest, it’s classic Jewish history, and the 1.3 Billion muslims will shut down streets world wide and protest no matter the outcome.
Israel only won wars where land was conquered , every other war they fought wasn’t a definite win.
Additionally Israel should establish proxy’s with friendly countries and provide military training, and intelligence support. Countries like Jordan, Saudi, UAE, Azerbaijan etc. This will ensure stability, and limit Iranian influence.
In other words Israel needs to start thinking like winners instead of losers. The arabs lost multiple wars, and now cry about it to the world. Israel is not responsible for other people, only their own and their allies who share the same values.

Hi! Im a poor collage student from Sweden, meaning that i cant afford cards as even shipping is about 20$. I want to make my own proxies but i don´t have high quality card scans to use as reference. I wonder if anyone who has access to a scanner can scan one of each card type and one of each tribe for me to use. Will be infinitely grateful and can even send you some proxies once i start printing them :)

Basically the roms are still on the server and it's just the download button that is deactivated, and I found a method to still download those seemingly unavailable roms. I'm not sure if it's the easiest one but it's the one I found to be working reliably, if anyone has an easier one feel free to share.

1. Firstly, go to vimm's vault and open the page of the unavailable game you want to download
2. Now look for any other game that can still be downloaded and open it in another tab (the game doesn't matter, the only thing that matters is that it has the download button available)
3. For the sake of simplicity we will call the tab in the first step "true game" and the second one "proxy game"
4. Go to the "true game" tab and do "right-click -> inspect" on any part of the website
5. Don't worry if you don't understand this stuff, you only need to perform a search (depending on your browser there will be a bar that says "Search in HTML" or you will have to activate that search bar with Ctrl+F)
6. On that search bar input "mediaid". Keep pressing intro (this looks for the next matching result, as there will be more than one) until you find a line that reads like this: (where the XXXXX are actually a string of numbers)
7. Copy or write down that number and you can now close the "true game" tab, we won't need it anymore
8. Go to the "proxy game" tab and repeat the steps 5 and 6
9. Now instead of copying it you will replace that number by the one we already copied before from the "true game". Some browsers allow you to directly edit the values but in other browsers you will have to right click on the value and select "Edit attribute"
10. Once done you can click the download button of the "proxy game". If it all went well it will download the "true game" instead of the "proxy game"

And that's it, if you didn't understand something tell me in the comments and I will make it as clear as possible.

Issue with Accessing Home Assistant via Cloudflare Tunnel on Intel NUC

Hello everyone,
I'm facing an issue where I can't access my Home Assistant instance via a DNS URL set up through a Cloudflare tunnel. I was able to access homeassistant back when i ran the tunnel over the Cloudflared Add-On - But now Cloudflared should run on the Host machine.
Here’s the setup and problem in detail:

Setup

• Host Machine: Intel NUC running Ubuntu 22.04
• Home Assistant Environment: Running in a VirtualBox VM with a bridged network adapter.
• IP Addresses:
  • NUC: 192.168.178.2 (Static)
  • Home Assistant: 192.168.178.100 (Static)
• Cloudflare Tunnel Configuration: Configured to point assistant.infraviored.lol to http://192.168.178.100:8123.

Current Status

• Home Assistant is accessible locally via http://192.168.178.100:8123.
• The Cloudflare tunnel redirects printer.infraviored.lol to http://fritz.box successfully for testing purposes.
• Accessing Home Assistant through https://assistant.infraviored.lol results in a 400: Bad Request error.
  
• In /config/network, https://assistant.infraviored.lol/ is used as Interent Home Assistant URL
  
• Configuration.h: ``` http: use_x_forwarded_for: true trusted_proxies:
  
  • 172.30.33.0/24 ```

Questions

1. Do I need to generate HTTPS certificates specifically for Home Assistant to work with the Cloudflare tunnel?
2. Should I be adding an external URL in the Home Assistant configuration to rectify this?

Any guidance or suggestions to resolve this issue would be greatly appreciated. Thanks in advance for your help!