32f. Three past live births. Not pregnant (Regular periods and confirmed with pregnancy test). Current medications include vitamin gummies and an albuterol sulfate inhaler for asthma. Currently using the inhaler more frequently because of an attack triggered by a sinus/viral infection a week and a half ago that doesn’t seem to be clearing up and it’s hard to breathe. I will be visiting the doctor tomorrow about that specific issue. Just wanted to include in case it’s somehow relevant?
Today while I was resting on my bed, I felt flutters and kicks in my uterine area that felt exactly like when a baby is moving around in utero. I called my husband over and placed his hand there to see if he could also feel it and he could. Very familiar feeling since we have kids but we also knew that I’m not pregnant and doubly confirmed it with a test just in case.
I googled it out of curiosity and it came back with something called phantom kicks and that it’s common for women, so I just brushed it off. But an hour later they started back and they haven’t stopped since. It feels like a dance party is going on in my uterus and it won’t stop. They don’t hurt at all(versus something like period cramps or gas pain), but they’re constant and irritating, and I feel like I’m having to urinate more than usual.
I also feel a bit bloated and haven’t had much of an appetite either for the last few days, but I figured that was just because I was still getting over whatever virus I caught.

Into the 3rd week and I can feel my balls becoming a bit painful at times, I’m sure a sign of suppression. I have 25mg enclo on hand, should I go ahead and start taking while on cycle?

Even though I am in pain, it is kinda funny, so I wanted to share.
I logged in at my camp right as a nuke went off, and thought "What a great way to start the night!" So I immediately joined the event, completely forgetting that I had been crafting when I logged off. And also neglecting to check the event location. Turns out it was in the center of the blast radius. So I spawn in with a loadout not equipped for fighting, and gear not equipped for all those rads.
So I start spamming radaway just to stay alive long enough to fast travel out of there. Guess what my crafting loadout doesn't have. Starched Genes. I lost ALL of my hard earned mutations. And it didn't even mean anything because I used that prime meat event to get out free and fast, but somebody had already started it and I spawned in surrounded by enemies with no marsupial and no combat ability so I just died anyway!
And for the cherry on top, guess who spent all their caps on camp plans yesterday? That's right, me! So that rules out Modus serums.
Very big thanks the player who sold me some for cheap. Just gotta get myself a Bird Bones and Eagle Eyes now.

21M 6'3 220 lbs
Hey everyone, I've been dismissed by primary care for a while. I am thinking to see someone who might evaluate me or run blood work to screen for autoimmune problems.
These are the things that lead me to believe seeing an autoimmune specialist is a good idea:
I've been clinically diagnosed with depression. Recently diagnosed, but I've been struggling for years
Joint pain for many years. I trained heavily in combat sports for years. Docs dismissed my joint pain bc of this, but I experienced these pains before training seriously, and unproportianlly to my peers when in training.
I'm always exhausted. I can never seem to stay awake. At best, on a good day, I can focus for a few hours. I always have crashes that feel like I can't move and have to lay down, feeling sick if I sit up or in a chair, let alone study. I can't het through a movie, study, or even play video games without constantly thinking and fighting exhaustion.
I struggled with these problems even when I was in top athletic shape with a very clean diet.
I don't know if these are good reasons to see a specialist, but I'm honestly struggling to find answers.
Who do I go see, and what do I say and ask for?
Any thoughts are appreciated
Edit: grammar

Previous Posts
Grayson kept his promise and came over to talk with me. He arrived after classes for both of us were done for the day. It also meant that Cassie was home and this time, she didn’t vanish into her bedroom to give us privacy. She waited until we were both seated in the living room and Titanosaur was settled in Grayson’s lap, thereby preventing him from escaping.
Please don’t read too much into that, as I’ve said before Titanosaur has like three brain cells and will sit in literally anyone’s lap. Our landlady sent her husband over to fix the leaking faucet in the bathroom and Titan was trying to climb in his lap while the poor guy was sitting there with half his body inside of a cabinet.
Then Cassie came over, carrying a chair from the kitchen, and also seated herself with us. I glanced at Grayson. He looked dismayed, but was hiding it well in an effort to be polite. I decided to lean into my non-confrontational side and not ask her to leave.
“You’ve been acting a bit out of character lately,” I began delicately. “As a friend, I’m worried about you.”
“And I’m worried too,” Cassie added. “Maybe you don’t think of me as a friend, but you’ve been hanging out around Ashley enough that I consider you one of mine.”
Huh. I wasn’t expecting that, to be honest. I thought Cassie didn’t like him. I don’t think she was lying, either.
“Have you considered getting grief counseling?” she continued.
Straight to the point. I was glad Cassie was there. My plan was to tiptoe delicately around the subject for what probably would have been another 500 words worth of dialogue here in this post I’m writing up. Fortunately, Cassie’s willingness to address a problem directly saved me the typing and you the tedium.
“Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t,” Grayson said. “The university doesn’t know he’s gone yet.”
“Who is running this place?” Cassie asked in amazement.
I know. We’ve all been thinking it. Turns out the answer is ‘there’s a board’ and they make all the real decisions. The president is just a figurehead. Which is pretty obvious if you stop and think about it. I wanted to ask if the flickering man reported to the board but I also didn’t want to derail the conversation with things that really didn’t matter anymore. It’s safer to just assume the board is the administration I’ve been wondering about this whole time. Heck, it’s safer to assume everyone except for the students and professors are responsible in some part for the whole monster situation.
Sorry for not finding out for certain, but Grayson was working through some important stuff and I didn’t dare interrupt.
“I don’t want counseling, either,” he continued. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I never cared for him. Not in a familial sense. My presence was more to fill a role.”
Things were starting to connect in my head. This conversation reminded me of some things the flickering man had said. Roles to be filled. A cycle, ushering in new students to fill them. They’d been filling the president’s role with a corpse - a very old one, judging by the date on the photo Cassie took of the headstone - so perhaps that wasn’t the only role being filled.
“Were you adopted?” I asked. “By the president?”
“I was.”
Beside me, Cassie took a deep breath. It wasn’t from shock. It sounded more like… annoyance. If I’m being generous with the term.
“The flickering man said something to me,” I said slowly. “That I wasn’t the first person he’d seen like this and I wouldn’t be the last. Are you… not the only child that the president has adopted?”
“...I’m not.”
This is the point where Cassie just lost it. Stood up, yelled ‘why the fuck didn’t you tell us any of this?!’ and stormed out of the room. She slammed the door to her bedroom shut behind her. Grayson and I sat there in the living room for a good minute, stunned, listening to what I’m 99% certain was Cassie screaming into her pillow. Then the door opened and she returned to calmly sit down on the sofa again.
“I’m good,” she said. “All better. Please continue.”
The details of the conversation get a little fuzzy at this point, as it seems that even though the forgetter is gone I’m still having memory issues. Unfortunately Grayson was right - it wasn’t the forgetter that was responsible for my particular variety of memory loss. There’s something else trying to protect Grayson.
I suspect the tree in the graveyard. Its roots have spread all over campus, after all.
Sorry to be so blase about this but it’s not actually that upsetting anymore. It’s just this thing we’re dealing with.
It’s a good thing Cassie was present for the rest of the conversation. She filled me in on the details later, after we’d confirmed that I had some significant gaps. Grayson explained a bit more about the whole adoption thing. He didn’t know who his birth parents were. He’d never been outside of this town and basically grew up on campus. This is all kind of recapping what we already knew or guessed at, but the adoption angle was new at least. I’d assumed that his dad had died and been replaced, which he had, except it wasn’t his dad at all and Grayson’s role as the son was being replaced over and over also.
Which is all kinds of fucked up.
It also means that this has been going on for generations and I think we all know why that’s rather alarming.
“What happened to the previous adopted kids?” I asked once we’d gotten through this rather confusing summary.
“They died.”
There was a heavy silence in the room.
“How?” I asked.
“Well… one drowned. Another suffocated.” He hesitated. “This is kind of why I’m reluctant to tell people I’m the president’s son.”
“Grayson, are you worried someone will try to kill you?” Cassie asked flatly.
“...yeah. I am, actually.”
Screaming into a pillow myself was starting to look pretty tempting.
Now I’m sure you’re all thinking what I was thinking at this point. If the university was just recycling the president’s corpse and finding new children to play the role of their child for… reasons??? then perhaps that was why the flickering man was interested in me. Perhaps I was Grayson’s replacement, as many of you have theorized.
I mean, it seems pretty suspicious. Grayson’s dad is getting his soul replaced on the regular - or at least, he was. Grayson himself is a replacement for prior Graysons but I guess since they don’t need an adult, they’re just grabbing any ol’ kid to fill the role for a while. But the former Graysons keep dying because the inhumans get him? Grayson has a lot of protection on campus but he’s not immune - I’ve watched him get attacked by the steam ghost in particular.
Which leads me to my own theory. If I am a replacement, I don’t fit the mold. Perhaps that’s why the flickering man hated me so much. I’m too old (legal adult yay) and… I’m not a son.
But I wanted to confirm some things.
We wrapped up the conversation with Grayson because we were running out of mental capacity to ask more questions. He was clearly uncomfortable and there was a lot to process. He did promise to not be so difficult about this in the future. He wasn’t really grieving. He was just… uncertain. He didn’t know what to do anymore. Which is fair. When you’re raised to fill a role and suddenly that role is gone it’s hard to adjust.
I know what that feels like.
After Grayson left I messaged Maria asking if she knew anyone that was good with a camera. Like, really good. And also good in high stress situations. She got back to me pretty quickly. Maria is starting to become one of those people who knows everyone. She’s heading firmly down the road of becoming the subject of one of those unhinged tumblr posts where someone magically summons an army of people to fulfill a task, while she stays on the sidelines quietly directing the ever-increasing chaos.
Fortunately, she’s not there quite yet, but she is freakishly well-connected for a campus of this size. Within an hour she had me in a group chat with someone from the Folklore Society who fit all my requirements, even the unspoken ones. Someone that was good with a camera in “hostile circumstances” (her words, very accurate) and wouldn’t cut and run the moment things got a little weird. I think you all see where I was going with this.
Yeah, we were going to get photos of something inhuman.
DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME.
For starters, it’s not safe just getting close to an inhuman to photograph it. And once you do, that opens a whole new set of hazards. If the inhuman takes offense to being photographed, then they’re going to do anything they have to to get the photo destroyed and all rules are off the table when it comes to disguising their existence. Think of it like this - an inhuman might not be able to enter a house due to hospitality rules keeping them out, but this is weighed against their need to keep their presence obscured. The latter wins. Hospitality rules are no longer enough protection.
That’s my understanding, at least.
And sure, there are inhumans that don’t seem to care if a photo or two are leaked to the internet, but you have no way of knowing in advance. Let’s say you get lucky and nothing comes after you to destroy the phone/camera, computer, your social media accounts, and you. You’re not quite off the hook. That photo is a connection to the inhuman and if the creature captured in it doesn’t use it as an access point, something else might.
Photos are just a bad idea all around.
So we agreed that if we were going to go ahead with this stupid plan, we’d do so with as many safety measures as we could. First, the person taking the photo would be fully informed on the potential consequences. I was hoping that they could just teach Maria or I how to use a camera, but considering they were in the inner circle Folklore Society (what I’m calling the folks that know the monsters aren’t just stories) they wanted to come in person. I tried to talk them out of it, they finally made a snarky comment about if I wanted them to sign a waiver, and I dropped the topic.
Secondly, we were going to destroy both the photo and the camera afterwards. I got online and ordered the cheapest digital camera I could find. It was a camera designed for young children so it was pastel pink with teddy bears on it, but whatever, it was digital and didn’t cost over $30. The money from my job at the dining hall has helped with the finances but I didn’t particularly feel like lighting it on fire.
Especially since we planned to literally light the camera on fire when we were done. I wasn’t looking forward to the smell of burning plastic but fire is both a thorough and symbolically traditional way to dispose of things. Like I said, we were trying to do this as safely as we could.
The camera arrived the next day so we decided to go ahead with our plan that evening. Cassie would stay home because we felt having too many people might be a hindrance if we had to bail out. Also, she had “digital date night” with her girlfriend and I didn’t want to interfere.
Then we found a discreet entrance to the steam tunnels.
I wanted a photograph of the steam ghost. It had a face. I wanted to see what that face looked like.
I’d scouted out the steam tunnel entrances beforehand, while waiting for the burner (lol) camera to arrive. Last time I’d looked inside, they were clogged with roots. However, if the roots were originating from the graveyard, then perhaps the parts of campus that were farthest away would be clear enough to traverse. I got lucky and found an entrance inside of one of the dorms that’s out by the parking lot. The lobby is open and from there it’s easy enough to just coast into the stairwell behind someone with a keycard and then down into the basement. There were roots, but they hung from the ceiling as slender tendrils that brushed the top of my head like the faint touch of a moth. I didn’t go far inside. Just enough to confirm it didn’t get any worse and we had a long corridor free of obstruction.
When I came back, I had Maria and the photographer with me.
His name is Jacob and he’s a sophomore. He joined the Folklore Society because he realized he wasn’t making any attempts to be social, at college of all places, and picked a club that seemed like it would be small so he didn’t have to deal with crowds. Large groups of people intimidated him. I can certainly relate to that.
I feel bad for him. Imagine getting caught up in all this bullshit just because you had trouble making friends.
It also occurred to me that this photography excursion was also part of his attempt to make friends, because that’s what landed him in the group that had to hide from the thing in the hallway. Whatever. Maria can deal with that. She’s the extrovert.
“Let’s not forget the plan,” I said nervously as we gathered outside the door. “We get in. We get the photo. We run like hell back out the door.”
I’m happy to say that the plan worked. Every step. Swear to god.
We were about halfway to where the tunnel turned when the steam started to rise out of the ground around us. It seeped through the walls, filling our lungs and making it hard to breathe. The usual. We turned back at that point, as we wanted to be close to the exit so we could snap the photo and run once the steam ghost showed up.
The nice thing about inhumans is that they can be predictable. They have set rules they follow and so long as you follow the prescribed pattern of behavior, you know what to expect. This allows you to plan, as I’d done. So when we loitered within sprinting distance of the door, the steam ghost obliged to show up and chase us off.
Just as expected. And Jacob was ready with our pastel pink camera, so that when its face materialized out of the steam, mouth open in a silent scream and its misty hands stretched towards us, he was able to snap a photo.
Then we ran and reached the door before it caught up.
See? Exactly as planned.
There’s one more rule we learned about though. One that I’d forgotten to factor in for this crucial moment.
The doors in the steam tunnels don’t always open to the same place.
We tumbled through without thinking. I, pulling up the rear, had a moment of hesitation when I saw nothing but darkness ahead of me, but it was too late, I was in a full sprint and besides, Maria had already stumbled through the doorway. I slammed into Jacob’s back, propelling him the few steps he needed to be past the doorway, and then we were all through and the door slammed shut behind us.
The air was warm and damp. The steam tunnels, while warm, aren’t damp unless the steam ghost is present. This felt like being inside of a sauna. I could feel water beads forming on my arms, clinging to the hairs that were currently standing on end in alarm. There was a faint breeze coming from ahead of us, a slowly rhythmic flow to it like a fan. It did nothing to alleviate the heat. If anything, it was even warmer.
Maria turned her phone’s flashlight on.
We were in a corridor, much the same size as the tunnel we’d just escaped. The walls glistened with moisture, shining with the gray-pink color of rotting beef. There were no sharp angles, just a round passageway that vanished into darkness at the edge of Maria’s flashlight beam. The floor beneath our feet was slightly squishy.
And it was full of teeth.
Honestly I think I would have preferred sharp teeth, like an animal’s fangs or something out of science fiction. Instead, we got human incisors, circling the entirety of the tunnel in regular intervals.
The tunnel rippled. There was a faint gurgling sound, like the rumbling of a stomach twisting in hunger. And those rows of teeth began to tighten as the tunnel constricted around us.
“STEAM GHOST,” Maria yelled. “I CHOOSE THE STEAM GHOST.”
And she threw the door behind us open and dove back into the tunnel. Jacob grabbed my arm and dragged me along with him, as I was frozen in fear, staring at all those glistening ivory teeth. I stumbled over the doorframe and fell forwards, hitting the cement floor hard on all fours. I heard the door slam shut behind me. Frantically, I looked up at the tunnel.
No ghost. But the steam was still there, hanging heavy in the air and filling my lungs. The ghost would be back. I was certain of that.
“What now?!” Jacob asked, his earlier calm quickly giving way to panic.
“Try the door again!” I said, scrambling to my feet. “It changes!”
Maria spun around and opened the door a sliver for the second time, just enough to peer through the crack and confirm what was on the other side.
“FUCK.”
Then she slammed it shut. Opened it. Another burst of profanity, slightly more panicked than the last explicative. Meanwhile, Jacob and I cowered at her back, staring at the steam that hung thick in the air all around us, waiting to see if it was going to reform into a malevolent spirit while Maria played Russian roulette with the door.
She did this five times before she finally got the dorm we’d entered through.
Flushed and panting, we stumbled through and Jacob kicked the door to the steam tunnels shut with a determined flourish. There. We’d done it. As I’d said, our plan went perfectly. We got the photo and ran like hell to the door.
Didn’t plan on what happened after we went through the door. This is my lack of attention to detail coming into play, which is probably what also made me a shitty barista.
We crowded around Jacob to see the photo he got. This is why we recruited someone with actual photography skills. He was able to use a truly shitty camera intended for toddlers to somehow focus on a literal ghost’s face in the handful of seconds we had before it reached us, all while not panicking.
Staring at us from the tiny screen was a person’s face. Not a face made of steam. An actual flesh and blood human face. The rest of the shot was obscured by steam, framing it so that all we could see was this disembodied human face staring out at us from the camera’s digital screen. The expression was placid, the eyes hollow and devoid of emotion.
I’d seen this look before, on the library ghost. This distant stare of something that wasn’t wholly here.
“That is… really creepy,” Jacob said.
“We just escaped a hallway full of teeth and this is what you find creepy?” I said.
“No, that was creepy too. I can be terrified by multiple things at once.”
We all stared at the photo for a good few minutes, trying to commit the face to memory because we were not going to retain any copies of it. Then Jacob deleted the photo, handed me the camera, and we awkwardly went our separate ways.
I got out my phone as soon as we’d all walked off. My theory was looking plausible, but there was one more thing I could do to confirm I was on the right track.
I texted Grayson. I asked him if the children before him, the ones the president adopted, were all male.
They were.
The library ghost. The stabbed student. And now… the steam ghost.
All former students. All male. All trapped on campus after their deaths.
And for at least two of them, they seemed to have something against Grayson.
They don’t like Grayson because he replaced them.

So basically at this point I feel I have tried everything and I’m at a rock bottom beeen edging for so long now that erections are beggining to get painful have been indulging in porn for self pleasure and letting it consume me to the point of no longer waking up with a erection and at my age that unacceptable. My social life is lacking and at this point I think that no fap+ exercise primarily cardio and legs exercises, I have been edging for a long time and can sometimes get 8-9hr sessions in which I know sounds crazy but like legit I can do this sometimes on benders like 2-3 nights in a row and then other nights soley use my pocket pu**y . But back on topic yes I’m fine on edging for awhile as I feel I have overdone it to a point where my penis is sore and feel “hard” when flaccid. My PC muscle feels so strong it insane so now I am primarily focusing on reverse kegals to strengthen the opposite side of the pc muscle (tighten and pushing out) so doing those exercises help me and then focusing on breath work and how that ties into thrust work. I also have PYT cream which works very well for numbing as opposed to and lidocaine wipes I have tried in the past. I have tried and have a 3 month supply of dopexotine or however you spell it but not a fan of ssris so kind of given up on that route. Besides Kratom which works for me but being that I am a addict I don’t like to rely on substances to have sex and then for me it’s going to be focusing on only releasing my nut if it’s at the expense of a female because it’s out of hand 😂😂

 The necropolis was gorgeous, for what it was. Its white outer walls hiding the darker Victorian Gothic interior. The tech that was hidden in the walls though was able to move bodies in their caskets from a designated place in the necropolis to the "viewing area" as the necropolians called it. This was where I waited for my, for lack of a better term, escort to take me to the mortuary. Since science has grown surprisingly fast our abilities for forensic sciences have also grown, and that's to whom I was headed. (S)He was an, unusual (wo)man to say the least. An expert in their field and about as learned as a doctor, if not multi-doctorate. If you ever asked them why they never pursued an actual doctorate, they would get angry and act all prissy while saying that going to school would've slowed them down and all they needed were the basic certificates for their work. The reality though, revealed to me during a drunken bout, they just never liked school and believed that it ultimately stunted a person's growth and ability to question the reality around them, that everything that you need to learn is already in books and in some form or another in digital content online. They were brilliant, if a little wacky. About five minutes after I had arrived and was sitting down in the viewing area, a little box rolled up to me making a couple of beeps to let me know to follow it and immediately started rolling towards the wall opposite of where it came from. When it looked like it was about to hit the wall, a hidden door opened up by the casket viewer, inside was a set of stairs leading down into the darkness. Stepping through the doorway I became acutely aware of sounds seemingly coming from all around me suddenly. It really is impressive, as though I just stepped from a tomb to a busy workshop, the sounds of gas escaping pistons, whirring, and clanking chains flooded my ears. I continued down the stairs following my helpful little box, which despite its size and shape would suggest was actually quite nimble on the stairs. It seemed to have wheels that would extend down to the next step as the edge rolled over it and once the back of the box was clear of the step it would drop back into its squat position, hiding its wheels as quickly as possible. It continued to do so the entire way. The box seemed to notice me watching it and made a kinda shrill whistle and its undercarriage light went from a comfortable yellow to a, is that... Peach? Is it blushing? My god I think it is! I let out a small chuckle and my little blushing box stopped dead in its tracks mid-step, its light suddenly going white, almost blinding me from behind and lighting up the hallway for a split second. Luckily both of my feet were solidly on a step so I didn't take a tumble or anything, but I couldn't help doing anything but laughing harder. 

After a second the little box crept up behind me and continued down, its status light continuing to show pinkish. I followed it slowly, the chuckle slowly dying in my throat as we reached Ceriths office. Well "office" was being nice. Morgue, mortuary, both of these fit just as well. Cerith was, for the most part, a recluse. We reached the door and the little robot continued through a little hole in the wall. I waited a second and knocked. "Enter!" Came the voice on the other side. I opened the door and stepped through. Along one wall set doors that normally housed the dead waiting to be processed. One out of dozens were open, its occupant missing from its silver slab. The middle of the room was brightly lit from a single overhead light. In the middle of the circle of light stood a figure, long Raven colored hair bound in a single braided ponytail, the rest of them bound in medical examination garb. They seemed to be engrossed in the corpse in front of them. The little robot rolled up next to Ceriths feet and made a little chiming noise. "Thank you Tabitha. That'll be all," said a voice that was neither male nor female from beneath the mask. Just sort of in the middle. "Tabitha? Never knew you to be sentimental," I said gently, the chuckle in my voice making itself clear. "I see you still find even the darkest things funny," Cerith quipped back. "My line of work Cer, you take the laughs where you get them. Look who's talking anyway, you're usually elbows deep inside someone 25/8. Even you have a seriously fucked up sense of humor." That got Cerith laughing, sounding like thunder and the whip crack of lightning at the same time. "You've got me there Julius," Cerith said after his laughter subsided. I think he suits him today. Which is both a good and bad sign. When Cerith is acting like a man, it usually means some grim news, but they are going to try to make it seem like not a big deal and laugh a lot. Plus they almost never call me Julius. Something was wrong. Very seriously wrong. As this realization hit me I got this odd tingle in the small of my back. Like someone had put several freezing needles under the skin and into my spine, something I'm familiar with from the anima-games from the cyber sphere. Halos: Divine Retribution If I remember right. Those Angels were sadistic bastards. I shuddered at both the memories from the game and the shockingly similar feeling I was experiencing. Dread, that feeling is dread my friend, the quiet part of my mind whispered to me. "Cer, what's wrong bud," I asked. He didn't say anything. For a long time. After a few minutes I was about to ask again, but then he spoke. And what came out will haunt me, quite possibly till the day I die. "This ones temporal lobes are gray matter. Nothing even close to being coherent. Just. Dead neurons. And he's not the first." Gone was the jovialness of the past ten minutes. This was Cerith the whisperer. In an almost dead tone they continued, "the others didn't fare nearly as well as this one. Most of the brain is intact here, which means that if they didn't deliver a massive shock or something similar to fully kill him he would have possibly lived as a vegetable with memory issues, but that's not what I'm looking for in this one here now. Now I'm trying to figure out what else the others had in common with him, and so far that's brought up all but naught. Well this one has a bit of liver damage. But that's about it. So Mr John was a drinker. Not much there." When Cerith is "whispering" the best thing to do is just let him be. But I couldn't help but prick my ears up at mentions of others with similar wounds, and the fact that this one had liver issues.... "Cer. You said... CERITH," I finally snapped out and caught his attention mid ramble. "Thank you. You said liver problems. But nothing similar to the others? No drugs? Alcohol? Not even a synth brain-pattern? You checked Everything?" "Well let's see, John here was a drinker that's for sure," Cerith said his hands never ceasing their work as he started to put 'John' back together seemingly satisfied that he found nothing else, " Mr Lombardo in chest 3 had cocaine mostly, and Mr Lei in chest 9 had opium. Although to tell you where it came from for both I'd have to do a molecular analysis and see what it compares to. Other than that, no. Absolutely nothing connecting any of them. As far as I can tell they are all unique cases completely separate from each other except for the damages to the brain. And I only found this by accident. During a routine scan I happened to look at the screen as it passed through the brain and noticed an odd density in his temporal lobes. Just slightly higher than normal. Hell to be honest with you it had the density of a fresh cutie, you know those little oranges?" I nodded, and he continued, "Right of course you do, who hasn't? Anyways it's just super dense compared to the surrounding tissues, and I take a sliver probe and drop it in like you do. And when I turn the damn thing on to look at the neurons the area all I see are dead cells packed on top of one another. Not natural decay death, but forced to die. Most of the cell walls were torn open like they had blown up from the INSIDE. That's when I called you." He finished up with 'John' putting the final few perfect stitches in place and sealing him up for good. Once he seemed happy with his work he called out to his seemingly empty morgue, "Grom I'm done! Can you put Mr John Doe here back in his room? Number 11 if you please." He turned away from the body on the table and removed the giant rubber gloves that went to his elbows. He walked into the dark calling out over his shoulder, "I'll be back in a sec I gotta scrub out, want a drink? I have beer, whiskey, vodka, I might have some Cognac somewhere, and bourbon. Your choice, just call out what you want and Tabitha will be there with it. Also have a seat! We have much to discuss." With that he disappeared from both sight and sound in the dark. It was a neat trick I have to admit, and it had something to do with how he had his morgue set up. Even the giant war machine that was Grom was absolutely quiet unless you managed to catch him through the gloom. I thought for the longest time the reason why I could never catch him sneaking around was from some sort of stealth program put into place, but when he goes up and down those stairs he's as loud as can be. So it was definitely not his program but the way the morgue was built. I'm confident in saying that because when I turned back to look at the table, or rather where it was, there was now a chair that looked like it had just grown out of the floor and the body was gone. Also the thought of something as big as a fridge just sneaking up on some poor combatants and snapping their necks as quietly as he walks in the morgue just gives me the heebies. As I sat in the chair a thought occurred to me. Considering how advanced the morgue seemed to be it would make sense that it had some sort of AI or integrated computer. "Computer?" I had been here a million times but I'd never had a chance to think about it nor try anything. But not even a second after I had said anything a response came. "Yes Detective Julius. My name is DANNA. Or Dynamically Actualized Neural Net AI. How can I be of service?" The voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, slightly feminine and breathy, all service but no sex. Honestly I was just surprised that it worked. "DANNA, I was just wondering if I could take a look at the files that Cerith had mentioned? If it is as bad as they claim I think I might need to know anyway. Also if you can get those blood works done for me I'd appreciate it. Also something with whiskey or rum would be amazing." "Of course Detective. I will have Tabitha bring it shortly. And how would you like the information to be displayed? Desktop or dynamic?" That piqued my interest. "Dynamic please." No sooner than I had said a series of screens blinked into existence in front of me. It was some sort of Holographic display. I reached out and touched the display and was surprised that I got stopped by something. It was hard but surprisingly I found that I could push into the screen with my finger if I pushed hard enough. It kinda felt like... Oobleck. I also found that by pinching the corner I could pull the screens closer or further from me. I even found that I could grab individual pages of the reports off the screen and hold it. It felt like a thin sheet of plastic and responded like both a tablet and a singular document. If I switched pages the old one would appear back onto the screen and the next would pop onto it. This was about as slick a set up as I had ever seen and whistled my appreciation under my breath, I'm definitely going to have to ask Cerith about where they got DANNA from. "See something you like, big boy?" A very DEFINITELY female voice said in my ear from behind, soft and throaty, screaming come hither. I felt small dainty hands gently caress the tops of my shoulders before slipping down the front of my chest, pulling me back into the chair that I didn't realize I had been slouching in. "You know better than that, Jules. Your back is important and slouching will destroy the muscles and cause some to atrophy." The voice left no room for argument, and left me more than a little bit flushed. I closed my eyes and dropped my head back as far as it would go, the back of my head hitting something soft and warm, stretching my neck and back out. "Damnit Cer I thought you were scrubbing out, not completely changing." I hadn't realized it, but at least an hour had passed from when I started playing with the computer and working with the files if the clock on the computer was to be believed. "You looked like you were pretty into it so I decided not to disturb you. Plus you know how much fun it is for me to tease you like this. Especially after, well these..." One hand waved at the screens in front of me. The small hands' nails were painted the darkest black and almost made them blend into the void that existed outside of the screens. "I do Cer, and that's part of the problem, we both know that it's never going to happen. Least of all for you." She laughed a little, a clear beautiful sound and the body beneath my head bounced slightly telling me I was against her stomach. "Still I know you enjoy these little moments," she said, the pressure on the back of my head disappearing and was replaced by the voice right by my ear again as she whispered, "especially when we both know that's not at all true." At the last words she nibbled my ear gently. I couldn't help but roll my eyes at her, in spite of my baser instinct rising to meet her VERY juicy insinuations. But for as long as I've known Cerith and as many times as we have both been VERY drunk, they have NEVER cashed in. I just assumed that it was a quirk of theirs. "Anyways," she said standing back up, "what are you thinking so far about the files? Spooky, right? Like I said, nothing that I can see connects them." Her hands gestured in front of me in an approximation of a shrug. She then clasped them together, wringing the knuckles and effectively trapping me in the chair and back against her abdomen. I scrubbed my eyes with my fingertips acutely aware of the growing headache that suddenly made itself known. "Your right from the medical side. I can't see everything you can, of course. I don't have near the knowledge that you have," which is true being that Cerith is at least 200 years old. I never asked directly, the old adage still holding about women and their age. Still though her answers to certain questions would lead one to believe her being her first adult car was a Bing Cherry 2201 Firebird GT with white walled hover trim and chrome accents. From pictures that I could find it looked like a slick piece. Looking back to the screens I couldn't help but feel that itch again. I couldn't explain it. That prickly feeling of ice needles again, this time in the back of my skull. As much as I'd hate to admit it. I think Cerith is right. I sighed heavily before saying "send me everything. I'll open a new case file and have the team start working on it first thing." She made a happy noise and bounced slightly, clearly satisfied with my decision to take it on. I reached out and to my left and a glass was placed gently into my hand by Tabitha. I hadn't even realized she had come over while I was working and was now ready for that drink. Room temperature rum and cola. The drink went down smoothly enough considering I drained the glass in one gulp, during which time I finally got a good eyeful of Ceriths current form. Or rather the underside of part of it. From what I could tell she was wearing a black T-shirt. That was it. I put the glass back down, it's job done without moving my head and said, "What a lovely view Cerith. I'm guessing you chose this to try to get a rise out of me?" I couldn't lie though it was affecting me, but I couldn't let her know that. Not when she's like this. Otherwise she'll continue to tease me till she leaves me with the absolute worst case of blue balls this side of the City. Her hands came up and cupped my chin almost lovingly, and her voice said "Of course Detective. Do you not approve? Or would you rather I change back to my medical examination form? Or something else?" Her words dripped with implied sex. I groaned, loudly, and said, "This is fine. Jesus Cer." Before we could continue our most scintillating of conversations there was a sudden PING! And DANNA said, "I'm sorry to interrupt, but there's a message for you Cerith. It says 'If you can get to the department Cerith, do so. We need you to explain your paperwork. And if Detective Julius is still with you have him come in too.' signed the Chief. Would you like to reply?" 'Shit, I forgot the morgue kills all signals,' I thought to myself as I stood up gently (regretfully) prying myself from Ceriths grasp with a, "duty calls. Need a lift?" I stretched gently, the scales in between my shoulders clicking appreciatively for the stretch, and turned around to notice she was indeed, just wearing a black T-shirt that hugged her voluptuous figure closely. The scales in my back clicked shut in surprise. Cerith let out a small cute chuckle, "I see after all this time I can still surprise you," she said blowing a kiss my way, reminding me of a little Gothic pixy. I rolled my eyes away from her and willed my scales to relax. I grabbed my jacket off the back of the chair, slinging it on and clicking the neck clasp shut under the cord that connected my scales to the unit in my head. I was awarded the cybernetics upon completing my training and getting all my licenses to have them. The force had allowed me to customize it, I had chosen top of the line. A dual unit with custom built AI. The individual scales were ceracoated titanium microprocessors all running in both series and parallel, and could move to expel heat or react. The main unit was the same except it was one solid unit that replaced a chunk of skull. Once that was done I zipped up the front of the leathers and ran the scales through the racer setting. They clicked and flattened against the outside of the jacket, securing it to my back. I shrugged making sure it was comfortable. "I'll take the fact that you're only in a t-shirt you'll be along shortly?" "Certainly detective." Her voice was filled with dismissive submission... And sadness? I looked back at her and noticed her makeup was gone. Or had she had any on in the first place? I gave myself a mental shake. There's no way. This was Cerith, veritable goddess of the necropolis. I put the last few minutes away for review later. Chief called. I have to go. On an instinct I thought long dead, I reached out and squeezed her hand. I felt a slight squeeze back. And then she let go with a, "Go on, be a good detective. I'll be along shortly." I left with Tabitha as my guide. Before Cerith disappeared into the darkness I thought I heard her whisper, "please don't leave." My scales raised in a saddened response. I couldn't be sure I heard her right though. If I heard her at all. I reached back and stroked them, knowing my ai probably heard her, and knowing it could feel me touch the scales. After a few seconds the scales settled down. 'I know buddy,' I thought to the AI. It couldn't respond like usual AI. The force thought that was too dangerous. What if it went rogue? What if it tried to kill the host and take over? The list went on and eventually they decided the basics were ok. When I got my unit one of the first things I did was jack it into a diagnostic to see what kind of hardware I was dealing with exactly because manufacturer specs from real use are sometimes different with AI if the bits and bobs are in place. When I did, all I got on the screen was 'Hello?'

So, guys, my stepmom is such a pain in the ass. If I accidentally make even the most minor mistake, she’s all over my ass about it. Like, one time I was just getting a sandwich out of the fridge, but she must’ve had similar looking ones in there too, so i guess I grabbed hers, she came in yelling at me, asking why I was touching her stuff . And just today, I overheard her talking crap about me to someone on the phone. Then, to top it all off, her clothes had been in the dryer for like 7 hours, and since mine were still in the washer wet, I decided to be the bigger person and take hers out and put them on top of the washer. But, would you believe it, my dad starts cursing me out for doing that. Like, damn, am I the bad person?

Hi guys I have two boys one just turning 2 and the other 5. The 5 year old has always been a handful and now with the 2 year old starting to really talk, be assertive, in the mix etc it seems like the 5 year old is very jealous. We’ve tried giving him lots of one on one time, read a lot of books about connecting with his pain but putting up boundaries about the way people should be treated. Anyways today the report from school was like the worst ever: pulling pants down of other kids, hitting a teacher and throwing a plate of food. He’s clearly really angry. But when I try to probe why I don’t get much I can grab on to. We ask him often why. Here’s my question: if my idea that he is seeking attention because his brother is sucking it out of the room by misbehaving, what is an effective strategy to respond? If I ignore him and ice him out I’m abandoning him in a moment of need. If I ratchet up the one on one time etc it feels like rewarding bad behavior and also even when we do that it doesn’t seem to help. Any ideas? Thank you so much.

Demographics: Rising senior, Indian, Female, East Coast. Super competitive school, 13 got into Penn, 8 into Cornell, 5ish into Georgetown, etc.
Intended Major(s): BS/DMD (early assurance dental school) programs at schools that offer. Otherwise, biochemistry/biology.
SAT: 1550 (750 EBRW, 800 Math)
UW/W GPA and Rank: UW is 3.91/4, W is 6.88/7, rank about 20 something (because we have 17 valedictorians 😒)
Coursework:

• Completed so far: AP Seminar, APUSH, AP Bio, AP Psych, APES, AP Lang, AP Research
• Senior Year: AP Chem, AP Lit, AP Calc BC (my school doesn't have AB), AP Stats, AP Macro + Micro, Human Anatomy Honors

Extracurriculars (kind of vague so I don't doxx myself):

• Extern at a dental practice nearby - very hands on, I suction and such during procedures ranging from basic prophys to complex extractions or root canals - about 300 hours
• Research assistant at state uni's school of dentistry, working on a project dealing with constructive oral surgery and materials to be used - in the publishing process to top dental journals
• Research intern at local university, project on ALL growth using mice models
• Candidate for Leukemia Lymphoma Society's Student Visionaries of the Year Comp., raised over 38K in a 7 week period to go towards cancer research
• Leading a social-media based health-related (can't say specific topic bc of doxxing but it is a very niche topic and is helping fulfill a gap by reducing stigma) awareness campaign
• Wrote a review paper on cervical cancer and how it affects South Asian women specifically - in one of the final reviewing processes by The Lancet!
• Founder + Co-Pres of Operation Smile at my school (club focusing on cleft palates and helping kids with them in underprivileged countries)
• President of Biology Club (anticipating, not out yet - if I don't get it then I'll speak about being Vice President of Science National Honors Society)
• Job at Kumon for the past 4 years, work as the lead center assistant
• President of Indian Club, leading over 100 members in order to choreograph a 8 min dance for the school's International Day event as well as coordinating various cultural activities throughout the year

Essays/LORs: Definitely going to ask the dentist who owns the practice I extern at - she knows me super well, has been the one who sparked an interest in dentistry for me, and I also tutor her kids (11/10). In school, my math teacher (should be 10/10, we are quite literally best friends) and AP Bio teacher (8/10 - she likes my work and labs and uses them as examples, I just haven't participated the most in her class)
Other: The only thing keeping my GPA from being a perfect 4.0 is that I got 2 Bs in my freshman year (an 88 and an 87) in English and History. However, I've shown an upward trend, ending with all As for my sophomore and junior years, and my English grade improving up to a 99 final grade this year. So I hope it's not that much of a bad look?
Schools I'm Applying To: UPenn 7 Year BA/DMD (ED), Cornell, Barnard, Harvard for fun, UMich, NYU 7 Year BA/DMD, Case Western 7 Year BS/DMD, Boston University 8 Year BA/DMD, Tufts 8 Year BA/DMD, Carnegie Mellon, UNC Chapel Hill, Georgetown, and then some local safeties.

most of the time i can find humor in the guaranteed pop/snap/crack/grind from joint movement. but does it get overwhelming and crushing sometimes. it sounds like gravel has been left in my joints. half the time i crack/pop I wonder, “I didn’t even know that could do that/move that way.” My wrists are the top culprits. No matter how I move them, my wrist bones will crackle. Very ew but I’m used to it. This is just my life and the cracking sounds are the least of my upsets.
undiagnosed, chronic joint/muscle pain 3ish years, starting to look more into cfs/cirs as cause or irritant to my pains.
peace on planet earth to all as well as minimal cracking

Disclaimer: Before I write anything else, I’m not trying to be a “dOoMEr” or a hater or whatever.
This team may win this series, they may even win the whole playoffs, who knows. All I know is that watching this team since 2021, I always watch other teams in the playoffs with players who are able to consistently hit layups, fadeaway twos, or even sometimes threes, especially in clutch time.
It’s just so painful watching this team because even if they win it all, they just feel so un-clutch. Why do I have zero faith in any of these guys to hit any shot under five minutes left in a game?
I think that’s why Derrick White is so beloved by the fans, he always feels so sure fire to hit important shots, but ever since the Miami series even he has been super unreliable.
Forgive me for crossing my sports comparisons but watching this team feels like watching the anti Tom Brady. When you watched Tom Brady on the pats, as long as he had the ball in his hands you just knew the game was never truly over. He always made the right decision was just so reliable to make a play when the team needed it most. These Celtics feel like the complete opposite where I almost expect this team to play its worst basketball in the minutes that matter most.
Maybe we win despite this, I sure hope so, but it really is just befuddling and frustrating. So I guess my question is this. I just recently started watching the Celtics in the last couple years. What was it like watching the other winning teams? Were they the same way?

I'm sure that title sounds a little melodramatic but I'll try to make a fairly succinct point to go with the sentiment.
I have spent so much time on earth waiting for something to happen to me. I think we all subconsciously think in our heads, one day, maybe with a little effort and good intentions, our life will come out alright. Nice and clean. Our life will finally be ready to be lived like a story, with a linear progression, everything falling into its place, eventually.
Of course anyone reading this that has been through any heartache in life knows that there is no beginning, middle and end. There are babies born every minute with decisions already made for them. There are good people dying every day who were perfectly decent if not understandably flawed, who had their life taken for no reason, suddenly. If they were lucky, they never saw it coming. Just like my brother, who died a month ago from an accidental overdose in a bathtub. He went to take a bath, made a wrong choice and.. that was that.
I don't know why I'm writing this. There's a lot of things happening in my life right now, but I know there's someone out there with this mindset I'm getting ready to address and I believe it may help some of you, who are as stubborn and set in their ways as I am, to come loose from the idea you hold so tight to and try and learn, along with me, how to take each minute as it passes.
Every word you've read this far is in the past. You can go back and reread it, but it's already there casting shadows in your subconscious. Every day you live, you're expecting something new to happen, if you're not expecting novelty, you may be expecting the same comforts or sorrows you face all the time. I want to say to you now: There is nothing you know or see, or will know or have seen, that will set itself in stone before the heavy hand of time erodes your expectations back down to the bedrock.
There's a human right now, lying in a soggy sleeping bag under a bridge, thinking about a women he loved years ago and to be antithetical, there's a human lying in a king sized bed in one of his many bedrooms, thinking of nothing or plagued by symptoms of the same thing the man under the bridge is plagued with.. Life, in all its thievery and abundance, is being placed in front of you one block at a time, measured in moments. What does it take for a person to be happy?
"There are some mistakes too monstrous for remorse to tamper or to dally with" - Edward Arlington Robinson
If you have ever made a mistake or a choice in your life that you regret and all that regret does is cause more pain to bubble up and faster inside you to come out as more poor choices, do away with your regret and start making new, better choices.
Imagine being in a blank room. A prison cell. A place with only your memories and nothing new but tye indents in the concrete walls to show you any more newness, until eventually even the walls are mapped in your mind, every contrasting bubble or imperfections. Pardeolia creating warped faces at you, mocking you from inside your evolved simian brain. At one time in your evolutionary journey, you needed those instincts, to see threats in the darkness, but now we have shines a light on all things, and hidden the things we deem uncomfortable. Now, we sit in a prison of choices, but not choices for life. Choices for moments. What kind of food do you want, what color shirt will you wear, what movie will you watch?
We were not meant to live lives like this, but we have no choice anymore. Society is a runaway vehicle, with nothing to crash into, forever building tension and suspense. That's why some many of us are so nervous and uncomfortable here. There's danger, but it isn't coming from the darkness anymore. It's not predation or a scourge or a war, at least not for the Americans. Not just now.
I'm begging anyone who is having a hard time.. Anyone who has made true mistakes and regretsbtjose mistakes. Anyone who feels like it's hopeless, just keep doing anything. I don't care what it is. Try and make it something nice and useful. Be kind. THINK about what you're doing. You and your girlfriend are arguing? Find some way to make it okay andbif it can't be okay, be okay with the idea that it isn't okay and turn your mind to the next thing. Are you waiting on life changing news? A diagnosis? A prison sentence? Something awful? Something great? It will be there, when it gets there. For now, there are sights and sounds that you cannot predict, coming for you at all angles. Appreciate that. Embrace whatever this is and be at peace with it. I don't care what you believe, you cannot tell me you know anything for sure. I know that I will learn and cry and be surprised and not so surprised until the day I leave this world. I watch my son and my parents learn about life at the same pace. There is no learning curve, except for perspective.
I wrote all this and doubt it will be read by many and it doesn't mean anything really..
I wanted to take some of my precious time to tell you, whoever you are, that you are going to be okay. Whether you are well-off, happy, miserable, terminally I'll or just browsing your phone. One day, something bad will happen. One day something good will happen. One day, you will struggle to understand. One day, you will stand in the midst of all knowing.
I am not preaching so much as I am imploring you, admittedly rambling a bit, to take your life as it comes. When you feel you are at the worst points in life, just keep going. It will end eventually and you'll be okay then as well. Hug your family. Love each other. If you make a mistake, try to make it right, but if you can't, move on with better goals. Make this world better than it is, because we all have to live in it.
That's all I wanted to vomit out at the moment. I love you for being human. Know who you are and accept it. Don't run. There's absolutely nowhere to go. Just ride it out until there's a sudden and heavenly release of your tension. One day, you'll have to let go. Start practicing for that moment. Believe me, there's plenty of practice.
Be well. ❤️

Hello Snap community. My name's Qinalo. If you've known me before, whether through reddit, KM's Discord, or the Snap Discord, you should know me most for one of 2 things -

1. I've played Hela since season 13 last June with a 63+% winrate each season
2. I am a Domino-truther

And these 2 things are related. You see, my favorite card in Snap is Jubilee. I play Hela because Hela is a deck that plays Jubilee. And I am a Domino-truther because my favorite card is Jubilee.
If I'm being honest, I often don't like being a Domino-truther. You can't be a Domino-truther if you are thin-skinned and bad at maths like KMBest (KMBest said himself that he can't do the Domino math on his podcast with Lamby). I have gotten into so many online debates over Domino in the past 10 months, at some point you get sick of it. Saying that Domino is a good card in some decks is one of those unpopular opinions that seem to trigger many in our community. But I guess that's the funny thing about being a truther - once you've had your moment on the way to Damascus, it's a cross you have to bear. Because truth can't be denied. There are FOUR LIGHTS!
When I started playing Domino, America Chavez was still 6/9 with her old ability. At the time, I played Domino in an Iron Lad deck with Jubilee, my favorite card. Then, when Loki came out, I played Domino in a deck with Loki, Iron Lad and Jubilee. This seemed to mystify and sometimes anger people. Still, if they asked, I would explain the reason to them. This was one example from 9 months ago-

Domino serves a lot of roles in the deck that give you an edge in the mirror. She's here to~
Improve your Jubilee and Lad pulls
Improve your draws after you Loki - drawing Domino early means Prof X and Dino are more likely still in your deck late
Improve your odds of Snowguard in opening hand to 40% with Chavez
Protect Loki from getting sniped by Dani (Mirage) in the mirror
Guarantee a T2 play so you don't lose a draw by playing Coulson
Act as a brick pull for your opponent's Loki
Help win priority on turn 3 for Cosmo
Confuses and tilts opponents

So yes, last week KMBest correctly pointed out that one reason to play Domino is to increase your chance of drawing your 1s on turn 1, but he's couldn't do the Domino math to figure out the rest.
The question is - why is Domino good in Jubi-Blink decks?
I read on reddit that Jeff Hoogland did the math on his stream that the chance of drawing the Jubilee-Blink combo is 73% without Domino, and 69% with Domino, so playing Domino is 4% worst. Hoogland did the obvious math to the wrong problem - I'm not surprised since he does say that he used be a high school math teacher. Also, clearly Jubilee is not his favorite card.
You see, the Domino math that explains why Domino is good in Jubilee-Blink decks is actually very simple, and you don't need a calculator or a college education to do it.
Yes, playing Domino hurts your probabilIty of drawing the T4 Jubilee, T5 Blink combo.
Yes, playing Domino hurts your probability of drawing Blink BY turn 5.
But -
What if what matters isn't drawing Blink BY turn 5, but instead what you wanted is to draw Blink ON turn 5, and not before? The solution to the problem is very obvious if you approach it as someone who loves to play Jubilee in Snap.
In Snap, you have 12 cards in a deck. Before each match, the 12 cards are shuffled into a random order. We can number them 1 to 12, 1-3 being the cards in your opening hand and 12 being the bottom.
When you play Jubilee a lot, you realize that when you play Jubilee on turn 4, what you care about is the #8 card - the top card, the card you would usually draw on turn 5. As I alluded to above, Jubilee is not the only card that cares about the #8 card - Iron Lad cares about the same card, as does Loki (indirectly). When you are playing any of these 3 cards, which card is the #8 card makes a very big difference to whether or not you will win or lose the match. And the reason to play Domino, the reason why Domino's ability is good, is that Domino's ability sees to it that she is NOT card #8. Nor #9, nor #10, nor #11.
So the math that solves the problem of why Domino is good in this deck is, as I said, very simple.
Without Domino, the chance that any specific card is card #8 is 1/12, or 8.3%.
With Domino, the chance that any specific card is card #8 is 1/11, or 9.1%. Same with card #9 and card #10.
Ok, so how does Domino help Blink? Well, Domino doesn't directly help Blink, but she does help Blink indirectly, and she helps Blink decks. Domino doesn't help BlInk directly because obviously you don't usually want to Jubilee INTO Blink (although that is not a disaster either). But Domino does help Blink indirectly, because there is a very good reason to not want to draw Blink BEFORE turn 5 - Leech (at least for now). Domino helps Blink decks because Blink decks play cards that are good Jubilee hits, cards that you want to be #8, #9 or #10.
So Domino is a good card for a deck that is playing both Jubilee and Blink. On the other hand, Jubilee-Blink isn't the best deck for Domino, because Jubilee-Blink has a specific combo it wants to hit. Domino is better in decks like Iron Lad or Loki that doesn't care about hitting a specific card #8, when any 5 or 6 cost card is a good Lad hit or topdeck draw on turn 5 or turn 6. Which is usually good enough.
So in other words, Domino's ability helps your deck draw its early plays ON turns 1 and 2, and helps your deck draw your late game plays ON turns 5 and 6. To me that's a very good ability and one that I've found that helps me win more than most other 2 cost cards. I prefer draw my small cards early and my big cards late, and not the other way around, and Domino helps with that, seems to me like a valuable ability. Where Domino does hurt most is on turn 3, so a deck playing Domino needs to have more turn 3 plays than usual. Zabu used to solve this issue easily by turning your 4 cost cards into turn 3 plays. Domino hurting your probability of drawing a specific card BY a specific turn diminishes as a match progresses, and is minimal to trivial by the final turn compared to playing any other normal card in your deck.
Anyway, I decided to write this so that in the future if someone asks why I'm playing Domino I can just refer them to this and make my life as a Domino-truther suck less.
The name is Qinalo, mon ami. Remember it...

Author's Blurb: "What matters most to the survivor isn't skills or knowledge. It's the will to live."

Preface

What a load of crap. Reverse City taught me a lot of things, and the first among them is that "the will to live" won't help you defy death anymore than "the will to fly" will let you defy gravity. Speaking of which, there's something you need to know about Reverse City: it's a misnomer. There's nothing "Reverse" about it. If you look at it from afar, it looks perfectly normal. Or, as normal as anything can be in a world that is a decaying amalgamation of three planes of existence. Up is up, and down is down.
You're just standing on the ceiling.

Chapter 1

First things first: shelter. You might think this would be easy, since you're in the middle of a city, but remember that gravity is upside down here. Under normal circumstances, you could choose any building you wanted to for a house, and the rest of the city to scavenge for food. But what makes a building isolated or not, is based on whether it has any balconies or bridges connecting to other places. That's a lot rarer than you'd think. Besides that, the surface is patrolled constantly by deadly T-Drones, both scouts and killers. Luckily, the city had one of the most extensive subway systems in the world before the "sinkhole incident" that swallowed it whole. Although there are scouts down there, they aren't searching for people. Just making sure nobody steps out of line. You should set up in the older, deeper tunnels, since the trains rarely run there. Even if you hear a train, don't worry about getting run over. Only organic things are affected by the inverted gravity, so all the trains will pass under your head. The bigger issue is running into T-Boy. He's the one who flipped everything, and the only person who can still walk around on the floor. That's why he likes to tell newbies that he's the "most normal person in this city", which is hard to believe considering he's got a cathode-ray TV for a helmet, but it's best you don't say that. If you do, he'll concede it doesn't really matter, but that no one will argue he's "the most dangerous person in this city", and use a prototype weapon to bring you down from the ceiling and crush you with a miniature black hole. Luckily, it IS a prototype, and will overheat before you die. He'll laugh the whole time, because there is such a thrill from wielding "uncontrollable power", and then speed off. The maniac...

Chapter 2

The tunnels have plenty of rats to eat, but not normal rats. "Erda rats". I don't know what "Erda" is exactly, but if you touch it, it'll fuse into you and make you glow blue for some reason, besides making you ridiculously strong. I don't like it. Makes you look like a humanoid blob of radioactive laundry detergent, if you ask me. Luckily, you only change by touching pure Erda, not anything already affected by it, so the rat meat is safe eat, even if the rats are stupidly dangerous to hunt. If you're packing anything short of a .308, you don't stand a chance, and that's if you hit them in the head or the heart. If you're short on firepower, you could ask those "Erda People" for help. They're about as strong as the rats, and much more friendly, but don't expect them to do anything for free. They're in the same boat as you, after all. Though, most of them were born in Reverse City. With food covered, you'll want to set up a camp. Pro-tip: anything that isn't nailed down (or up, rather), will fall to the floor. Your bed, your tent, everything. Make sure to secure everything you got with anything you can get. Tape, nails, etc. You'll need a fire, to cook the rat meat. And that means you'll need a hanging fire pit. Here's what you'll need: an oil drum, some metal brackets, 2 street sign posts, a handful of heavy duty nuts and bolts, a metal grate, some thin metal straps, about 4 concrete anchors, and a high-powered electric drill. The drum and grate will be your pit, and the rest of it will help secure it to the ceiling. The street sign posts should be fastened to either side of the barrel using the bolts, and reach about a 2 meters past the rim of the barrel. The metal straps should be wrapped around the barrel and pinned to it by the posts. Cut out the base of the drum, or at least drill plenty of holes in it, and place the metal grate halfway down the barrel. Ideally, it'll rest on the bolts used to attach the posts. If need be, you could substitute a mesh of rebar. Using the brackets, concrete anchors, and drill, affix the street posts to the ceiling. To use it, drop your fuel into the barrel, and light. Cooking on it can be done in two ways: the good old "hot dog on a stick", or by creating a heating plate of some sort on top of the barrel. Really, anyway to make sure the fire gets to the food and not your hand works. Oh, and I feel I add a bit of a disclaimer: the "Erda People" always helped me without question, so I have no idea what favors they might ask you in return. They called me a "saint" because my books taught them how to survive, even if my writing was boring...

Chapter 3

The HRRFY.
It’s the horror movie festival where something genuinely fucked happens every year. And I mean every year.
Like, there are some screenings that unleash hordes of bats while the movie is playing. You're free to leave whenever you want, but the movie will still play for 2 hours and 15 minutes.
Other screenings hire actors to turn at you and scream at some point in the movie. You have no idea when, or how many times.
It's a festival where the word "illegal" can't even begin to describe what happens. You'd only attend if you were a young, stupid edgelord like me who was trying to prove he was hardcore to his friends.
Trust me. DO NOT GO.
You have nothing to prove to anyone. Don't be stupid.
Wait for the lamer film versions to come out streaming. That's what everyone else does. They're neutered edits but they're fine.
All they lack is the real gleaming thing everyone wants to see at HRRFY, but who cares. At least you don’t get traumatized. At least you’re not risking your life.
Anyway, if you really want to know what attending HRRFY is like. I’ll be quick and summarize the one screening I went to. It was the 20th anniversary, and I was lucky enough to get in.
***
I had signed up for the HRRFY mailing list, and joined the subreddit. Through a series of cryptic online emails I solved a sequence of riddles and was entered in the lottery for a HRRFY entry.
Lady Luck took a shine to me, because one day in my mailbox, I received a physical ticket. I had done it.
I was going.
The actual ‘ticket’ was a black USB key that announced the location of the festival the night before (which I won’t disclose here) and it did force me to pay for a very expensive flight in order for me to make it on time.
You see, to prevent getting shut down, the location of HRRFY changes every year. Some years the local police have managed to stop it, but for the most part, authorities have given up. What’s the point of arresting or charging anyone, if all the organizers and attendees actually want to be there?
Upon arrival, I had to pick between three participating theaters.
Based on title alone, I decided to go see “Many Drownings” (directed by Oleksander Gołański.) It was in the theater that was furthest away from the downtown core, which meant it was likely the one where the craziest shit was bound to happen.
That’s what I came here for right?
I lined up a solid two hours before the screening like everyone else. The entire line was jittering, just vibrating with excited twenty-somethings. Rumors flew left and right.
“I heard they’re going to force everyone to take acid.”
“I heard an actor’s gonna run in and shotgun the ceiling.”
“I heard they’re going to disappear like four more people this year. At this screening!”
Each year people disappeared. And each year the same people were ‘found.’ And yes this is the worst part, and why should never, ever, ever go to this event.
Again I will repeat myself. DO NOT GO.
No one has ever truly gone 'missing' at HRRFY in any legal or physical sense, because every missing person always shows up a day later, convinced that they are fine—refusing to elaborate further.
There are some small support groups for people who have family members who had gone to HRRFY, and came back irrevocably changed after being ‘found.’
These few unlucky people lose all semblance of personality. They don’t want interviews, or help, or therapy, or contact of any kind. And they never, ever want to talk about what they saw.
Some HRRFY fans think that these ‘found’ people were body-snatched. Cloned in a lab or replaced by a cyborg, or something stupid like that.
But I think there’s a far simpler explanation. The ‘found’ are still the same people. They're just terrified. They got shaken by something that shattered the foundation of their mind, body and soul. They got too scared.
They got HRRFY’d.
***
I should mention I had a cough the day I went. And I was worried my sickly appearance might give me trouble at the airport.
So I invested in an intense double N95 mask which I wore for the whole flight, and continued to wear even at the screening of “Many Drownings.”
It made my face hot and uncomfortable, but it still didn’t stop me from yelling “excuse me, excuse me!” as I ran to snag a seat in the back of the theater.
I always preferred sitting in the far back. You get a good view of the whole screen, and a good view of the whole audience.
Beside me sat a big dude named Sylvester, who apparently flew all the way from Australia to attend HRRFY.
“Worth the full Seventeen hours mate! It’s gonna be epic!” he dropped a massive camping backpack beside me, which I assume contained all of his luggage.
The lights dimmed, and the production company logos started to play.
The whispering, giggling and suspense all stacked upon each other to create an electric feeling in the air. I was giddy. It's like the entire audience was embarking on a massive roller coaster.
The anticipation was the best part for sure. It might have been the only good part.
Then the movie started.
It was a wide shot of a gray, stormy sea. The waves were massive, and the thunderclouds were looming. There was no land visible in any direction.
All we could hear was the sound of waves foaming, swirling, and crashing over and over. Lightning crackled. Rain poured. The camera held perfectly still over this storm as if it was mounted on a perfectly hovering drone. A drone so resilient that it didn’t waver at all.
I thought it had to be CGI.
The shot held like this for the next few moments. Everyone sat glued to their seats. Everyone was thinking the same thing.
What’s going to happen? How are they going to scare us?
People chuckled. People cheered. People wanted to tease whatever was going to happen—to happen already.
But nothing did.
Five, ten, maybe fifteen minutes went by without any change. People started snoring.
I looked beside me and saw that Sylvester—the most excited audience member of them all—had fallen totally asleep. The jet lag must’ve gotten to him.
Then I peered beyond the rest of the audience members and saw other people snoozing too. Heads were keeled over, some people were curled in their seats, some had even spilled out into the aisle and were dozing on the floor.
I looked above the bright screen, at the huge vents in the corner of the theater. I saw a faint white gas emerging from the vents.
Holy shit. What have we been breathing? I tightened the straps on my N95 mask, and made my breathing shallower.
The gas must have been pumping since the opening credits—because how else would an audience of two hundred people all fall asleep?
As I moved my hand through the air in front of me, I could sense the thickness. It was definitely hazier than usual. I took the scarf off my neck and wrapped it around my mouth as well.
Then I spotted movement in front of the screen.
It was a tall blonde man, wearing a black trenchcoat and military-grade gas mask. Beside him arrived six hazmat suits who started pointing at various audience members.
I slunk in my chair, pretending to sleep like everyone else.
Two hazmats walked over to the front row and picked out a sleeping guy in flannel. They lifted flannel up, under the armpits and by his ankles, carrying him between them both like a hammock.
The hazmats walked back up to the stage, where the blonde leader inspected the flannel man and tapped his head. Something was approved?
The hazmats began to swing flannel back and forth, as if they were getting ready to toss him. Despite their masks, I could hear a very muffled, very distant countdown.
“Three…”
“Two…”
“One…”
The flannel audience member was tossed into the screen.
I literally watched him fly into the image of stormy waves … andfallinto them. The flannel man sank into the gray water like a rock, leaving a few bubbles and foam. A wave came crashing down. All trace of him was gone.
What the fuck.
All six hazmats began grabbing more audience members with much more urgency. It became a minute-long process where they would pick the sleeping person up, bring them beside the screen, and then swing-toss them into it.
How was this possible?
I turned slightly to see if there was a projector above me, and realized there was none. Which meant maybe there was no screen on stage.
Which meant … maybe it was a portal?
I tried to wake Sylvester by shaking him. I pinched his leg and arm a bunch.
He was out cold.
The hazmats started grabbing audience members from the middle rows now. They were emptying the whole theater. What the hell was I supposed to do?
I waited until they grabbed another batch, only a few rows down from me. When all hazmats had their backs turned—I broke into a run.
With my left arm, I tightly gripped my mask and scarf against my face, while my right arm vaulted me over seat after seat.
I had never breathed so hard—through so much fabric—in my life.
The hazmats all turned to me. “Hey! Hey!” But their hands were full with their next victims.
I ran all the way down the aisle, to the big exit sign on the left. My heartbeat filled my head. My plan was to dropkick through the exit door.
I imagined myself breaking through like some flying gazelle.
I jumped.
I angled my kick.
It might as well have been a brick wall. I fell ass-first to the ground, followed by my head. Of course the door was locked.
Through a muffled mask I heard a sneering scoff.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Above me stood the one wearing a trenchcoat. I could see his piercing gray eyes through his gas mask.
I rolled aside and tried to run by him. He lifted a foot and tripped me without effort.
My forehead bashed into an empty seat. It dazed me.
The blonde leader bent down and grabbed me by the neck, tearing away my scarf and mask.
“No! No!”
A sweet, ether-like smell filled my nostrils. I did my best to hold my breath, but I could already feel myself getting light-headed.
The other hazmats joined in, grabbing me from all sides. Even if I had the strength to struggle, there was no escape now.
Above me, all I could see was the dark theater ceiling, and some of the light behind me from the cinema screen.
“Three…”
“Two…”
“No. Please. Don’t do thi—”
SPLASH.
I was plunged deep into cold, wet chaos. My head was completely underwater.
Gagging. Bubbles. Spinning.
I fought for dear life, dog-paddling like a maniac.
Churning. Freezing. Panic.
For a second, my head popped above the water. I inhaled all the air my lungs could muster. I stared across a vast, violent ocean.
An enormous thirty foot wave came in my direction.
My whole body lifted higher and higher as the wave approached. I did my best to tread water. It seemed to be working.
Then a series of smaller waves arrived and smacked my chest.
SPLASH.
Spinning. Kicking. Flipping.
My view alternated between the pitch dark ocean beneath me, and the moonlit night sky above.
Again I swam to the surface, popped my head out. Ravenously sucked in air.
There was a small lull in the water.
Around me I now registered the other theater goers. Most of them were lying face-down or sinking … but a few were flapping about like me, fighting for their life.
And above all of us, a floating white shape.
It was painfully bright, I had to lift one hand to look at it.
My jaw dropped.
It was the movie screen, hanging completely still in the air. It showed a dark, empty theater. The exact same theater we all occupied moments ago.
It was tremendously high, above all of our heads. There was no way of reaching it.
Then I saw another thirty foot wave come our way. It grazed the bottom of the screen.
I knew what had to be done.
***
One of the theater goers happened to be on a college swim team. She was the first one able to traverse one of the giant waves and climb into the screen.
Once she was up there, she found a firehose in the theater and reeled it out to us like a rope.
One by one, we swam as hard as we could, praying to God we could reach the rope. Everyone’s energy was sapped. Your body can only sustain itself on adrenaline and fear for so long.
By some miracle, five of us got out.
I was the last.
I climbed the rope coughing and vomiting. I had swallowed so much water that my stomach felt swollen.
When I reached the top and they pulled me into the screen, I sobbed. I couldn’t stop crying.
My life had flashed countless times before my eyes. In bubbling, suffocating visions, I saw both my parents and my brother. I saw my highschool graduation. I saw my favorite Christmas from when I was six years old.
I had almost lost all of that. I had lost almost everything.
On the dirty, carpeted theater floor, I lay with my face down, savoring the fact that I now lay on a hard surface. God bless ground. God bless this filthy, popcorn-strewn ground.
Beside me I heard bantering, hugging, the wringing of wet clothes. Sylvester was the second last to be saved, and he was particularly vocal.
“Wooooooaaaaahh!” He came and drummed me on the back, lifted me up. “Oh my god dude! Holy shit!”
I sat on my knees, wiping the tears and snot off my mouth.
Sylvester clapped his hands, held his face and screamed some more.
“Holy shit dude! That was so fucking scary! Like literally people were dying beside us. Like I SAW people die!”
I nodded, shivering in my drenched clothes. “ I know it was—”
“—That was craaaaazy!”
He laughed and stood up, patting everyone on the back. He kept clapping his hands like this was some sports event.
“That was sick! That was siiiiiiiiick!”
He ruffled someone’s hair then ran up to me with an open palm.
“High five dude! WE MADE IT! High five!
“Don’t leave me hangin’ dude!”

The HRRFY.
It’s the horror movie festival where something genuinely fucked happens every year. And I mean every year.
Like, there are some screenings that unleash hordes of bats while the movie is playing. You're free to leave whenever you want, but the movie will still play for 2 hours and 15 minutes.
Other screenings hire actors to turn at you and scream at some point in the movie. You have no idea when, or how many times.
It's a festival where the word "illegal" can't even begin to describe what happens. You'd only attend if you were a young, stupid edgelord like me who was trying to prove he was hardcore to his friends.
Trust me. DO NOT GO.
You have nothing to prove to anyone. Don't be stupid.
Wait for the lamer film versions to come out streaming. That's what everyone else does. They're neutered edits but they're fine.
All they lack is the real gleaming thing everyone wants to see at HRRFY, but who cares. At least you don’t get traumatized. At least you’re not risking your life.
Anyway, if you really want to know what attending HRRFY is like. I’ll be quick and summarize the one screening I went to. It was the 20th anniversary, and I was lucky enough to get in.
***
I had signed up for the HRRFY mailing list, and joined the subreddit. Through a series of cryptic online emails I solved a sequence of riddles and was entered in the lottery for a HRRFY entry.
Lady Luck took a shine to me, because one day in my mailbox, I received a physical ticket. I had done it.
I was going.
The actual ‘ticket’ was a black USB key that announced the location of the festival the night before (which I won’t disclose here) and it did force me to pay for a very expensive flight in order for me to make it on time.
You see, to prevent getting shut down, the location of HRRFY changes every year. Some years the local police have managed to stop it, but for the most part, authorities have given up. What’s the point of arresting or charging anyone, if all the organizers and attendees actually want to be there?
Upon arrival, I had to pick between three participating theaters.
Based on title alone, I decided to go see “Many Drownings” (directed by Oleksander Gołański.) It was in the theater that was furthest away from the downtown core, which meant it was likely the one where the craziest shit was bound to happen.
That’s what I came here for right?
I lined up a solid two hours before the screening like everyone else. The entire line was jittering, just vibrating with excited twenty-somethings. Rumors flew left and right.
“I heard they’re going to force everyone to take acid.”
“I heard an actor’s gonna run in and shotgun the ceiling.”
“I heard they’re going to disappear like four more people this year. At this screening!”
Each year people disappeared. And each year the same people were ‘found.’ And yes this is the worst part, and why should never, ever, ever go to this event.
Again I will repeat myself. DO NOT GO.
No one has ever truly gone 'missing' at HRRFY in any legal or physical sense, because every missing person always shows up a day later, convinced that they are fine—refusing to elaborate further.
There are some small support groups for people who have family members who had gone to HRRFY, and came back irrevocably changed after being ‘found.’
These few unlucky people lose all semblance of personality. They don’t want interviews, or help, or therapy, or contact of any kind. And they never, ever want to talk about what they saw.
Some HRRFY fans think that these ‘found’ people were body-snatched. Cloned in a lab or replaced by a cyborg, or something stupid like that.
But I think there’s a far simpler explanation. The ‘found’ are still the same people. They're just terrified. They got shaken by something that shattered the foundation of their mind, body and soul. They got too scared.
They got HRRFY’d.
***
I should mention I had a cough the day I went. And I was worried my sickly appearance might give me trouble at the airport.
So I invested in an intense double N95 mask which I wore for the whole flight, and continued to wear even at the screening of “Many Drownings.”
It made my face hot and uncomfortable, but it still didn’t stop me from yelling “excuse me, excuse me!” as I ran to snag a seat in the back of the theater.
I always preferred sitting in the far back. You get a good view of the whole screen, and a good view of the whole audience.
Beside me sat a big dude named Sylvester, who apparently flew all the way from Australia to attend HRRFY.
“Worth the full Seventeen hours mate! It’s gonna be epic!” he dropped a massive camping backpack beside me, which I assume contained all of his luggage.
The lights dimmed, and the production company logos started to play.
The whispering, giggling and suspense all stacked upon each other to create an electric feeling in the air. I was giddy. It's like the entire audience was embarking on a massive roller coaster.
The anticipation was the best part for sure. It might have been the only good part.
Then the movie started.
It was a wide shot of a gray, stormy sea. The waves were massive, and the thunderclouds were looming. There was no land visible in any direction.
All we could hear was the sound of waves foaming, swirling, and crashing over and over. Lightning crackled. Rain poured. The camera held perfectly still over this storm as if it was mounted on a perfectly hovering drone. A drone so resilient that it didn’t waver at all.
I thought it had to be CGI.
The shot held like this for the next few moments. Everyone sat glued to their seats. Everyone was thinking the same thing.
What’s going to happen? How are they going to scare us?
People chuckled. People cheered. People wanted to tease whatever was going to happen—to happen already.
But nothing did.
Five, ten, maybe fifteen minutes went by without any change. People started snoring.
I looked beside me and saw that Sylvester—the most excited audience member of them all—had fallen totally asleep. The jet lag must’ve gotten to him.
Then I peered beyond the rest of the audience members and saw other people snoozing too. Heads were keeled over, some people were curled in their seats, some had even spilled out into the aisle and were dozing on the floor.
I looked above the bright screen, at the huge vents in the corner of the theater. I saw a faint white gas emerging from the vents.
Holy shit. What have we been breathing? I tightened the straps on my N95 mask, and made my breathing shallower.
The gas must have been pumping since the opening credits—because how else would an audience of two hundred people all fall asleep?
As I moved my hand through the air in front of me, I could sense the thickness. It was definitely hazier than usual. I took the scarf off my neck and wrapped it around my mouth as well.
Then I spotted movement in front of the screen.
It was a tall blonde man, wearing a black trenchcoat and military-grade gas mask. Beside him arrived six hazmat suits who started pointing at various audience members.
I slunk in my chair, pretending to sleep like everyone else.
Two hazmats walked over to the front row and picked out a sleeping guy in flannel. They lifted flannel up, under the armpits and by his ankles, carrying him between them both like a hammock.
The hazmats walked back up to the stage, where the blonde leader inspected the flannel man and tapped his head. Something was approved?
The hazmats began to swing flannel back and forth, as if they were getting ready to toss him. Despite their masks, I could hear a very muffled, very distant countdown.
“Three…”
“Two…”
“One…”
The flannel audience member was tossed into the screen.
I literally watched him fly into the image of stormy waves … andfallinto them. The flannel man sank into the gray water like a rock, leaving a few bubbles and foam. A wave came crashing down. All trace of him was gone.
What the fuck.
All six hazmats began grabbing more audience members with much more urgency. It became a minute-long process where they would pick the sleeping person up, bring them beside the screen, and then swing-toss them into it.
How was this possible?
I turned slightly to see if there was a projector above me, and realized there was none. Which meant maybe there was no screen on stage.
Which meant … maybe it was a portal?
I tried to wake Sylvester by shaking him. I pinched his leg and arm a bunch.
He was out cold.
The hazmats started grabbing audience members from the middle rows now. They were emptying the whole theater. What the hell was I supposed to do?
I waited until they grabbed another batch, only a few rows down from me. When all hazmats had their backs turned—I broke into a run.
With my left arm, I tightly gripped my mask and scarf against my face, while my right arm vaulted me over seat after seat.
I had never breathed so hard—through so much fabric—in my life.
The hazmats all turned to me. “Hey! Hey!” But their hands were full with their next victims.
I ran all the way down the aisle, to the big exit sign on the left. My heartbeat filled my head. My plan was to dropkick through the exit door.
I imagined myself breaking through like some flying gazelle.
I jumped.
I angled my kick.
It might as well have been a brick wall. I fell ass-first to the ground, followed by my head. Of course the door was locked.
Through a muffled mask I heard a sneering scoff.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Above me stood the one wearing a trenchcoat. I could see his piercing gray eyes through his gas mask.
I rolled aside and tried to run by him. He lifted a foot and tripped me without effort.
My forehead bashed into an empty seat. It dazed me.
The blonde leader bent down and grabbed me by the neck, tearing away my scarf and mask.
“No! No!”
A sweet, ether-like smell filled my nostrils. I did my best to hold my breath, but I could already feel myself getting light-headed.
The other hazmats joined in, grabbing me from all sides. Even if I had the strength to struggle, there was no escape now.
Above me, all I could see was the dark theater ceiling, and some of the light behind me from the cinema screen.
“Three…”
“Two…”
“No. Please. Don’t do thi—”
SPLASH.
I was plunged deep into cold, wet chaos. My head was completely underwater.
Gagging. Bubbles. Spinning.
I fought for dear life, dog-paddling like a maniac.
Churning. Freezing. Panic.
For a second, my head popped above the water. I inhaled all the air my lungs could muster. I stared across a vast, violent ocean.
An enormous thirty foot wave came in my direction.
My whole body lifted higher and higher as the wave approached. I did my best to tread water. It seemed to be working.
Then a series of smaller waves arrived and smacked my chest.
SPLASH.
Spinning. Kicking. Flipping.
My view alternated between the pitch dark ocean beneath me, and the moonlit night sky above.
Again I swam to the surface, popped my head out. Ravenously sucked in air.
There was a small lull in the water.
Around me I now registered the other theater goers. Most of them were lying face-down or sinking … but a few were flapping about like me, fighting for their life.
And above all of us, a floating white shape.
It was painfully bright, I had to lift one hand to look at it.
My jaw dropped.
It was the movie screen, hanging completely still in the air. It showed a dark, empty theater. The exact same theater we all occupied moments ago.
It was tremendously high, above all of our heads. There was no way of reaching it.
Then I saw another thirty foot wave come our way. It grazed the bottom of the screen.
I knew what had to be done.
***
One of the theater goers happened to be on a college swim team. She was the first one able to traverse one of the giant waves and climb into the screen.
Once she was up there, she found a firehose in the theater and reeled it out to us like a rope.
One by one, we swam as hard as we could, praying to God we could reach the rope. Everyone’s energy was sapped. Your body can only sustain itself on adrenaline and fear for so long.
By some miracle, five of us got out.
I was the last.
I climbed the rope coughing and vomiting. I had swallowed so much water that my stomach felt swollen.
When I reached the top and they pulled me into the screen, I sobbed. I couldn’t stop crying.
My life had flashed countless times before my eyes. In bubbling, suffocating visions, I saw both my parents and my brother. I saw my highschool graduation. I saw my favorite Christmas from when I was six years old.
I had almost lost all of that. I had lost almost everything.
On the dirty, carpeted theater floor, I lay with my face down, savoring the fact that I now lay on a hard surface. God bless ground. God bless this filthy, popcorn-strewn ground.
Beside me I heard bantering, hugging, the wringing of wet clothes. Sylvester was the second last to be saved, and he was particularly vocal.
“Wooooooaaaaahh!” He came and drummed me on the back, lifted me up. “Oh my god dude! Holy shit!”
I sat on my knees, wiping the tears and snot off my mouth.
Sylvester clapped his hands, held his face and screamed some more.
“Holy shit dude! That was so fucking scary! Like literally people were dying beside us. Like I SAW people die!”
I nodded, shivering in my drenched clothes. “ I know it was—”
“—That was craaaaazy!”
He laughed and stood up, patting everyone on the back. He kept clapping his hands like this was some sports event.
“That was sick! That was siiiiiiiiick!”
He ruffled someone’s hair then ran up to me with an open palm.
“High five dude! WE MADE IT! High five!
“Don’t leave me hangin’ dude!”

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In the bustling suburb of Kangaroo Flat, finding a serene escape can feel like a challenge. However, Golden High Massage offers the perfect sanctuary for those seeking to unwind and rejuvenate. As a satisfied customer, I'm excited to share my experience and highlight why Golden High Massage is the ideal destination for your wellness needs.
A Tranquil Oasis
Golden High Massage welcomes you with an atmosphere of tranquility the moment you walk through the door. The soothing decor, gentle lighting, and calming music create a peaceful environment that instantly puts you at ease. It’s the perfect setting to leave the stresses of daily life behind and focus on your well-being.
Skilled and Compassionate Therapists
The heart of Golden High Massage lies in its team of highly skilled and compassionate therapists. Each therapist is trained in a variety of massage techniques, including deep tissue, Swedish, and hot stone massages. Their expertise ensures that every treatment is customized to meet your specific needs, providing relief from muscle tension, chronic pain, or simply helping you relax.
During my visits, I've been consistently impressed by the therapists’ ability to pinpoint problem areas and apply the perfect amount of pressure to alleviate discomfort. Their attentive and empathetic approach ensures a comfortable and effective session every time.
Comprehensive Wellness Services
Golden High Massage offers a comprehensive range of services designed to promote overall wellness. Whether you're looking for a therapeutic massage to address specific issues or a soothing session to de-stress, they have something for everyone. Their holistic approach not only focuses on physical relief but also aims to enhance mental and emotional well-being.
Exceptional Customer Service
One of the standout features of Golden High Massage is their exceptional customer service. The staff is always friendly, professional, and accommodating. They go above and beyond to ensure that each visit is a pleasant experience, from the ease of booking appointments to the personalized care during your session.
Flexible and Convenient
Life can be hectic, but Golden High Massage makes it easy to prioritize your health and relaxation. With flexible scheduling options, you can easily find a time that fits your busy lifestyle. Booking an appointment is straightforward, and the staff is always willing to work with you to accommodate your needs.
Why Choose Golden High Massage?
Here are a few reasons why Golden High Massage in Kangaroo Flat should be your go-to wellness center:

1. **Expert Therapists**: Highly skilled professionals offering personalized treatments.
   
2. **Relaxing Environment**: A serene and welcoming atmosphere designed for relaxation.
   
3. **Holistic Approach**: Comprehensive services that address physical, mental, and emotional well-being.
   
4. **Top-Notch Service**: Friendly and professional staff dedicated to exceptional customer care.
   
5. **Convenience**: Flexible scheduling and easy booking process.
   

Final Thoughts
Investing in your health and well-being is crucial, and Golden High Massage provides the perfect opportunity to do so. Whether you need therapeutic relief or a moment of tranquility, their expert therapists and serene environment will ensure you leave feeling revitalized and rejuvenated.
I highly recommend Golden High Massage in Kangaroo Flat for anyone seeking a top-quality massage experience. Treat yourself to the ultimate relaxation and discover the numerous benefits that their services can offer. Your body and mind will thank you!
Visit Golden High Massage today and take the first step towards a healthier, more relaxed you.
Contact Details -
Address – 10 High St, Kangaroo Flat VIC 3555
Phone Number – 0426 685 688
Opening Hours - 9.00Am - 8.00Pm
#goldenhighmassagekangarooflat #goldenhighmassage #goldenhighmassagekangaroovic #relaxationmassage #deep tissue massage
#massage therapy
#spa

The HRRFY.
It’s the horror movie festival where something genuinely fucked happens every year. And I mean every year.
Like, there are some screenings that unleash hordes of bats while the movie is playing. You're free to leave whenever you want, but the movie will still play for 2 hours and 15 minutes.
Other screenings hire actors to turn at you and scream at some point in the movie. You have no idea when, or how many times.
It's a festival where the word "illegal" can't even begin to describe what happens. You'd only attend if you were a young, stupid edgelord like me who was trying to prove he was hardcore to his friends.
Trust me. DO NOT GO.
You have nothing to prove to anyone. Don't be stupid.
Wait for the lamer film versions to come out streaming. That's what everyone else does. They're neutered edits but they're fine.
All they lack is the real gleaming thing everyone wants to see at HRRFY, but who cares. At least you don’t get traumatized. At least you’re not risking your life.
Anyway, if you really want to know what attending HRRFY is like. I’ll be quick and summarize the one screening I went to. It was the 20th anniversary, and I was lucky enough to get in.
***
I had signed up for the HRRFY mailing list, and joined the subreddit. Through a series of cryptic online emails I solved a sequence of riddles and was entered in the lottery for a HRRFY entry.
Lady Luck took a shine to me, because one day in my mailbox, I received a physical ticket. I had done it.
I was going.
The actual ‘ticket’ was a black USB key that announced the location of the festival the night before (which I won’t disclose here) and it did force me to pay for a very expensive flight in order for me to make it on time.
You see, to prevent getting shut down, the location of HRRFY changes every year. Some years the local police have managed to stop it, but for the most part, authorities have given up. What’s the point of arresting or charging anyone, if all the organizers and attendees actually want to be there?
Upon arrival, I had to pick between three participating theaters.
Based on title alone, I decided to go see “Many Drownings” (directed by Oleksander Gołański.) It was in the theater that was furthest away from the downtown core, which meant it was likely the one where the craziest shit was bound to happen.
That’s what I came here for right?
I lined up a solid two hours before the screening like everyone else. The entire line was jittering, just vibrating with excited twenty-somethings. Rumors flew left and right.
“I heard they’re going to force everyone to take acid.”
“I heard an actor’s gonna run in and shotgun the ceiling.”
“I heard they’re going to disappear like four more people this year. At this screening!”
Each year people disappeared. And each year the same people were ‘found.’ And yes this is the worst part, and why should never, ever, ever go to this event.
Again I will repeat myself. DO NOT GO.
No one has ever truly gone 'missing' at HRRFY in any legal or physical sense, because every missing person always shows up a day later, convinced that they are fine—refusing to elaborate further.
There are some small support groups for people who have family members who had gone to HRRFY, and came back irrevocably changed after being ‘found.’
These few unlucky people lose all semblance of personality. They don’t want interviews, or help, or therapy, or contact of any kind. And they never, ever want to talk about what they saw.
Some HRRFY fans think that these ‘found’ people were body-snatched. Cloned in a lab or replaced by a cyborg, or something stupid like that.
But I think there’s a far simpler explanation. The ‘found’ are still the same people. They're just terrified. They got shaken by something that shattered the foundation of their mind, body and soul. They got too scared.
They got HRRFY’d.
***
I should mention I had a cough the day I went. And I was worried my sickly appearance might give me trouble at the airport.
So I invested in an intense double N95 mask which I wore for the whole flight, and continued to wear even at the screening of “Many Drownings.”
It made my face hot and uncomfortable, but it still didn’t stop me from yelling “excuse me, excuse me!” as I ran to snag a seat in the back of the theater.
I always preferred sitting in the far back. You get a good view of the whole screen, and a good view of the whole audience.
Beside me sat a big dude named Sylvester, who apparently flew all the way from Australia to attend HRRFY.
“Worth the full Seventeen hours mate! It’s gonna be epic!” he dropped a massive camping backpack beside me, which I assume contained all of his luggage.
The lights dimmed, and the production company logos started to play.
The whispering, giggling and suspense all stacked upon each other to create an electric feeling in the air. I was giddy. It's like the entire audience was embarking on a massive roller coaster.
The anticipation was the best part for sure. It might have been the only good part.
Then the movie started.
It was a wide shot of a gray, stormy sea. The waves were massive, and the thunderclouds were looming. There was no land visible in any direction.
All we could hear was the sound of waves foaming, swirling, and crashing over and over. Lightning crackled. Rain poured. The camera held perfectly still over this storm as if it was mounted on a perfectly hovering drone. A drone so resilient that it didn’t waver at all.
I thought it had to be CGI.
The shot held like this for the next few moments. Everyone sat glued to their seats. Everyone was thinking the same thing.
What’s going to happen? How are they going to scare us?
People chuckled. People cheered. People wanted to tease whatever was going to happen—to happen already.
But nothing did.
Five, ten, maybe fifteen minutes went by without any change. People started snoring.
I looked beside me and saw that Sylvester—the most excited audience member of them all—had fallen totally asleep. The jet lag must’ve gotten to him.
Then I peered beyond the rest of the audience members and saw other people snoozing too. Heads were keeled over, some people were curled in their seats, some had even spilled out into the aisle and were dozing on the floor.
I looked above the bright screen, at the huge vents in the corner of the theater. I saw a faint white gas emerging from the vents.
Holy shit. What have we been breathing? I tightened the straps on my N95 mask, and made my breathing shallower.
The gas must have been pumping since the opening credits—because how else would an audience of two hundred people all fall asleep?
As I moved my hand through the air in front of me, I could sense the thickness. It was definitely hazier than usual. I took the scarf off my neck and wrapped it around my mouth as well.
Then I spotted movement in front of the screen.
It was a tall blonde man, wearing a black trenchcoat and military-grade gas mask. Beside him arrived six hazmat suits who started pointing at various audience members.
I slunk in my chair, pretending to sleep like everyone else.
Two hazmats walked over to the front row and picked out a sleeping guy in flannel. They lifted flannel up, under the armpits and by his ankles, carrying him between them both like a hammock.
The hazmats walked back up to the stage, where the blonde leader inspected the flannel man and tapped his head. Something was approved?
The hazmats began to swing flannel back and forth, as if they were getting ready to toss him. Despite their masks, I could hear a very muffled, very distant countdown.
“Three…”
“Two…”
“One…”
The flannel audience member was tossed into the screen.
I literally watched him fly into the image of stormy waves … andfallinto them. The flannel man sank into the gray water like a rock, leaving a few bubbles and foam. A wave came crashing down. All trace of him was gone.
What the fuck.
All six hazmats began grabbing more audience members with much more urgency. It became a minute-long process where they would pick the sleeping person up, bring them beside the screen, and then swing-toss them into it.
How was this possible?
I turned slightly to see if there was a projector above me, and realized there was none. Which meant maybe there was no screen on stage.
Which meant … maybe it was a portal?
I tried to wake Sylvester by shaking him. I pinched his leg and arm a bunch.
He was out cold.
The hazmats started grabbing audience members from the middle rows now. They were emptying the whole theater. What the hell was I supposed to do?
I waited until they grabbed another batch, only a few rows down from me. When all hazmats had their backs turned—I broke into a run.
With my left arm, I tightly gripped my mask and scarf against my face, while my right arm vaulted me over seat after seat.
I had never breathed so hard—through so much fabric—in my life.
The hazmats all turned to me. “Hey! Hey!” But their hands were full with their next victims.
I ran all the way down the aisle, to the big exit sign on the left. My heartbeat filled my head. My plan was to dropkick through the exit door.
I imagined myself breaking through like some flying gazelle.
I jumped.
I angled my kick.
It might as well have been a brick wall. I fell ass-first to the ground, followed by my head. Of course the door was locked.
Through a muffled mask I heard a sneering scoff.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Above me stood the one wearing a trenchcoat. I could see his piercing gray eyes through his gas mask.
I rolled aside and tried to run by him. He lifted a foot and tripped me without effort.
My forehead bashed into an empty seat. It dazed me.
The blonde leader bent down and grabbed me by the neck, tearing away my scarf and mask.
“No! No!”
A sweet, ether-like smell filled my nostrils. I did my best to hold my breath, but I could already feel myself getting light-headed.
The other hazmats joined in, grabbing me from all sides. Even if I had the strength to struggle, there was no escape now.
Above me, all I could see was the dark theater ceiling, and some of the light behind me from the cinema screen.
“Three…”
“Two…”
“No. Please. Don’t do thi—”
SPLASH.
I was plunged deep into cold, wet chaos. My head was completely underwater.
Gagging. Bubbles. Spinning.
I fought for dear life, dog-paddling like a maniac.
Churning. Freezing. Panic.
For a second, my head popped above the water. I inhaled all the air my lungs could muster. I stared across a vast, violent ocean.
An enormous thirty foot wave came in my direction.
My whole body lifted higher and higher as the wave approached. I did my best to tread water. It seemed to be working.
Then a series of smaller waves arrived and smacked my chest.
SPLASH.
Spinning. Kicking. Flipping.
My view alternated between the pitch dark ocean beneath me, and the moonlit night sky above.
Again I swam to the surface, popped my head out. Ravenously sucked in air.
There was a small lull in the water.
Around me I now registered the other theater goers. Most of them were lying face-down or sinking … but a few were flapping about like me, fighting for their life.
And above all of us, a floating white shape.
It was painfully bright, I had to lift one hand to look at it.
My jaw dropped.
It was the movie screen, hanging completely still in the air. It showed a dark, empty theater. The exact same theater we all occupied moments ago.
It was tremendously high, above all of our heads. There was no way of reaching it.
Then I saw another thirty foot wave come our way. It grazed the bottom of the screen.
I knew what had to be done.
***
One of the theater goers happened to be on a college swim team. She was the first one able to traverse one of the giant waves and climb into the screen.
Once she was up there, she found a firehose in the theater and reeled it out to us like a rope.
One by one, we swam as hard as we could, praying to God we could reach the rope. Everyone’s energy was sapped. Your body can only sustain itself on adrenaline and fear for so long.
By some miracle, five of us got out.
I was the last.
I climbed the rope coughing and vomiting. I had swallowed so much water that my stomach felt swollen.
When I reached the top and they pulled me into the screen, I sobbed. I couldn’t stop crying.
My life had flashed countless times before my eyes. In bubbling, suffocating visions, I saw both my parents and my brother. I saw my highschool graduation. I saw my favorite Christmas from when I was six years old.
I had almost lost all of that. I had lost almost everything.
On the dirty, carpeted theater floor, I lay with my face down, savoring the fact that I now lay on a hard surface. God bless ground. God bless this filthy, popcorn-strewn ground.
Beside me I heard bantering, hugging, the wringing of wet clothes. Sylvester was the second last to be saved, and he was particularly vocal.
“Wooooooaaaaahh!” He came and drummed me on the back, lifted me up. “Oh my god dude! Holy shit!”
I sat on my knees, wiping the tears and snot off my mouth.
Sylvester clapped his hands, held his face and screamed some more.
“Holy shit dude! That was so fucking scary! Like literally people were dying beside us. Like I SAW people die!”
I nodded, shivering in my drenched clothes. “ I know it was—”
“—That was craaaaazy!”
He laughed and stood up, patting everyone on the back. He kept clapping his hands like this was some sports event.
“That was sick! That was siiiiiiiiick!”
He ruffled someone’s hair then ran up to me with an open palm.
“High five dude! WE MADE IT! High five!
“Don’t leave me hangin’ dude!”

The HRRFY.
It’s the horror movie festival where something genuinely fucked happens every year. And I mean every year.
Like, there are some screenings that unleash hordes of bats while the movie is playing. You're free to leave whenever you want, but the movie will still play for 2 hours and 15 minutes.
Other screenings hire actors to turn at you and scream at some point in the movie. You have no idea when, or how many times.
It's a festival where the word "illegal" can't even begin to describe what happens. You'd only attend if you were a young, stupid edgelord like me who was trying to prove he was hardcore to his friends.
Trust me. DO NOT GO.
You have nothing to prove to anyone. Don't be stupid.
Wait for the lamer film versions to come out streaming. That's what everyone else does. They're neutered edits but they're fine.
All they lack is the real gleaming thing everyone wants to see at HRRFY, but who cares. At least you don’t get traumatized. At least you’re not risking your life.
Anyway, if you really want to know what attending HRRFY is like. I’ll be quick and summarize the one screening I went to. It was the 20th anniversary, and I was lucky enough to get in.
***
I had signed up for the HRRFY mailing list, and joined the subreddit. Through a series of cryptic online emails I solved a sequence of riddles and was entered in the lottery for a HRRFY entry.
Lady Luck took a shine to me, because one day in my mailbox, I received a physical ticket. I had done it.
I was going.
The actual ‘ticket’ was a black USB key that announced the location of the festival the night before (which I won’t disclose here) and it did force me to pay for a very expensive flight in order for me to make it on time.
You see, to prevent getting shut down, the location of HRRFY changes every year. Some years the local police have managed to stop it, but for the most part, authorities have given up. What’s the point of arresting or charging anyone, if all the organizers and attendees actually want to be there?
Upon arrival, I had to pick between three participating theaters.
Based on title alone, I decided to go see “Many Drownings” (directed by Oleksander Gołański.) It was in the theater that was furthest away from the downtown core, which meant it was likely the one where the craziest shit was bound to happen.
That’s what I came here for right?
I lined up a solid two hours before the screening like everyone else. The entire line was jittering, just vibrating with excited twenty-somethings. Rumors flew left and right.
“I heard they’re going to force everyone to take acid.”
“I heard an actor’s gonna run in and shotgun the ceiling.”
“I heard they’re going to disappear like four more people this year. At this screening!”
Each year people disappeared. And each year the same people were ‘found.’ And yes this is the worst part, and why should never, ever, ever go to this event.
Again I will repeat myself. DO NOT GO.
No one has ever truly gone 'missing' at HRRFY in any legal or physical sense, because every missing person always shows up a day later, convinced that they are fine—refusing to elaborate further.
There are some small support groups for people who have family members who had gone to HRRFY, and came back irrevocably changed after being ‘found.’
These few unlucky people lose all semblance of personality. They don’t want interviews, or help, or therapy, or contact of any kind. And they never, ever want to talk about what they saw.
Some HRRFY fans think that these ‘found’ people were body-snatched. Cloned in a lab or replaced by a cyborg, or something stupid like that.
But I think there’s a far simpler explanation. The ‘found’ are still the same people. They're just terrified. They got shaken by something that shattered the foundation of their mind, body and soul. They got too scared.
They got HRRFY’d.
***
I should mention I had a cough the day I went. And I was worried my sickly appearance might give me trouble at the airport.
So I invested in an intense double N95 mask which I wore for the whole flight, and continued to wear even at the screening of “Many Drownings.”
It made my face hot and uncomfortable, but it still didn’t stop me from yelling “excuse me, excuse me!” as I ran to snag a seat in the back of the theater.
I always preferred sitting in the far back. You get a good view of the whole screen, and a good view of the whole audience.
Beside me sat a big dude named Sylvester, who apparently flew all the way from Australia to attend HRRFY.
“Worth the full Seventeen hours mate! It’s gonna be epic!” he dropped a massive camping backpack beside me, which I assume contained all of his luggage.
The lights dimmed, and the production company logos started to play.
The whispering, giggling and suspense all stacked upon each other to create an electric feeling in the air. I was giddy. It's like the entire audience was embarking on a massive roller coaster.
The anticipation was the best part for sure. It might have been the only good part.
Then the movie started.
It was a wide shot of a gray, stormy sea. The waves were massive, and the thunderclouds were looming. There was no land visible in any direction.
All we could hear was the sound of waves foaming, swirling, and crashing over and over. Lightning crackled. Rain poured. The camera held perfectly still over this storm as if it was mounted on a perfectly hovering drone. A drone so resilient that it didn’t waver at all.
I thought it had to be CGI.
The shot held like this for the next few moments. Everyone sat glued to their seats. Everyone was thinking the same thing.
What’s going to happen? How are they going to scare us?
People chuckled. People cheered. People wanted to tease whatever was going to happen—to happen already.
But nothing did.
Five, ten, maybe fifteen minutes went by without any change. People started snoring.
I looked beside me and saw that Sylvester—the most excited audience member of them all—had fallen totally asleep. The jet lag must’ve gotten to him.
Then I peered beyond the rest of the audience members and saw other people snoozing too. Heads were keeled over, some people were curled in their seats, some had even spilled out into the aisle and were dozing on the floor.
I looked above the bright screen, at the huge vents in the corner of the theater. I saw a faint white gas emerging from the vents.
Holy shit. What have we been breathing? I tightened the straps on my N95 mask, and made my breathing shallower.
The gas must have been pumping since the opening credits—because how else would an audience of two hundred people all fall asleep?
As I moved my hand through the air in front of me, I could sense the thickness. It was definitely hazier than usual. I took the scarf off my neck and wrapped it around my mouth as well.
Then I spotted movement in front of the screen.
It was a tall blonde man, wearing a black trenchcoat and military-grade gas mask. Beside him arrived six hazmat suits who started pointing at various audience members.
I slunk in my chair, pretending to sleep like everyone else.
Two hazmats walked over to the front row and picked out a sleeping guy in flannel. They lifted flannel up, under the armpits and by his ankles, carrying him between them both like a hammock.
The hazmats walked back up to the stage, where the blonde leader inspected the flannel man and tapped his head. Something was approved?
The hazmats began to swing flannel back and forth, as if they were getting ready to toss him. Despite their masks, I could hear a very muffled, very distant countdown.
“Three…”
“Two…”
“One…”
The flannel audience member was tossed into the screen.
I literally watched him fly into the image of stormy waves … andfallinto them. The flannel man sank into the gray water like a rock, leaving a few bubbles and foam. A wave came crashing down. All trace of him was gone.
What the fuck.
All six hazmats began grabbing more audience members with much more urgency. It became a minute-long process where they would pick the sleeping person up, bring them beside the screen, and then swing-toss them into it.
How was this possible?
I turned slightly to see if there was a projector above me, and realized there was none. Which meant maybe there was no screen on stage.
Which meant … maybe it was a portal?
I tried to wake Sylvester by shaking him. I pinched his leg and arm a bunch.
He was out cold.
The hazmats started grabbing audience members from the middle rows now. They were emptying the whole theater. What the hell was I supposed to do?
I waited until they grabbed another batch, only a few rows down from me. When all hazmats had their backs turned—I broke into a run.
With my left arm, I tightly gripped my mask and scarf against my face, while my right arm vaulted me over seat after seat.
I had never breathed so hard—through so much fabric—in my life.
The hazmats all turned to me. “Hey! Hey!” But their hands were full with their next victims.
I ran all the way down the aisle, to the big exit sign on the left. My heartbeat filled my head. My plan was to dropkick through the exit door.
I imagined myself breaking through like some flying gazelle.
I jumped.
I angled my kick.
It might as well have been a brick wall. I fell ass-first to the ground, followed by my head. Of course the door was locked.
Through a muffled mask I heard a sneering scoff.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Above me stood the one wearing a trenchcoat. I could see his piercing gray eyes through his gas mask.
I rolled aside and tried to run by him. He lifted a foot and tripped me without effort.
My forehead bashed into an empty seat. It dazed me.
The blonde leader bent down and grabbed me by the neck, tearing away my scarf and mask.
“No! No!”
A sweet, ether-like smell filled my nostrils. I did my best to hold my breath, but I could already feel myself getting light-headed.
The other hazmats joined in, grabbing me from all sides. Even if I had the strength to struggle, there was no escape now.
Above me, all I could see was the dark theater ceiling, and some of the light behind me from the cinema screen.
“Three…”
“Two…”
“No. Please. Don’t do thi—”
SPLASH.
I was plunged deep into cold, wet chaos. My head was completely underwater.
Gagging. Bubbles. Spinning.
I fought for dear life, dog-paddling like a maniac.
Churning. Freezing. Panic.
For a second, my head popped above the water. I inhaled all the air my lungs could muster. I stared across a vast, violent ocean.
An enormous thirty foot wave came in my direction.
My whole body lifted higher and higher as the wave approached. I did my best to tread water. It seemed to be working.
Then a series of smaller waves arrived and smacked my chest.
SPLASH.
Spinning. Kicking. Flipping.
My view alternated between the pitch dark ocean beneath me, and the moonlit night sky above.
Again I swam to the surface, popped my head out. Ravenously sucked in air.
There was a small lull in the water.
Around me I now registered the other theater goers. Most of them were lying face-down or sinking … but a few were flapping about like me, fighting for their life.
And above all of us, a floating white shape.
It was painfully bright, I had to lift one hand to look at it.
My jaw dropped.
It was the movie screen, hanging completely still in the air. It showed a dark, empty theater. The exact same theater we all occupied moments ago.
It was tremendously high, above all of our heads. There was no way of reaching it.
Then I saw another thirty foot wave come our way. It grazed the bottom of the screen.
I knew what had to be done.
***
One of the theater goers happened to be on a college swim team. She was the first one able to traverse one of the giant waves and climb into the screen.
Once she was up there, she found a firehose in the theater and reeled it out to us like a rope.
One by one, we swam as hard as we could, praying to God we could reach the rope. Everyone’s energy was sapped. Your body can only sustain itself on adrenaline and fear for so long.
By some miracle, five of us got out.
I was the last.
I climbed the rope coughing and vomiting. I had swallowed so much water that my stomach felt swollen.
When I reached the top and they pulled me into the screen, I sobbed. I couldn’t stop crying.
My life had flashed countless times before my eyes. In bubbling, suffocating visions, I saw both my parents and my brother. I saw my highschool graduation. I saw my favorite Christmas from when I was six years old.
I had almost lost all of that. I had lost almost everything.
On the dirty, carpeted theater floor, I lay with my face down, savoring the fact that I now lay on a hard surface. God bless ground. God bless this filthy, popcorn-strewn ground.
Beside me I heard bantering, hugging, the wringing of wet clothes. Sylvester was the second last to be saved, and he was particularly vocal.
“Wooooooaaaaahh!” He came and drummed me on the back, lifted me up. “Oh my god dude! Holy shit!”
I sat on my knees, wiping the tears and snot off my mouth.
Sylvester clapped his hands, held his face and screamed some more.
“Holy shit dude! That was so fucking scary! Like literally people were dying beside us. Like I SAW people die!”
I nodded, shivering in my drenched clothes. “ I know it was—”
“—That was craaaaazy!”
He laughed and stood up, patting everyone on the back. He kept clapping his hands like this was some sports event.
“That was sick! That was siiiiiiiiick!”
He ruffled someone’s hair then ran up to me with an open palm.
“High five dude! WE MADE IT! High five!
“Don’t leave me hangin’ dude!”

The HRRFY.
It’s the horror movie festival where something genuinely fucked happens every year. And I mean every year.
Like, there are some screenings that unleash hordes of bats while the movie is playing. You're free to leave whenever you want, but the movie will still play for 2 hours and 15 minutes.
Other screenings hire actors to turn at you and scream at some point in the movie. You have no idea when, or how many times.
It's a festival where the word "illegal" can't even begin to describe what happens. You'd only attend if you were a young, stupid edgelord like me who was trying to prove he was hardcore to his friends.
Trust me. DO NOT GO.
You have nothing to prove to anyone. Don't be stupid.
Wait for the lamer film versions to come out streaming. That's what everyone else does. They're neutered edits but they're fine.
All they lack is the real gleaming thing everyone wants to see at HRRFY, but who cares. At least you don’t get traumatized. At least you’re not risking your life.
Anyway, if you really want to know what attending HRRFY is like. I’ll be quick and summarize the one screening I went to. It was the 20th anniversary, and I was lucky enough to get in.
***
I had signed up for the HRRFY mailing list, and joined the subreddit. Through a series of cryptic online emails I solved a sequence of riddles and was entered in the lottery for a HRRFY entry.
Lady Luck took a shine to me, because one day in my mailbox, I received a physical ticket. I had done it.
I was going.
The actual ‘ticket’ was a black USB key that announced the location of the festival the night before (which I won’t disclose here) and it did force me to pay for a very expensive flight in order for me to make it on time.
You see, to prevent getting shut down, the location of HRRFY changes every year. Some years the local police have managed to stop it, but for the most part, authorities have given up. What’s the point of arresting or charging anyone, if all the organizers and attendees actually want to be there?
Upon arrival, I had to pick between three participating theaters.
Based on title alone, I decided to go see “Many Drownings” (directed by Oleksander Gołański.) It was in the theater that was furthest away from the downtown core, which meant it was likely the one where the craziest shit was bound to happen.
That’s what I came here for right?
I lined up a solid two hours before the screening like everyone else. The entire line was jittering, just vibrating with excited twenty-somethings. Rumors flew left and right.
“I heard they’re going to force everyone to take acid.”
“I heard an actor’s gonna run in and shotgun the ceiling.”
“I heard they’re going to disappear like four more people this year. At this screening!”
Each year people disappeared. And each year the same people were ‘found.’ And yes this is the worst part, and why should never, ever, ever go to this event.
Again I will repeat myself. DO NOT GO.
No one has ever truly gone 'missing' at HRRFY in any legal or physical sense, because every missing person always shows up a day later, convinced that they are fine—refusing to elaborate further.
There are some small support groups for people who have family members who had gone to HRRFY, and came back irrevocably changed after being ‘found.’
These few unlucky people lose all semblance of personality. They don’t want interviews, or help, or therapy, or contact of any kind. And they never, ever want to talk about what they saw.
Some HRRFY fans think that these ‘found’ people were body-snatched. Cloned in a lab or replaced by a cyborg, or something stupid like that.
But I think there’s a far simpler explanation. The ‘found’ are still the same people. They're just terrified. They got shaken by something that shattered the foundation of their mind, body and soul. They got too scared.
They got HRRFY’d.
***
I should mention I had a cough the day I went. And I was worried my sickly appearance might give me trouble at the airport.
So I invested in an intense double N95 mask which I wore for the whole flight, and continued to wear even at the screening of “Many Drownings.”
It made my face hot and uncomfortable, but it still didn’t stop me from yelling “excuse me, excuse me!” as I ran to snag a seat in the back of the theater.
I always preferred sitting in the far back. You get a good view of the whole screen, and a good view of the whole audience.
Beside me sat a big dude named Sylvester, who apparently flew all the way from Australia to attend HRRFY.
“Worth the full Seventeen hours mate! It’s gonna be epic!” he dropped a massive camping backpack beside me, which I assume contained all of his luggage.
The lights dimmed, and the production company logos started to play.
The whispering, giggling and suspense all stacked upon each other to create an electric feeling in the air. I was giddy. It's like the entire audience was embarking on a massive roller coaster.
The anticipation was the best part for sure. It might have been the only good part.
Then the movie started.
It was a wide shot of a gray, stormy sea. The waves were massive, and the thunderclouds were looming. There was no land visible in any direction.
All we could hear was the sound of waves foaming, swirling, and crashing over and over. Lightning crackled. Rain poured. The camera held perfectly still over this storm as if it was mounted on a perfectly hovering drone. A drone so resilient that it didn’t waver at all.
I thought it had to be CGI.
The shot held like this for the next few moments. Everyone sat glued to their seats. Everyone was thinking the same thing.
What’s going to happen? How are they going to scare us?
People chuckled. People cheered. People wanted to tease whatever was going to happen—to happen already.
But nothing did.
Five, ten, maybe fifteen minutes went by without any change. People started snoring.
I looked beside me and saw that Sylvester—the most excited audience member of them all—had fallen totally asleep. The jet lag must’ve gotten to him.
Then I peered beyond the rest of the audience members and saw other people snoozing too. Heads were keeled over, some people were curled in their seats, some had even spilled out into the aisle and were dozing on the floor.
I looked above the bright screen, at the huge vents in the corner of the theater. I saw a faint white gas emerging from the vents.
Holy shit. What have we been breathing? I tightened the straps on my N95 mask, and made my breathing shallower.
The gas must have been pumping since the opening credits—because how else would an audience of two hundred people all fall asleep?
As I moved my hand through the air in front of me, I could sense the thickness. It was definitely hazier than usual. I took the scarf off my neck and wrapped it around my mouth as well.
Then I spotted movement in front of the screen.
It was a tall blonde man, wearing a black trenchcoat and military-grade gas mask. Beside him arrived six hazmat suits who started pointing at various audience members.
I slunk in my chair, pretending to sleep like everyone else.
Two hazmats walked over to the front row and picked out a sleeping guy in flannel. They lifted flannel up, under the armpits and by his ankles, carrying him between them both like a hammock.
The hazmats walked back up to the stage, where the blonde leader inspected the flannel man and tapped his head. Something was approved?
The hazmats began to swing flannel back and forth, as if they were getting ready to toss him. Despite their masks, I could hear a very muffled, very distant countdown.
“Three…”
“Two…”
“One…”
The flannel audience member was tossed into the screen.
I literally watched him fly into the image of stormy waves … andfallinto them. The flannel man sank into the gray water like a rock, leaving a few bubbles and foam. A wave came crashing down. All trace of him was gone.
What the fuck.
All six hazmats began grabbing more audience members with much more urgency. It became a minute-long process where they would pick the sleeping person up, bring them beside the screen, and then swing-toss them into it.
How was this possible?
I turned slightly to see if there was a projector above me, and realized there was none. Which meant maybe there was no screen on stage.
Which meant … maybe it was a portal?
I tried to wake Sylvester by shaking him. I pinched his leg and arm a bunch.
He was out cold.
The hazmats started grabbing audience members from the middle rows now. They were emptying the whole theater. What the hell was I supposed to do?
I waited until they grabbed another batch, only a few rows down from me. When all hazmats had their backs turned—I broke into a run.
With my left arm, I tightly gripped my mask and scarf against my face, while my right arm vaulted me over seat after seat.
I had never breathed so hard—through so much fabric—in my life.
The hazmats all turned to me. “Hey! Hey!” But their hands were full with their next victims.
I ran all the way down the aisle, to the big exit sign on the left. My heartbeat filled my head. My plan was to dropkick through the exit door.
I imagined myself breaking through like some flying gazelle.
I jumped.
I angled my kick.
It might as well have been a brick wall. I fell ass-first to the ground, followed by my head. Of course the door was locked.
Through a muffled mask I heard a sneering scoff.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Above me stood the one wearing a trenchcoat. I could see his piercing gray eyes through his gas mask.
I rolled aside and tried to run by him. He lifted a foot and tripped me without effort.
My forehead bashed into an empty seat. It dazed me.
The blonde leader bent down and grabbed me by the neck, tearing away my scarf and mask.
“No! No!”
A sweet, ether-like smell filled my nostrils. I did my best to hold my breath, but I could already feel myself getting light-headed.
The other hazmats joined in, grabbing me from all sides. Even if I had the strength to struggle, there was no escape now.
Above me, all I could see was the dark theater ceiling, and some of the light behind me from the cinema screen.
“Three…”
“Two…”
“No. Please. Don’t do thi—”
SPLASH.
I was plunged deep into cold, wet chaos. My head was completely underwater.
Gagging. Bubbles. Spinning.
I fought for dear life, dog-paddling like a maniac.
Churning. Freezing. Panic.
For a second, my head popped above the water. I inhaled all the air my lungs could muster. I stared across a vast, violent ocean.
An enormous thirty foot wave came in my direction.
My whole body lifted higher and higher as the wave approached. I did my best to tread water. It seemed to be working.
Then a series of smaller waves arrived and smacked my chest.
SPLASH.
Spinning. Kicking. Flipping.
My view alternated between the pitch dark ocean beneath me, and the moonlit night sky above.
Again I swam to the surface, popped my head out. Ravenously sucked in air.
There was a small lull in the water.
Around me I now registered the other theater goers. Most of them were lying face-down or sinking … but a few were flapping about like me, fighting for their life.
And above all of us, a floating white shape.
It was painfully bright, I had to lift one hand to look at it.
My jaw dropped.
It was the movie screen, hanging completely still in the air. It showed a dark, empty theater. The exact same theater we all occupied moments ago.
It was tremendously high, above all of our heads. There was no way of reaching it.
Then I saw another thirty foot wave come our way. It grazed the bottom of the screen.
I knew what had to be done.
***
One of the theater goers happened to be on a college swim team. She was the first one able to traverse one of the giant waves and climb into the screen.
Once she was up there, she found a firehose in the theater and reeled it out to us like a rope.
One by one, we swam as hard as we could, praying to God we could reach the rope. Everyone’s energy was sapped. Your body can only sustain itself on adrenaline and fear for so long.
By some miracle, five of us got out.
I was the last.
I climbed the rope coughing and vomiting. I had swallowed so much water that my stomach felt swollen.
When I reached the top and they pulled me into the screen, I sobbed. I couldn’t stop crying.
My life had flashed countless times before my eyes. In bubbling, suffocating visions, I saw both my parents and my brother. I saw my highschool graduation. I saw my favorite Christmas from when I was six years old.
I had almost lost all of that. I had lost almost everything.
On the dirty, carpeted theater floor, I lay with my face down, savoring the fact that I now lay on a hard surface. God bless ground. God bless this filthy, popcorn-strewn ground.
Beside me I heard bantering, hugging, the wringing of wet clothes. Sylvester was the second last to be saved, and he was particularly vocal.
“Wooooooaaaaahh!” He came and drummed me on the back, lifted me up. “Oh my god dude! Holy shit!”
I sat on my knees, wiping the tears and snot off my mouth.
Sylvester clapped his hands, held his face and screamed some more.
“Holy shit dude! That was so fucking scary! Like literally people were dying beside us. Like I SAW people die!”
I nodded, shivering in my drenched clothes. “ I know it was—”
“—That was craaaaazy!”
He laughed and stood up, patting everyone on the back. He kept clapping his hands like this was some sports event.
“That was sick! That was siiiiiiiiick!”
He ruffled someone’s hair then ran up to me with an open palm.
“High five dude! WE MADE IT! High five!
“Don’t leave me hangin’ dude!”