Lancaster county nebraska police scanner

TW: violence, misgendering, vulnerability to abuse
We're the exact same age, he's a trans guy and I'm NB and use they/them. He was staying with me for a couple days and is now refusing to leave. In fact, he's trying to establish tenancy and get ME uncomfortable enough to leave MY apartment.
For clarity, we aren't and have never been involved in a relationship. He's just a friend who misrepresented his life situation when I first met him. Both he and I happen to have girlfriends of our own and have had them since before we became friends.
I biked 11 miles to his house to assist him in cleaning it. More than once. I was up there within a week before I had top surgery and back three weeks after surgery; doing manual labor and cleaning his place that he said an ex vandalized.
I've sat with him in the hospital so he could keep his service dog with him, as our laws state that if he's unable to take the dog out to the bathroom a family member or friend must, as staff isn't allowed to be required to provide care to a service dog. During this hospital stay I actually corrected every staff member who was misgendering him, and even called a patient advocate with him to get the staff to stop as one staff member literally said "it's not fair you want us to call you a man if you still have a huge chest".
I've spent over 2k trying to help him out of my SSDI backpay and SSDI payments.
He got mad because he put the wrong soap in my laundry, and I hadn't asked him to start it he just decided that when i asked him to put a towel into my basket on top of the washer, he'd start it. I'm life-threateningly allergic to his detergent and he dumped so much in, it had fully saturated my stuff and was laying on top as no more could soak in. I had a neighbor also come smell it and declare it smelled SOLELY like his soap and looked like his soap. Mine is green, his is white. It was viewed on a black towel and you could SEE the white. He denied this and got violent. My whole load had to be trashed as it wasn't safe to try to recover.
He's spent days throwing food everywhere, slamming stuff and throwing it if I walk in the same room or even in the doorway. I have bruises. My dog has an open wound. My dog is now scared of men and wasn't previously, as I had the dog sitter (and the 3 other adults living in the home!) there in person and on the phone to testify today when the cops had to come, this sitter last had my dog less than two months before today. I had recordings of him so out of his mind that he made completely nonsense statements and I even repeated it back to him, he'd agree with what he said. He has a history of hallucinating and being delusional, has been hospitalized and declared unfit to consent to treatment during his episodes. He's claiming I threw a chair across the room when I had literal documents showing I had a Dr's appt hours away I was at all day today. My dog had to be sent to the sitter because it isn't safe to have my dog there if I'm not. He has current protective orders against him by multiple people. I have three witnesses, one being a state agency saying I couldn't have been home as they transported me to this appointment, and have logs of when I was picked up and taken home, where I showed my ID at while there. I couldn't have been an aggressor flipping a chair today as he claims, and his only proof is a video where you only see the chair move and hear it fall. You can't see who's touching it, and cops didn't look for a timestamp even with me offering proof I wasn't even in the same COUNTY all day and he said it happened around noon. With all my proof, including videos where you see him in frame pick up items and hurl them, his video was considered to have equal weight to my multiple witnesses, clearer videos showing who's involved with doing what, visible injuries, proof I couldn't have been there, etc
He's gone and bought liquid ant poison, did God knows what with the actual contents of the box. Left the box next to the fridge and the dog water fountain I have for my dog. I haven't been able to eat anything that's open or not individually wrapped, had to remove all my soap, shampoo, etc from my bathroom. Literally if it goes in or on me or my dog it got padlocked into my room.
He broke the padlock off today while I was at my appointment. Never did figure out what he messed with in there.
I didn't know about his history when he moved in. I found it out the past couple weeks.
But what's the worst part, in my view, is that he's sitting there calling friends (he's calling, not just happening to get a call) standing outside my bedroom any time i shut my door, and discussing me. Nothing actually important or current; basic things like "did I tell you she has a dog? Yeah. She does. She trains the dog daily". It feels like he's literally just calling these people to have an excuse to misgender me. He used to correct people who got it wrong and has never made a mistake, never knew me before I started transition, and even found out my deadname somewhere (I live small town and lived here several years before I actually changed it so many people know my deadname. Anyone who had to actually have it correct like banks, drs offices, whatever else) and has been using that.
And yet with all this proof, the police wouldn't remove him for my safety. He owns a home and a car to get there. I was able to stay with the sitter who had my dog; I am the only one on the lease and am legally blind, use a walker, and have autism. APS has been involved more than once with me because of being too vulnerable to people taking my food stamps, SSDI, etc. I'm very vulnerable to scams and dangerous people. He hadn't been there long enough to legally be a resident.
But honestly to me the worst part is a fellow trans person using misgendering as a weapon against me. My stuff can be replaced; my dog is seemingly doing a lot better here at the sitter's away from him. All because he made a mistake and didn't want to just apologize. I hadn't even asked him to replace my stuff; I just asked why he did it as he knows it's a major allergy and has had to run an empty cycle after every load of his clothes to try to reduce the risk to me.

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I started to have doubt on the lease I signed two months ago... Can anyone tell me if this looks like a scam? And what should I do? Here's what happened.
In April, I was desperately looking for a condo that I can move into in June, because my current lease ends in June and I've told my current leasing office that I am not renewing.
I found this condo on Apartment.com, it has everything I need, and it's only 20 minutes away. I sent a message to the owner, and me met up couple days later. He showed me the condo. There was a girl living in the condo but she was packing. And the owner showed me each room and told me he will get new washedryer before I move in... So I thought okay, I saw the condo, so it's probably not a scam.
And then I also googled the owner, who claims to be an attorney. Although it doesn't look like he's a famous one but I did find his LinkedIn and his info on Lawyers.com.
There are also a lot of requirements for leasing the condo, like background check, a minimum credit score of 720. I read the lease and found that it also put more maintenance responsibilities on tenant than a regular lease you get from those apartment complex. And so I thought okay this looks legit.
And so the owner and I met in a Starbucks, and we both signed the lease. He told me I need to send tenant application to the apartment complex and to the county, so we need to meet again and give him those documents before the move in date. I also paid 3k for deposit and first month rent to him on zelle that day.
And then I got busy so I didn't try to do the tenant application thing until early May, and that's when I noticed that I can't do these forms myself, they need more information than I have, owner signature for example. So I texted the owner, he didn't response for like two weeks. And then I finally got his message last week, he said he's busy working, traveling around, and he would call me last week, he also asked me if I call the apartment, and I told him I haven't.
And then... He didn't call. I tested him again during memorial day weekend, but so far no response.
I don't know... Is this a scam? Should I go to police and start to find another apartment?
Thank you.

Disclaimer: this is an extremely long post with a lot of background information. If you wish to skip, please proceed to paragraph 7 lol
I was convicted in October of ‘23 for pandering. I spent 5 months in my county’s CBCF as a result of the charge and have been placed on probation for 2 years but could be let off sooner. However, the 22 videos and 44 images that I dreadfully downloaded happened back in October of ‘21.
To make another extremely long story short, this happened due to the end of my 2 year marriage that resulted in infidelity on both ends (I was 20 and she was 18 when we got married) and I decided to cope in the worst ways possible. Alcohol binges, dating apps, porn, hook ups and steroids. I believe the steroids that I took were a huge contributing factor in terms of escalating the type of porn I was watching which inevitably led me down a rabbit hole over a 3 year span. However the illegal stuff was a very isolated time frame, less than a month, before realizing what I was doing was extremely wrong.
Not trying to make excuses, but during that time I was dating my soon to be baby mom and our relationship was extremely toxic and unhealthy. She ended up finding non illegal images of younger girls in my dropbox account in my files on my computer (I was completely unaware my phone was being backed up.) She obviously freaked, and I was very open and honest about things. It took a while for her to come around and understand, but we agreed that I were to get help. I did and it was very useful. As time went on, she would accuse me of looking at images still (I wasn’t) and would get mad if I watched porn at all (even though she did all the time) I was the only one who worked and I had to provide for her and her son. It was very difficult and I was constantly ridiculed. Every day I was in that relationship it was like walking on eggshells due to her threatening to expose me. I was trapped. Eventually I lost my job and while I was unemployed for a month is when I said “fuck it, if I’m going to get accused all the time I may as well escape from this hellhole somehow” and that’s when the illegal stuff happened.
I felt ashamed of myself and deleted everything I had off my phone (or so I thought). Months go by, we have our daughter, everything is fine until one night she goes through my phone while I was asleep because she thought I was cheating on her. I worked at a popular bar with lots of attractive girls. And honestly, I did cheat on her once and the evidence was there. But while she went through my phone, she found a couple deleted non illegal images that I deleted from my camera roll recently and a zip file in my “files” app on my phone that had a female name on it. I thought I deleted everything from my past but I forgot one thing. She then turns my phone in to the police while I was asleep and the investigation was underway.
I decide to contact a lawyer and move home with my parents. A couple days later, she stops by the house and we have a conversation and I tell her the truth about what I downloaded in the past. She regretted things immediately and wanted to move home with me and genuinely make things work. Well, since you’re reading this post, obviously things didn’t work out. We separated again after 3 months because of a fictional cultivated scenario of DV in my car where I ended up with more bruises on my face than her fake makeup bruise she painted on the day later. But because I was the drunk, big male passenger, I was charged and sent to jail. We didn’t speak to one another for 6 months then tried to make things work again when I took a plea deal for Assault because she threatened I wouldn’t see my daughter if I took things to trial. We dated for another 6 months, getting hotels and spending time as a family up until I was sentenced to CBCF. Mind you, this whole time her family and her friends and everyone on her social media didn’t know we were together since she plastered my case and me all over Facebook and Instagram, exaggerating everything. Saying I had hundreds of thousands of images and that I beat her up, all of which simply wasn’t true.
While I was in CBCF, we had phone calls and video visits for a month before finding out that she was already dating and living with another guy. I was heartbroken and it made my time in there difficult but eventually, I learned to let go and focus on healing myself. I took many classes in which I took very seriously and received great mental health treatment. I felt the happiest I had been in 7 years. I get out, I see my daughter and have breakfast with baby mom, and then things go south again. My case is plastered all over social media from people I went to high school with, containing all these outrageous claims and then my baby mom chimes in and puts out more false info.
So finally what I’m getting at, is how can I even think about trying to make new friends or even try to have a relationship with anyone? The people I thought were my friends stopped talking to me except for one. He’s my best friend and I’m very grateful for him. I’ve told him my story and he never judged once, he actually understood. I’m trying my best to restart my life, but I have so much anxiety doing so because of all the misinformation plastered everywhere on social media.
For instance, I met a couple girls a few weeks ago that bartend and I thought would be great recruits for my buddy’s restaurant that I’m helping open. We all become friends and last week I finally let one of the girls know I was interested in her since the other one told me that she thought I was hot. We agreed that it wasn’t going to be anything serious and just enjoy the summer with each other since she just got out of a relationship and wanted to focus on herself. Well, I’m assuming she somehow caught wind of things about me because today she asked “what’s your last name” I told her, despite nervously knowing where it was headed. I sent another text stating “I’m assuming I know why you’re asking, and to be honest I have no problem telling you the truth about things if you’re actually interested in knowing. If not, I totally understand”
No response. I check insta, she unfollowed me. Check snap, she deleted me.
I understand people’s decisions and have no problem with them. I can’t take things personally and can accept things for what they are. However, at night I really start to think about things and make myself upset because why won’t anyone let me tell them my side of the story? Not my “friends,” and not someone who I genuinely felt like I had a great connection with. I don’t plan on hiding who I am, but I at least want the person to know that I am a good human being who is working on themselves diligently before ever bringing up my past.
How would any of my fellow offenders tackle this, and how would you female supporters react to my situation? I’m trying my best to rebuild my life but the anxiety of it all can be crippling. Now I have to start over to square one, with my confidence reset back to 0 now that I’ve been ghosted.
I would consider myself to be an attractive man, solid 7.5-8. 5’11, 210lbs and very into fitness. I bust my ass at work, drive a nice vehicle, I’m compassionate, empathetic and emotionally mature thankfully because of therapy. I’m not trying to blow my own horn, but I would consider myself to be a high quality man. However, this conviction is a major blow to everything else I have going on for me. Any advice on how anyone believes I should go about my life would be greatly appreciated. This is all new to me, and it’s very frustrating to say the least.
Thank you all for your time in advance

Sarpy County. Moved into a new home in 2022, taxes were based on land only. 2023 taxes were only partial, for whatever reason. Got a notice that my mortgage was going up 50% in July now.
Any suggestions to help with this? Thinking about selling and getting out of Nebraska because the taxes are becoming too much (car, home, etc.). Any help would be appreciated.

At Fault Car Accident While Working [KS]
Just needed some advice regarding an incident that had happened while at work.
I live in Kansas and my job requires me to drive around the county fairly often. They provided a fleet of cars. The cars are insured by them.
Today I was driving along with a coworker who was in the passenger seat. I was going south and had stopped to make a left turn into a street. The other side of the street had cars backed in their left lane due to a car wanting to take a left lane as well so my view was obstructed. When I thought it was safe and clear to go, I proceeded with a left turn and was immediately hit by a car going north about 35 to 40 mph. From what I can remember my car felt like it spun multiple times. Two car accident. My airbags went off. The driver of the other car stayed in his car until paramedics came and was taken to the hospital by ambulance. He seemed disoriented. Our car definitely sustained a lot of damage and I believe it will be totaled. As soon as I recovered from the shock I got out the car to check on my coworker who seemed disoriented and in shock still. I had a bystander call the police. Plenty of witnesses to see what happened. Firefighters came first and then EMS and then the police. We declined an ambulance since I told them that we could get a ride to the hospital (I had my GF come and pick us up). I promptly notified administration at work of the accident and the maintenance man was sent out to tow the car and provide insurance information of the car. Administration also had HR send me workers compensation information to fill out. The police took my statement and had me fill out an accident form. I put the company auto insurance down. I was cited for failure to yield to right of way - left turn.
We then went to the hospital to get checked out since my ankle was hurt and my worker seemed to have a concussion. She and I both provided our personal insurance information. They then learned we were on the clock for work and stated it changes things since it’s considered worker’s compensation.
They ran 3 x rays on my ankle and deemed no fractures or dislocation. I do feel a sharp pain when I fully extend it backwards and forwards. I can walk on it but there is a bit of discomfort. My coworker stated her head really hurt and they had her do a CT scan.
When I got home I called to pay the citation and they said there’s no notice to appear and it’s just a fine.
Is there anything thing I need to be aware of since I was considered at fault by the police? How will this affect my insurance? Will I be needing an attorney? Is there anything I should or shouldn’t be doing?

The other day I was allegedly driving down a street to the grocery store and saw a poster for a pride walk parade happening near by. On my way back home I allegedly pulled over and with my pocket knife i cut the poster in half and ripped it off but left it hanging on the fence. This fence was part of a kindergarten school and the poster was on it, which was around 5-6 big. they allegedly have all this on video and came to my house and asked for me to go down to the police station and left a card to call and they said it can be considered vandalism or a hate crime since it was about Gay and pride stuff so idk. this is in Illinois cook county, allegedly. what should i expect or do or say? am i cooked? allegedly?

In an alternate timeline, John fails to capture and reprogram Cameron, but instead of carrying out her mission of eliminating the present day John, she is sent through time in an effort to eliminate him at an earlier age, Cameron however, ends up in Detroit in the year 2038, rather than 1999, and an RK-800 android happened to be present when the terminator arrived and via a built in scanner, discovers the identity of "Cameron", both determine the other to be a threat and attempt to eliminate the threat.
Rules:

1. No Cheating.
2. No outside interference.
3. Win by incapacitation or death.

Round 1. Hand-to-Hand combat.
Round 2. Fire-fight.
Round 3. a combination of both.
Bonus Round. Connor and Cameron switch places, with Connor being sent to 1999 in order to protect a younger John Connor and his mother, while Cameron is sent to Detroit, 2038 and essentially becomes a police detective, how well does each fair in the other's universe?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=upCS5HrNB6c
I'm a fan of several channels that expose frauditors but FAMILIA TV is one of my favorites.
The idiot he's exposing in his video makes my blood boil!! It's Southern Cali Transparency and he seems to frequently hang out with Long Beach Observer. They also team up with iiMPCT MEDIA and his idiot sons Liizard and Siimpl who irritate the shit out of me.
SCT attempts to exactly emulate iiMPCT MEDIA (Rankin) and his sons. However, his IQ is so low and grammar and vocabulary is so limited that it's maddening.
The entire "gang" recently was involved in an altercation at the Mission Viejo, CA post office with a senior citizen who ended up on his ass. I felt sorry for the guy but, of course, the police sided with the frauditors as the old guy grabbed for one of their cameras, plus, he spit on one of them. I can't say I blame the guy as I'm also a senior in his age range and fought for our rights but not to gives these assholes the "right" to do what they are doing. I obviously believe in the First Amendment but interpreting the Bill of Rights to allow this kind of bullshit is just unacceptable.
I'm going to attempt to help FAMILIA TV if I can scrape up enough extra cash. Those of you who are sick of these guys that hang out and do the fraudits mainly --or recently-- in Orange county California, please do what you can to fight back so that ordinary citizens can go to their local post office and not have to put up with this kind of shit.
I'm not going to link any of their videos as i don't want to make it easy to give them views, but those of you who are not familiar with these guys (iiPCT MEDIA, Siimplmedia, Liizardmedia, Long Beach Observer, Southern Cali Transparency, and others who team up with them), can go to their channels on YouTube and look at the sickening exposé of videos their peddling.
If I was younger and healthier --and lived closer-- (I'm not in California), I can't tell you what I'd do but it would involve gathering up a large group of citizens who are fed up and ...well, you know, I'm not a violent person but I think you know where I'm going with this though. No, please, I don't condone violence but this shit has really got to stop!!!

It happened. He didn't deny that. Not like he was a suspect or anything—not yet—but he never denied it to himself. At the same time, this all happened over a decade ago—twelve years to be exact.
He didn't think of it every day; in fact, sometimes an entire month would go by where it barely crossed his mind.
In a way, that whole experience—he thought of all the abductions and murders as a singular event—now felt as if it belonged to somebody else.
It was a time in his life when he was confused, mixed-up, searching; a dark time, you know, like a phase. Who didn't have one of those in their past?
Plus, he was married now. His wife, Dee, obviously didn't know about it and he felt no obligation to tell her. Did he ask about her former lovers?
Sometimes there are things in the past and you just let them be. Whether it was Dee losing her virginity to the quarterback of the football team in the backseat at a drive-in or him using multiple black garbage bags and masking tape on that thing he didn't have time to bury in rural Tennessee, everyone has things they would rather forget about. Sometimes you just leave things where they lie.
So that's what Ned Doyle did.
Until that Sunday morning, November 6th, 1988.
He was a having a glass of Dee's pulpy homemade orange juice, waiting for his coffee to percolate, when he opened his heavy weekend edition of the New York Times (probably Ned's greatest extravagance—he liked its heft; and how the Arts & Leisure section made him feel culturally superior to his Ohio townsfolk, “the Philistines of Findlay,” he called them) when he saw the article buried in the back.
The country was two days from heading to the polls for the General Election—Bush v. Dukakis—so most everything else that week had been relegated to the back.
He read the article twice before he could even begin to make sense of it. It seemed to be a story about something called "DNA fingerprinting" and a 27-year-old baker in Great Britain named Colin Pitchfork who had confessed to raping and murdering two 15-year-old girls, in separate incidents a few years apart, after a new scientific process had been used to extract information from semen which he, Colin Pitchfork, had left at the crime scenes (likely inside the victims) some five years earlier.
Now if they could do all that after five years, why not ten years—or maybe even… twelve?
"Interesting story here," he said to Dee. It wasn't uncommon for Ned to read a news story twice—once for himself and a second time aloud to Dee while she brewed his coffee and burnt her toast. But this was his third reading and Ned acted as if it were his first.
"What do you make of that?" he asked. It somehow got worse each time he read it. After the third time, he felt as if he had been sucker punched in the stomach.
"Science Fiction is what it sounds like," Dee said matter-of-factly, pouring Ned his coffee in a mug that bore the Marathon Oil insignia. Findlay, Ohio was Marathon’s headquarters although there had been rumors circulating about a move to Texas.
"And unconstitutional," he said. "Cops running a dragnet like that, taking blood samples from 5,000 townspeople. Thankfully, that would never pass the muster here."
"They did catch the killer so maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea," she said, buttering her burnt toast. "Otherwise, who knows? They could have convicted the wrong man.”
Ned had already gotten lucky once – astonishingly so. Griffin Gerald Jones, the famed “I-75 Corridor Child Killer,” had claimed responsibility for all but one of Ned’s victims before dying in Florida’s electric chair.
"You can't have police in this country running around, sticking everyone with needles, drawing blood for some sort of science experiment,” he said. “Nevermind the Constitution, what about AIDS?”
“What about it?” she asked.
“There's been hundreds, thousands of cases now where people have been infected by giving blood,” he said. “That's a medical fact. Get accused of a crime and AIDS too?"
"It doesn't sound like any of the townspeople there in England got AIDS, darling. Unless there's more to the story, besides what you read to me."
He watched her spread orange marmalade over her burnt toast and take a bite. She had a dead tooth and he saw it every time she opened her mouth. He loved Dee but had never been sexually attracted to her. Not in the way he had been attracted to others.
"It really is just a matter of time before that stuff makes it over here," she said with her mouth full. "To this side of the pond, as they say." She took a sip of his orange juice. "Isn’t that how it always works? Things start over there in England, or in California, and then phht, before you know it, it makes its way to Findlay."
He held his hand over his stomach. She saw him wince.
"Was it my orange juice again? Was it still pulpy? I squeezed it by hand and even strained it twice this time."
"It’s not your fault,” he said. “I think it’s me. Orange juice is getting too… acidic for me." He looked at the clock on the coffee maker. "I'm going to be late."
He turned the page.
He played the 8 o'clock Mass by rote as he had many a bleary-eyed Sunday morning. It was pure muscle memory at this point. He made a few mistakes here and there, missed a key or two, but it was nothing the organ's sustain pedal couldn't mask – not that anyone would complain (not at the 8 o'clock anyway).
On Sundays Ned had four Masses: the 8, the 9:30, the big one at 11, and the 12:30 for the dilettantes who couldn't get their acts together for the 11.
He turned the page.
Today he was using Glory and Praise, AKA "the blue hymnal" for songs he knew by heart.
Turning the pages of his sheet music, reading each note, he was able to keep his mind off it.
Ned abhorred cliches (especially those involving sports) but he made an exception for “Out of sight, out of mind.” For Ned, that wasn’t a cliché; it was a way of life. He was a man who preferred to be heard, not seen, which made St. Bartholomew (or St. Bart’s) the perfect home for him.
In a spectacular architectural oversight, the church's pipe organ was situated so the organist's back was to the altar and pews. The organist of course needs to see what's going on in the Mass to read certain non-verbal cues but the arrangement suited Ned just fine. The congregation was comprised of many young families who had many young children—boys in particular—and it wasn't so much that he couldn't control himself because he was now firmly in control of all that; it was more that he didn't need any reminders of that time when he couldn't.
Especially during church.
So to see the altar behind him, Ned had installed an actual rearview mirror, the type you'd find on an old Buick, and he used a special type of putty to affix it to the mantle of the pipe organ. Having been the church organist at St. Bart's for nine years, he seldom needed it anymore—he could do it in his sleep—but it came in handy today as he found his attention drifting and he nearly missed the oratory refrain at the 9:30 Mass.
His real problems didn't start until the 35-minute break between the 8 and 9:30.
He was reorganizing his sheet music after the first wave of churchgoers had cleared out, when he began thinking about Colin Pitchfork again. The article said he was a baker in England somewhere—did it say he baked cakes or was that Ned's invention?
Even though no picture was provided in the Times article, Ned spent the balance of the 9:30 service picturing the 27- year-old ex-rapist/murderer working in his small English bakery, quietly going about his business, baking his cakes, when the police (Bobbies?) came.
Was he expecting them?
He played the offertory hymn, "On Eagle's Wings," as the ushers began taking up the collections and a family of parishioners he’d never seen before brought the gifts up.
And what was going through Pitchfork's head when he saw the Bobbies there? When they began asking him about rapes and murders that happened almost five years ago? The article said that he had initially given investigators someone else's blood when “the enquiry” began. Had he somehow caught wind of this “DNA Fingerprinting?”
There was a new usher, Ned noticed, in his makeshift rearview mirror.
The Times article said that one of Pitchfork's co-workers at the bakery had taken the blood test masquerading as Pitchfork because Pitchfork had told the co-worker that ‘he could not give blood under his own name because he had already given blood while pretending to be a friend of his who had wanted to avoid being harassed by police because of a youthful conviction for burglary.’ This story was later overheard by a woman in a pub who immediately went to the police.
Ned realized he had missed the homily twice now. Not that it mattered. Heard one you've heard them all and Ned was pretty sure there would be no surprises. Plus, he'd have two more chances to catch it. He knew he would have to really focus for the 11 o'clock. That was always the main event. He was going to play "I Will Raise Him Up," a complex hymn, which required his full attention. He would scratch that one now if he hadn’t read that article and if the Sunday programs hadn't already been printed. People liked that one –it was a real barn burner, as they say—and if he skipped it, there might be questions.
The last thing Ned needed right now were fucking questions.
Who was this new usher, by the way?

By the start of the 11 o'clock Mass, Ned wondered whether anyone would even show for the 12:30, seeing that it was already standing room only. The 11 was always the most popular Mass, but today felt different; it was packed like Christmas Eve. What was the occasion? Was the predominantly conservative town that afraid of Dukakis winning the presidency? Ohio was a swing state after all and that image of the little Greek man in the tank was unnerving, sure, but was it enough to warrant this sort of turnout for the 11 AM Mass at St. Bart's in Findlay?
Or was something else going on?
Ned didn’t believe they had come to hear his rendition of "I Will Raise Him Up."
Or could there be another reason? Maybe they had all read the same Times article. Maybe there had long been simmering suspicion of Ned in the community and maybe the article finally prompted the townspeople to join together and take arms. With pitchforks.
On March 31, 1892, the only known lynching in the history of Hancock County occurred when a mob of 1,000 men, many "respectable citizens," broke into the county jail in Findlay. They lynched Mr. Lytle, a man who had killed his wife and two daughters with a hatchet the day before. The townsfolk hanged the man twice (first from the bridge, then a telegraph pole) and then, in a classic case of overkill, shot his body over a dozen times. The authorities had intended to transfer the prisoner out of town at 1 o'clock in secret, where a train was scheduled to transport him to Lima, but someone talked.
Ned had only confessed what he had done to one person – a priest eight years prior. The priest was set to retire as he was dying of pancreatic cancer and visiting from a nearby parish. For years Ned had heard this priest was “of the old school” – i.e., your word to God’s ear, and it went no further. He was as safe as they come. Still, even then, Ned used the screened side of the Confessional, lowered his voice a full octave, and spoke of what he had done obliquely and in generalities. They were mortal sins. His penance severe: to repent and refrain from repeating the act again. The priest was now long dead. There’s no way he could have tracked Ned down and told anyone. Was there?
The last one was named Derek. That was the only one left unsolved.
He would play "I Will Raise Him Up" during Communion. Because of the crowds, he knew the communion lines would be longer and would thus require him to stretch the already difficult song a few minutes longer. If he was going to supply the masses, he was going to need a bigger yield. In a way it was like baking a cake, wasn't it?
He met Derek at a Dairy Queen in Paducah, Kentucky. It was Labor Day 1976. It must have been 100 degrees out, but it felt even hotter with the humidity. It was a real scorcher.
Derek had a bicycle with an American flag banana seat. It was the summer of Bicentennial Fever. The Dairy Queen was in an area known as Noble Park. It had a tin canopy that kept cars cool in the shade.
Ned missed a note as he turned the page. He stepped on the sustain pedal and his mistake sounded deliberate and beautiful even.
It was early evening; fireflies were out in full force and Ned was blotto. He had been drinking beer—cans of Schlitz—all day at the picnic of a friend (technically, the friend of an acquaintance so basically a stranger). A born introvert who still lived alone (this was pre-Dee), Ned was very drunk and primed for small talk. You must also remember this was a very different time. This was back when you still opened cans with an opener; drunk driving was frowned upon but not the cardinal sin it is today; and a grown man could still park outside a Dairy Queen and strike up an innocent conversation with a prepubescent boy on a bike.
"What da ya' got there?" Ned asked.
"Butterscotch Sundae," the boy said. The boy was blonde with brown eyes.
"Butterscotch, eh?"
The boy licked his plastic spoon and stared somewhere beyond the pea-green 1974 Buick Riviera Ned had inherited from his old man after he had kicked the bucket.
"For the life of me, I can't remember if I like butterscotch or not," Ned said. "That probably sounds pretty screwy, I bet."
"Get a free sample at the window,” the kid said. “They're free."
"Looks awfully busy over there. Mind if I have a taste of yours? I don't have any cooties, I promise."
The kid dragged his spoon over his ice cream as he mulled it over. Maybe seeing that he was almost done with it anyway, he figured what's the harm. He handed Ned the Styrofoam cup.
Ned looked at the boy as he stirred it a little and then placed the curved side of the spoon on his tongue and kept it there.
"I do like butterscotch," Ned said, giving it back. "Thank you for sharing that with me, that was awfully kind of you—say, what is your name?"
"Derek," the boy said.
"Derek. What a nice boy you are. Do you like dogs, Derek?"
"Sure," Derek said.
"Do you have a dog?"
"Not anymore. Used to. We had a beagle named Eleanor but she went blind and then lame and then..."
"What kind of dog was she?" Ned asked.
"A beagle," the boy said.
"A beagle, yes you said that. You like Golden Retrievers?"
"Sure," the boy said.
"Cause I have a Golden Retriever. It's a girl too. A bitch."
Derek smiled.
"She's pregnant. I mean she was. But… she just gave birth."
"To puppies?"
"You betcha. It was just a few weeks ago. She had a whole litter of 'em. Boys, girls. Cutest little pups you've ever seen. The thing is, Derek, I don't know what to do with them all. You're a nice boy. You just shared your Butterscotch Sundae with me and I'd care to return the favor. Would you… like a puppy?"
"How much?"
"For nothing,” Ned said. “For free.”
"You'll give me a puppy for nothing? And I can pick the one I want?"
"Sure can. They're at my place just down the road. Thing is, it's probably too far to bike there. And you're going to need both hands to hold on to the puppy. Hop in, I’ll give you a lift."
"What about my bike?"
"We could put it in the trunk but we're not going to be long. We'll be right back. It'll be safe here. People don't take things that aren’t theirs around here – especially when there's a lot of people around."
He remembered waking up on the floor of his apartment disoriented. He was late for work. He was still working as a salesman at the piano store. There was a big Labor Day sale still going on. Labor Day was always a big day for retail. The owner was a nice man and Ned wanted to call him and apologize but he wasn't sure what to say yet.
He hadn't planned on sleeping in. Forgetting work on Labor Day. The irony.
He saw the boy's underwear on his floor. They were tighty-whities from Fruit of the Loom. He thought of that every time he saw an ad for that company afterward.
They weren’t bloody but they were torn.
He remembered the sound of the filter on the aquarium he used to keep in his apartment. It was noisy but sometimes that was a good thing. He was very into Japanese Fighting Fish for a while until it became too expensive as they always killed each other.
There were no puppies obviously.
His apartment did not allow dogs.
His sense of disorientation and the ensuing panic prevented him from experiencing any of the usual remorse he felt afterward.
There would be plenty of time for that later.
The boy's body was in the bathroom just off the bedroom and he needed to get rid of it. He needed to get out of town. Out of Paducah. Out of Kentucky.
He placed the boy in a hardshell Samsonite suitcase, carried it out of his apartment, walked down the one flight of steps. He saw no one and he was confident no one had seen him. The suitcase was lighter than it should have been—a detail he never forgot—and he walked out to the carport where he saw his Riviera parked sloppily between the lines. He felt a wave of nausea come over him but he suppressed it. He opened his trunk, placed the suitcase in the back, and then looked around the apartment complex before walking back inside. He cleaned up with bleach. Showered. Hit the road.
There were no police gathered outside the Dairy Queen. It wasn’t a crime scene. He didn't look to see if the boy’s bike was still there; he didn’t want to appear suspicious.
He needed to get out of Paducah so he headed toward the freeway.
For a moment he briefly considered the Shawnee National Forest, which was to the north, but he stuck to his gut and took the newly-constructed Interstate 24 East toward Tennessee. Aside from getting out of Kentucky, he didn't have a plan. The asphalt was brand new and at times he felt as though he were floating across the highway. It took about two hours to get to the state line and once he was over, he filled up at a 76 Station in Clarksville, Tennessee. Only when he was filling his tank and had a moment to reflect, did he think about what was in the trunk. He imagined he had Superman's X-Ray vision and pictured the suitcase in the back, the boy's tiny body folded like a pretzel inside.
He missed both the readings, the Gospel, and the homily again. Then came the Consecration which was over before he knew it. It was time. He began to play "I Will Raise Him Up." In his rearview, he saw the communion lines forming and he thought he caught a glimpse of the new usher staring at him, but he couldn't be sure. He needed to concentrate on the song. People knew this one; people wanted to hear it exactly as they remembered it, and it was a full house, so the sustain pedal wouldn't save him this time.
Once he made it through the chorus, he knew he could relax a little.
The "DNA fingerprinting" in Pitchfork's case came from semen that was left inside of the victims.
Ned had made it to the outskirts of Nashville faster than he expected. He still hadn't checked in with Mr. Cory, the owner of the piano store. He desperately needed an alibi. Old Mr. Cory could probably send Ned to the electric chair if he wasn't careful.
He got on Highway 386 and headed north. After 20 minutes, he exited in Gallatin and drove around until he found an area he thought was remote. There was a road called Cages Bend.
He liked the sound of that.
It sounded hopeful.
He took that until he came to a gravel road, which looked as if it led to an even more secluded wooded area.
In the rearview, he remembered the cloud of dust kicked up by the tires of the Riviera he had inherited from his father, the drunk, who had done to him what he had gone on to do to others.
In the rearview, the communion lines were still going strong. No sign of that new usher.
He came upon a bend in the road that looked totally secluded, as if no one had been there in years. He cut the engine and listened for a moment. The invisible cicadas high up in the trees made it sound as if a giant rattle snake was slithering around him, preparing to strike. He got out of the car.
He didn't know if it was the trees or the fields of tall grass, but something smelled like semen.
He opened the trunk with his keys and pulled out the hardshell suitcase. When he closed the trunk there was a rustling in the tall grass but when he looked, he saw only a herd of white tail deer scattering.
Initially he had planned on dumping the body and taking the suitcase home with him. He didn't think to bring a shovel. Then he heard the sound of a bush hog—a piece of farm equipment with spinning blades that cut vegetation and cleared the land. He couldn't tell which direction it was coming from. He checked to make sure his suitcase didn't have any labels on it or name tags. He then two black trash bags in his back seat and wrapped the suitcase – one bag around the top, the other on the bottom, and secured it with masking tape. Then he carried it into the woods and set it down in some brush. He began snapping tree branches off to make cover but as the bush hog got louder and closer he panicked, leaving it only partially covered.
The communion lines had dissipated. Everyone was sitting now, even the priest.
Everyone always knelt until the priest sat and Ned should never be playing if the priest was sitting but somehow, Ned had missed his cue.
He concluded "I Will Raise Him Up" softly, using the sustain to ease himself out.
He looked in the rearview and saw the priest staring at him.
As was the rest of the congregation.
They would all be coming for him soon enough.
Unless he could make it back down to Tennessee and get rid of that thing once and for all – assuming it hadn’t been found yet.
Somehow, deep down, Ned always knew it was going to happen.
He was raised up, alright.
Now it was just a matter of time.

SPOILERS FOR UG1, UG2, MW, Pro-Street, Rivals, Payback, Heat and Unbound
Recently, I'd gone and marathon a whole host of NFS Games, starting with Underground, and making my way up to Unbound. I had finished Payback, and moved forward to Heat when I realized the first set of Contracts from the Black Market was called: The Collector's Gambit. Initially, I thought of it as a simple throwaway line, or a callback to the most recent game at that time: Payback. But after going through Raziel's missions, noting the story beats of Heat, and doing the Tess/Yaz Delivery missions in Unbound, something just told me there seemed to be more going on here. It got me thinking about the other ridiculous story beats in the previous NFS games, and wondered if there were any connections.
It all started when I played Rivals again, and thought: "How on Earth do the Police and Racers get these cars? There isn't a single beater or Crown Vic in sight; the Sirens on that Charger are probably worth more than my apartment". Initially just chalked it as: Need For Speed's America could be like Dubai IRL, where supercars in law fleets are the norm; but couldn't put a piece of the puzzle down: The Racers. Obviously, it could be that the Racers get their cars from a number of shady/black market dealers, but who's giving the market their supply of LFA's and Pagani's? And why do both sides of the conflict have what seem to be military-grade weaponry on what should be, civilian vehicles at most?
I decided to move on to Payback, where there were three major story beats that caught my eye: Kobashi, Arkwright, and the NUMEROUS callbacks to pervious titles. The Curator name drops the Blacklist, the Run, and other NFS events, before selling Tyler on the Outlaw's Rush. We also know that the House had hired Cross to interrogate/torture Gallo during the House's initial takeover, which led to Silver Six, but Cross backed out. Even little nods, though unconfirmed, names such as Bull and Cooper are name dropped. Palmont City was also name dropped during the Speedcross DLC's, as it was the place where Speedcross got it's legitimacy in this universe, according to Rav. Aki Kimura also makes a full-fledged reappearance from ProStreet as DK in Noise Bomb. This game makes it clear that the Ghost games universe and the BlackBox universe's are within the same canon. Okay, so what now?
One MAJOR story beat that is often overlooked, is the role that the Brands play in Payback's narrative. To quickly refresh, Payback's parts are not only based on tiered performance, but specific brands give bonuses. One of the brands in-game we know was in-bed with the House: Chidori, as it was revealed by Charlie that Chidori custom parts had been transmitting data from Holtzman's C10, Nova's BC, and Valisev's GT-R. We also know that there were specifications for civilian cars too; alongside other technological developments, such as Skyhammer and the Jammers in Police Chargers being reminiscent of Rivals' and HP Police weaponry. As well, though not stated, due to the name, and the origami logo, it's very clear that Chidori has Japanese ties. We even meet a VIP from Japan in-game, who we pick up for the house: Kobashi. All signs point to the fact that Kobashi was the one outfitting House's cars with custom Chidori parts, and getting data from them. It wouldn't surprise me if Kobashi was the CEO, or at least, a Board of Directors member of Chidori. But why go through all this trouble for data from street racers? And why would data and a wager be so significant, that Fortune Valley's most powerful people: the Collector and the Gambler, would risk it all, just to appease Kobashi? The reward of all this hoop-jumping is joining "Arkwright", is that really it?
Heat's main story revolves around the Speedhunter's showdown, and the High-Speed Task Force stealing cars from the general populace. During "Follow the Law", Ana notes that the F40 we've been tailing had been wrongfully impounded, just like her Z, and other racers' cars. The climax of the mission hits it's peak when we go inside and see a whole operation of the HSTF dismantling the cars they impound, and shipping them off somewhere. At the end of Chapter 5, we even see Frank and Torres have a chat, and judging by Frank's tone, I don't think he was talking about the Police getting to him, but rather, who he would've shipped the cars to. Outside of the mascot cars from past games, the Collector is mentioned in Heat, through the first DLC's name, likely hinting the guy is still around. Because it's not like the House dissolved fully after Payback, the Collector still managed to irk out of Lina's mess; and likely has contacts like Raziel provide the tech needed to do his contracts. We never really grasp the full scope of the Collectors influence, so for all we know, he's the League member that contracts you and gives you the DB11 to find the people responsible for taking the DB5; he does like his cars after all.
Unbounds main story beat revolves around Alec somehow restoring the Lakeshore racing scene, after allegedly 2 years after Yaz stole our car and the LSPD stepped their presence up against street racing. But, when we find the LSPD, they aren't in the greatest of shapes either. Mayor Stevenson's foundation of her campaign is to stop street racing, and provide MORE funding to the LSPD. A detail I noticed about the LSPD was that, they don't have any variation of the Corvette as the "Ace"/Heat 5 car(s). Instead, LSPD's choice of Heat 5/Ace car is the Raptor, a more utilitarian choice, compared to other PD's in the NFS universe. And speaking of more utilitarian, it can be noted that Unbound is the first game in the series that actively TELLS you how to beat the Police. Chargers have this weakness, Camaro's have this weakness, CORVETTES SUCK AT GOING OFFROAD. Note that last part, as Payback and Heat's Corvettes didn't have much issue going off-road; likely signifying whoever was providing technology to LSPD was years behind other PD's. Sure, you could chalk it up to game mechanics, but I'd like to think that LSDP's weaknesses in their cars, and the lack of Rhino's in their fleet, show that the LSPD is eons away from the rest of the Need for Speed police forces. It should be also noted that Alex was a literal who nobody, until the story mentions that someone was sponsoring him and the Lakeshore Grand, but we never meet or hear from this benefactor. Plus, why would someone want to fund something as ridiculous as the Grand, while electoral campaigns to ban the sport of racing are at an all time high?
So, how does all of this relate to Arkwright, Most Wanted, and the Butterfly effect? I believe, that ever since the BlackBox protag showed up to the scene with the M3 GTR, it revealed the major weaknesses, of not only Rockport PD, but the rest of the countries PD's. If ONE guy can come out of nowhere with a then unconceivable car who put the fear of God into Porsche; and make a mockery of a PD, who at that point, was likely the most outfitted unit in the universe, whose to say it can't happen a second, third, fourth, or even millionth time? Hence, why we see the evolution of the Police in NFS Games, from their fleets, to even their weaponry, along with a noticeable downgrade as a benchmark in the form of the Lakeshore PD. Someone had to fund all of this, and that someone also benefits from street racing, legal or illegal, reigning supreme in the country. How else can we explain ludicrous scenario's such as the Run? That's where, Arkwright, enters stage left.
The legal definition of a Cartel is a group of independent corporations or other entities that join together to fix prices, rig bids, allocate markets, or conduct other similar illegal activities. I'd like to propose that, knowingly or unknowingly, the entire NFS universe is played out so that Arkwright can use the populace to make ill-gotten gains through data collection, with cars as the scapegoat. We know from Payback that Arkwright has their hands all over Chidori. Who's to say Carbon, Nextage, Americana and Outlaw weren't in on this either? At the very minimum, we know they have prominence in manufacturing. We also don't know how long Arkwright have been gathering data on racers. Sure we catch them in Payback, but who's to say they don't have our data in-lore, by events such as the Street Festivals in Pro Street or the legal street leagues/sponsorships all the way back from UG1 & UG2? It would make sense, if Arkwright is tracking us, and developing weapons based on the actions of the MC's we play as in NFS. And with all of the car-jacking Payback, Heat, and Unbound had gotten the MC's into, who's to say they unknowingly played into Arkwright's Mouse Utopia, of re-releasing those cars back into the economy for Arkwright to make more profit of these car-jackings? Tyler and his crew certainly didn't. What if Mayor Stevenson was another part of the Arkwright scheme that would be used to corner and monopolize the market, since they've already got Alec?
And who's to say other racers aren't fighting back, Charlie and Shift Lock have taken the fight to Arkwright, the Broker now also knows of Arkwright. Who's to say that the racers in Redview County were street racing out of rebellion? We only see the story from Zephyr and F-8's eyes in Rivals, meaning we don't even know current events in Redview County, as all they care about was what was in front of them. The VRT, the racer's, the weapons in Redview County, if not fully, I suspect Arkwright had a hand in it, and the racers either rebelled; OR unknowingly took the weapons that would provide their enemy with precious data; which could be used to make even more efficient weapons in the future to combat street racers. Hence, it could be an explanation as to why ex-criminals make up some part of the Vehicle Response Team in the RPD; what better guinea pigs than adrenaline-fueled hardened criminals fighting on the open roads with weapons and cars worth cities, with zero impunity to their actions?
All this leads me to believe that, ever since the BlackBox protag and the legendary M3 burst on to the scene, it created a butterfly effect that boosted the technological advancement of weapons and law-enforcement, which in turn lead to several economies, legal or illegal, being more than ready to meet the demands of what the BlackBox protag and his beloved M3 showed the 99% & the 1% of the bond between man and machine. And in both sides of the law, Arkwright would be ready behind the scenes, encourage and discourage where needed economically and technologically, while profiting off each and every event leading up to the NFS-verse's modern day. Hell, if my theory hold some water, the M3 could've been in Unbound because it was taken from Palm City, and being shipped country wide, with Yaz and the Unbound MC being just a link in the supply chain of Arkwright's shadow economy for profit and further technological advancements.
That's more or less what I've got, and I'd love to hear from any other lore enthusiasts out there with their thoughts. There's been a lot of "more questions than answers" with modern day NFS titles; and I know it's better to turn your brain off, and just enjoy the narrative for what it is; but this kind of theory-crafting is fun for me, and seeing the little coincidences you can find in these rabbit holes is the icing on the cake. TY for reading my ramble, and I'd love to hear your guys' thoughts!
TL;DR: Arkwright has been around before Payback, and controls the NFS Global Economies through Racing; and the world knowingly or unknowingly participates in their experiments and technological developments.

My son is a missing and presumed deceased person whose life, I believe, was ruined and likely ended due to his playing with a Ouija board as a child. While, I have never played with the ouija board, and other than my son once telling me that he thought he was possessed, I would not necessarily have associated his issues (he currently has been missing since May) were it not for the account from his sister who did play with the board with him. In all likelihood my son is no longer alive either from murder, suicide, drug overdose or exposure.
My daughter relates that while playing with ouija board with my son, he suddenly grimaced in pain, seemed to change personalities, threatened to kill her and began chasing her with a knife. She locked herself in the bathroom while he stabbed at the door. She escaped by spraying him in the face with an aerosol spray. To avoid him she moved out of her mother's house, where my son was staying (their mother and I were divorced, she has since died), although this did not stop my son's attacks on other family members.
He became homeless and ended up doing stints in Bethesda Mental Hospital, Federal Prison in Beaumont, Texas, Washington State Prison and Alameda County California County Jail. He also told my daughter that he believed he was possessed. Another daughter occasionally wired him money, primarily just to make sure he was still alive. When he failed to pick up a wire transfer in May and the two friends that had been in closest communication with him had not heard from him I filed a missing persons report with the police department at his last known location, which was San Francisco. His case # is 230434714.
The ouija board has been associated with at least hundreds of murders (including the Gary Gilmore murders and the school shooting that killed four high school students in Oxford Michigan) and attempted murders, suicides, and mental illness, including cases of mass hysteria including the very recent cases of the hospitalizations of 28 school children in Colombia and 35 in Bolivia.
Please boycott Hasbro, manufacturer and aggressive marketer of the ouija board https://www.boycottowl.com/Hasbro/919

I moved into my affordable housing apartment 7 years ago. The apartments are small and crowded. My next door neighbor "Lurch" started off friendly enough but I began to see red flags. Lurch used to be a firefighter but due to unknown reasons and changing aliments to those he talks to, I've become truly suspicious. After lurch became disabled he went through a nasty separation. Has three kids. Took to playing a poor feeble man but here's the kicker Events unfolding have me afraid and angry. Lurch has a police scanner and ham radio. He switches over frequencies to listen in on conversations. More specifically, is able to hear baby monitors and conversations. Made a comment about listening to my daughter and I when she was little. Saying verbatim what I said to my daughter. The public housing office knows. The police know. And it gets worse Lurch has called the police anytime there's any noise, even though it's not noise ordinance hours. A dozen calls to PD. Lurch after the last time claimed that "it's your word over mine, $unt." The property owner said that they are there to collect money and not solve neighborly dispute. I fear this is harassment. Coupled with what is probably a ring camera or motion detector that makes me anxious. Everytime my daughter or I goes outside, Lurch opens his door and stares. Listens with his ear out. My daughter has many special needs and will make sure other tenants use my assigned parking space so no one with me can. (I don't have car). I cannot just move but I'm tired of being stalked by the creepy old man. For my Walmart Plus delivery drivers to leave my orders with him because they think Lurch is with me. Tell me how on a budget to protect myself. I cannot move as my daughters school is amazing. I want to live in peace but fear that this man could snap any day.

I filed a police report against someone. Let’s just say it’s concerning a sexual case that happened on college grounds. I sent the evidence to an officer who requested the evidence last Friday. This morning, I received an email from the county district attorney saying that my DA case has been assigned to a deputy district attorney and they gave me the name of the person.
They said that the DA will review my case and let me know if charges will be filed and that while I’m waiting, a deputy district attorney may reach out to me for more info about the case. What does that mean, what does it entail and what should I expect next? Did my case go through or is it automatic that every case reaches the DA’s office regardless? If a DDA reaches out, what information should I expect from them? Another question: the suspect has disconnected their phone line, either through completely shutting the phone down or destroying it. What happens then?
Edit: San Diego CA is the location.

I filed a police report against someone. Let’s just say it’s concerning a sexual case that happened on college grounds. I sent the evidence to an officer who requested the evidence last Friday. This morning, I received an email from the county district attorney saying that my DA case has been assigned to a deputy district attorney and they gave me the name of the person. They said that the DA will review my case and let me know if charges will be filed and that while I’m waiting, a deputy district attorney may reach out to me for more info about the case.
What does that mean, what does it entail and what should I expect next? Did my case go through or is it automatic that every case reaches the DA’s office regardless? If a DDA reaches out, what information should I expect from them?
Another question: the suspect has disconnected their phone line, either through completely shutting the phone down or destroying it. What happens then?