(This is a repost from 4 weeks ago.)
Hi everyone,
With VoG challenge starting I wanted to post this to hopefully help some people complete Atheon challenge easier. It’s a pretty long guide since it contains pretty much everything I know about this challenge.
The challenge is that every guardian needs to destroy exactly one Oracle every time before Time’s Vengeance starts. (The weird wording is intentional - this is important for one of the items below.) So you do need a full team of six guardians to do the challenge. (FYI, I tried doing it with three guardians destroying two Oracles each, and it didn’t work - the “challenge failed” message came up as soon as the last Oracle was destroyed.)
In this guide, I will use “Venus” for the green/past/right and “Mars” for the brown/future/left timeline. I also use “teleport” to describe the time shift. I know these are not correct, but that’s how most people describe the Atheon fight.

Weapons and Subclasses

Load out wise, the best weapons are (in order):

• Sleeper Simulant (use an exotic chest armor with heavy ammo perk to get 12 shots)
• High impact sniper (Ex Machina, Event Horizon, Devil’s Dawn, Black Spindle archetype)
• Machine gun
• Rockets (only if you don’t have any of the above, and be very careful - jump straight up in the air to shoot them)
• Primaries from this raid (for Oracles)

Do not use supers other than Weapons bubble and Shadowshot tether. Time’s Vengeance will reduce supers’ cool down but their damage will not be buffed like regular weapons. Unless you run out of ammo, even a Celestial Nighthawk Golden Gun is worse than Sleeper - the GG’s dramatic animation is too long. All Titans should switch to Weapons with Bastion and Illuminated. (If you don’t have Illuminated, and there is someone else who does have Illuminated, do not use your bubble unless the other person is not available, or you may cost the team 10% of DPS). All Hunters should switch to Nightstalker with Black Hole. The Titan and Hunter who gets to the middle first should call out “I’ll do the bubble/tether” so others don’t have to worry about it. Also, call out again when the Weapons bubble is activated (near the back edge of the island preferably) so people know when to go back to find it. For the tether, jump straight up and shoot it on the ground at Atheon’s feet (not hitting Atheon directly will make the tether last longer). Only one person needs to tether. Shooting three Sleeper shots then tethering is about the right timing. Warlocks should be on self-res, as staying alive is paramount in case you can’t one-phase Atheon. Do not try to throw grenades, you will have to jump high in the air to do so, which wastes time. I takes about 23 seconds with 5 max light guardians shooting Sleeper with Weapons and tether active the whole time to destroy Atheon.

The Challenge

To make portals opening as smooth as possible, put 3 people on Venus side and 3 on Mars side. Stay inside the circle so you can start building the portal immediately when teleport happens even while you are detained. Do not jump on the monolith before the teleport, as it will aggro Atheon and he’ll start shooting at you and cause a lot of splash damage to you and your teammates.
The ideal situation is that the “inside team” gets #1/#2, the “outside team” gets #3-#5, and Relic holder gets #6. Two people from the outside should go in as soon as the portal opens, and the last person goes in when someone comes out. One notable exception is that if nobody is on the correct portal, then Relic holder needs to get #3 and outside team will get #4-#6. Make sure you watch the kill feed (above your super bar) to confirm you have indeed destroyed an Oracle. After the teleport, avoid unnecessary emoting so you won’t clog up the kill feed.

The Inside Team

The main goal for this team is to have Oracles #1 and #2 destroyed and get the non-Relic guardians out as soon as possible. So if you’re not grabbing the Relic, this is what you need to do:

• Shoot Oracle #1 or #2 (#1 is straight ahead on Venus and slightly left on Mars, #2 is slightly right on both) as soon as they spawn. It may help to call out immediately (“I got #1” “OK then I’ll get #2”) to avoid any confusion.
• Run to the portal as soon as you destroy your Oracle. There will be no cleanse at the bottom. Once you get cleansed at the portal, get out and call out “I’m out, you can go in” to the last person outside.
• Do not ask for cleanse, it will just clog up the comms. If you need a cleanse, quietly stand next to the Relic. The Relic holder will cleanse you every now and then.
• If you are #2 and you are sure your teammate #1 will not need help with his Oracle, you can run immediately to the portal and turn around to shoot Oracle #2. Oracle #2 will spawn around the time you get to the portal.
• If you are #2 and you are shooting your Oracle from the spawn and someone else destroys it instead, don’t try to shoot another Oracle, instead immediately run to the portal. You should have enough time to get there to receive a cleanse before you go completely blind.
• Once you’re out, help clear Supplicants and go to the middle island to be ready for DPS. If you’re the Weapons bubble or tether, tell people that you got that role. There will be three Supplicants that spawn on the other side that should have made it to the portal ring by then, so make sure you shoot them while you’re waiting.
• If you get out and notice you were not cleansed at all, go back in and wait just inside the portal for another cleanse.
• One more thing for the inside team to watch out for is the Relic holder accidentally destroying an Oracle. #1 on Venus is halfway up the stairs, and #2 is on the floor level, both destroyable by a single Relic slam. If the Relic holder destroys Oracle #1 or #2 while trying to kill the adds, you need to notify him (he’s probably too busy dealing with the adds to notice). If this happens, the inside team should take #1-#3, and the outside team takes #4-#6.
• And as always, throw a grenade at the Minotaur at the bottom on Venus, and don’t do anything to the adds on Mars. In any case, do not shoot the adds. The Relic holder needs to kill all three adds to build his super quickly. Even if you don’t kill the adds, it will cause them to wake up early if you shoot them and cause all sorts of havoc (like Hobgoblins throwing up their shields on Mars, or the Minotaur running up the stairs on Venus).

The Relic Holder

If you are the Relic holder, you want 300 Intellect (for Relic super) and 300 Discipline (for cleanse). Do not pick up the Relic if you don’t have 300 INT and DIS. Also don’t pick up the Relic if you’re the only Weapons bubble or tether. As a Relic holder:

• Call out which side you are, and remind people about the grenade/no grenade.
• Run down the right side behind the short pillars, not the middle stairway. Make a mini double-jump at the bottom and smash the adds with the Relic slam. On Venus, if they are not clustered together, you want to make sure you take out at least one of the Goblins (smash the one that’s closer to the Minotaur). One mistake that can cost you is to attack the Minotaur only when they are spread out, and by the time you get rid of it, you’ve had two Goblins shooting at you the whole time and have little to no health left.
• Once you’re done with the adds, run to the portal. If the portal is still not open, that probably means the outside team are all on the wrong side, so use your Relic super to take out Oracle #3. This is the one that is floating pretty high in the air on the right side (looking back from the portal, it will be left if you’re facing the portal). If you take out Oracle #3, call it out (“Relic holder took Oracle #3, last person take #6”).
• Stand near the portal so that the cleanse shield overlaps the portal. This will make sure anyone who runs through the cleanse on the way out will not go blind outside. Face the portal and watch your radar. When you see a green dot or two catch up on you, cleanse them.
• After the first set of guys are out, call in the last person and turn around. Make sure everyone is shooting Oracles in order (they don’t have to be destroyed in order, but each of them will wipe you after a set time, so it is better to shoot them in order). Cleanse occasionally.
• Once Oracles #1-#5 are destroyed, do one last cleanse and tell everyone to get ready for DPS. If possible, do a 3-2-1 countdown before smashing Oracle #6 so everyone knows exactly when Time’s Vengeance starts. Rush to the middle and activate the shield.
• Watch Atheon’s health bar as time progresses. Assuming most people started shooting as soon as Time’s Vengeance started, if Atheon’s health is about half or less at the 15 seconds mark, you should be able to kill him in one phase. If so, tell people to “commit”. If not, when Atheon’s health is about 1/3 left, tell people to get out and start clearing supplicants near portals. Turn around with your shield and leave after everyone is gone.
• If you had to destroy Oracle #3, then cleanse and leave after #5 is destroyed to go to the middle. The last person in doesn’t need any cleanse; he can shoot #6 and turn around to get to the middle in plenty of time before he goes completely blind.

The Outside Team

This team’s job is more complicated because there are many variants. The key is to immediately elect who is going to be the last guardian out. So if you are left outside:

• Watch your radar while the teleport is happening. You will see an extra green triangle on your radar that indicates where the inside team went. If it shows up on top-right, that’s Venus, if it’s bottom-left, it’s Mars. (The little triangle directly left or right is probably outside guardians on the opposite portal.)
• First thing to do is to elect the person to go in last.
  • If you are the only one on the correct portal, tell people you are going in first. Build the portal and go in. Make sure you don’t leave the ring until you see the message about the portal being active.
  • If you are the only one on the wrong portal, tell people you will be the last one to stay out.
  • If everyone is on the wrong portal, tell the Relic holder that he needs to take Oracle #3.
  • In any case, make sure two guardians go in and one stay out.
• Remember that nobody needs to stay inside the portal ring once the portal is activated (and there are no Praetorians to steal the portal from you), but one person needs to be outside at all times. If you’re the last one outside going to the portal from the wrong side ring, you don’t have to go to the ring that builds the portal at all.
• If everyone runs in by mistake and see the “lost in the dark corners of time” message, the last person can immediately run out to avoid a wipe if you are quick enough (although by this time most likely the team has freaked out from the message and is on a way to a wipe anyway).
• Before going in, try to toss an AOE grenade to the Atheon side of the portal to keep Supplicants at bay to help the one guardian that will be defending the portal by himself for a while. You can also shoot a tether there.
• Oracle #3 will be the one that is straight ahead as you go through the portal, and pretty far away.
• On Mars, #3 and #4 are almost overlapping but #4 is much closer. If they are both up, make sure you shoot #3 first.
• On Venus, #4 is below your sight line to your left.
• On both sides, #5 is above your left shoulder and #6 is above your right shoulder.
• If you are the first one in from outside, do not shoot Oracle #2. You destroying #2 will likely confuse the inside team member who was trying to shoot it, and if he didn’t run to the portal first like one other tip above, he may go blind before being able to destroy another Oracle.

A Special Trick

Now, one last tip - if Atheon is almost dead after a DPS phase, but so are any of your teammates, the outside team should go all out to attack Atheon. You can complete the challenge by destroying Atheon this way if you have done the previous Time’s Vengeance correctly.

• Use whatever you have to destroy Atheon. Offensive supers (Nova Bomb etc.) are good again here since weapons are no longer buffed by Time’s Vengeance.
• Oracles will still wipe the team if you do not destroy them all. If you have already destroyed Atheon (and gotten loot) and get wiped this way, you will be waiting in the wipe screen for several minutes while the game searches for a checkpoint to restart. Finally the game will realize there are no usable checkpoints and dump you back at the beginning of the raid. X-D
• In the off chance that the outside team is still trying to kill Atheon, do not destroy the last Oracle (#6). Doing so will start Time’s Vengeance and you will fail the challenge.
• If you have fewer than 4 guardians left while doing DPS, then all Sunsinger Warlocks should jump off and kill himself just before Time’s Vengeance ends. Then resurrect yourself after the teleport and try to destroy Atheon.

That’s all, sorry for the wall of text. Let me know if you have any comments.
Have fun, PSN: Lightfoot (without the “one” at end)

As the header states, I moved to the Kansas City area a few years ago and im originally from Kirksville, a very small rural town in the northeast of the state.
Growing up, mainly in my teen years, I really started to resent and hate my hometown as many young angsty kids get. I hated that any legit city was at least 3 hours away, I hated how redneck and casually racist a lot of my peers could be, I hated how there was nothing to do, I hated how little opportunity there was for me as an aspiring musician.
However every day that goes by i end up missing my dinky little hometown a little more. Quite frankly any of the suburbs in KC, or quite frankly anywhere as far as I can tell, are trash. They're obnoxiously sprawling with nothing but mega highway sized roads big box stores with ugly parking lots everywhere. And then I moved to the city which I enjoy much more, but it's quite nerve racking hearing gun shots on occasion and reading stories on the news of people being murdered on a weekly basis and no one bats an eye. Then hearing about the city's history and blatant housing segregation that still very much affects the city today makes me sick.
I do appreciate having many more opportunities as a musician, having a semi decent music scene (it's not great however), tons of nice restaurants, loads of rich history and beautiful architecture everywhere, etc. But a lot of days I miss my old po dunk hometown. I miss being able to aimlessly wonder around town at like 3AM and not having to be overly aware of my surroundings, I NEVER heard gunshots in Kirksville, I miss a lot of the great people that I knew there, I miss walking through Truman campus which is beautiful, I miss the simple public schools, etc.
Anyways I guess the grass is always greener huh? I still love KC and plan on staying here for as long as I can, but part of me really misses my small hometown. Anyone else on here have any similar feelings about moving from a small rural Missouri town to KC or STL?

GOOOOOOOOOOD MORNING SUPERSTONKERS! HAHA. It's me again. Yeah, i slipped past the defenses again to drop this off so you can all refresh yourselves on the state of FUD and disinformation in this protracted fight against the legal larcenists doing their best to try and get you to sell. Please spread this amongst the holders, the more people know the less power they have over us holders. We don't sell until we get a call from marge, and that's always been the play.
TLDR: This is a set of tactics used by the Alphabet Boys(CIA, FBI, DEA) to control and manipulate us into drama to collapse our communities and movements. And should be read in full by anyone willing and wanting to learn how these things work.
I've come to notice recently, people keep asking me to repost this for the sake of keeping the new people abreast on what needs to be done to protect the holders of GME. Beneath here will be a detailed account on what you need to be aware of in your online interactions, to avoid being taken for a fool!
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1. COINTELPRO Techniques for dilution, misdirection and control of a internet forum
2. Twenty-Five Rules of Disinformation
3. Eight Traits of the Disinformationalist
4. How to Spot a Spy (Cointelpro Agent)
5. Seventeen Techniques for Truth Suppression

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COINTELPRO Techniques for dilution, misdirection and control of a internet forum..
There are several techniques for the control and manipulation of a internet forum no matter what, or who is on it. We will go over each technique and demonstrate that only a minimal number of operatives can be used to eventually and effectively gain a control of a 'uncontrolled forum.'
Technique #1 - 'FORUM SLIDING'
If a very sensitive posting of a critical nature has been posted on a forum - it can be quickly removed from public view by 'forum sliding.' In this technique a number of unrelated posts are quietly prepositioned on the forum and allowed to 'age.' Each of these misdirectional forum postings can then be called upon at will to trigger a 'forum slide.' The second requirement is that several fake accounts exist, which can be called upon, to ensure that this technique is not exposed to the public. To trigger a 'forum slide' and 'flush' the critical post out of public view it is simply a matter of logging into each account both real and fake and then 'replying' to prepositioned postings with a simple 1 or 2 line comment. This brings the unrelated postings to the top of the forum list, and the critical posting 'slides' down the front page, and quickly out of public view. Although it is difficult or impossible to censor the posting it is now lost in a sea of unrelated and unuseful postings. By this means it becomes effective to keep the readers of the forum reading unrelated and non-issue items.
Technique #2 - 'CONSENSUS CRACKING'
A second highly effective technique (which you can see in operation all the time at www.abovetopsecret.com
) is 'consensus cracking.' To develop a consensus crack, the following technique is used. Under the guise of a fake account a posting is made which looks legitimate and is towards the truth is made - but the critical point is that it has a VERY WEAK PREMISE without substantive proof to back the posting. Once this is done then under alternative fake accounts a very strong position in your favor is slowly introduced over the life of the posting. It is IMPERATIVE that both sides are initially presented, so the uninformed reader cannot determine which side is the truth. As postings and replies are made the stronger 'evidence' or disinformation in your favor is slowly 'seeded in.' Thus the uninformed reader will most like develop the same position as you, and if their position is against you their opposition to your posting will be most likely dropped. However in some cases where the forum members are highly educated and can counter your disinformation with real facts and linked postings, you can then 'abort' the consensus cracking by initiating a 'forum slide.'
Technique #3 - 'TOPIC DILUTION'
Topic dilution is not only effective in forum sliding it is also very useful in keeping the forum readers on unrelated and non-productive issues. This is a critical and useful technique to cause a 'RESOURCE BURN.' By implementing continual and non-related postings that distract and disrupt (trolling ) the forum readers they are more effectively stopped from anything of any real productivity. If the intensity of gradual dilution is intense enough, the readers will effectively stop researching and simply slip into a 'gossip mode.' In this state they can be more easily misdirected away from facts towards uninformed conjecture and opinion. The less informed they are the more effective and easy it becomes to control the entire group in the direction that you would desire the group to go in. It must be stressed that a proper assessment of the psychological capabilities and levels of education is first determined of the group to determine at what level to 'drive in the wedge.' By being too far off topic too quickly it may trigger censorship by a forum moderator.
Technique #4 - 'INFORMATION COLLECTION'
Information collection is also a very effective method to determine the psychological level of the forum members, and to gather intelligence that can be used against them. In this technique in a light and positive environment a 'show you mine so me yours' posting is initiated. From the number of replies and the answers that are provided much statistical information can be gathered. An example is to post your 'favorite weapon' and then encourage other members of the forum to showcase what they have. In this matter it can be determined by reverse proration what percentage of the forum community owns a firearm, and or a illegal weapon. This same method can be used by posing as one of the form members and posting your favorite 'technique of operation.' From the replies various methods that the group utilizes can be studied and effective methods developed to stop them from their activities.
Technique #5 - 'ANGER TROLLING'
Statistically, there is always a percentage of the forum posters who are more inclined to violence. In order to determine who these individuals are, it is a requirement to present a image to the forum to deliberately incite a strong psychological reaction. From this the most violent in the group can be effectively singled out for reverse IP location and possibly local enforcement tracking. To accomplish this only requires posting a link to a video depicting a local police officer massively abusing his power against a very innocent individual. Statistically of the million or so police officers in America there is always one or two being caught abusing there powers and the taping of the activity can be then used for intelligence gathering purposes - without the requirement to 'stage' a fake abuse video. This method is extremely effective, and the more so the more abusive the video can be made to look. Sometimes it is useful to 'lead' the forum by replying to your own posting with your own statement of violent intent, and that you 'do not care what the authorities think!!' inflammation. By doing this and showing no fear it may be more effective in getting the more silent and self-disciplined violent intent members of the forum to slip and post their real intentions. This can be used later in a court of law during prosecution.
Technique #6 - 'GAINING FULL CONTROL'
It is important to also be harvesting and continually maneuvering for a forum moderator position. Once this position is obtained, the forum can then be effectively and quietly controlled by deleting unfavourable postings - and one can eventually steer the forum into complete failure and lack of interest by the general public. This is the 'ultimate victory' as the forum is no longer participated with by the general public and no longer useful in maintaining their freedoms. Depending on the level of control you can obtain, you can deliberately steer a forum into defeat by censoring postings, deleting memberships, flooding, and or accidentally taking the forum offline. By this method the forum can be quickly killed. However it is not always in the interest to kill a forum as it can be converted into a 'honey pot' gathering center to collect and misdirect newcomers and from this point be completely used for your control for your agenda purposes.
CONCLUSION
Remember these techniques are only effective if the forum participants DO NOT KNOW ABOUT THEM. Once they are aware of these techniques the operation can completely fail, and the forum can become uncontrolled. At this point other avenues must be considered such as initiating a false legal precidence to simply have the forum shut down and taken offline. This is not desirable as it then leaves the enforcement agencies unable to track the percentage of those in the population who always resist attempts for control against them. Many other techniques can be utilized and developed by the individual and as you develop further techniques of infiltration and control it is imperative to share then with HQ.
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Twenty-Five Rules of Disinformation
Note: The first rule and last five (or six, depending on situation) rules are generally not directly within the ability of the traditional disinfo artist to apply. These rules are generally used more directly by those at the leadership, key players, or planning level of the criminal conspiracy or conspiracy to cover up.
1. Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil. Regardless of what you know, don't discuss it -- especially if you are a public figure, news anchor, etc. If it's not reported, it didn't happen, and you never have to deal with the issues.
2. Become incredulous and indignant. Avoid discussing key issues and instead focus on side issues which can be used show the topic as being critical of some otherwise sacrosanct group or theme. This is also known as the 'How dare you!' gambit.
3. Create rumor mongers. Avoid discussing issues by describing all charges, regardless of venue or evidence, as mere rumors and wild accusations. Other derogatory terms mutually exclusive of truth may work as well. This method which works especially well with a silent press, because the only way the public can learn of the facts are through such 'arguable rumors'. If you can associate the material with the Internet, use this fact to certify it a 'wild rumor' from a 'bunch of kids on the Internet' which can have no basis in fact.
4. Use a straw man. Find or create a seeming element of your opponent's argument which you can easily knock down to make yourself look good and the opponent to look bad. Either make up an issue you may safely imply exists based on your interpretation of the opponent/opponent arguments/situation, or select the weakest aspect of the weakest charges. Amplify their significance and destroy them in a way which appears to debunk all the charges, real and fabricated alike, while actually avoiding discussion of the real issues.
5. Sidetrack opponents with name calling and ridicule. This is also known as the primary 'attack the messenger' ploy, though other methods qualify as variants of that approach. Associate opponents with unpopular titles such as 'kooks', 'right-wing', 'liberal', 'left-wing', 'terrorists', 'conspiracy buffs', 'radicals', 'militia', 'racists', 'religious fanatics', 'sexual deviates', and so forth. This makes others shrink from support out of fear of gaining the same label, and you avoid dealing with issues.
6. Hit and Run. In any public forum, make a brief attack of your opponent or the opponent position and then scamper off before an answer can be fielded, or simply ignore any answer. This works extremely well in Internet and letters-to-the-editor environments where a steady stream of new identities can be called upon without having to explain criticism, reasoning -- simply make an accusation or other attack, never discussing issues, and never answering any subsequent response, for that would dignify the opponent's viewpoint.
7. Question motives. Twist or amplify any fact which could be taken to imply that the opponent operates out of a hidden personal agenda or other bias. This avoids discussing issues and forces the accuser on the defensive.
8. Invoke authority. Claim for yourself or associate yourself with authority and present your argument with enough 'jargon' and 'minutia' to illustrate you are 'one who knows', and simply say it isn't so without discussing issues or demonstrating concretely why or citing sources.
9. Play Dumb. No matter what evidence or logical argument is offered, avoid discussing issues except with denials they have any credibility, make any sense, provide any proof, contain or make a point, have logic, or support a conclusion. Mix well for maximum effect.
10. Associate opponent charges with old news. A derivative of the straw man -- usually, in any large-scale matter of high visibility, someone will make charges early on which can be or were already easily dealt with - a kind of investment for the future should the matter not be so easily contained.) Where it can be foreseen, have your own side raise a straw man issue and have it dealt with early on as part of the initial contingency plans. Subsequent charges, regardless of validity or new ground uncovered, can usually then be associated with the original charge and dismissed as simply being a rehash without need to address current issues -- so much the better where the opponent is or was involved with the original source.
11. Establish and rely upon fall-back positions. Using a minor matter or element of the facts, take the 'high road' and 'confess' with candor that some innocent mistake, in hindsight, was made -- but that opponents have seized on the opportunity to blow it all out of proportion and imply greater criminalities which, 'just isn't so.' Others can reinforce this on your behalf, later, and even publicly 'call for an end to the nonsense' because you have already 'done the right thing.' Done properly, this can garner sympathy and respect for 'coming clean' and 'owning up' to your mistakes without addressing more serious issues.
12. Enigmas have no solution. Drawing upon the overall umbrella of events surrounding the crime and the multitude of players and events, paint the entire affair as too complex to solve. This causes those otherwise following the matter to begin to lose interest more quickly without having to address the actual issues.
13. Alice in Wonderland Logic. Avoid discussion of the issues by reasoning backwards or with an apparent deductive logic which forbears any actual material fact.
14. Demand complete solutions. Avoid the issues by requiring opponents to solve the crime at hand completely, a ploy which works best with issues qualifying for rule 10.
15. Fit the facts to alternate conclusions. This requires creative thinking unless the crime was planned with contingency conclusions in place.
16. Vanish evidence and witnesses. If it does not exist, it is not fact, and you won't have to address the issue.
17. Change the subject. Usually in connection with one of the other ploys listed here, find a way to side-track the discussion with abrasive or controversial comments in hopes of turning attention to a new, more manageable topic. This works especially well with companions who can 'argue' with you over the new topic and polarize the discussion arena in order to avoid discussing more key issues.
18. Emotionalize, Antagonize, and Goad Opponents. If you can't do anything else, chide and taunt your opponents and draw them into emotional responses which will tend to make them look foolish and overly motivated, and generally render their material somewhat less coherent. Not only will you avoid discussing the issues in the first instance, but even if their emotional response addresses the issue, you can further avoid the issues by then focusing on how 'sensitive they are to criticism.'
19. Ignore proof presented, demand impossible proofs. This is perhaps a variant of the 'play dumb' rule. Regardless of what material may be presented by an opponent in public forums, claim the material irrelevant and demand proof that is impossible for the opponent to come by (it may exist, but not be at his disposal, or it may be something which is known to be safely destroyed or withheld, such as a murder weapon.) In order to completely avoid discussing issues, it may be required that you to categorically deny and be critical of media or books as valid sources, deny that witnesses are acceptable, or even deny that statements made by government or other authorities have any meaning or relevance.
20. False evidence. Whenever possible, introduce new facts or clues designed and manufactured to conflict with opponent presentations -- as useful tools to neutralize sensitive issues or impede resolution. This works best when the crime was designed with contingencies for the purpose, and the facts cannot be easily separated from the fabrications.
21. Call a Grand Jury, Special Prosecutor, or other empowered investigative body. Subvert the (process) to your benefit and effectively neutralize all sensitive issues without open discussion. Once convened, the evidence and testimony are required to be secret when properly handled. For instance, if you own the prosecuting attorney, it can insure a Grand Jury hears no useful evidence and that the evidence is sealed and unavailable to subsequent investigators. Once a favorable verdict is achieved, the matter can be considered officially closed. Usually, this technique is applied to find the guilty innocent, but it can also be used to obtain charges when seeking to frame a victim.
22. Manufacture a new truth. Create your own expert(s), group(s), author(s), leader(s) or influence existing ones willing to forge new ground via scientific, investigative, or social research or testimony which concludes favorably. In this way, if you must actually address issues, you can do so authoritatively.
23. Create bigger distractions. If the above does not seem to be working to distract from sensitive issues, or to prevent unwanted media coverage of unstoppable events such as trials, create bigger news stories (or treat them as such) to distract the multitudes.
24. Silence critics. If the above methods do not prevail, consider removing opponents from circulation by some definitive solution so that the need to address issues is removed entirely. This can be by their death, arrest and detention, blackmail or destruction of their character by release of blackmail information, or merely by destroying them financially, emotionally, or severely damaging their health.
25. Vanish. If you are a key holder of secrets or otherwise overly illuminated and you think the heat is getting too hot, to avoid the issues, vacate the kitchen.
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Eight Traits of the Disinformationalist
1) Avoidance. They never actually discuss issues head-on or provide constructive input, generally avoiding citation of references or credentials. Rather, they merely imply this, that, and the other. Virtually everything about their presentation implies their authority and expert knowledge in the matter without any further justification for credibility.
2) Selectivity. They tend to pick and choose opponents carefully, either applying the hit-and-run approach against mere commentators supportive of opponents, or focusing heavier attacks on key opponents who are known to directly address issues. Should a commentator become argumentative with any success, the focus will shift to include the commentator as well.
3) Coincidental. They tend to surface suddenly and somewhat coincidentally with a new controversial topic with no clear prior record of participation in general discussions in the particular public arena involved. They likewise tend to vanish once the topic is no longer of general concern. They were likely directed or elected to be there for a reason, and vanish with the reason.
4) Teamwork. They tend to operate in self-congratulatory and complementary packs or teams. Of course, this can happen naturally in any public forum, but there will likely be an ongoing pattern of frequent exchanges of this sort where professionals are involved. Sometimes one of the players will infiltrate the opponent camp to become a source for straw man or other tactics designed to dilute opponent presentation strength.
5) Anti-conspiratorial. They almost always have disdain for 'conspiracy theorists' and, usually, for those who in any way believe JFK was not killed by LHO. Ask yourself why, if they hold such disdain for conspiracy theorists, do they focus on defending a single topic discussed in a NG focusing on conspiracies? One might think they would either be trying to make fools of everyone on every topic, or simply ignore the group they hold in such disdain. Or, one might more rightly conclude they have an ulterior motive for their actions in going out of their way to focus as they do.
6) Artificial Emotions. An odd kind of 'artificial' emotionalism and an unusually thick skin -- an ability to persevere and persist even in the face of overwhelming criticism and unacceptance. This likely stems from intelligence community training that, no matter how condemning the evidence, deny everything, and never become emotionally involved or reactive. The net result for a disinfo artist is that emotions can seem artificial.
Most people, if responding in anger, for instance, will express their animosity throughout their rebuttal. But disinfo types usually have trouble maintaining the 'image' and are hot and cold with respect to pretended emotions and their usually more calm or unemotional communications style. It's just a job, and they often seem unable to 'act their role in character' as well in a communications medium as they might be able in a real face-to-face conversation/confrontation. You might have outright rage and indignation one moment, ho-hum the next, and more anger later -- an emotional yo-yo.
With respect to being thick-skinned, no amount of criticism will deter them from doing their job, and they will generally continue their old disinfo patterns without any adjustments to criticisms of how obvious it is that they play that game -- where a more rational individual who truly cares what others think might seek to improve their communications style, substance, and so forth, or simply give up.
7) Inconsistent. There is also a tendency to make mistakes which betray their true self/motives. This may stem from not really knowing their topic, or it may be somewhat 'freudian', so to speak, in that perhaps they really root for the side of truth deep within.
I have noted that often, they will simply cite contradictory information which neutralizes itself and the author. For instance, one such player claimed to be a Navy pilot, but blamed his poor communicating skills (spelling, grammar, incoherent style) on having only a grade-school education. I'm not aware of too many Navy pilots who don't have a college degree. Another claimed no knowledge of a particular topic/situation but later claimed first-hand knowledge of it.
8) Time Constant. Recently discovered, with respect to News Groups, is the response time factor. There are three ways this can be seen to work, especially when the government or other empowered player is involved in a cover up operation:
a) ANY NG posting by a targeted proponent for truth can result in an IMMEDIATE response. The government and other empowered players can afford to pay people to sit there and watch for an opportunity to do some damage. SINCE DISINFO IN A NG ONLY WORKS IF THE READER SEES IT - FAST RESPONSE IS CALLED FOR, or the visitor may be swayed towards truth.
b) When dealing in more direct ways with a disinformationalist, such as email, DELAY IS CALLED FOR - there will usually be a minimum of a 48-72 hour delay. This allows a sit-down team discussion on response strategy for best effect, and even enough time to 'get permission' or instruction from a formal chain of command.
c) In the NG example 1) above, it will often ALSO be seen that bigger guns are drawn and fired after the same 48-72 hours delay - the team approach in play. This is especially true when the targeted truth seeker or their comments are considered more important with respect to potential to reveal truth. Thus, a serious truth sayer will be attacked twice for the same sin.
_______________________________________________________________________
How to Spot a Spy (Cointelpro Agent)
One way to neutralize a potential activist is to get them to be in a group that does all the wrong things. Why?
1) The message doesn't get out.
2) A lot of time is wasted
3) The activist is frustrated and discouraged
4) Nothing good is accomplished.
FBI and Police Informers and Infiltrators will infest any group and they have phoney activist organizations established.
Their purpose is to prevent any real movement for justice or eco-peace from developing in this country.
Agents come in small, medium or large. They can be of any ethnic background. They can be male or female.
The actual size of the group or movement being infiltrated is irrelevant. It is the potential the movement has for becoming large which brings on the spies and saboteurs.
This booklet lists tactics agents use to slow things down, foul things up, destroy the movement and keep tabs on activists.
It is the agent's job to keep the activist from quitting such a group, thus keeping him/her under control.
In some situations, to get control, the agent will tell the activist:

• "You're dividing the movement."

[Here, I have added the psychological reasons as to WHY this maneuver works to control people]
This invites guilty feelings. Many people can be controlled by guilt. The agents begin relationships with activists behind a well-developed mask of "dedication to the cause." Because of their often declared dedication, (and actions designed to prove this), when they criticize the activist, he or she - being truly dedicated to the movement - becomes convinced that somehow, any issues are THEIR fault. This is because a truly dedicated person tends to believe that everyone has a conscience and that nobody would dissimulate and lie like that "on purpose." It's amazing how far agents can go in manipulating an activist because the activist will constantly make excuses for the agent who regularly declares their dedication to the cause. Even if they do, occasionally, suspect the agent, they will pull the wool over their own eyes by rationalizing: "they did that unconsciously... they didn't really mean it... I can help them by being forgiving and accepting " and so on and so forth.
The agent will tell the activist:

• "You're a leader!"

This is designed to enhance the activist's self-esteem. His or her narcissistic admiration of his/her own activist/altruistic intentions increase as he or she identifies with and consciously admires the altruistic declarations of the agent which are deliberately set up to mirror those of the activist.
This is "malignant pseudo identification." It is the process by which the agent consciously imitates or simulates a certain behavior to foster the activist's identification with him/her, thus increasing the activist's vulnerability to exploitation. The agent will simulate the more subtle self-concepts of the activist.
Activists and those who have altruistic self-concepts are most vulnerable to malignant pseudo identification especially during work with the agent when the interaction includes matter relating to their competency, autonomy, or knowledge.
The goal of the agent is to increase the activist's general empathy for the agent through pseudo-identification with the activist's self-concepts.
The most common example of this is the agent who will compliment the activist for his competency or knowledge or value to the movement. On a more subtle level, the agent will simulate affects and mannerisms of the activist which promotes identification via mirroring and feelings of "twinship". It is not unheard of for activists, enamored by the perceived helpfulness and competence of a good agent, to find themselves considering ethical violations and perhaps, even illegal behavior, in the service of their agent/handler.
The activist's "felt quality of perfection" [self-concept] is enhanced, and a strong empathic bond is developed with the agent through his/her imitation and simulation of the victim's own narcissistic investments. [self-concepts] That is, if the activist knows, deep inside, their own dedication to the cause, they will project that onto the agent who is "mirroring" them.
The activist will be deluded into thinking that the agent shares this feeling of identification and bonding. In an activist/social movement setting, the adversarial roles that activists naturally play vis a vis the establishment/government, fosters ongoing processes of intrapsychic splitting so that "twinship alliances" between activist and agent may render whole sectors or reality testing unavailable to the activist. They literally "lose touch with reality."
Activists who deny their own narcissistic investments [do not have a good idea of their own self-concepts and that they ARE concepts] and consciously perceive themselves (accurately, as it were) to be "helpers" endowed with a special amount of altruism are exceedingly vulnerable to the affective (emotional) simulation of the accomplished agent.
Empathy is fostered in the activist through the expression of quite visible affects. The presentation of tearfulness, sadness, longing, fear, remorse, and guilt, may induce in the helper-oriented activist a strong sense of compassion, while unconsciously enhancing the activist's narcissistic investment in self as the embodiment of goodness.
The agent's expresssion of such simulated affects may be quite compelling to the observer and difficult to distinguish from deep emotion.
It can usually be identified by two events, however:
First, the activist who has analyzed his/her own narcissistic roots and is aware of his/her own potential for being "emotionally hooked," will be able to remain cool and unaffected by such emotional outpourings by the agent.
As a result of this unaffected, cool, attitude, the Second event will occur: The agent will recompensate much too quickly following such an affective expression leaving the activist with the impression that "the play has ended, the curtain has fallen," and the imposture, for the moment, has finished. The agent will then move quickly to another activist/victim.
The fact is, the movement doesn't need leaders, it needs MOVERS. "Follow the leader" is a waste of time.
A good agent will want to meet as often as possible. He or she will talk a lot and say little. One can expect an onslaught of long, unresolved discussions.
Some agents take on a pushy, arrogant, or defensive manner:
1) To disrupt the agenda
2) To side-track the discussion
3) To interrupt repeatedly
4) To feign ignorance
5) To make an unfounded accusation against a person.
Calling someone a racist, for example. This tactic is used to discredit a person in the eyes of all other group members.
Saboteurs
Some saboteurs pretend to be activists. She or he will ....
1) Write encyclopedic flyers (in the present day, websites)
2) Print flyers in English only.
3) Have demonstrations in places where no one cares.
4) Solicit funding from rich people instead of grass roots support
5) Display banners with too many words that are confusing.
6) Confuse issues.
7) Make the wrong demands.
8) Compromise the goal.
9) Have endless discussions that waste everyone's time. The agent may accompany the endless discussions with drinking, pot smoking or other amusement to slow down the activist's work.
Provocateurs
1) Want to establish "leaders" to set them up for a fall in order to stop the movement.
2) Suggest doing foolish, illegal things to get the activists in trouble.
3) Encourage militancy.
4) Want to taunt the authorities.
5) Attempt to make the activist compromise their values.
6) Attempt to instigate violence. Activism ought to always be non-violent.
7) Attempt to provoke revolt among people who are ill-prepared to deal with the reaction of the authorities to such violence.
Informants
1) Want everyone to sign up and sing in and sign everything.
2) Ask a lot of questions (gathering data).
3) Want to know what events the activist is planning to attend.
4) Attempt to make the activist defend him or herself to identify his or her beliefs, goals, and level of commitment.
Recruiting
Legitimate activists do not subject people to hours of persuasive dialog. Their actions, beliefs, and goals speak for themselves.
Groups that DO recruit are missionaries, military, and fake political parties or movements set up by agents.
Surveillance
ALWAYS assume that you are under surveillance.
At this point, if you are NOT under surveillance, you are not a very good activist!
Scare Tactics
They use them.
Such tactics include slander, defamation, threats, getting close to disaffected or minimally committed fellow activists to persuade them (via psychological tactics described above) to turn against the movement and give false testimony against their former compatriots. They will plant illegal substances on the activist and set up an arrest; they will plant false information and set up "exposure," they will send incriminating letters [emails] in the name of the activist; and more; they will do whatever society will allow.
This booklet in no way covers all the ways agents use to sabotage the lives of sincere an dedicated activists.
If an agent is "exposed," he or she will be transferred or replaced.
COINTELPRO is still in operation today under a different code name. It is no longer placed on paper where it can be discovered through the freedom of information act.
The FBI counterintelligence program's stated purpose: To expose, disrupt, misdirect, discredit, and otherwise neutralize individuals who the FBI categorize as opposed to the National Interests. "National Security" means the FBI's security from the people ever finding out the vicious things it does in violation of people's civil liberties.
_______________________________________________________________________
Seventeen Techniques for Truth Suppression
Strong, credible allegations of high-level criminal activity can bring down a government. When the government lacks an effective, fact-based defense, other techniques must be employed. The success of these techniques depends heavily upon a cooperative, compliant press and a mere token opposition party.
1. Dummy up. If it's not reported, if it's not news, it didn't happen.
2. Wax indignant. This is also known as the "How dare you?" gambit.
3. Characterize the charges as "rumors" or, better yet, "wild rumors." If, in spite of the news blackout, the public is still able to learn about the suspicious facts, it can only be through "rumors." (If they tend to believe the "rumors" it must be because they are simply "paranoid" or "hysterical.")
4. Knock down straw men. Deal only with the weakest aspects of the weakest charges. Even better, create your own straw men. Make up wild rumors (or plant false stories) and give them lead play when you appear to debunk all the charges, real and fanciful alike.
5. Call the skeptics names like "conspiracy theorist," "nutcase," "ranter," "kook," "crackpot," and, of course, "rumor monger." Be sure, too, to use heavily loaded verbs and adjectives when characterizing their charges and defending the "more reasonable" government and its defenders. You must then carefully avoid fair and open debate with any of the people you have thus maligned. For insurance, set up your own "skeptics" to shoot down.
6. Impugn motives. Attempt to marginalize the critics by suggesting strongly that they are not really interested in the truth but are simply pursuing a partisan political agenda or are out to make money (compared to over-compensated adherents to the government line who, presumably, are not).
7. Invoke authority. Here the controlled press and the sham opposition can be very useful.
8. Dismiss the charges as "old news."
9. Come half-clean. This is also known as "confession and avoidance" or "taking the limited hangout route." This way, you create the impression of candor and honesty while you admit only to relatively harmless, less-than-criminal "mistakes." This stratagem often requires the embrace of a fall-back position quite different from the one originally taken. With effective damage control, the fall-back position need only be peddled by stooge skeptics to carefully limited markets.
10. Characterize the crimes as impossibly complex and the truth as ultimately unknowable.
11. Reason backward, using the deductive method with a vengeance. With thoroughly rigorous deduction, troublesome evidence is irrelevant. E.g. We have a completely free press. If evidence exists that the Vince Foster "suicide" note was forged, they would have reported it. They haven't reported it so there is no such evidence. Another variation on this theme involves the likelihood of a conspiracy leaker and a press who would report the leak.
12. Require the skeptics to solve the crime completely. E.g. If Foster was murdered, who did it and why?
13. Change the subject. This technique includes creating and/or publicizing distractions.
14. Lightly report incriminating facts, and then make nothing of them. This is sometimes referred to as "bump and run" reporting.
15. Baldly and brazenly lie. A favorite way of doing this is to attribute the "facts" furnished the public to a plausible-sounding, but anonymous, source.
16. Expanding further on numbers 4 and 5, have your own stooges "expose" scandals and champion popular causes. Their job is to pre-empt real opponents and to play 99-yard football. A variation is to pay rich people for the job who will pretend to spend their own money.
17. Flood the Internet with agents. This is the answer to the question, "What could possibly motivate a person to spend hour upon hour on Internet news groups defending the government and/or the press and harassing genuine critics?" Don t the authorities have defenders enough in all the newspapers, magazines, radio, and television? One would think refusing to print critical letters and screening out serious callers or dumping them from radio talk shows would be control enough, but, obviously, it is not.

I’ve been through the knuckle 15-20 times. I’ve gotten all powers to rank X. I am super cool with running the Guardian. That is once I realized it’s strength (being pissy fast)
Here is the issue
The pros
The particular save file in question had the gun glitch which I did approximately 8200 times. I have a number of grolls and enough ammunition to supply the entirety of the Chinese army.
I have a powerful ship and a few guardians I captured by slick use of entering the ship when they exit.
I have a relaxing outpost on Porrima III that has two of my favorite things. Snow and nonstop violence.
I have a completely evil crew meaning they will actively assist me in murdering civilians. (A lot of folks will be cool with you attacking ships but very few are cool with you murdering unarmed civilians. This will be important later.)
The cons
I went through the knuckle and played for ten hours and then ended up loading this save some time ago. When I did that I decided to be a true Starborn and engage everything.
So every single faction has a massive bounty on my head. I will lose (not really but you know) so much xp if I turn myself I will literally despawn.
Also once again the weapons. I will miss the guns and unlimited ammo.
I won’t be able to reset traits which I am super looking forward to.
The current situation
I went through and started playing. Maybe 8-10 hours in once again. I am realizing how much it fucking sucks to not have rounds and/or good guns. Started running syndicate wakizashi but it doesn’t have a ton of murder power.
I have also been debating on cranking up the difficulty and sticking with it and going stealth, powers, and social skills. With my current hot key setup it is in getshiton.org mode. All Op powers are on deck and some minoniche ones as well.
Thoughts?

This is an abridged version of a 7,000+ word monstrosity spanning 4 campaigns, have fun! And TW for misogyny and human trafficking/slavery. Most of us were new to 5e, and signed up for a paid online DnD group during the start of Covid. There were 2 campaigns running simultaneously DMed by Enabler and his wife (who is really sweet and not the problem.) Deren started a free Phandelver game, then eventually Manipulator who was the director of the group started a campaign as well. Most of the cast played in all 4 games, but I couldn’t join Deren’s because of scheduling. Most of the drama happened in the campaign ran by Enabler which I’ll call the A-Men.
Cast:
Luno - a human Twilight Cleric. Cool dude.
Corgi - Didn’t play with the A-Men, but played a dwarf Battle Smith in the campaign parallel to ours. Wife to Luno irl. Cool lady.
Deren - half-elf Grave Cleric. Also cool dude.
Me - played a goliath Tempest Cleric
Dick - A perpetually drunk, arrogant asswipe. Played a warforged artificer.
Enabler - DM for the A-Men.
Manipulator - The main directoowner of the paid group.
Things started out nice in Enabler’s campaign, Luno, Deren, and I became fast friends and loved roleplaying with each other. But pretty soon the difficulty of combat started getting very difficult, and Enabler was forcing us to fight in encounters that would’ve been balanced for a party more than triple our level. As in, we as a level 2 party managed to take on an orc war chief, 2 ogres, an Eye of Gruumsh, and 5 or so orcs all in a cramped basement. The only way we were able to not die was by the 3 clerics spamming Healing Word on each other like whack-a-mole. This campaign and the group as a whole was marketed as “D&D for Beginners,” and we were all new to the game. At the time I didn’t realize how absurd the encounters were, I just thought it was my fault for being bad at the game. I don’t know why, but Enabler really wanted to kill all our characters… except for Dick’s.
Let me just get this out of the way first: Dick, was a dick. He would come to sessions sloshed, and continue drinking all game. He tried to get two different parties TPK’ed for no reason. He’d spout a bunch of racist and homophobic “jokes” that were very clearly not jokes. Oh, and he cheated, like, a lot. None of us liked him, but Enabler treated him like a golden child. None of us know why. He was showered with magical items and thousands of more gold than any of the rest of us. He was allowed to use busted homebrew none of the rest of us were. And most infuriatingly, he was allowed to cheat, more or less in the open. He’d fudge dice, even in DnD Beyond where his rolls were recorded. Hi warforged had higher health and stats than anyone, was allowed to use both a shield and a 2-handed rifle simultaneously, had more infusions than was allowed, and “mixed up” the loading and reloading properties between Eberron’s guns and Critical Role’s Bad News so he was allowed to do about 30 damage per turn, while the rest of us were doing about 5. Again, since all of us were new, we didn’t realize the blatant cheating till months later, and thought we just had to git gud.
Weirdly enough, Enabler never seemed to target Dick with his monsters. Couldn’t afford to risk scratching his favorite player’s gold-plated ass, certainly not! But for whatever reason my characters especially drew the Enabler’s ire. My cleric had chainmail and a shield so she was pretty tanky, and I guess he didn’t like that? During the basement orc fight he complained that he couldn’t put her down. I thought he was joking at the time, but looking back… yeah he wasn’t. Eventually I got tired of spending 3-4 hours unconscious so I took a level in Fighter to gain the Defense style for +1 AC. I was not hit by a single attack for the rest of the campaign. Everywhere the party went, regardless of the setting or context, every time we rolled initiative a mass of enemy clerics would spawn in and pelt me with 4-6 Sacred Flames and down my character within the first round or so. EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. In a wizard’s tower? Clerics. Robbing a vault? Cleric are sitting in the vault. Keep in mind that Dick’s AC has been about 25 through all this because shenanigans.
Turns out Enabler was an asshole and a misogynist in his own right. He completely disregarded all female players in either his or his wife’s campaign (they were basically the same campaign, with the same plot and setting). Rarely responded to questions about the rules from me, and never bothered to send Corgi (who was playing a dwarf) his homebrew dwarf lore, even though the whole setting revolved around dwarves. Corgi found out about the dwarf lore through Luno. He asked me to write the worldbuilding for the goliaths, which I was happy to do. I researched the Poetic and Prose Eddas to make a culture based off the Jotunn, sent it to him, and he approved it. Wan’t till months later that I learned he scrapped the whole thing. Also, he rewrote my character’s backstory and never even bothered to tell me until (again) months later, in the middle of a session. I was the only girl in the A-Men. Shocker.
There were also only 2 friendly female NPCs the entire campaign, one of which was unconscious basically the whole time we knew her. But all those clerics we were mowing down? All Lolth cultists. Same goes for literally any other enemy spellcasters throughout the campaign (except for any Intelligence casters, those were men, of course.) Oh yeah, and he also made a human trafficking ring, just for my character! Basically he wanted the party to sell my character into slavery in order to progress the plot. Fun. Thankfully they didn’t do that (absolute Chads). This wasn’t in the other version of the campaign, of course.
Things finally ended when Dick tried to TPK the party again, and Enabler took the opportunity to try and kill the party once and for all. He triggered all encounters in the entire dungeon at once while our party was stuck in a pair of long hallways. My character was downed within the first round as usual from 6 Sacred Flames, got most of the party low with about 4 groups of 3-6 enemies each, then had the pair of bosses cast cloudkill and insect plague in the same area at the same time, then summoned a Barlgura. Despite Dick’s protests, the rest of the party drug my unconscious character out of the spell blender, turned around, and left the dungeon.
A few days after the session we got together and I posted a message on the group’s Discord detailing Dick’s cheating, and that I didn’t want to play with him anymore. I didn’t even mention my personal gripes with Enabler. Immediately I get a message from Manipulator, asking me to jump into a voice call with him and Enabler. Alarm bells start ringing in the back of my head, and ask if the other players can join as well. Enabler disappeared, and wouldn’t talk unless I was alone. Of course, a few days later when we did all get together to talk over voice chat, I was the problem player. Manipulator scolded me for not being communicative with Enabler. Luno immediately yelled “Bullshit!” Reminder, Enabler ignored all my messages and wouldn’t talk with women in the group. Luno, Corgi, and Deren all stood up for me (again, absolute Chads.) And Luno is a pretty quiet guy, and that was the only time I’ve ever heard him yell. There was a lot more going on with Manipulator, he sold us fake stickers, tried to get Corgi and Luno to work for him for free, and was a nightmare DM all on his own, but that’s a story for another time.
We all jumped ship after that, and I hear things got pretty nasty on the VC after I left. Apparently we were the first of several mass exoduses out of that group. Now we have our own free group and play often. Since then Corgi and Luno more or less adopted me as part of their family. We spend holidays together, they attended my college graduation, the whole nine yards. The lot are the sweetest people you could meet. Happy ending!

Previous Part
By the time I’d woke up bright and early at 4 A.M., Rocco had amassed an impressive pile of pilfered food in the corner of the tepee. He was just dragging in a turkey leg when I saw him, must’ve been at it all night form the looks of it.
“Rocco, what the hell!”
I shouted, waving my hands at the pile of food he’d brought in.
“I told you to stay out of trouble, lay low. This is… not that!”
I complained, trying to think of how I’d talk my way out of this if anyone asked about the missing food. Rocco simply responded by shrugging, turning around, and diving face first into the mountain of food. I was annoyed at the moment but then I got to thinking. If Rocco stole all that and no one saw him what else could he do without being noticed?
“Hey… hey Rocco no-one saw you stealing all this right?”
I asked, grabbing his tail and dragging him out of the food mountain.
“WHATS DA BIG IDEA!”
He protested, flailing around as I held him in the air by his tail before regaining his composure and adding.
“I’m a profesional, of course I didn’t get seen. Why?! Did someone say something!?
Rocco shot his head from side to side, like he would find someone listening or critiquing his heist. All the movement causing him to spin slowly, still dangling from his tail.
“No, I was just thinking, as long as your out here I could have a job for you.”
I said, setting him down as he answered,
“Whad’ya mean? Spit it out!”
with his classic charm.
“I mean, I want you to sneak into that blonde guy’s tepee. The one with the shitty attitude, Brooke I think his name was. Just see if you can find anything in there.”
I could see Rocco’s interest was peaked but he still had one last all to predictable question.
“What’s in it for me?”
“You keep whatever you find in there no questions asked.”
Before the words even left fully my lips Rocco cried, “DEAL” and sprinted out of the tepee on all fours, leaving me alone.
I wasn’t really sure what the process was now, was Shaoni going to come get us or did she expect us to meet her in the coliseum? I’d never been part of anything like this before, I had no idea what the attendance policy was like. So, lacking anything better to do, I walked down into the mines and waited in the coliseum. It was obvious they were’t really ready for us yet. A few of Shaoni’s people were down there placing cactus looking things into five carved wooden bowls on the floor. Five bowls, five people in these trials so those had to have something to do with us. I looked around the room, trying to find Shaoni. She wasn’t up on her perch like yesterday and she certainly wasn’t part of the small group setting up those bowls. I felt a little different about her now that we’d had a chance to talk. Before I’d been afraid of her, and for good reason, but she seemed to want the opposite of that. Maybe not from me specifically but in general. Although, how could you not be scared of someone who could turn into a giant bird and seemed to consistently be the cause of freak storms. There was a lot of power to her but she didn’t want people to be afraid of it, she wanted respect. I’m sure there was more to her that I hadn’t heard but I certainly was going to hear anything new here.
Seeing as I was still apparently early, I decided not to wear out my welcome in the coliseum. I made my way back out of the mines and settled down back at that canvas tent with the huge table. It was again filled with food that had come from nowhere in particular, probably set up by more of Shaoni’s people. As if to confirm my suspicion, the bandaged man Bianca had stabbed earlier emerged from the camp, walking towards me with a platter of bacon. He starred daggers at me as he placed the platter at the table but didn’t say anything. I was almost tempted to apologize on Bianca’s behalf but I got the sense that wouldn’t be a great idea. Not long after I saw two of the others approaching.
“… Sure, but for some glorified tent it’s still pretty comfortable.”
Brooke said to Katrina who looked thoroughly uninterested in what he had to say.
Brooke wore a… purple suit that made him look like some stereotypical version of a pimp. I couldn’t think of any reason he’d wear that out here, at least no-one would mistake him from anyone else, that ’s for sure. Katrina wore an equally confusing getup, a blue tank top and jeans that made her look kinda like the girl from those tomb raider games. It was about 50 degrees out and probably wasn’t going to get much warmer. If she wanted to freeze, so be it. I gave a slight nod to them as they sat down across from me. Katrina still eyeing Brooke with an expression that begged for him not to open his mouth again.
I couldn’t stop staring at her, no not like that, I was staring at her belt where a holster sat,
“You like it?”
She asked, noticing the staring that I should’ve been trying harder to hide, drawing the handgun from the holster on her hip.
“Beretta M9 semi-automatic pistol, my father’s service pistol actually. Always served me well, so I always keep it on me, well almost always.”
She said with a wink, checking the gun and pulling back its slide. I wasn’t all that familiar with guns but I distinctly saw her flip the safety off. Which had a profound effect on my nerves considering I was staring down its barrel.
“They let you keep that around here? I would’ve thought they take that from you.”
I asked incredulously, still eyeing the gun she had pointed at me.
“I hid it on me yesterday, if they have an issue with it they can try and take it from me. I’m not doing anything like this without some kind of insurance. They get me and Luke or nothing at all.”
She retorted, spinning the gun back into her holster and turning the safety back on with a practiced hand. “Oh that’s cute, she named it” I thought sarcastically as my nerves settled, a loaded gun no longer pointed directly at my face.
“I’m not sure Shaoni would let you leave, even if you wanted to.”
“Oh please! She wouldn’t dare lay a finger on me or she’d have bigger problems coming her way.”
Katrina laughed, throwing her hand back in seemingly genuine amusement. She really didn’t have a care about the Thunderbird? I found that hard to believe.
“So what do you do anyways then? If you’re so sure she wouldn’t touch you.”
I asked incredulously. This seemed to grab her attention as she immediately snapped her head down, locking eyes with me and barking,
“That’s a need to know thing and you don’t.”
Before returning her attention to the food on the table and ignoring me. She was military, that was probably a safe assumption.
Brooke had been listening in to our conversation as he ate. After Katrina snapped at me he finally spoke up.
“So hang on, you came all the way out here with no insurance, no protection? Does anyone even know you’re out here?”
I briefly thought about Rocco, he wasn’t great insurance but he sure came cheap. I hadn’t stopped to think about preparing anything to bring out here with me. I just stupidly assumed everyone was on the same page as me, an unprepared fish out of water.
“No, I guess not.”
I responded, a little shaken at the realization that everyone here was probably more prepared than me.
“You must be stupid or have balls of steel to do something like that.”
Brooke told me, reaching over the table to clap me on the shoulder. I didn’t know if this really was the Brooke Bianca told me about or not but I really did not like this guy. We ate the rest of our breakfast in silence. John and Robert never showed up but I guessed they were down in the mines helping set everything up. I guess being a participate in the trials didn’t exempt Shaoni's followers from having to help get ready for them.
Apparently my guess was right because Robert and John were both already in the coliseum when the three of us arrived. Shaoni was once again up on the balcony and all of the people that had been there earlier were gone. I could clearly see what was in the five bowls now. It was some kind of small cactus thing with a white-pink flower at the top. I’d never seen anything like it before but it did seem a little out of place.
“This is your first trial, the trial of morals. This trial is meant to show us where your morals lie through visions of the past and beyond. Sometimes the plant has a mind of its own though so I don’t expect anyone will have the same experience. Some may not even serve the purpose of the trial but the vision is more important than anything I hoped to learn.”
Shaoni spoke like an announcer from above us.
“There is a plant there for each of you, peyote plants that I had grow for just this occasion. Each of you will eat one of the plants and they will give you visions. You will walk among the spirits and they will show you what you need to see.”
Shaoni finished, like she hadn’t just asked us to take hallucinogenics in an unfamiliar environment surrounded by people we didn’t really trust. I wasn’t a huge fan of being here when I was in control of my faculties but while experiencing a vision, oh no, fat chance. Then again it wasn’t like I had all that much of a choice, I realized just before I opened my mouth to protest.
“Fine but what does that tell you about us? Sure we can go get high for you here but it doesn’t really help anyone.”
Brooke spoke up, taking his usual disrespectful tone with Shaoni.
“I have my ways of knowing, but this experiences is for you. It should tell you more about yourself than it will tell me but I assure you, I will learn something.”
An annoyed but composed Shaoni responded. With that she turned and left us to our task.
“So does anyone want to go first?”
Katrina asked, putting a finger to her nose, inviting anyone else to go first.
“Not so fast sweetcheeks, I don’t trust any of you so how about you take the first crack at it?”
Brooke pointedly suggested. I think Katrina wanted to throw a haymaker at his face right then but I stepped in first.
“What if we all did it at once? Then no one is waiting around and I highly doubt she would let anyone come down here and do anything to us if these trials are that important to her.”
I reasoned, pointing up at the balcony Shaoni had been standing on.
“I still don’t like it but I can live with that, I agree everyone at once like… what’s your name?”
“Keith”
“Everyone at once like Keith said.”
Commanded Katrina, looking everyone in the eye and daring them to challenge her. I didn’t know what she did before coming here but whatever it was gave her a glare even Shaoni would be proud of. No-one hesitated to walk up to their respective bowls and take a bite of the strange pinkish flower at the top of the cactus.
The effects weren’t immediate, John just ate his flower then knelt by his bowl, eyes closed waiting for the vision to come. Robert leaned against the wall looking at his watch, seemingly judging the time before it took effect.
“It’s not my first time with peyote, I’ll probably stay up a little longer than you guys.”
Brooke bragged to the room, taking a seat by his bowl as Katrina and I did the same.
Poetically, Brooke was actually the first of us to go down for the count. I had to resit the urge to stand up and kick the crumpled up purple ball that was formerly Brooke. I don’t think anyone would have stopped me, heck the way Katrina was glaring at him this morning she might’ve joined in. But given what came next it was probably a good idea I didn’t stand. All of a sudden the room began flashing different colors, orange then brown then blue. I felt like I was falling but I hadn’t moved. Eventually a sensation came over me, like I had stood up but I was acutely aware of the fact that my body was really lying on the floor of the coliseum. As my vision cleared I started to recognize things, sights and sounds of a hospital room. It would seem my vision had started by bringing me back to my father.
I inched through the hospital room, sure of what I’d see on the other side of the thin curtain. A heart monitor beeped, just the same as the first and last time I’d been in this room. I saw my father, splayed across the bed no different than the only time I’d been in this room. I’ve always maintained that my family life was generally normal, anything that lay outside of that box of normality could be attributed to my father. He was never what I’d call a good person. Sure, he was never aggressive towards me but it didn't really count for anything. You could tell he never really wanted me. What he did to my mother, that was another story. He came home drunk almost every night and she end up with a black eye or worse at least once a week. Unfortunately for us he had a good job, he paid the bills and my mother and I couldn’t really support ourselves on our own back then. Worse still my mother always told me she put up with it for my sake when I asked her about it. That meant I always felt partially responsible every time I heard a fist meet skin in the room below mine.
My father had ended up in this bed by way of a drunk driving incident. Funnily enough it wasn’t actually his fault. He just so happened to be in the wrong intersection at the wrong time when a box truck plowed right into him. The accident left him with severe brain and spinal damage. It was a sick joke he survived, not a miracle. He’d be on life support from now on. I could’ve made him pay for everything he did with the simple tug of a cable. The only reason I didn’t was that the owner of the company that employed the box truck driver offered to pay all his medical bills. He must not have looked to closely because my fathers insurance was covering all of it. But every week a hefty check came in the mail anyways. As long as he was alive and in that hospital bed, me and my mother could live comfortably. It wasn’t really the right thing to do but I figured it was what my mother deserved after years of putting up with his abuse.
The heart monitor’s shrill beeping focused me back to the situation. I stood over my father’s body, the old urge to just pull the plug washing over me again.
“It would be so easy. Mom’s fine now, you’re managing, why do you still need him?”
I thought to myself, toying with the idea as another voice spoke in my head, Shaoni’s voice.
“He’s earned it, he ruined years of your mother’s life, Its only fair he pay a price for what he did.”
I looked around for the source of her voice but I saw nothing, maybe I was just hearing things, it was just a vision after all right? I looked down to see I was now on the opposite side of the bed, hand reaching toward the cord that powered the life support. Time seemed to move at a crawl, was this really the best option? He was probably solely responsible for the distance between my mother and I, he beat her so many times. Some of the blame for it even sat on my shouldres, would killing him take that away? Could I live with myself if I did this? Knowing I took the easy way out at his expense. No… I couldn’t, it would make me just as bad as him. It just wasn’t right I shouldn’t be the one to decide if he dies. Besides, whatever sliver of sentience remained in him deserved to watch as he shriveled and died in his own way, in some ways that was far worse but he didn’t deserve an easy way out either. The room spun as I made my choice and pulled my hand back from the plug. Sending my vision spiraling as my body collapsed to the cold hospital floor. When I finally fought my way through my spinning vision and back to my feet I was somewhere else. I was in Imalone and if I had to guess it was the night I first saw Shaoni.
I was somewhere in the town square where I got chained into the wooden monstrosity the cultists had made. Shaoni was circling in the sky so I guess I was watching this memory from outside of myself. I was made absolutely sure of this when I saw myself being carried out of the old rotting bar. I watched as the situation played out exactly as I remembered it. Right up until Shaoni landed and came to speak with the one masked cultist. What had been gibberish to me before was suddenly crystal clear english.
“What IS this! You think this is right!? This is what you think I stand for, human sacrifice?!”
Shaoni shouted with such intensity and force I jumped back, looking for a place to take cover.
“Brother Aaron foretold your approach, this outsider wandered in so we thought he would make an excellent gift to you.”
The masked cultist answered, missing the point entirely as Shaoni’s eyes flashed with fury.
“There will be a sacrifice alright, a price must be paid for everything you’ve done here. You have no understanding of what I stand for, You’ve spit in the face of it in fact and for that, each and every one of you will make a sacrifice. Release that poor boy, NOW!”
Shaoni commanded the cultists with a voice so stern I almost ran to try and free the trapped version of myself. None of them budged, they didn’t even seem to realize what kind of danger they were in. Shaoni strode past them over to me where she offered me her all to familiar deal. I was stunned, I never stopped to think that she fully intended to let me go either way. Sure, now I knew that these guys weren’t her usual followers. I still never thought she came here intending to wipe them out. I didn’t really have a chance to dwell on it. Before I knew it Shaoni was transforming again causing a tornado to appear in the middle of town as lightning struck around the area like machine gun fire. As the wall of wind rain and lighting reached me I felt a familiar falling sensation and blacked out again.
When I came to I was back on the cave floor again. I wasn’t sure if I was still in a vision until I felt a sharp kick to my side.
“Oh… that felt… very real. Oh god why?”
I groaned as I looked up at the smirking Katrina.
“He’s awake, that’s everyone then.”
She called out to the rest of the group who were all standing around me. She and the others walked off in the direction of the exit, leaving me there on the floor. With nothing better to do I followed them out. Outside the full moon had shown itself, bathing the camp in shimmering moonlight. Shaoni walked up to greet all of us who’d just collectively decided to just go outside.
“You’ve all made it through it would seem, I hope your experiences weren’t to unpleasant.”
Brooke charged straight past her, I could practically see the steam coming out of his ears. Obviously he’d seen something he didn’t like while he was under the influence of that plant. Katrina seemed completely unaffected, marching by Shaoni filled with the same confidence she had when I first saw her. Robert and John seemed completely unaffected by whatever they had seen but something told me they might be used to it. Me, I wasn’t doing so great. I wasn’t all that pleased about revisiting my father and all those old memories and whatever that flower was called had really done a number on me. I weakly waved to Shaoni as I walked by, just trying to focus on walking straight. She didn’t seem to surprised that none of us wanted to talk to her. She didn’t say anything to us as we all quietly sat and ate. I didn’t like the silence, it felt like everyone was just waiting for something to happen but no-one had any idea what. So I got up and headed back to my tepee, maybe Rocco had turned something up on Brooke.
Rocco was waiting for me atop his mountain of food when I got back.
“I found somethin yous might be interested in”
He said triumphantly, waving around a polaroid photo he had clutched in his paw.
“Give that to me!”
I snapped, ripping it right out of his paw.
“Well someones in a mood.”
“Getting drugged will do that to you.”
I snapped as Rocco stared at me, paws on his hips like he was about to give me attitude.
“I’m sorry My heads still just spinning from… well everything today.”
I sighed, holding my head in one hand as I shook it. Apologizing to a raccoon, my life really was something wasn’t it? I looked down to the picture enemy hand and immediately ice shot through my veins. It was a picture of Bianca taken not too long ago by the looks of it. She was walking back into her house in the photo and it looked like it was taken from a passing car. The photo itself isn’t what really concerned me though, the message written on the back did that. “What you seek can be found in the town of Eagles Peak”, the note read in a singsongy way. I’d never seen Shaoni’s handwriting but given the circumstances I was sure that’s what I was looking at.
I looked up at Rocco who looked more serious than I’d ever seen him.
“Now I don’t know what happened to that girl but somethin’ hurt her before we knew her. If that’s the somethin’ that did, and I’m guessin’ it is lookin’ atcha’. I say we should hurt em’ back.”
Rocco told me with cold steel in his voice. It was weird, hearing him speak without a hint of a joke or over exaggerated movement. We finally found something that the little menace to society could focus on, something… productive.
“My hands are tied, I don’t think anyone here would take kindly to me just attacking someone. Besides, look at him, he’s taller and obviously stringer than me. I’m just a scrawny guy who’s way out of his element, I don’t want a fight. Just… keep an eye on him, maybe we can find something to turn the others against him?”
It wasn’t the answer Rocco was looking for, that’s for sure. He deflated at my words, I’m sure he wanted to go in guns blazing and confront Brooke with what we thought we knew. That wasn’t really going to be an option here, even if it was I’d rather not do that.
“Oh, one more thing, Don’t let Brooke go back into town if he tries to leave, I don’t care how you do it just don’t let him leave.”
I added as an evil grin crossed Rocco’s face.
“Aye’ aye’ captain!”
He cried, raising a paw to his head and saluting me.
Just then I heard someone knocking, no rustling? Screwing around with the front flap to the tepee trying to get my attention. I opened it only to see, “Shaoni?”
“I wanted to ask about the visions today, I’ve talked to everyone else but I couldn’t find you so I guessed you’d be at… is that a raccoon?”
Shaoni stopped, seeing Rocco frozen mid step behind me as he tried and failed to run before she saw him. Realizing he’d been seen Rocco twirled around and in a way only he could announced,
“Whatcha’ think you were looking at Pocahontas?”
“Oh? It talks as well?”
Shaoni said, somewhere between bewildered and bemused as she looked between me and the mouthy Raccoon.
“Course I talk! I thought you woulda’ seen somethin’ like that when you were busy painting with all the colors of the wind!”
Rocco yelled back at her. I wasn’t sure if he was actually offended by Shaoni’s questions, or just deliberately trying to be a nuisance, probably the second thing. I whirled around and glared at Rocco, holding my finger to my mouth in an attempt to shut him up. For once he actually listened.
“I… sorry about him, he’s always like that, part of his charm you know.”
I said with a shrug and a nervous chuckle. Shaoni shook her head dismissively and continued.
“Did you see anything in the cave that you wanted to talk about?”
She asked me, now sounding a little annoyed. I thought back to my father and that hospital room, I wasn’t really ready to talk about that with anyone just yet. But I did have some new questions about how I got into this whole mess in the first place.
“You said back in Imalone you saved me because I realized there was a price for being saved. That wasn’t really it though was it? I saw it again, I could understand you this time. You were going to save me regardless. So why mark me Shaoni? Why did you really bring me here?!”
I said, my voice raising outside of my control as I spoke. I had to finally admit to myself that I was sick and tired of being dragged around in the dark. I was suddenly furious and I didn’t care who it was standing in front of me, I wanted an answer.
“Those men were ruining my name, they thought they were following the Thunderbird but it was just some idea of me they had come up with. They used me to justify their horrid actions and I came to put a stop to it. You were there and when I offered you a deal you didn’t fight it. That’s why I marked you.”
Shaoni spoke quickly, like she wanted to avoid the subject, all but turning around and leaving right then.
“Bullshit! I want an answer Shaoni, a real answer!”
I yelled at her, my fury taking full control of me. Shaoni was silent for a minute, when she finally spoke she looked down, never meeting my eyes as she softly said.
“You remind me of someone from a long time ago. They were blind to the way of things at first, an outsider even. In time though, he became what bound our people together as one family. I don’t have a better answer for you than that. I wasn’t sure I should’ve chosen you at first, I had a feeling that day and I followed it. What you’ve done since you’ve got here, how you’ve handled learning what little you know about the world of the supernatural. Those things are what tell me I made the right choice.”
As she walked away I thought I saw tears reflecting in the moonlight shown on her face. As I settled down I swore I heard soft sobs, echoing across the camp long into the night.

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

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

Yesterday morning I had my very first passenger. I picked up a guy form a live in hotel. Ya know the hotels with a small kitchen in that always smell like wet dogs with mash potatoes are being fixed up. Often you can rate these places based on the number of people in wheelchairs smoking cigarettes at 8am in the pick up zone. It was definitely a 8 person rate cigarette zone. Looked like an early access line to hell. Shout out to the devil for getting these folks off the street.(laughs). Guarantee if you have a drug addict in the family you have dropped them off or pick them up from such an establishment.. . Now that we have had a bit of a laugh let get into the story. Also if you don’t know how to laugh at things like this, maybe you should go be a protester or an airport traffic cop. . I noticed a very skinny guy with over sized cloths and what looked like a bag of dirty laundry waving his phone at me. Which I now know as the “ride share mating call”. I opened up my hatch and let him load his bag. Alex then looked at my with full jaw twitch and said. “HavMorBagainThRoomHoleOnThreeorForMinzs”. Luckily I have drug addiction in the family so i can read, write, speak, and translate tweaker. . Alex loaded my hatch with his entire life and we headed out. I ask Alex where we were headed. Yes I said it in crack head talk for those who where are interested all you need to do is roll your lip over you teeth and talk normally. Try it, you know you want to. Alex says I am going to rehab. I just finished stash and need to get to checking before 11am. Then Alex said “can you pull over so I can stash my gun in the woods”………. I told him….. “this is Texas Alex everyone has a gun on then no one cares”. I dropped him at the gas station right across from the rehab where he exited the car when to his bags and dug his pistol out of his bag and walked into the woods to stash his gun. Leaving his life time collection of belongings in my suv. Once he made it to the woods. I through his shit to the curb and booked it. Thank you LYFT-

Hi fam,
Just wondering if anyone can provide general tips for Newcastle. I play on MNK and focus a lot on movement, but I am wanting to transition to a support.
What perks do you recommend?
Gun load out?
How should you position, utilize tactical, etc?
Ty in advance!

What you need: - iphone - RetroArch app (https://apps.apple.com/us/app/retroarch/id6499539433) - A PS1 Time Crisis rom and PS1 bios files. - An account and apps for getting files onto iphone (OneDrive, Google Drive, Dropbox, etc)
How to do it: - In your phones "files" app, get the PS1 bios into the "system" folder under the "retroarch" folder. You should be able to open your 3rd party files app like onedrive, touch the little export/share icon thing, send to files, and navigate through the files folders until you get there - In retroarch go to "load content" and navigate to wherever you've saved the Time Crisis .chd. When it asks what core you want choose "Sony - Playstation (Beetle PSX)"
The game should start running but we still have work to do.

• Click the little retroarch button on your touchscreen controller to bring up menus
• Go to controls > Port 1 Controls > Device Type > Guncon
• Navigate back to the quick menu home and go to Core Options > Input > Gun Input Mode

You can now "shoot" by tapping the screen but there's a couple more things to make this playable

• At the quick menu home go to On-Screen Overlay > Overlay Lightgun > 2-Touch Input and set it to Gun Aux A
• Do the same with 3-Touch Input and Gun Start

You can now press gun buttons by tapping with more than one finger. Back to the game:

• There's a controller superimposed over your screen. Press the little down arrow button to get rid of it.
• At the home screen go to options > button configuration and set the reloading method to "reload: press." This will make it so that pressing with two fingers goes into cover and removing your fingers pops out from cover

You're all set. I find accuracy is harder with the touch screen but quickly acquiring targets is easier.

As the child of middle-American white people, the kind of family that forgot who they were and where they came from once they got here, almost my entire life has been a search for identity. Not in the angsty teenage sense that found so many of us stoned in suburban basements trading minor, unoriginal insights as glorious revelations from barely dipping our toes in the real world. I've never been able to find much out about my paternal lineage, but the past decade or so I'd thrown myself hard into the Irish identity of my mother's family. They aren't overtly or openly Irish, but at least the lineage is apparent and traceable. At times, that identity has given perspective, purpose, and meaning, like the uncomfortable "White Privilege" political discourses at Thanksgiving. Y'know, fun shit like that.
Like a lot of people, I grew up in some fucked up things. I don't think it's of any particular use to itemize or describe those circumstances but I've known much of violence, violation, and a variance of heartbreak. These things are not unique to me.
I've struggled relentlessly with self-worth for most of my life. Since my early childhood. I cannot say it's entirely bad, but I suppose the wonderful times (which have truly been wonderful; I've been afforded some experiences lots of people haven't in life) are still outweighed by the negative. The dark parts are markedly dark and abundant. In the midst of this self-discovery journey, I held out hope for a long time that I would make it back home. Back to see Ireland, the Small Sea...visit the East End of Glasgow to see where my family fled, before they made the trans-Atlantic journey to lose themselves in American identity. Venture to Northern Ireland to see the H-Block, where James Sands starved himself in protest against English occupation. Purpose and dignity in the harsh Atlantic seaboard, where it can be said that there's no sadness quite like a Celtic sadness.
I think of this often when I think about the English word 'home' and the layers of meaning it conjures. How we tie it not just to a building, but to family. Warmth, comfort, safety and security. Those sentiments can all come sprawling forth from those four letters. In Irish Gaelic, there are probably four or five different words for this based on context, and I remember how difficult I found Irish at first because there is no possessive verb meaning 'to have'; things are either at, on, or with you. In English, the word 'sorry' comes from 'sorrow', or more specifically being full of sorrow on account of oneself. Colloquialism and the evolution of language brought us a more direct way to apologize in both menial day-to-day interaction and times we genuinely must feel awful for what we've done. English is like that, full of matter-of-fact efficiency.
To say "I'm sorry" in Irish now, you would say "tá brón orm", which I guess most literally translates to say "sadness is on me". To say you were sad at the moment, you would say "tá mé brónach", more literally "I am sadness".
I think a lot about Ireland lately. You cannot run away from your problems entirely, no, but I do think you can change your environment. I think about history, of people repeatedly forced into economic exile for centuries, losing their language and constantly occupied by foreign rule. There's been a melancholy in how I exist that probably owes a great deal to this lineage but I've failed to see it, much less harness it. I wish I'd taken a more particular and driven interest in the language before it was too late, especially as I don't think there's a more accurate description of what I feel but for how the Irish say 'sorry'.
The sadness is on me.
In Scottish Gaelic, the word 'cianalas' is one of nostalgia, of profound longing and homesickness...in Welsh, 'hiraeth'. In English, the sappy and sentimental of whom I find myself amongst often liken the word 'home' to people. We find a home in someone, in a person who purposefully made a space for us in the last place we expect to find it. There was a time when I had found this. I was too cocky, too smart for my own good, too sure I'd outgrown the fucked up that I'd come from. I thought I fell too far from it to let the wood rot of my family tree creep in.
I didn't just lose my home. There were no tragic circumstances. I acted poorly, disgracefully, selfishly and in bathed in a darkness inside me I never knew I was capable of. I didn't just lose my home, I set it aflame and burned it to nothing, kicking about in the ashes after and I've still got the nerve to live each day tinged with a deeper grief and sadness than I never knew existed. In this life, I am both the Irish and the English.
The sadness is on me.
It's no longer a profound sadness that longs for the fogged beauty of inland bog or rocky sea shore, or the beautiful person who rivaled such wonder. It's a sadness that aches, that has outpaced time to settle deep in my bones before father time could take my joints. It taunts me to look at what I've done, what I've become, in a dark home with dusty mirrors. Stalks me while I walk my dog. It tells me that everything in the world is a loaded gun in my hands and to use it on myself before hurt someone else again. It tells me that I still have potential and that I will waste it all.
I have been a liar, a cheater, a disgrace. I have acted in direct defiance of everything I thought I believed and I never knew I was capable. I don't know of any other way to fix this.
The sadness is on me.

I've been trying to get a stable framerate on my PS5 are for a while and realized that I hadn't cleared the cache or rebuilt the database in a while and after doing it I felt it would help some other divers spread Democracy a bit easier.
For those who haven't done this, it's safe and built into the PS5 for optimization. You need to power down your PS5 and connect a USB C directly to the controller. Hold the power button down on the PS5 until you hear a system beep and the safe menu will show up.
Go to the option 'Clear Cache and Rebuild Database' and I typically clear cache first. Your PS5 will boot up after it's done, you can just shut it down again and repeat the steps go go into the safe menu again.
Just a warning that the 'rebuild database' will clear any custom folder groups that you've made on your homepage and some default messages will pop up initially after it's completed. The change after I did this helped a lot with loading, framerate and oddly enough how the gun scopes work with zooming.
Some other things I found that have helped with performance under stress through trial and error and these are all based on preference:
Gameplay
Remember Aim Mode OFF
Visuals
Camera shake OFF Motion blur OFF Depth of Field OFF Bloom OFF Quality Profile PERFORMANCE Anti aliasing ON Sharpness 0.75
HUD
HUD Scale 0.95 Hint Visibility HIDDEN Stamina Width SHORT
Hope this helped and Happy Diving! FOR DEMOCRACY!

I am using the midnight ride with a couple (ok alot) of add-ons that I wanted to play with.
Any tips on how to fix or a guess at the mod thats causing this would be greatly appreciated.
My Load order from Mod Organiser 2.

Mod_Priority,#Mod_Status,#Mod_Name

"0000","+","DLC: Wasteland Workshop"
"0001","+","DLC: Vault-Tec Workshop"
"0002","+","DLC: Nuka-World"
"0003","+","DLC: Far Harbor"
"0004","+","DLC: Contraptions Workshop"
"0005","+","DLC: Automatron"
"0006","+","Creation Club: ccSBJFO4003-Grenade"
"0007","+","Creation Club: ccOTMFO4001-Remnants"
"0008","+","Creation Club: ccFSVFO4007-Halloween"
"0009","+","Creation Club: ccBGSFO4116-HeavyFlamer"
"0010","+","Creation Club: ccBGSFO4115-X02"
"0011","+","Creation Club: ccBGSFO4110-WS_Enclave"
"0012","+","Creation Club: ccBGSFO4096-AS_Enclave"
"0013","+","Creation Club: ccBGSFO4046-TesCan"
"0014","+","Creation Club: ccBGSFO4044-HellfirePowerArmor"
"0015","-","Utilities_separator"
"0016","+","Address Library for F4SE Plugins"
"0017","+","Backported Archive2 Support System"
"0018","+","PrivateProfileRedirector F4 - Faster game start (INI file cacher)"
"0019","+","Console Commands Extender"
"0020","+","Better Console - F4SE"
"0021","+","High FPS Physics Fix"
"0022","+","RobCo Patcher"
"0023","+","Baka MaxPapyrusOps"
"0024","+","Random Encounter Framework"
"0025","+","Lighthouse Papyrus Extender"
"0026","+","Garden of Eden Papyrus Script Extender"
"0027","+","RAW INPUT - The Ultimate Mouse Sensitivity Fix"
"0028","+","HUDFramework"
"0029","+","Workshop Framework"
"0030","-","Bug Fixes_separator"
"0031","+","Unofficial Fallout 4 Patch - UFO4P"
"0032","+","Ownership Fixes"
"0033","+","Community Fixes Merged"
"0034","+","The Midnight Ride - Glitchfinder All-In-One"
"0035","+","Misc anim tweaks and fixes"
"0036","+","Weapon Mod Fixes"
"0037","+","Community Fixes Merged - WMO patch"
"0038","+","Buffout 4"
"0039","+","Sprint Stuttering Fix"
"0040","+","Hostile NPC Respawn Fix - F4SE - Garden of Eden SE"
"0041","+","Companion Jump Fall Pose Fix - F4SE - Garden of Eden SE"
"0042","+","Combat Shutdown Grenade Fixes - F4SE - Garden of Eden SE"
"0043","+","Jet Script Bug Fix"
"0044","+","Armor Penetration Bug Fix - F4SE"
"0045","+","Energy Weapon Calculation Fix"
"0046","+","Outfit ReDress Fix"
"0047","+","Interior NavCut Fix"
"0048","+","Long Save Bug Fix"
"0049","+","3rd Person Behavior Fixes"
"0050","+","Reload Fix"
"0051","+","Melee Sneak Locomotion Animation Blending Fix (Behavior Edit)"
"0052","+","Wetness Shader Fix"
"0053","+","Fixed Protectron Textures"
"0054","+","Fixed Gobo Effects"
"0055","+","Marine Combat Armor Material Fix"
"0056","+","NPC Drinking Fix"
"0057","+","Flutter Flicker Fixer For Foliage"
"0058","+","Previsibines Repair Pack Stable Branch - PRP"
"0059","+","PRP Resources"
"0060","+","Simple Puddle Reflection Flicker Fix (Water and Blood)"
"0061","+","Weapon Debris Crash Fix"
"0062","+","Godrays Performance Fix Redux - ESPless"
"0063","-","Tweaks_separator"
"0064","+","Unlimited Survival Mode - F4SE"
"0065","+","Bullet Counted Reload System (BCR)"
"0066","+","Classic Holstered Weapons System (CHW)"
"0067","+","Remove Ammo from Dropped Guns"
"0068","+","Remember Lockpick Angle - Updated"
"0069","+","Less Annoying Berry Mentats"
"0070","+","To Your Face FO4"
"0071","+","Deadeye Weapon Effect Fix"
"0072","+","Simple Offence Suppression F4"
"0073","+","Faster Workbench Exit"
"0074","+","Dogmeat Follow Behind"
"0075","+","Creation Club Delayed"
"0076","-","User Interface_separator"
"0077","+","Mod Configuration Menu"
"0078","+","MCM Settings Manager"
"0079","+","The Midnight Ride Resources"
"0080","+","Extended Dialogue Interface"
"0081","+","Crafting Highlight Fix"
"0082","+","Outline Workshop Highlight Only"
"0083","-","Gameplay_separator"
"0084","+","Complex Vendors"
"0085","+","Blocking Overhaul"
"0086","+","Chemfluence - AI Combat Dynamics"
"0087","+","SPARS - Simple Power Armor Reduction System"
"0088","+","DLC Timing"
"0089","+","Vish's Patch Hub (UFO4P)"
"0090","+","Keep Radiants in the Commonwealth UFO4P Version"
"0091","+","Encounter Zone Recalculation (Continuous Level Scaling)"
"0092","+","Who's The General - Minutemen Quest Cleanup"
"0093","+","Who's The General - Minutemen Quest Cleanup KRC Patch"
"0094","+","Molotov Cocktail Nerf"
"0095","+","Legendaries They Can Use"
"0096","+","No Sneaking in Power Armor"
"0097","+","See-Through-Scopes"
"0098","-","Content_separator"
"0099","+","Legendary Mutation Messages Fix - Cut Content Restored"
"0100","+","The Attachment Pack"
"0101","+","The Attachment Pack Patch"
"0102","+","Vish's Patch Hub (UFO4P) WMF patch"
"0103","+","Attachment Pack - Description Tweaks and Fixes"
"0104","+","You And What Army 2"
"0105","+","Sim Settlements 2 - Chapter 3"
"0106","+","SS2 City Plan Contest Mega Pack"
"0107","+","SS2_XDI Compatibility Patch"
"0108","+","Faction Housing Overhaul - All In One"
"0109","+","20 Leagues Under the Sea - Vault 120"
"0110","+","Campsite - Simple Wasteland Camping (and HD Sleeping Bags)"
"0111","+","NCR Ranger Veteran Armor"
"0112","+","NCR Ranger Veteran Armor - Mask Light Fix"
"0113","+","Lucy's Vault-Tec Backpack"
"0114","+","Select Blaster"
"0115","-","Visuals_separator"
"0116","+","Lightweight Lighting - A weather and interior lighting overhaul"
"0117","+","Start Me Up - Alternate Start and Dialogue Overhaul"
"0118","+","Gloomy Glass - All transparent materials revised"
"0119","+","Targeted Textures - Vanilla textures upscaled fixed and sized"
"0120","+","Fallout 4 Particle Patch - No More Glowing Objects"
"0121","+","WET"
"0122","+","WAVE - Wave Animation Vanilla Enhanced"
"0123","+","Enhanced Vanilla Armor and Clothing - EVAC"
"0124","+","Hair Specular Map Removal Thingy"
"0125","+","First-Person Swimming Animations Tweak"
"0126","+","First-Person Running with Hands Animations"
"0127","+","Sniper Scope Overlay Depth of field replacement"
"0128","+","Sniper Scope Overlay And Reticles Replacement"
"0129","+","Diamond City Billboards"
"0130","+","Diamond City Supplements"
"0131","+","Goodneighbor View"
"0132","+","Remove Ironsight Blur"
"0133","+","Terrain Undersides - 2 Million Sunblock"
"0134","+","Improved Map with Visible Roads"

Everyone is a gangsta until they are made to look into the barrel of a loaded gun.
If you were given the power to turn things around, how would the future be for the country?
The Nation wants to know...

Race Name: No Time To Die Frontyard Ultra
Start: Friday 17 May 12pm
Entrants: Just over 150
Location: Edge of Central Business District Adelade, South Australia (Victoria Park)
Lap distance: circa 6.71km
Total i raced: 115.3km - winner did 396km
Organisers: Ultra Series SA
Me: 35 Male, Australian
Training and lead up
I’ve been running for almost 2.5 years now, with a primary focus on Zone 2 base building for the last two years.
My running goals are too varied - with wanting a fast 5km (PB: 19:39), a sub-50 12.1km (PB: 51:30), the six major marathons (done one non-major, 3:48, impacted by double quad cramps), a BQ marathon time, and 100milers (done a 50km ultra, a trail mara, and a road mara).
However, this was to be an A Race.
Further, I started a Pfitz 18/55 marathon training block four weeks before the race with a 3:15 target, and diligently completed each planned run for the first two weeks.
Before the Pfitz block, I hit 93km in the week.
February was 244km, March was 276km, April was 260km, May-to-date is 206km (from 6 runs). 46km/week on average for last 12 months.
Specific training was 6 laps on-course, 7 laps from home (35degrees), 6 laps on-course.
Two weeks before the Frontyard Ultra, I hurt my Achilles in my circa 3rd run using Alphafly 3, setting a HM PB on a Pfitz training run. I then did a horrible 6.5km on the Saturday, then six laps of the frontyard ultra course on Sunday with tears in the eye from pain (my first 100km week).
Saw a GP on Monday, got an ultrasound on Tuesday, got ultrasound results on Wednesday, saw a sportsdoctor on Thursday.
Diagnosis: Sub-acute tendonitis, everything that could be inflamed is inflamed, and a bursa.
Sportsdoctor: “The risk of doing the ultramarathon without doing a rupture is acceptable, but the risk of a tear in the medium term is unacceptable without taking appropriate action. Do the ultra, then come back a week later (which is still two days from now) to start treatment. “
Everyone else in my life, including the GP: “don’t run.”
Had pain at rest for pretty much all of this time, and a reasonable amount over the following 8 days – but less so by a couple of days before the race. Over this 12 day period I only did one run, a fairly slow parkrun halfway-through.
Late decision: Do the race, but try to avoid doing a permanent injury, don’t set a distance goal, just focus on learning stuff for next year.
Pre-Race:
· Packing list included circa 85 items
· Got picked up at 9:20am, arrived 10:00am
· Had a premium gazebo site (#recommended), which cost an extra $50.
· Set-up took about 30 minutes -> Mainly fluffing around with getting the gazebos appropriately lined up on the pre-booked site.
· Toilet’s were inadequate for the first 8 hours or so before six more opened – but, by then, it was dark so bush wees were the order of the night.
· Target was originally 50mins per lap
· Weather was sunny and max of about 21, and a minimum of around 13/14.
Race:
Used Garmin FR955 with highish brightness, and most accurate GPS, which used around 4% battery per hour.
Laps:
48:35
49:45
50:01
49:06
47:52
49:20
50:04
50:15
50:29
52:18
51:37
51:30
51:24
50:45
51:30
53:30
56:53 (deliberately slow – knew it was the last lap – had already asked Wifey to pack up)
Started the 18th lap, just because, and rung the bell after 58seconds. One other person did too.
I started with a run 1km, walk 1km strategy, but this went out the window pretty quickly and became not-strict as I wanted to talk to certain other competitors -> eg, mates, acquaintances I knew from other races, Johan Botha (eventual winner with 59 laps, also shoutout to Joel Sexton for the assist), some guy wearing a UTMB 2023 top, etc – so I was more than happy to change when I walked/ran to have those conversations. I don’t think that negatively impacted me.
Also, as the race went on (from about lap 11), my comfortable running speed was slipping from originally 5:15/km through to 6 to 7:30mins, to even 8mins by the end, which meant needing to run for the significant majority of the lap, and/or running at an uncomfortable speed. My comfortable walking speed also increased from 9:30/km to 13:30/km.
I believe that there were 35 runners that completed lap 17.
A lot of others were trying to do 3mins run, 2 mins walk, or 5mins run, 3mins walk, or some other variant, at the start.
Nutrition:
Drink: I drank 500ml on each of about 11 of the first 13 laps (and 350ml on the other two), and averaged about 400ml a lap for the remaining four laps. I also drank between each lap. I generally alternated between Tailwind (100g of carbs)/Powerade (1.5L(90g carbs)) /maurten drink mix (40g carbs) and water, on top of two cups of coke and a can of solo. I weighed the same when I got home versus when I left home – implying I drank slightly too much but was pretty spot on (noting that I ate food, so, I essentially lost “water” weight equal to the weight of food I ate). I wish I had packed another tailwind or two.
I ate a lot:
Prerace: rice bubbles, juice, killer python, banana x2, peanut butter sandwich, small packet of crisps.
Each hour: Approx. 50-90g of carbs every hour (probably more than necessary, but, without having gut issues I am happy with this decision), including liquid carbs, 6 killer pythons (101g carbs), 3 sandwiches, a small handful of koda gels and two handfuls of maurten gels, 150g of Haighs Speckles, a banana, watermelon pieces, chicken crimpys, small packet of tiny teddy’s, 3 small bags of crisps, 2xnaak waffles, hot chips, few lollies, a little bit of soup, etc. Generally one or two pieces whilst running, and one piece between laps.
I can confidently remember 1028g of carbs (60.5g/hour) – but probably missed a couple of pieces of food. For clarity, I also ate a lot in the hour before the race that I’m not including in this 1028g.
Drugs: I also took Celecoxib (on-top of morning dose), 4Panadeine Forte, 2Panadeine, 2Panadol, 2Nurofen --< I couldn’t have done many laps without these.
Shoes: I started in RC Elite v2, started to get knee pain, changed to Superblast, got worse knee pain, changed back to RC Elite v2, got 2 killer blisters on the side of my heel, changed to SC Trainer and had no additional feet problems – but the blisters were genuinely painful.
Why did I quit?
It was 5am, and I didn’t think it was worth trying to make it to sunrise at 7:05. I was in pain and didn’t fancy taking more opioids (Palexia was all I had left that I could find), my gut was starting to think about maybe playing up, my original goal pre-injury was 15 laps, my longest previous run before was 53km, my wife had been crewing for 12 straight hours and seemed disappointed when I went out for one of my final laps (she was telling people I was about to quit from lap 11). I became worried I was going to be permanently injuring my Achilles / rupture it… but, yes, I could have kept going if I needed to.
Post race
Went home, showered, slept for 2hours.
Been in constant pain since.
My ankle has swollen and continued to swell since, and I can’t really bend it still, which means I can’t walk anywhere near properly. It got worse from straight after the race Saturday morning, through to Monday, and is now getting better again (Tuesday) and is similar to how it looked on Sunday, but with a bit more mobility.
Statistics from Garmin
· 142 average HR (my max is about 200)
· 9:49hours run, 5:00 walk, 2:12 rest
· 660 exercise load
· 492m ascent (491 descent).
Overall
A great race – if my Achilles is healed up, I’ll be back next year – hopefully with the sole target of timing out on a lap and not stopping until then.
I’m happy with how I performed, originally, I was a touch bummed I “couldn’t be bothered” pushing through when I was still making laps with 7 minutes to spare… but, given how swollen my ankle is three days later I know I made the right call to stop (and probably should have done so earlier!)… and, like I said, wifey had crewed all through the night for 12 straight hours already, so it was time to go.
For next year, I think I’ll try to find some people to crew me until midnight or something, then have wifey come down for the 1am lap, instead of being there from 4pm or 5pm.
I think I need to skip my next planned A race – the Adelaide marathon - to give me Achillies time to heal properly.
Packing list (x denotes I didn’t use at least one instance of this item)
Running shirts x3 (only used the pair I wore there)
Thermal trousers (x)
Thermal top x2
Undies (x)
Thick running socks
Thin running socks (x)
Dressing gown
Soap (x)
Towels x2
Ice
Esky
Table (1.8m – absolutely necessary)
Good chair
Running vest
Running belt (x)
Soft flasks x2
400ml mt franklin (x)
750ml water bottle
Gels
Sports bars (x!)
Drink mix
Tailwind
Powerade x2
Ventolin
Atrovent (x)
Celecoxib
Portable battery
Garmin cable
Usb cables
Ugg boots
10L water box
Cramp fix
Blister bandaids
Ankle strapping for blisters
Tweezers (x)
Nail clippers (x)
Hoody (x)
Running jacket x2 (x)
Gloves x2 (x – but did put a pair into my vest and very almost wore them)
Drugs
Toothbrush and paste
Cohesive bandage (x – but in vest for emergencies)
Chewies
Headlamp
6xAAA batteries – should have brought 9, but it was fine.
Buff
Toilet paper (x, but in vest)
Tissues
Running shorts x2 (only used the pair I wore there)
Running tights x2 (only used the pair I wore there)
Rubbish bags
Headphones (x)
Phone
House keys
Superblast
RC elite v2
SC trainer
Speedgoat 5 (X)
Beanie (x)
Vegemite sandwich x2 - crustless
Peanut butter sandwich x2 – crustless
Bananas
Salomon speedcup
Sticky tape (x)
Scissors
Killer python x16
Tape for bandages (x)
Suncream (x)
Hat x2
Compression shorts x2 (only used the pair I wore there)
Small crisps x4
Vaseline (only what I put on pre-race)
Tea-towel (x)
Pens
Paper
Torch (x)
Handwash (x)
Snake bandage (x)
Floss (x)
Deodorant (x)
Explorer socks
Charger (x)
Hand sanitizer
Beach cart
Asked wife to bring after it started:
Chicken crimpys
Massage gun
Sleeping bag to be kept in car, just incase (x)
Race Day Pics
https://ibb.co/j4sKNQ0 https://ibb.co/cwvfnYr https://ibb.co/s3VxHfB
Ankle pics Saturday 630am
https://ibb.co/p492wcL https://ibb.co/CtQDC81
Ankle pics Sunday / Monday
https://ibb.co/Gkgtw2p https://ibb.co/C76GfvR https://ibb.co/C0TWPcH https://ibb.co/sJCSt9t
Garmin pics https://ibb.co/GVtmBBN https://ibb.co/yBt3zVZ