We spend an hour fighting tooth and nail, developing deep friendships, like with the jungler who actually remembers that your lane exists, and developing grudges, like against the Muriel who spray paints your corpse after last-hitting you at 5 HP following Crunch’s wombo combo. Some of us forgo bathroom breaks, literally pissing ourselves in pursuit of the win, while others neglect their starving children in real life so they can break positive in the duo lane.
Then, in face of all the odds, we’ve finally done it; we’ve wiped the team, broke their inhibitors, and reached the core. We march our up the stairs, hearts pounding before this big, whirring Eye of Sauron-looking core with all the minions in tow, and we attack together in one last act in a great, long battle.
And then in anticlimactic fashion, the game simply fades to black and white; there is no explosion. You defeated not the core, but health a bar. Your reward? A generic cut scene of the core blowing up, and you and your comrades are nowhere to be seen. Game over.
Please, give us live core destruction. I don’t care if it blows me up like in Halo. I just want a release. A sensation to chase when the game starts and one to close the chapter when the game ends.

After years of waiting, the highly anticipated Godzilla x Kong: The New Empire finally hit streaming services last week. As a huge fan of the previous Monster-Verse movies like Godzilla (2014), Kong: Skull Island, and Godzilla: King of the Monsters, I had sky-high expectations - and I'm thrilled to report that the film exceeded every one of them. If you're wondering where to watch Godzilla x Kong: The New Empire online or how to watch it for free, read on!

🖥️CLICK HERE TO WATCH ONLINE

From the opening scene, it's clear this is a Monster-Verse movie like no other. We're thrown right into the action as Godzilla and Kong engage in a city-leveling battle royale that makes their previous clash in Godzilla vs Kong look like a schoolyard tussle. The visual effects team truly outdid themselves, bringing a visceral realism to the kaiju combat that makes you feel every thunderous blow.
But the movie is about far more than just monster mayhem. At its core is a richly developed plot that expands the Monster-Verse mythology in shocking and rewarding ways. We discover that Godzilla and Kong's rivalry is but a small part of an ages-old conflict between the Titans and a technologically-advanced human civilization bent on controlling them. Protagonists from past films return in critical roles, their actions having unpredictable and far-reaching consequences.
The human characters are also given much more depth and nuance here compared to previous Monster-Verse entries. Particular standouts are Dr. Serizawa's son (played by John Boyega in a star-making turn), who is trying to prevent an all-out war between humans and Titans, and Ilene Andrews' daughter (Tessa Thompson), now the head of Monarch and caught between the factions. Their personal journeys carry real emotional weight and provide the perfect counterbalance to the spectacular monster battles.

🖥️CLICK HERE TO WATCH ONLINE

Speaking of which, every action set piece in The New Empire delivers in spades. From Kong using a tank as a baseball bat to Godzilla taking on multiple Titans in Rome, each feels like a mini-movie in itself, crammed with holy $%*# moments and jaw-dropping visual brilliance. The finale, which I won't spoil here, has to be seen to be believed - an audacious, face-melting climax that took my breath away.
Ultimately, Godzilla x Kong: The New Empire is the total package - an effects extravaganza, action masterpiece, and deep dive into the Monster-Verse all rolled into one. It not only lives up to the groundwork laid by previous films but expands on it in thrilling, unpredictable ways, leaving me desperate to revisit this world again. If you haven't streamed it yet, do yourself a favor and watch it immediately with that ultra-crisp 4K upgrade - this is a cinematic experience meant to be seen on the biggest screen possible. Just be prepared to pick your jaw up off the floor when it's over. You can watch Godzilla x Kong: The New Empire online on streaming services like HBO Max, or try to find ways to watch it for free on certain websites.

🖥️CLICK HERE TO WATCH ONLINE

I now have three variations of this concept. The first (equal weight) has been given some discussion here already, but I'm still looking for more digging into the minutiae of things.
TL;DR is that I'm knocking around the idea of equal weighting (I'll address the other two variants in a minute) short vol, extended-duration treasuries, gold, and trend following. I've also reweighted it to maximize Sharpe over the test period and in risk parity weighting to give high/medium/and low vol options to the concept. Backtests of all three against the S&P over the lifetime of available data here. These charts are inflation-adjusted.
Component funds would be SVIX, ZROZ, IAUM, and DBMF. A summary of the logic behind each of these choices is in the OP linked above, but I will put it here:

• SVIX - the primary driver of returns. This is a constant short vol exposure, doing basically what XIV used to do (short VIX futures), but not exposed to the same rebalancing risk. You would still expect this fund to lose half or more of its value in a matter of days every now and then. That's a feature. Think of this as a highly leveraged equity position without the risk of a grinding bear market like 2000-2002 causing you to rebalance continually into a losing position. The one sticking point I have with this fund is that it could still delist at the bottom of a deep drawdown, but you can change that out for something like UPRO if that happens. Not an ideal solution, but it won't blow your account up either.
  
• DBMF - trend following managed futures to introduce a more or less all-weather diversifier with positive skewness into the strategy.
  
• ZROZ - the longest end of the treasury curve for a huge helping of duration risk to keep you afloat during deflationary environments like 2008.
  
• Gold (IAUM used above) - a large contribution of volatility in an uncorrelated manner to the rest of what's here, and will help you out during and immediately after periods of monetary expansion. In environments where ZROZ is unhelpful (like the last couple years), gold should fare much better.
  

What would cause this strategy to fail? It even would have weathered the '70s just fine with gold and trend doing so well.

I stared, mouth dry, heart pounding, at the message from my boss – That awful combination of words that my coworkers and I pray we never see:
“You’re in the running for Employee of the Year.”
For him to send something so callous via email – that was just rubbing salt in the wound.
My eyes glazed over the wall of text that followed. I didn’t need to read the details – I’d cleaned enough of the prior winners off the walls and ceiling of the soundproofed breakroom to know exactly what the award entailed.
After that initial, deep pang of fear faded, denial flooded in to take its place.
I wasn’t just hitting my sales quota, I was blowing it out of the damn water – selling big ticket items daily. I never forgot to place the stickers with my barcode on the products, either, so when my customers checked out and it was scanned at the register, the sales should’ve automatically been linked to my employee ID.
We don’t receive commission – there are other ‘incentives’ to keep our sales up. I hadn’t been watching the numbers because I knew I was making sales left and right – I would've never even dreamt that I was at risk.
It was just a glitch with our computer system, I decided with a nervous laugh. It had to be – something IT could probably sort out in no time.
When I finally regained control of my legs, I wobbled to my manager’s office.
There was no miscalculation, he assured me. It was my employee ID that ranked at the bottom.
“The barcodes never lie, Graham.” He didn’t even bother making eye contact.
I was circling the drain figuratively, and if I didn’t get my shit together – literally – soon enough.
I begged him to review the camera footage – I knew he'd be able to see me making all those sales. “Don’t worry,” he added, with a smile vacant of anything remotely resembling happiness, “One way or another, we all contribute to the success of our company.”
I suppose that by then, he was long desensitized to the pleas of the desperate.
As I left his office, I assured myself that this wasn’t a death sentence.
Not yet.
I had another month until they recalculated our final standings, before shit would get real. Before I’d be given a limp handshake and an empty ‘Thank you for your devotion to the company’ as I was led down the hallway. Before I’d meet what lives behind the usually padlocked door in the shadowy corner of the breakroom.
Before I’d learn what it truly meant to sacrifice myself for the good of the company.
Word spread fast around the office.
Kevin gave me his smug, shit eating grin – maybe he thought that with me out of the picture, he’d finally have a shot with Elise.
Elise… I just desperately hoped that hers wouldn’t be the name drawn afterwards – the one selected to hose what’s left of me off the breakroom floor and down the stained, rusty drain.
As required, I began parking in my new designated space at the far end of the employee lot – the faded sign indicating ‘Reserved for Employee of the Year’ nearly swallowed up by the encroaching tree line. It added an extra ten minutes to my walk to our store, and I dreaded that added time in the oppressive Texas heat. The rational part of me knew that was soon to be a moot point, though.
One way or another, in another month, I wouldn’t have that parking spot. If I were lucky, I’d live to see another summer – live to see some other poor bastard’s car parked there.
If they hadn’t already heard the news, when the rest of my coworkers saw my car in that space, they knew what it meant. Don’t get too attached.
They started avoiding me like the plague. I didn’t blame them.
We all knew what would be coming next if my sales didn’t improve – it's the same thing that happens every time:
We’d gather for the mandatory meeting on the closing night of the fiscal year, all eyes on the sorry son of a bitch that had ‘won’ – the room so quiet that you could hear their muffled sobs. They’d receive what barely constituted a handshake from my manager while he muttered – dead-eyed – his appreciation for their devotion to the company.
Next, they’d be ushered off to the breakroom to meet ‘corporate’. No one tried to run – not after what happened in '19. Instead, the winner would always turn back, shooting us a desperate, final look – eyes pleading for someone, anyone, to intervene. And, of course, no one ever did.
Once the door closed behind them and that sound-proofed room swallowed up the last of their sobbing, begging – it was over. The rest of us would be sent home and I'd try to shower away that disgusting feeling – that sick sense of relief that someone else was sent to their death, and not me.
Cal – the nicest guy I’d ever met – he was the bottom performer two years ago.
He’d fallen so ill that he’d nearly wasted away and eventually, couldn’t work anymore. He must've thought that freed him from his contract – if he left, if he never came back into work, he’d be okay.
He must not have read the fine print in our hiring paperwork.
Although, to be fair, if any of us had read it, we'd never have signed it in the first place.
Cal was a warning to the rest of us, that there is no quitting in our line of work. If they have to track you down and find you (and I promise you that they will find you) – well, wouldn’t you prefer to go with your dignity, with the company compensating your loved ones – rather than be pulled from your home, kicking and screaming into the night?
Gina was employee of the year in 2023. Gina, with the kind smile, whom Kevin had set his sights on before Elise – and, just like Elise, she wanted nothing to do with him.
I still remember that day, the day they released the final numbers. The way Gina’s mouth hung open in confusion, shock.
When she finally managed to form words again, she too insisted that there must be some mistake. We all vouched for her to management – I’d personally seen her make so many sales.
Our manager simply reminded us that the barcodes never lie.
My name was the one drawn for breakroom duty that next morning, to pick up what remained of her smile and her simple gold wedding band, to be returned to her family. In one business week, they received a box containing a check, and everything left of her that wouldn’t fit down the drain.
Once the numbers are finalized, once your employee barcode has been slapped on that innocuous looking pink slip, well, your fate is sealed.
Kevin, in all his years at the company, has never parked on the far side of the lot. He has never even come close to becoming Employee of the Year, even though he couldn’t sell a bottle of water to a man dying of dehydration. He is sleaze incarnate and doesn’t even have the charisma to mask it.
I never understood how he did so well, but I couldn’t afford to think about him.
I had myself to worry about, and the glitch in the system. Any time I found myself in the breakroom, that ancient wooden door was an unwelcome reminder of the impending one-way trip it held for me.
I took special care to keep an eye on my sales, working my ass off, pulling double shifts. I pulled up the numbers as the end of month drew near, and couldn't believe it.
I was still dead last.
Somehow, there were days where less than half of my sales had been recorded to my employee number.
I didn’t understand.
I waited for the opportunity to sneak into the manager's office, and pull the footage myself.
I’d show the boss that something had gone wrong with the calculations, that the system was broken.
I finally got my chance. At first, I triumphantly watched myself make sale after sale – far more than had been credited to my account. For the first time in a month, I felt a sense of relief. I had evidence, and that had to count for something.
I switched feeds, to the camera nearer to the registers so I could confirm that the codes were being scanned. I'd seen several scanned successfully, and reached to turn off the recording. That's when I saw it.
Saw him.
Kevin.
It was subtle. I didn't realize what he was doing at first, until I recognized the pattern. Even then, I had to rewind and watch again for it to click.
It happened for nearly half of my sales that day. I saw him Intercepting the customers before they could check out – before I could get credit for my sales. And while he chatted them up, he discretely slapped his employee barcode over my own.
I confronted him that night – I was furious. He just smiled, smugly gave me that line about how the barcodes never lie.
He didn’t give a shit that he was sentencing someone else to death.
Hell, maybe he even enjoyed it.
Kevin had stolen credit for Gina’s sales – and god knows who else's.
Fucking. Kevin.
The day our numbers were to be finalized, he had the audacity to place his barcode over mine on a huge sale I’d made – he made no attempt at hiding it – right in front of me. He flashed me a grin as he did.
I caught up with the customers before they checked out and they kindly allowed me to peel the sticker off. I stuck it in my pocket to show my manager.
I pulled the video, too, and I stormed into his office, refused to leave until he watched it. I studied him as his eyes moved across the screen and if he was upset or shocked, he certainly didn't show it.
Finally, he met my eyes, and at the sight of the pain in his – well, for the first time, I felt a sense of relief.
Until I realized why he looked so miserable. Until he whispered, “I'm sorry, Graham. Someone has to receive that award tomorrow. It's out of my hands.”
I wordlessly handed him that damn barcode sticker of Kevin’s that I’d peeled off. He studied it for a long moment before he handed it back to me with a mere, “Why don't you hold onto this.”
I told Elise what had happened over lunch, and as much as I appreciated her outrage on my behalf, I was already resigned to it. I'd mainly wanted to warn her because I had a sick feeling she'd be the one Kevin went after next.
I'd be lying if I said I wasn't devastated when, that night, my boss called me into his office and informed me of the final standings. Yeah, I knew it was coming, but I guess it's just human nature to hold onto denial – hope – until the bitter end.
For what felt like an eternity, we stared at each other in silence. The presence of the pink slip of paper lying on the desk between us, said more than enough.
Finally, my eyes drifted down to the form.
He’d already signed, but the space where my barcode – the series of vertical lines spelling out my death sentence – should’ve been placed, was empty.
I never knew how this part went, since it always took place behind closed doors. No one that ever filled out that form lived to tell the rest of us about it.
“I need you to place a barcode here before I send the form to corporate.” he said, eventually.
I opened my mouth for one final, impassioned plea for my life, but he interrupted me. He spoke each word slowly, softly.
“I’m leaving the room now. I need you to place a barcode here, before I send the form to corporate.”
He stared at me for a long moment, waiting for my barely perceptible nod of acknowledgement before leaving me alone in the office.
They processed the paperwork, and announced the Employee of the Year that next day.
Yes, I did feel a pang of guilt as I watched the smug grin fade, the blood drain from Kevin’s face as he stared in shock at the outstretched hand of our manager – as he was thanked for his devotion to our company.
I felt it again as I watched him plead all the way to the breakroom, as our manager spoke to him the same mantra we’d all heard before.
The barcodes never lie.
But I thought of Gina, of the countless others, and by the time I heard the door slam behind him – the guilt was already gone. In its place, the relief of knowing the rest of us were safe.
Well, at least until next year.

Out there - Patreon (for all those curious or wanting to support :))
At the Beginning
Adventure Arc - Arc 2
Wilderness Arc - Arc 3
Academy Arc - Arc 4
Nobility Arc - Arc 5
Previously on Leveling up the World...
The ground kept disintegrating in a five-mile radius. The number of point and line attacks targeting Dallion was so great that even the domain itself had trouble keeping up to protect him. Spikes would injure dozens, occasionally killing one or two in the process, but that would do little to hinder the mass of steel.
The noble with the steel tendrils slashed through the air, sending hundreds of line attacks in one blow. While each was individually weaker than those of a normal person, together they were a serious threat. It didn’t help that they indiscriminately sliced through soldiers on their way. The countess had no value of human life, least of those belonging to her.
Splitting into instances, Dallion combined a vertical line strike with a multi attack.
​
ATTACK NEGATED
VALORR’s attack has been sliced in two.
Attack has no effect.
​
Dozens of red rectangles blinked in and out of existence, though even they proved unable to stop everything. The solution was for Dallion to fly higher into the sky, even though that would make him a prime target. At the same time, it also gave him the possibility to perform an area attack of his own.
Taking a deep breath, he did a spiral attack aimed at the archduchess, followed immediately by a magic music attack. It would have been better if he still had rays of destruction remaining, but most of the clay cylinders had already been used up, and Dallion didn’t want to risk venturing into his realm to make more.
As expected, hundreds of soldiers leapt in front of their nobles, performing an array of defensive line attacks. None proved strong enough to stop the spiral attack, but managed to slow it down so that the only thing that reached Priscord were drops of blood.
“I’ve over ten thousand, in case you’re counting,” she said in an amused voice. “And that’s without counting the reserves. But should you somehow manage to deal with them, the emperor has entrusted me with several legions as well.”
The boast made Dallion think. There seemed to be more beneath the spite. While ten thousand awakened was a massive army, it wasn’t the largest, and it definitely wasn’t worth bragging about. With the exception of the archbishop, all conquerors had armies in the millions. Not only that, but while she claimed that the emperor had entrusted her with his legions, there didn’t seem to be any cloud forts in the air.
“Then how about I take them at once?” Dallion whispered.
A wide patch of ground beneath the archduchess and her armies suddenly fell through, creating a deep pit. The armies in full plated armor scattered, in an attempt to escape, yet less than a thousand seemed to do so. The empress, in contrast, didn’t budge. The horse she had mounted remained floating in the air, as if nothing had changed. Not only that, but magic threads had also extended, keeping the two harpsisword nobles in the air as well.
Harp, what’s that? Dallion asked.
It’s not a creature I’ve seen, the nymph replied.
Having Vihrogon here would have been better, although Dallion strongly suspected that the creature had been created, or rather modified, like the crimson furies.
Taking no chances, Dallion quickly closed up the enormous pit. Before he could manage, however, thousands of soldiers flew up, filling the air. A few hundred were squished by the earth, slamming together, though not nearly as many as Dallion had hoped.
“Living armor,” he said. How come he hadn’t noticed that before? Whatever magic there was in the armors, it had to be hidden deep inside. “They’re a bit smaller than I remember them.”
“The original creators had a lot to compensate for,” Priscord replied. “I don’t.”
A new series of attacks filled the air.
In the blink of the eye, the entire space was filled with instances. Even if the common soldiers weren’t able to split into more than twenty, that made close to a quarter million facing three hundred.
A moment of shock went through Dallion, quickly replaced by a new sensation—the thrill of battle and the desire to defeat everything thrown at him.
The archduchess had covered all the angles: echoes to grant her minions strategy, artifacts to give them flight. It was also noticeable that despite their low levels, their speed was quite close to a hundred—another magic artifact or spell that had been cast. Even so, there was one thing that the woman had forgotten: a thousand people with a thousand separate skills couldn’t compare to one who could manage a combination of all, especially within his domain.
“Countess,” Dallion shouted, deliberately aiming to irk her. Red rectangles flashed non-stop as line attacks canceled each other constantly. “You’ve never been to the Academy, have you?”
“No.” The archduchess retained her cool. “I never considered it worth anything much, even when I gained my current title.”
“Let me tell you one thing…”
Of all the remaining buildings, books and scrolls flew out of the shelves. Like swarms of insects, they amassed, flying from all directions straight towards Dallion. It would be several minutes until all of them arrived on the scene, but that wasn’t of consequence, especially for what Dallion had in mind.
​
DOMAIN AWAKENING
​
Reality shifted. It didn’t shift just for Dallion. In less than a second, everyone in the real world was transported into the realm of his new domain. In many regards, things were no different than they had been before. Here, just as in the real world, Dallion maintained control over the realm. There were also a number of differences as well. For starters, Dallion’s feet existed here, as did a host of area guardians.
“Goldy, get her,” Dallion ordered.
The golden colossus emerged from the ground, dashing straight for the countess. In contrast to everyone else, its strength and speed were considerably faster, not to mention it was immune to spells.
Not in the least taken aback, Priscord snapped her fingers. All the armors of her soldiers—nobles included—burst, increasing tenfold. Apparently, the living armors were also blooming items as well. Being taken into the awakened realms had boosted their size and abilities to a considerable degree. How considerable, would soon be seen.
“You disappoint me.” Archduchess Priscord yawned. “Did you think that I wouldn’t have a counter for this? You think you’ll impress me by being a domain ruler? I’ve fought in such battles decades before you showed up.”
“That’s not the reason I brought you here.” Dallion attempted to complete a guard sequence, but the attackers didn’t let him, always disrupting it halfway through. “As I was saying, the Academy is probably the one place in the world that has the largest number of physical books.”
At that single moment, a spark of concern emanated from Priscord. She had grasped what Dallion was going for, and by all accounts it was too late to do anything about it.
Scholar skills combined with music, spell craft, and attack, releasing thousands of aether quills from the hundreds of thousands books and scrolls that existed in the realm. Like deadly hail they ascended on Priscord’s army on all sides. The outermost layers of the army tried to block the quills’ advance only to be drilled full of holes, like bullets drilling through a rotten scarecrow. And best of all, Dallion didn’t have to worry about the colossus guardian, since they didn’t affect him in the least.
​
TERMINAL HIT
Dealt damage is increased by 1000%
​
TERMINAL HIT
Dealt damage is increased by 1000%
​
TERMINAL HIT
Dealt damage is increased by 1000%
​
Red rectangles filled the air like a sea of red. There were so many of them that they covered the entire sky, making it seem like a crimson sunset.
The sudden change in circumstances had forced a large part of the army to shift. Even with their boost, they still had to deal with the colossus, while also protecting Priscord from the aether quills. The momentary chaos created a single opening.
The harpsisword seemed to move on its own, slicing through two soldiers that blocked his way. The spark covered edge went through the massive armor as if it were butter, causing it to blast from the inside.
​
TERMINAL HIT
Dealt damage is increased by 1000%
​
TERMINAL HIT
Dealt damage is increased by 1000%
​
Two red rectangles emerged, after which the soldiers vanished as they were thrust back into the real world, their awakening powers sealed. That wouldn’t get rid of the echoes inside then, but at least made Priscord vulnerable here.
Thrusting his aura sword forward, Dallion cast a series of magic circles. Aether shards began shooting out, while chains targeted the nobles protecting the archduchess. To further cut off her support, Dallion pulled up the ground surrounding her, creating high cliffs. Unlike the other terrain changes in the realm, no one would dare attack these with line attacks out of fear of harming her. At this point, only one unknown remained—the horse.
Three of the nobles flew at Dallion, attacking him with their special weapons. Their armors, too, had blossomed into more elegant versions of living armor.
Bursting into instances, Dallion evaded the tendril sword’s attacks. At the same time, Gem flew in to meet the ax of another attacker head on. A loud cling resonated, pushing the aetherfish back, though by no means diminishing its determination. Meanwhile, Lux transformed the weapon he was inhabiting from a pair of bows to a crossbow, firing bolts of light at the third noble like a machine gun.
“Good work, guys,” Dallion whispered as he flew past, continuing towards his target.
I could take care of them easily, Gleam said, itching for blood.
I need you to keep an eye on Aqui, Dallion insisted.
She’s a great dragon! Even if she’s a cow, killing her won’t be easy.
Keep an eye on Aqui, Dallion said in a firm tone that quickly ended all protests.
A short distance away, the two nobles had combined their music skills, creating a shield around Priscord. Their skills were impressive, though nowhere near anything he’d seen in the former House Elazni. It was a novel use of their powers, though. Dallion made a note to experiment using in the future.
“Move away!” He shouted, using his own music skills, combining it with magic. His own music strands tore through the defensive mesh, striking both of the nobles.
​
PERMANENT EFFECT - PARALYSIS
IHIJON has been rendered incapable of movement for 20 minutes.
The status continues to be in effect in the real world.
​
PERMANENT EFFECT - PARALYSIS
AVIRA has been rendered incapable of movement for 20 minutes.
The status continues to be in effect in the real world.
​
That’s two down, Dallion thought, tightening his grip round the hilt of the harpsisword. Only one left.
Splitting into fifty instances, he unleashed a spiral attack right at the archduchess. His expectation was that the horse would transform into something and block the attack. No such thing happened.
Priscord herself leaped off the creature’s back. A one foot dagger appeared in her hand with which she slashed the air, performing a line attack.
​
ATTACK NEGATED
Your attack has been sliced in two.
Attack has no effect.
​
Huh? Dallion instantly performed a series of line attacks.
This was the first time he’d seen a spiral attack be stopped and in such an effortless way. There was no way this could be due to Priscord’s strength. Even if he wasn’t able to see her white rectangle, the woman’s traits were well beneath the hundred. If nothing else, she wasn’t an otherworlder and thus subject to limitations. It had to be some artifact she was wearing.
“Admiring my weapon?” the woman asked, as she kept on negating Dallion’s attacks. “It’s a nice trinket given to me by the emperor. One of several.”
“So, it’s your trinkets versus my trinkets?” Dallion asked, taking the opportunity for a music attack. To his surprise, the harpsiswords held by the paralyzed nobles played on their own, negating it as well.
“Yes.” The dagger glowed purple. “That’s precisely it.”

This going to be long read , new account so my dom does not find out. Hypnosis-cnc-findom
So I texted this girl I've been wanting to try some new things with for a while now. I suggested the idea of a mind-blowing call, not necessarily into findom, but open-minded about it (because, you know, I never thought I'd be into something like that even if she brought it up). We started chatting and sending voice messages, and OMG, her voice was just perfect for me. Every word she said and every trigger she used took me to a whole new level of pleasure. I was completely captivated, ready to do anything to please this incredible woman who became my mistress, my goddess.
All of a sudden, she introduced a trigger that sparked a desire in me to spoil her, linking it to my pleasure. After a few sessions, she told me to open my eyes and make a tribute to enhance the pleasure even more. At first, I hesitated, but I was so deep in the trance, obediently following her every command, like it was the most natural thing in the world. She teased me, letting me know that the bigger the tribute, the more intense the pleasure.
I ended up giving around $100 as a tribute, and OMG, it felt so damn good. She rewarded me with mind-blowing pleasure, and before I knew it, she encouraged me to do it again. I couldn't resist the irresistible control, especially since I'm really into consensual non-consent. The way she took charge was so hot, even though part of me didn't even want it!
Eventually, I snapped out of the trance because she was draining me way too much. But when I told her, she skillfully brought me back to a relaxed state and whispered for me to sleep (OMG, it was so hot!). Some people might question whether it's ethical, but for someone like me who enjoys cnc , it didn't feel that way at all.
I had an amazing time with her, but I had to end the call because it was getting too overwhelming. She kept calling me and trying to trigger me while we were texting. It was incredibly tempting, but I had to show some self-control and even put my phone on mute to resist her messages!
Anyway, it was one of the sexiest experiences I've ever had because I completely lost control and did things I never thought I would. She made me spoil her, which was mind-blowing!
Afterwards, I talked to her about wanting to focus more on the hypnosis and pleasure without the findom aspect. But she insisted on being spoiled. So, I agreed as long as we stuck to my budget. We went deep into the session, and after about 15 minutes, the draining started. I completely lost myself, and honestly, I have no idea how much I ended up giving. My mind was foggy, but the pleasure was undeniable. I reached a point where I was begging her to stop draining me, yet I couldn't say no to her.
When I snapped out of the trance, I realized I had spent four times my planned budget. It made me feel a mix of sadness and financial strain. I ended up spending around $700 in just an hour ( 2 seasons)! Keep in mind, I had never done findom before, so it was my first time.
At first, I thought about deleting my account, but something held me back. As much as I regret spending that much, I love the dominant nature of someone taking control and fulfilling their desires. But at the same time, I wish she would focus more on hypnosis, using those seductive whispers to gradually make me love findom over a few sessions before asking for another tribute.
Right now, I'm telling her I need a break, but deep down, I secretly hope she'll call me out of the blue again, hypnotize me, and brainwash me into loving this temptation, unable to resist the urge to be brainwashed by her . Of course, I also hope she respects my budget in the future. Buttt I do not think my budget can please her:(
To end this I don’t think I’m into findom but I’m into dominant women take control of me without my consent and make me do stuff

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!
_______________________________________________________________________

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

_______________________________________________________________________
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.
_______________________________________________________________________
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.
_______________________________________________________________________
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.

Nightfall - The Ordeal: Birthplace of the Vile

Modifiers:

• Nightfall: Hero
  • Shielded Foes: You will face combatants with [Arc] Arc, [Solar] Solar, and [Void] Void shields.
  • Hero Modifiers: Extra Shields Maximum Effective Level 1765
  • Champion Foes: You will face [Disruption] Overload and [Stagger] Unstoppable Champions. Visit the Character or Mod Customization screen to view your active anti-Champion perks.
  • Void Threat: 25% increase to incoming Void damage.
  • Scorched Earth: Enemies throw grenades significantly more often.
  • Overcharged Weapons: Weapon overcharges from the Seasonal Artifact are active in this activity. Kinetic weapons do increased damage when your subclass element matches an active surge.
  • Strand Surge: 25% bonus to outgoing Strand damage.
  • Solar Surge: 25% bonus to outgoing Solar damage.
  • Overcharged Fusion Rifle: 25% bonus to Fusion Rifle damage.
  • Galvanized: Combatants have more health and are more difficult to stun.
• Nightfall: Legend
  • All previous modifiers
  • Legend Modifiers: Locked Loadout Extra Shields Maximum Effective Level 1815
  • Equipment Locked: You will not be able to change your equipment after this activity starts.
• Nightfall: Master
  • All previous modifiers
  • Master Modifiers: Extra Champions Locked Loadout Extra Shields Maximum Effective Level 1820
  • Attrition: Regeneration is greatly impaired. Defeating enemies may create wells of Light.
• Nightfall: Grandmaster
  • All previous modifiers
  • Grandmaster Modifiers: Extinguish Limited Revives Contest Join In Progress Disabled Extra Champions Locked Loadout Extra Shields Maximum Effective Level 1815
  • Extinguish: If your fireteam falls in a Restricted Zone, everyone is returned to orbit.
  • Limited Revives: Limited fireteam revives. Gain additional revives by defeating Champions.
  • Empath: Enhanced radar. Take increased damage from melee.
  • Chaff: Radar is disabled.

Rewards:

• Grandmaster reward: Undercurrent (Adept)
• Pinnacle reward: Earn 200,000 cumulative points by completing Nightfalls.

Vanguard Surge: Arc Surge

The other modifiers rotate daily, check out the Daily Reset Thread for them!

Raids and Dungeons

Weekly Raid and Dungeon

• Raid: Vow of the Disciple
• Dungeon: Prophecy

Raid Challenges

Deep Stone Crypt

• The Core Four: A challenge awaits…

Crota's End

• All for One: A challenge awaits…

Vow of the Disciple

• Swift Destruction: A challenge awaits…
• Base Information: A challenge awaits…
• Defenses Down: A challenge awaits…
• Looping Catalyst: A challenge awaits…

Vault of Glass

• Strangers in Time: A challenge awaits…

King's Fall

• Gaze Amaze: A challenge awaits…

Root of Nightmares

• Illuminated Torment Challenge: A challenge awaits…

Last Wish

• Forever Fight: A challenge awaits…

Dares of Eternity: Legend

Contestants: The Way of the Hoof

• Round 1: Cabal
• Round 2: Taken
• Final Round: Crota

Loot

• Armor: Scatterhorn Suit, Wild Hunt Suit
• Weapons: Arsenic Bite-4b, Blast Battue, Corsair's Wrath, Deafening Whisper, Dire Promise, Enigma's Draw, Escape Velocity, Jian 7 Rifle, Royal Chase, True Prophecy, Friction Fire

Neomuna

Campaign Mission: Desperate Measures

Fight alongside your allies in a final stand against Calus, the Disciple.

Partition: Backdoor

Break into a Vex Mind's stronghold and defeat it.

Vex Incursion Zone: Zephyr Concourse

The Vex are testing CloudArk defenses in this region. Reality fractures as the VexNet bleeds through into Neomuna.

Legacy Activities

• Savathûn's Throne World
  
  • Campaign Mission: The Cunning: Following a lead from Fynch, search the dark corners of Savathûn's throne world for another clue to how she stole the Light.
• Europa
  
  • Eclipsed Zone: Eventide Ruins
  • Empire Hunt: The Dark Priestess: Hero: Defeat the new leader of the Fallen, Kridis, the Dark Priestess.
  • Exo Challenge: Simulation: Survival: Simulated Skill-Set Training: Survive the harsh weather as you take down the Vex.
• Moon:
  
  • Campaign Mission: Beyond
  • Wandering Nightmare: Nightmare of Jaxx, Claw of Xivu Arath (Hellmouth)
  • Trove Guardian is in Archer's Line
• Dreaming City: Weak Curse
  
  • Petra is at The Strand.
  • Weekly Mission: Broken Courier - Respond to a distress call in the Strand.
  • Ascendant Challenge: Agonarch Abyss, Bay of Drowned Wishes
  • Blind Well: Scorn, Plagues: Sikariis & Varkuuriis

Miscellaneous

Ada-1's Wares

Name	Description	Cost
House of Meyrin	Apply this shader to change the color of your gear.	10000 Glimmer
New Pacific Sink	Apply this shader to change the color of your gear.	10000 Glimmer
Dead Orbit Camo	Apply this shader to change the color of your gear.	10000 Glimmer
Upgrade Module	A collection of universal components that can be used to infuse power between gear items. Can be purchased from the Gunsmith or acquired from special reward sources.	1 Enhancement Core & 10 Legendary Shards & 5000 Glimmer

Eververse Bright Dust Offerings

Name	Description	Type	Cost
Concentrated Mattergem	An Upgrade Module ionizer created from refined Mattergems.	Consumable	200 Bright Dust
Glimmershard	A shard with the ability to generate Glimmer during combat.	Consumable	250 Bright Dust
Rocket Stomp		Emote	3250 Bright Dust
Powerful Statement	Equip this weapon ornament to change the appearance of Loaded Question. Once you get an ornament, it's unlocked for all characters on your account.	Weapon Ornament	700 Bright Dust
Dreaming Shimmer	Modifications for your ship's transmat systems, so you'll always arrive in style.	Transmat Effect	450 Bright Dust
Amethyst Bloom	Equip this shader to change the color of your gear.	Shader	300 Bright Dust
Transcendental Ambition	Apply this shader to change the color of your gear.	Shader	300 Bright Dust
Cowbell		Multiplayer Emote	4250 Bright Dust
Star-Crossed Heart	Equip this ornament on any eligible Legendary armor item to change its appearance. Once you get a universal ornament, it's unlocked for all characters of the relevant class on your account.	Titan Universal Ornament	1200 Bright Dust
Simulation Shell		Ghost Shell	2850 Bright Dust
Exosporangion		Ship	2000 Bright Dust
Omen of Saturn		Vehicle	2500 Bright Dust
Augmented Apotheosis	Equip this weapon ornament to change the appearance of Divinity. Once you get an ornament, it's unlocked for all characters on your account.	Weapon Ornament	1250 Bright Dust
Time-Lost Projection	Equip this item to change your Ghost's projection.	Ghost Projection	1500 Bright Dust
Metropolitan Acoustics	Apply this shader to change the color of your gear.	Shader	300 Bright Dust
Vibrant Medusa	Equip this shader to change the color of your gear.	Shader	300 Bright Dust
Empirical Imperative	Apply this shader to change the color of your gear.	Shader	300 Bright Dust
Spark of Joy	Equip this shader to change the color of your gear.	Shader	300 Bright Dust
The Past Unearthed	Modifications for your ship's transmat systems, so you'll always arrive in style.	Transmat Effect	450 Bright Dust
Cabal Shield Breaker	Modifications for your ship's transmat systems, so you'll always arrive in style.	Transmat Effect	450 Bright Dust
Ketch Flight Entrance	Modifications for your ship's transmat systems, so you'll always arrive in style.	Transmat Effect	450 Bright Dust

Weekly Bounties

Petra Venj, The Dreaming City

Name	Description	Cost	Requirement	Reward
Ascendant Challenge	"The Awoken have long practiced the art of walking between worlds." —Techeun Kalli	1500 Glimmer	1 Ascendant challenge completed	XP++ & Dark Fragment & Legendary Gear
Gateway Between Worlds	"The Blind Well can split wide the veins that run between realities." —Techeun Sedia	40 Dark Fragment	10 Activity completions	XP++ & Offering to the Oracle

Eris Morn, Moon

Name	Description	Cost	Requirement	Reward
Slow-Wave Disruption	Complete waves of Altars of Sorrow in Sorrow's Harbor.	1000 Glimmer	7 Waves completed	Hymn of Desecration
Lunar Spelunker	Loot chests in 3 of the Moon's Lost Sectors.	1000 Glimmer	1 K1 Communion Lost Sector looted & 1 K1 Logistics Lost Sector looted & 1 K1 Crew Quarters Lost Sector looted	1 Firewall Data Fragment

Lectern of Enchantment, Moon

Name	Description	Cost	Requirement	Reward
Nightmare Hunter	Defeat Nightmares in Nightmare Hunts.	5 Phantasmal Fragment	100 Nightmares	XP++ & 1 Phantasmal Core
Nightmare Sojourner	Defeat Nightmares in Lost Sectors across the solar system. Nightmares defeated on the Moon only grant reduced progress.	5 Phantasmal Fragment	100 Nightmares	XP++ & 1 Phantasmal Core

Variks, Europa

Name	Description	Cost	Requirement	Reward
Courageous Expedition	On Europa, complete Lost Sectors, public events, and patrols.	1000 Glimmer	15 Progress	XP++
Divine Intervention	During the Empire Hunt "The Dark Priestess," defeat Kridis and earn points by defeating combatants with precision final blows. Higher difficulties grant more efficient progress.	1000 Glimmer	50 [Headshot] Precision & 1 Kridis defeated	XP++

Shaw Han, Cosmodrome

Name	Description	Cost	Requirement	Reward
Public Disturbance	Complete public events on the Cosmodrome. Heroic public events grant the most efficient progress.	1000 Glimmer	3 Public events	XP++ & Glimmer
Full Spectrum	Defeat combatants on the Cosmodrome with Arc, Void, and Solar damage.	1000 Glimmer	25 [Arc] Arc & 25 [Void] Void & 25 [Solar] Solar	XP++ & Glimmer

Starhorse, Eternity

Name	Description	Cost	Requirement	Reward
Old-Fashioned Way	Complete the following objectives in a single run of Dares of Eternity. Objectives will reset if not completed when the activity ends. Defeat combatants with charged or uncharged melee abilities, defeat combatants with weapons equipped in the Kinetic slot, and complete the activity with an impressive score.	5 Strange Coin	125 Melee & 75 Kinetic weapon & 1 180000 Points	2 Paraversal Haul & 1 Enhancement Core & XP++ & 50 Strange Favor
Sticky Situation	Complete the following objectives in a single run of Dares of Eternity. Objectives will reset if not completed when the activity ends. Defeat combatants with attached grenade abilities, defeat combatants with grenades, and complete the activity with an impressive score.	5 Strange Coin	15 Attached grenades & 50 [Grenade] Grenade & 1 180000 Points	2 Paraversal Haul & 1 Enhancement Core & XP++ & 50 Strange Favor
Maximum Temper	Complete the following objectives in a single run of Dares of Eternity on Legend difficulty. Objectives will reset if not completed when the activity ends. Pick up Orbs of Power, rapidly defeat combatants, and complete the activity with an incredible score.	7 Strange Coin	100 Orbs of Power & 125 Rapidly defeated & 1 300000 Points	3 Paraversal Haul & 1 Enhancement Prism & XP++ & 150 Strange Favor

Nimbus, Neomuna

Name	Description	Cost	Requirement	Reward
Vex Incursion Countermeasures	In the Vex Incursion Zone, defeat combatants using Strand to obtain Shellcode Fragments. Open a Terminal Overload Key Chest to obtain a Polymorphic Engine.	1000 Glimmer	8 Shellcode Fragments & 1 Polymorphic Engine	XP++ & Polymorphic Shellcode

Arcite 99-40, Hall of Champions

Name	Description	Cost	Requirement	Reward
Steadfast Onslaught	Defeat combatants in Onslaught. Bonus progress awarded for final blows with Void or Strand weapons and abilities. Complete 20 waves in a single run of Onslaught.	10000 Glimmer	50 Targets & 1	1 XP+ & 100 Lord Shaxx Reputation & 200 Lord Shaxx Reputation & BRAVE Engram
Steadfast Gambit	Defeat combatants in Gambit. Bonus progress awarded for final blows with Solar weapons and abilities. Play 3 Gambit matches.	10000 Glimmer	50 Targets & 3 Gambit matches	1 XP+ & 100 Lord Shaxx Reputation & 200 Lord Shaxx Reputation & BRAVE Engram
Illustrious Crucible	Defeat Guardians and earn assists in Crucible. Bonus progress awarded for final blows with Hand Cannons.	10000 Glimmer	50 Opponents defeated	1 XP+ & 200 Lord Shaxx Reputation & 400 Lord Shaxx Reputation & BRAVE Engram
Illustrious Raider	Defeat combatants in raids and dungeons. Bonus progress awarded for final blows with Sidearms. Complete an encounter on Normal difficulty or higher.	10000 Glimmer	80 Targets & 1	1 XP+ & 200 Lord Shaxx Reputation & 400 Lord Shaxx Reputation & BRAVE Engram
Distinguished Raider	Defeat combatants with precision damage in raids and dungeons. Bonus progress awarded for precision final blows with Bows. Complete an encounter on Master difficulty or higher.	10000 Glimmer	100 Targets & 1	1 XP+ & 400 Lord Shaxx Reputation & 800 Lord Shaxx Reputation & BRAVE Engram

Seasonal Challenges

Name	Description	Objectives	Rewards

No more records this season!

Notable Armor Rolls

Only notable rolls (stat total >= 59 or single stat >= 26) are listed here.

Class	Name	Vendor	Type	MOB	RES	REC	DIS	INT	STR	Total	Cost
Titan	Exodus Down Helm	Nessus	Helmet	15	16	2	9	12	6	60	25 Legendary Shards & 1000 Glimmer
Titan	Insight Unyielding Greaves	Ada-1	Leg Armor	2	26	2	8	6	14	58	25 Legendary Shards & 1000 Glimmer
Hunter	Exodus Down Mask	Nessus	Helmet	2	16	16	6	8	11	59	25 Legendary Shards & 1000 Glimmer
Hunter	Insight Rover Grips	Ada-1	Gauntlets	22	6	2	2	8	20	60	25 Legendary Shards & 1000 Glimmer

^{Never forget what has been lost. While the API protests have concluded, Reddit remains hostile to its users as their IPO looms in the horizon. More information can be found here.}

I know a lot of people are talking about her recreating the Bejeweled music video in her relationship with Travis but she’s obviously doing Blank Space too. Not a new thought but worth diving more into.
Travis says it’s his favorite song. The Lake Como Villa looks a lot like the one in the Blank Space MV. I was also realizing that at the end of the MV, the next guy/PR relationship shows up in a red convertible which reminded me a lot of the convertible we first see them get into after the first football game she attended.
The lyrics of Blank Space fit so well. I’ve got my thoughts below. What else do you all see?
———-
Nice to meet you, where you been? I could show you incredible things Magic, madness, heaven, sin Saw you there and I thought "Oh, my God, look at that face You look like my next mistake Love's a game, wanna play?" Ay

Taylor chooses her next beard - this time it’s Travis. Love’s a game, wanna play? Might as well pick a football player to make the game analogy more obvious. She can show him amazing things. Make his Hollywood dreams come true.

—
New money, suit and tie I can read you like a magazine

Travis is the epitome of new money, suit & tie with his flamboyant dressing style. Pin stripe three piece suits, etc. She can read him like a magazine because he’s not deep enough to be a book.

—
Ain't it funny? Rumors fly And I know you heard about me So hey, let's be friends

Travis goes on his podcast and talks about wanting to give her a friendship bracelet (lol) causing rumors to fly.

—
I'm dying to see how this one ends Grab your passport and my hand I can make the bad guys good for a weekend

Travis says how they are planning to travel all over Europe together this summer during Eras. Get that passport ready Buddy.

—
So it's gonna be forever Or it's gonna go down in flames You can tell me when it's over, mm If the high was worth the pain Got a long list of ex-lovers They'll tell you I'm insane 'Cause you know I love the players And you love the game

Is it going to be worth it Travis? We know you love the game.

—
'Cause we're young, and we're reckless We'll take this way too far

Will they actually get engaged? Will they get married? How far will they take it?

—
It'll leave you breathless, mm Or with a nasty scar Got a long list of ex-lovers They'll tell you I'm insane But I've got a blank space, baby And I'll write your name

Travis’s favorite song? She blows him a kiss during this song? C’mon

—
Cherry lips, crystal skies I could show you incredible things Stolen kisses, pretty lies You're the King, baby, I'm your Queen

I feel So High School. Almost like Tayvis is Homecoming King & Queen right? Stolen kisses backstage, on a boat in Italy… it’s true, swear, scouts honor.

—
Find out what you want Be that girl for a month

Travy wants a WAG, right? Taylor says bet, I can be the Waggiest Wag to ever Wag. I’ll drape myself in Chiefs gear and show up to every game. She can be that girl for a while…

—
Wait, the worst is yet to come, oh, no Screaming, crying, perfect storms I can make all the tables turn

Until she drops TTPD. Completely about an ex. She’s screaming, she’s crying, she’s craaaaaaazy. Wait where did the fun, bubbly WAG go?

—
Rose garden filled with thorns Keep you second guessing like "Oh, my God, who is she?" I get drunk on jealousy But you'll come back each time you leave 'Cause, darling, I'm a nightmare dressed like a daydream

Stories come out about how she can’t bear to be without him. She’s insecure, maybe jealous? Photos show them looking sad, bored, over it. Is the daydream starting to feel like a nightmare?

—
Boys only want love if it's torture Don't say I didn't, say I didn't warn ya Boys only want love if it's torture Don't say I didn't, say I didn't warn ya

Don’t say she didn’t warn you Travis. You already know, babe.

I sit alone in my room on the seventh floor, writing what will surely be my last will and testament. The heroin which allowed me to forget and to sleep for the last couple of years has lost its power to keep the screaming terrors away. The drug destroyed my body and mind, gradually eating away at them like a corrosive acid. Now I have become a slave to it. And yet, without it, I do not sleep for weeks, but instead continuously see the scenes from that terrible night running through my head on repeat as worsening waves of madness crash on the shores of my consciousness.
In the caverns under the town of Frost Hollow, I found the meaning of true madness. Ever since I escaped that den of horrors, it is difficult to tell what is real and what is only the feverish delirium of an unhinged mind.
Even now, they wait behind the door to this cheap, bare rented room. They drag their claws over the wood. I hear them hissing in that strange, ancient tongue, the one I first heard in the tombs of rock that had been undisturbed for countless millennia.
***
I had first heard rumors of an unexplored cavern from my friend, an experienced caver named Sonia who had explored caverns all over the world. I had been looking for some excitement in my life, some break from the constant monotony and boredom of simply working and sleeping. I had gone caving quite a few times over the year leading up to the trip, but I was not nearly as experienced and had never explored a supposedly virgin passageway of cavern before.
“How do you know no one’s gone down there?” I asked, curious. We sat across from each other at a local diner, getting some early breakfast before our planned descent. The sunrise was still another half-hour away, the sky flat and dark. We would be joined by Sonia’s husband, Phil, who would meet us there shortly after sunrise. I repressed an urge to yawn, chugging half of the steaming hot coffee in one long swallow. Sonia leaned close to me, her nearly colorless blue eyes reminding me of chunks of ice floating down a muddy stream.
“Phil’s friend just found it randomly,” she whispered before glancing around conspiratorially, as if she feared someone would care enough to eavesdrop on a conversation about a cave. “Well, it’s in the middle of a farm, and Phil’s friend, Jack Graysole, owns the entire property and surrounding woods. Jack says he noticed the cows kept going over to a certain spot in the field when it got really hot during the summertime. They would all gather around this little indentation in the grass. After seeing it a few times, Jack got curious and went to investigate what the cows were doing.
“He found a small hole in the ground, almost entirely covered by weeds and grass. He said he felt a cool breeze constantly blowing out of the hole, a breeze that smelled like burning matches and charred metal. After bringing out some shovels and digging down a couple feet, Jack realized that the hole wasn’t a hole at all, but the beginning of a steep passageway leading deep into the bowels of the earth.”
***
The owner of the land decided to unofficially call the newly-discovered cavern Graysole Caverns. Out of respect for him, this is also the name we all used. This is the story of how I found myself in the bowels of a strange subterranean tunnel, a tunnel where creatures beyond my comprehension slunk and hunted, skittering monstrosities who would be more at home in a nightmare.
After grabbing a couple coffees to take with us, Sonia drove over to Graysole Farms. Cows stood out in the grassy fields, huddled in tight circles as they repetitively chewed. The thin silhouette of Jack Graysole waited for us next to the herd. He had a face like a raisin, I thought to myself. I watched his thin, shaking body standing in the middle of an overgrown grassy field. Jack stared down blankly at something only he could see. Sonia and I started unloading some equipment from the car while we waited for Phil.
Once we had the backpacks loaded with some simple supplies, such as water, food, headlamps, rope, a couple extra batteries, some buck knives, and radios, we headed over to accompany Jack. We weren’t taking much, as we didn’t really expect to be down there for more than six or seven hours at the most.
Jack Graysole’s withered old face was as slack and expressionless as that of a corpse. He stared down at the ground as if he were in a trance, waving back and forth slowly on his feet like a plant in a light breeze.
“Jack?” Sonia called out as we approached. I could hear the man’s teeth chattering as we got nearer.
“Hey, what are you doing over here this early? You interested in accompanying us down there?” Sonia joked. But Jack might as well have been totally deaf for all the reaction he gave. Sonia glanced over at me with an anxious expression. I wondered if the old man was having a stroke.
I quickly walked over to where he stood, staring down at a black circular hole about three feet across directly in front of his feet. The entrance to Graysole Caverns stared up at us like a sightless pupil. As I drew within a few feet of Jack and looked straight into his blank eyes, I noticed something alarming.
His pupils were quickly dilating and constricting before my eyes. They would shrink to tiny pinpoints, then, a couple seconds later, rapidly expand until they became dark and serious. I could see his thready, rapid heartbeat pulsating in a vein on the side of his temple. Alarmed, I reached forward and put my hand on his shoulder.
Instantly, he came to life, like a man waking up from a nightmare. Shrieking, he looked at me with fully dilated pupils, reminding me of a panicked deer surrounded by wolves. His quavering old man’s voice shook with ineffable existential horror and mortal fear.
He took a step back away from us, seeming to realize where he was and what he was doing. He looked around, confused, then straight at me and Sonia. His eyes focused with anger and fear, as if we were demons here to drag him down to Hell. His eyes flicked back and forth between us constantly. Jack raised a trembling hand and pointed it straight at my heart.
“It’s you,” he said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. His teeth chattered despite the warm spring air. His skin looked deathly pale. “You’re the one who will bring an end to humanity, who will release the ruler of nightmares upon us.” He continued to point accusingly for a long moment at me, his face turning chalk-white. Then his eyes rolled up in his head. Slowly, he stumbled and fell backwards onto the soft grass of the field.
“Jack!” Sonia cried, running over to the old man. Jack’s breaths had started to come in slow, drawn-out gurgles, like a man with a slit throat trying to breathe. Frothy blood bubbled from his lips as they turned blue. Staring up at the endless expanse of cloudless sky, he exhaled one last shuddering breath and died.
***
Phil showed up only a couple minutes later. He found me and Sonia in a state of utter panic, both of us bent double over the still body of Jack. Sonia was on the phone with 911, and I was trying to give Jack chest compressions. The way his fingernails and lips shone with that cyanotic blue cast made me feel sick and weak. I knew it was futile, that I was simply playing with a corpse at this point, but I didn’t know what else to do. I felt if I didn’t do something, I might explode.
I heard the faint wailing of sirens approaching as Sonia’s panicked voice continued babbling to the 911 operator. Phil stood by her side, his tall, dark features searching and lost.
“Oh God, I think he’s dead!” Sonia cried over and over to the operator, as if she thought the operator could do anything about it. I didn’t hear what the operator said in response. As the ambulance pulled in, I gave up on chest compressions. I stood up and took a step back, looking sadly down on the kindly old man’s dead body.
The paramedics ran over. Phil, Sonia and I stood back while they worked on the corpse, trying to shock the heart back into life. But Jack’s open eyes stayed glazed as they stared sightlessly up into eternity.
***
The paramedics left. A couple police officers stayed behind to ask us a few routine questions. Eventually, after an hour or so, they left, too.
“What a fucked-up day,” Phil said, shaking his head grimly. “Do you guys still want to do this? Maybe it’s an omen from God telling us to go home.” Sonia and I exchanged a glance, then we both nodded at the same time.
“Definitely,” she said. “It’s sad what happened to Jack, but realistically, we don’t know what’s going to happen to this property now that he’s passed away. It might get sold or taken by the bank for all we know. This could be our one and only chance to explore this cave.”
“I don’t believe in omens. I’m still down,” I said, feeling slightly sick from the experience. I still remembered how Jack’s body had cracked under the weight of my chest compressions, how his ribs had snapped like bones shattering in greedy hands. “We’ll do it in memory of Jack. I plan to put this up on YouTube.” I pulled my GoPro out of my bag, turning it on. Phil groaned at that.
“Do we have any idea how far down this cave goes?” Phil asked. I felt a sense of relief now that the topic had changed from the death of the old man.
“I sent a little camera down on a rope, but it only went about a hundred feet,” Sonia responded. “It’s pretty steep at first, then it levels out. I couldn’t really see much after it leveled out, but it looks like it should be easy to climb down. There’s plenty of handholds, lots of jutting rocks.”
Phil put on his headlamp and small pack. As he crawled down into the hole, his tanned face looked up at us and gave us one last devilish grin. Once he had gone down a few dozen feet, Sonia started descending. She looked excited and happy. I noticed how she couldn’t stop smiling as she disappeared from view.
I watched their lights grow smaller and dimmer in the circular tunnel. I marveled at how perfectly circular the entrance was. It almost didn’t even look natural.
Taking a deep breath in, I followed my friends down into the dark.
***
“This isn’t too bad,” I said as I climbed down. The jutting rocks gave plenty of handholds and footholds for us. It wasn’t so tight that it felt like a coffin, either.
“It only gets easier from here!” Sonia called up.
“How do you know?” I asked. “You said you’ve never been here before.” She laughed.
“I know. Probably just wishful thinking,” she said. Far below us, Jack’s voice drifted up, faint and weak. He had already reached the bottom.
“The tunnel really opens up down here, guys,” he called. “It’s somewhat… bizarre, though.”
“What do you mean by that?” Sonia asked. I looked down, seeing Sonia and I would reach the bottom in seconds. “Forget it, I’ll let it be a surprise.” I heard her drop down. Slowly and carefully, I lowered myself down the last few feet. There was a short fall onto a smooth granite floor. I looked up, seeing what Phil and Sonia were so mesmerized by.
“Oh, wow,” I said, speechless. I blinked rapidly, wondering if the image would clear like a mirage. The tunnel was cut into a perfectly triangular shape, each side about seven feet long. The ceiling met in a point above our heads.
All along the smooth walls of gray rock, I saw thousands of black orbs peeking out. They looked similar to obsidian, but they were perfectly smooth and circular, each about the size of an orange. They were formed into interlocking diagonal patterns and followed the tunnel straight down as far as the eye could see.
“What is this place?” Sonia asked, taking a tentative step forward. I looked up, seeing the distant pinpoint of sunlight far above our heads. Our voices continued to echo off down the massive tunnels, disappearing in eerie waves into the thick curtain of shadows.
“Are you recording all this?” Phil asked me. I laughed, giddy.
“Of course! This is internet gold right here,” I said. “No one’s going to believe that this isn’t man-made, however. I can’t even believe it. Do you think Jack was playing a joke on us or something?”
“Jack had the sense of humor of a wet paper towel,” Phil whispered, shaking his head. “No, he wouldn’t do something like this.”
“Well, let’s go check it out,” Sonia said, taking a step forward. Her headlamp bobbed up and down rapidly, throwing dancing shadows through the triangular tunnel. It continued straight ahead, without the slightest deviation or curve, disappearing off into a dark point in the distance.
***
We walked as fast as we could, excited to see where, if anywhere, the strange tunnel led. Phil, always the conspiracy theorist, babbled excitedly.
“This has to be aliens, man,” he said, running his fingers through his dark hair. “I bet that scientists will find out this shit is millions of years old when we get back up and tell everyone. Maybe aliens came to earth in ancient times and made a bunch of stuff underground.” Gradually, as we walked, I noticed the tunnel opening up. The pointed triangular ceiling rose up higher above our heads and the walls moved outwards, as we were walking up a triangular funnel. At first, it was so subtle that I didn’t believe it when Sonia pointed it out.
“No, look,” she said, raising her hand above her head. “When we first started down this weird tunnel, my fingers were only maybe a foot away from the top. Now it’s a couple feet.” I was about to respond when our headlamps illuminated something standing in the middle of the tunnel.
“What the fuck is that?” I whispered, stopping cold in my tracks. Phil and Sonia looked up at the abomination at the same time. Its back was to us. It stood nearly as tall as the tunnel, which was now about twenty feet high.
The bottom half looked black and spidery with dozens of long, jointed legs. A bloody, white spine rose out of the mass of legs. Inhumanly long, skeletal arms stretched out in front of it. Its face was pointed away from us, but the back of its head resembled an enormous pointed skull with deep fissures like the cracks of an earthquake running through the bone. The abomination stayed as still as a statue, and for a long moment, I wondered if we were looking at some macabre work of art.
Then, suddenly, one of its insectile legs twitched. A moment later, the other legs started jerking and twisting. There was a sound like bones shattering as it rose up to its full height, turning around to face us.
Its face was like something from a nightmare, melting and reforming constantly like dripping candle wax. I would see a black eye appear on its forehead, then a grinning mouth on its chin, then the features would get sucked back into the folds of melting flesh. After a few moments, two enormous eyes appeared on its face, dark and cold like craters on the surface of the Moon. The mouths and noses disappeared back into the dripping skin, and only the two lidless eyes remained, emanating a cold, reptilian consciousness beyond the ability of my mind to comprehend. I felt terror radiating from its body like freezing waves.
“Free me,” it cried in a gurgling voice that seethed with insanity. It had a shrieking, metallic ringing behind every word that gave it an alien quality. “Free me, and I will give you the waters of eternal life. Within me, I contain the seeds of immortality. Within the nightmares, we live forever, always together, never alone.”
“Who are you?” I asked, terrified. The black reptilian skin of the enormous beast glistened as it knelt down, its massive face drawing near to mine. A sideways mouth burst out of the liquified flesh, showing hundreds of fangs growing like tumors from its white, bloodless gums. The fangs varied in size from only a couple inches to long, sword-like projections that stabbed into the creature’s flesh, causing white blood glittering with rainbows to fall like raindrops all around me.
“I have many names,” it hissed, its thousand voices rising and falling in crashing waves of sound. “I was present at the beginning, when this planet was no more than dead cliffs and endless freezing oceans. Those holy ones who search for us, the ancient ones, call me Niralahoth.”
“How do we free you?” Phil asked, looking terrified. He held Sonia’s hand tightly.
“By letting me into your mind and body,” Niralahoth cried, shaking the cavern. “I was thrown down here, cursed and forgotten. I cannot leave this place of shadows within this body. But in the body of another, my consciousness can be free, and the seeds of new life can spread beyond this prison.”
“There’s no way anyone’s going to do that,” I said, my eyes widening as Niralahoth’s reptilian skull turned towards me in fury. “I mean, you’re asking one of us to give up our individuality, our lives, right?”
“I am asking you to become one with me and gain power undreamt of by mortals,” it cried. “I have within me the fountain of life, the waters that send death away screaming.” I glanced anxiously at Phil and Sonia, wondering if we would have to run.
“The answer is no,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, we can’t do that,” Phil said, backing me up. “But, anyways, I think our trip has ended. It’s time to turn around…”
“You will never return,” Niralahoth cried, skittering away from us. “If you will not accept salvation, then you must accept death.” Within seconds, it slunk away from us, backpedaling on its many skittering legs into the shadows.
***
All around us, a rumbling started.
There was a pounding that crashed through the rock tunnel, as if an insane blacksmith were hammering on a massive anvil. The ringing of crashing rock started off slowly, with a few stones smashing down around us with heavy blasts of sound. Within seconds, the cacophony sped up, rising into a constant stream of destruction. The black orbs were spinning in place all up and down the tunnel, their glossy obsidian surfaces flashing with sparks of blue light.
“It’s collapsing!” Phil cried, running back in the direction we came, holding Sonia’s hand as she tried to keep up with him. I could only stare for a long moment, not sure what to do. It seemed that the direction Phil was heading stood closer to total collapse.
“Wait!” I cried, but my voice was drowned out in the destruction all around us. I felt a rock smash into my shoulder, sending me down to my feet. I heard Phil give a scream of pain, then another stone came down and smashed into my forehead. I remember seeing everything spinning around me as the world went black.
***
I awoke to find my headlamp still shining straight up in the dusty tunnel. Large chunks of the tunnel had slid out of place and crashed to the stone floor. The granite chunks that had fallen looked unnaturally smooth, most of them in the shapes of cylinders or cubes and varying in size from that of an egg to that of a small car.
My head throbbed. It felt as if a tight belt of fire were wrapped around my temples. Groaning, I put my fingers up to my forehead. They came away slick with blood.
Slowly, I started pushing myself up on my feet. I was relieved that nothing seemed broken. I had a deep gash running from the center of my scalp down to my left temple and some shallower cuts on my shoulders and back, but I knew none of that was life-threatening.
“Sonia?” I whispered, my voice coming out weak and strained. I reached into my pack and found a bottle of water. I chugged it quickly in one long swallow.
“Phil?” I cried again, this time stronger. I heard a soft weeping nearby. Staggering, I followed the sound.
Sonia was bloody and covered in cuts and scrapes, sitting next to Phil’s prone form. I saw Phil’s right arm pinned under a massive slab of granite. His arm disappeared from the elbow down in a spreading puddle of thick, dark blood.
“Oh God, Max, I think he’s hurt really bad,” she wept. Phil’s eyes rolled wildly in his head, his face pale and bloodless. I looked down the way we had come, seeing the entire tunnel blocked by large slabs of stone, many with strange, black orbs peeking out like the lenses of cameras.
***
I don’t know how much time passed. My phone died after a day, and then we were counting the endless darkness in breaths and tears.
Phil swam in and out of consciousness as his arm putrefied and blackened around the crush site. After a couple days, Sonia and I agreed that something had to be done. We told Phil we would need to amputate his arm. He was half-delirious, but he came back long enough to understand us and nod weakly.
We made a fire with Phil’s pack, trying to find fuel to throw in it to get it roaring. As it grew, I saw one of the black orbs near the flames abruptly ignite, as if it had been covered in gasoline. Blue, almost colorless flames rose from its surface. We started throwing the small black orbs on the fire until it rose high in the air. I sanitized the buck knife with the flames and pulled a rope tourniquet tight around Phil’s arm. He was conscious but seemingly insane, talking to himself more than anyone else.
“How are we going to get the car started without a key?” he gurgled to someone only he could see. “We need to look around. It has to be here somewhere.”
“Phil, can you hear me, bud? We need to fix your arm. We need to get you out of this mess. OK?” I said as comfortingly as I could. Phil’s eyes rolled wildly, but they didn’t meet my own. I sighed and looked over at Sonia.
“Let’s do it,” I said, giving a grim nod.
I pulled the buck knife out, slicing quickly down through the flesh next to the tourniquet. His veins throbbed like fat worms as the blackened, necrotic skin split easily under the blade, releasing a rancid-smelling gas that hissed out of the wound.
I couldn’t believe how hard it was to slice all the way through the arm. It felt like I was stuck in that hellish task forever. Phil’s eyes rolled in his head as his skin turned the color of clotted milk.
“God, Jesus, make it stop,” Phil whispered over and over, exhaling ragged, pain-filled breaths. The blood spurted from the blackened, dying tissue all over the dust-covered cavern floor, covering my hands in its warm, slick embrace.
After what was probably only three or four minutes, but felt like hours, I had sliced all the way down to the bone. The infected tissue of his arm spurted great gouts of orange pus mixed with rivulets of blood. The hard part was over.
Standing up, I took my steel-toe sneaker and stomped down on his arm as hard as I could. Phil cried out in a powerful voice, as if all the agony and suffering in the world was contained in that one shriek. The bone snapped under my weight with a sound like a tree branch cracking. A moment later, Phil rolled away from the rock that had pinned me in place for so long. Something alien and spongy was shoved into my face, a mass of destroyed red tissue pulsating in time with a runaway heartbeat. At first, shell-shocked and revolted, my mind couldn’t comprehend that I was looking at the stump of Phil’s mutilated arm. I hardened my heart and forced the giddiness and madness to the back of my mind. The time had come to cauterize the wound.
“Sonia, give it to me,” I said with a tremor in my voice. I reached out a hand towards her, a hand stained with Phil’s blood. It looked as if I were wearing a wet, crimson glove. Sonia only stared blankly at me for a long moment, however. A surge of anger ran up my chest.
“Sonia, toughen the fuck up! He’s going to die if you just sit there!” I swore at her, hearing my deep, angry voice bounce around the caverns. Sonia pulled back, as if she were struck. Inwardly, I cursed having a woman as my only able-bodied companion in this situation. She was a competent enough caver, but what would happen if violence and blood came over us? What would happen if, or more realistically when, we needed to fight?
Grimly, Sonia leaned forward and yanked the burning black orb out of the roaring fire, handing it to me on the end of a buck knife that had just barely pierced its hard, strange exterior. The handle of the knife felt coarse and splintery under my filthy skin. I put it to the spongy stump of Phil’s arm. The stump twitched violently. Phil tried to pull away as black smoke rose from the burning flesh.
There was a smell like bacon sizzling. The searing meat of Phil’s arm blackened and crisped under the heat of the orb, which had become no more than a cylinder of glowing blue embers by this point. I felt simultaneously sick and giddy. I didn’t know if I wanted to laugh or vomit. I felt like I was on the verge of some kind of madness, that the stress and insanity of the experience had started to shatter my mind.
His eyes rolled back in his head and he appeared to go into a seizure for a few seconds. With a long exhalation of breath, he finally, mercifully, lost consciousness. It’s hard to admit it, even this close to the end, but a small, sick piece of me was jealous of Phil. Most likely, he would be dead soon, maybe within hours, while Sonia and I would slowly starve and dehydrate like animals over a period of weeks. I looked at her lithe body and soft skin, seeing the feminine curves of her hips and chest. She was a beautiful woman. I knew Phil to be a lucky man. At least, before this trip, he was.
I watched her body, wondering if I had what it took to eat her or Phil if I had to. Did I have an iron heart that would allow me to slice into my friends and consume their raw, cold flesh? Perhaps, by that point, it would be hunger and madness driving me forward, and I wouldn’t even hesitate. I shuddered at the very thought.
***
I fell asleep that night, having strange dreams of massive gods with melting faces sitting in judgment in a circle around me. We had very little food or water left. No one knew we were down here. Rescue was not coming.
When I awoke, I found myself alone. Phil had died from his injuries while I slept, the black streaks of septic shock spreading up his arm towards his heart. His eyes stared sightlessly up at the rock ceiling.
“Sonia?” I called out, my heart racing as I sat up. “Where are you?” My headlamp was growing dim. I looked in my pack, realizing I was on the last of my batteries. I saw a silhouette walking out of the darkness, the thin, pale form of Sonia. She was trembling badly.
“I saw them,” she said. “Niralahoth and its priests. The priests aren’t human. They look reptilian with sideways mouths and too many eyes.” She shuddered.
“Why would you do that?” I asked. Her eyes grew distant.
“You know we’re not getting out of here alive,” she said. “Not on our own. I wanted to see what it offered. It says that if we take a piece of its nightmare into us, we will gain the power to leave this place, that it simply wants to see the surface and spread its nightmares there.” I shook my head.
“Insanity,” I muttered. “We’d be better off dead.” Sonia nodded.
“My thoughts exactly,” she responded grimly. I didn’t realize what she meant until the next day, when I woke up and found her hanging next to Phil’s body, her tongue swollen and blue as it poked out of her cyanotic lips. And then I was truly alone.
***
Soon after Sonia committed suicide, the last of the batteries for the headlamp died. I had run out of food and had only a small sip of water left. I don’t know how much time passed in the darkness, starving and raving, following the tunnel by running my hands over the walls. I heard many things skittering in the darkness, and a few times, I heard the demonic voice of Niralahoth as it split and distorted.
“You are on death’s door,” it hissed. “Will you not drink from the fountain of life?” I couldn’t tell where the voice came from in the maddening blackness. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. I had lost nearly all of my sanity in that pit of shadows by this point. I tried laughing constantly to keep my spirits up, and when that failed, I simply cried.
“I’ll do it,” I wailed. “I’ll do it. Just let me see the sky again. Get me out of here, Niralahoth.” Everything went deathly silent all around me, then a laugh rang out like the grinding of glass.
In front of me, I saw a tornado of fire descending from the ceiling, surrounding the massive, spidery form of Niralahoth. It rose its skeletal arms upwards, as if it were Zeus calling down lightning. In the sudden brightness, I saw the fiery form of snakes slithering and centipedes skittering forwards in that tornado, each massive creature sculpted from flames in the spinning cyclone of energy. Niralahoth reached into the tornado of fire with its sharp points of fingers and plucked something small from it. The fire instantly dissipated. In its hand, I saw a tiny, swirling orb that looked like it contained a firestorm within it.
“The nightmare seed,” Niralahoth gurgled as it skittered forward towards me. I could only stare, open-mouthed and starving. I hadn’t slept for days, it felt like, and everything seemed slow and unreal.
In a blur, its skeletal arm shot out and forced the orb into my mouth. Despite the fire raging within it, it felt freezing cold. As it touched my tongue, it gave off a sensation like frostbite all throughout my mouth. I screamed and tried spitting it out, but it seemed to have a mind of its own. It started liquifying, dripping down my throat.
I felt something cancerous and sick spreading throughout my body, radiating out from my heart and stomach to every inch of it. I tried to scream, but it caught behind my teeth. I fell to my knees, clawing at my face as that insane, alien laugh continued resounding all down the tunnel. I fell unconscious and woke up under a beautiful sky in the fields of Graysole Farms.
***
Soon after, I realized that my life would never be the same. Everywhere I went, I could hear the wailing voice of Niralahoth. Behind the trees, I always saw skittering shadows, creatures with long, spidery legs that stalked me every day and night. I slept with every light in the house turned on, yet when I woke up, they would all be shut off, and I would find myself in darkness, next to something in the bed with far too many legs and a face that dripped like burning wax.
I sold everything I owned and tried to move far away, to give as much distance between myself and those cursed caverns as I could, but the nightmares followed me like a shadow. I realize what a fool I was in those ephemeral moments of madness. Sonia was much wiser than myself; I should have killed myself or died rather than allowing that thing inside of me.
Even now, I can feel it creeping through my heart, spreading through my blood. I feel it trying to crawl its way out of my throat, the thin, black legs peeking out at the back of my esophagus.
I only hope that, when I finally jump and feel my bones shatter against the concrete far below, I will kill whatever is inside of me. For I fear the consequences for the world if it were to escape.

Act 1 Scene 1
Int. Edd's Apartment Room - Bedroom - Morning
Edd (In sleep bed) SNORE, SNORE, SNORE- (EDD’S face is sprayed with Cola) I SUREDDER! (Looks around room) Oh.
(Cut to) Edd Int. Edd's Apartment room - Closet - Morning (Edd Choses which Hoodie to wear) [Hoodies references to different Hoodie designs] (Picks his Modern Hoodie design)
(Cut to) Int. Edd's Apartment Room - Bathroom Edd (Grabs toothbrush) (Zooms in to show that's it’s Cola flavored) (Brushes teeth) (Grabs cup of Cola) (Gurgles it) (Spits it out) (Makes a big wide smile showing his horrible teeth)
(Cut to) Edd Int. Edd's Apartment Room - Kitchen - Morning (Edd takes bacon in a Oven) (Puts it on a plate) (Edd sits at his table) (Holds up fork and spoon and licks his lips before shoving the entire plate into his mouth) NOM, NOM, NOM MM! The plate is always the best part! Act 1 Scene 2
(Transition to) Int. Edd's Apartment Room - Living Room - Morning Edd (Sits on couch) Ah.. it is a good day to watch Return of the Insane Zombeh Pirates from Hell 4! SLAM (The door goes as MATT and TOM come in)
Matt (Overlapping Tom) BLAH, BLAH, BLAH, BLAH BLAH, BLAH, BLAH, BLAH BLAH, BLAH, BLAH, BLAH I FOUND THIS GUY AND HE SOLD ME CRACK SO I GAVE IT TO A TWO YEAR OLD THEN IT STARTED TO-
Tom (Overlapping Matt) BLAH, BLAH, BLAH, BLAH BLAH, BLAH, BLAH, BLAH BLAH, BLAH, BLAH, BLAH I PULLED AND PULLED BUT IT WOULDN'T COME OUT, SO I GOT A PLANT AND STARTED SAYING NEVER GONNA GIVE-
Edd SHUT UP! (Matt and Tom look at each other) What is it…
Matt He broke mirror #1028!
Tom Nuh Uh!
Edd (Sigh) Tom, did you break the mirror?
Tom No!
Matt Liar, Liar, Dance on Pliers!
Tom (re: notice) Uh, Edd I found this by your door. (Hands to Edd)
Edd (Grabs) Blah, Blah, Blah. Your landlord will require possession of your apartment in 16 days, if rent is not paid! Oh no, I can't afford to paid rent!
Tom Don't worry- well actually do worry bc we all got it.
Matt Can't we mooch off of that crackhead down the street again?
Tom I’ve run out of crack to give to him, and I don't got enough to buy any either.
Edd Can't we get a job?
Tom Don’t you remember what happened last time we got a job!
Edd Oh yeah, we got fired for “immaturity, and irresponsible” or whatever bogus they said.
Matt We’re perfectly mature! They have to have a screw loose!
Tom One time I agree with you Matt. Right Edd… Edd?
Edd (Face plants onto couch) It’s hopeless…
Tom Come on Edd, things could be better!
Edd Do you mean worse?
Tom No, I meant better.
Matt Yeah, you could be friends with a stupid, narcissist and an unsupportive, alcoholic.
Edd (Annoyed, or disappointed face) Well… I guess- TOM WHAT ARE YOU DOING!
Tom (Standing on a chair with a hanging rope hanging from the ceiling fan) Who’s going second bc I'm going first.
Edd Tom, we promised to commit suicide when we get kids!
Tom Oh yeah.
Edd Tom, do you remember that safe in our old house?
Tom Yeah, the one that we left behind when it got destroyed?
Edd Yeah, that one. I was thinking we could go back and break into it. There’s bound to be some cash left in there.
Matt But what if the cops catch us?
Tom Relax, Matt. We’ll make sure no one sees us.
Edd We’ll go at night and make sure to cover our tracks.
Edd But we have no mask- (Tom, Matt are suddenly in Goofy Villain outfit) Edd Where did you even get those
Matt Dumpster!
Edd There's no way I'm wearing one of those! Act 1 Scene 3
(Cuts To) Ext. Old House - Backyard
The three friends stand in the backyard, wearing their goofy villain outfits, as Edd adjusts his costume with annoyance.
Edd (Cont'D) "This is ridiculous. I can't believe you two made me wear this."
Matt (Excitedly) "You look great! We're like the Three Stooges of crime!"
Tom (Grinning) "Yeah, but instead of just being fools, we're gonna be rich fools!”
Edd Matt did you cover our tracks?
Matt Yeah, look. (Shows an path of purple path leading right up to their location)
Tom Matt you know when I said I hated you?
Matt Yeah?
Tom I DIDN'T LIE!
Matt Aw...
Edd "Alright, let's just get this over with. We break into the safe, grab the cash, and get out. Simple enough."
Tom (Cocky) "Piece of cake, guys. We're professional criminals now."
Matt (Excitedly) "We're going to be rich!"
(The friends approach the safe and begin trying to open it.)
Edd Uh, does anyone remember the code?
Tom Not me!
Edd Matt?
(Camera pans to Matt admiring a picture of himself)
Matt I thought I lost you forever baby (Matt says as kissing it)
Edd
Tom(drunk) My idea is to blow up an orphanage!
Edd How do you get drunk off of Smirnoff in 4 seconds!?
Tom(drunk) Idk ask the unicorn in the sky!
Edd (Sigh) I'm going home.
As Edd turns to leave, Tom comes to his senses.
Tom "Guys, hang on. What if we try a brute force attack? Like, really give it a good ol' college try?"
Edd (Sarcastically) “Oh yes, because that's so much better than blowing up an orphanage.”
Tom (Ignoring the comment) “Just hear me out. We all know that safes have a maximum number of combination attempts before they lock us out. So, what if we just brute force it?”Edd But what brute force would... (Edd's eyes spark up with an idea, and a devious smile form's on his face)
Tom So... what's the idea?
Edd (Raises his eyebrows)
Tom I don't speak eyebrows?
Matt (Raises eyebrows)
Tom What!?
Edd (Overlapping Matt) THROW TOM!
Matt (Overlapping Edd) THROW TOM!
Tom Did I ever tell yall I HATE ALL OF YOU!As Matt and Edd start shoving Tom towards the safe, he starts resisting and shouting obscenities at them.
Tom (Yelling) "What the hell is wrong with you guys?! I'm not a goddamn battering ram!"
Matt (Laughing) "Oh come on, it'll be fine! What's the worst that could happen?"
Edd (Shoving Tom) "Just go with it, Tom. You'll thank us later."
Tom (Reluctantly) "Fine, but if I break anything, I'm suing you two.”(Edd and Matt lift Tom over their head and chuck him head first into the safe making a extremely loud smash)
Edd See Tom, that wasn't so bad!
Tom I think broke one of my hair bones
Matt Is it open?
Edd Nope. It's dented tho!Edd Still dented.
Matt Again-
(The gang hear police sirens)
Matt OH NO I'M TOO PRETTY TO GO TO JAIL!
(The police pull up and get out of the cop car with gun)
Cop 1 PUT YOUR HANDS UP!
(The entire gang puts their hands up with a ton of Matt's pictures falling out of his clothes)
(The police officers look confused as they witness the sight in front of them.*)
Officer 1 (Perplexed) “What the hell happened here?”
Matt (Innocently) “We were just trying to break into a safe. No big deal.” Act 1 Scene 4 Int. Cop Car - Midnight
Tom (Drowsy) “Why do my eyelids feel like heavy rocks…?”
Matt (Looking confused) “Hey, does anyone else smell pickles?”
Edd (Snickering) I knew I shouldn't have put on pickle deodorant!
Cop 1 (Driving) “Quiet, back there!”
Edd (Mumbling) Sorry Angry Mcgee!
Matt (Whisper) Pss, Edd!
Edd What?
Matt Get this! (Quickly throws a picture to Edd with his mouth)
Edd What is- Holy S**t I thought I lost this forever!
Camera pans down to show Edd, Matt, and Tom when they first moved in, including a old friend named Tord)*As the camera pans down to the picture, we see a glimpse of a time long ago. Three friends – Edd, Matt, and Tom – are laughing and smiling, with a fourth boy, Tord, standing beside them. They're holding balloons and standing in front of a house they recently moved into. Act 1 Scene 5
(Transition to) Jail - Cell - Midnight
Edd TOM! I'M DYING HELP ME!
Edd is dramatically lying on his back, holding an empty Cola can, pretending to have a heart attack. Meanwhile, Tom is sitting on a bunk bed and rolls his eyes.
Tom (Sarcastically) “Oh, yes, because your Cola addiction is definitely the biggest concern here. Not us being thrown in jail overnight.”
Edd OH WOE IS ME!
Edd writhes around on the bed in despair, while Tom just sits there, clearly agitated by Edd's melodrama.
Tom "Edd, you've been going on about your cola running out for hours now. Can you give it a rest, please?"
Edd (Frantically) "You don't understand, Tom! My cola was my life! How am I supposed to survive here without it?"
Tom (Tired) "Perhaps you should try sleeping or something?”Matt Uh, guys why is there a dude in helicopter trying to shoot us with a bazooka?
Edd (Sarcastically) Well thats just great.
(The group is flung back as the cell window is blasted open)
The man with the bazooka comes through the smoke.
Paul Hello, uh sorry I don't know your names. The Red Leader only refers people as code names.
Tom The Red who?
Matt My name is the beautiful Matt-
Edd covers Matt's mouth
Edd Don't tell him your name idiot!
Paul My name is Paul.
Camera Pans to Matt
Matt Why are your eyebrows 20 feet tall?
Camera Pans back to Paul
Paul They aren't even that big are you blind!?
Camera Pans back to Matt
Matt suddenly wearing blind glasses
Matt Yes
Patryk Hi my name is Patryk-
Paul PATRYK YOUR FLYING THE HELICOPTER!
Patryk Oh.
We hear a Helicopter explosion from outside. Paul and Patryk look down from the exposed cell wall, showing the burning half-destroyed Helicopter.
Patryk Don't worry I'll fix those scratches!
Paul Whatever.
Edd So, are you here to save us?
Paul Nah, we're gonna capture you!
Edd Aw, Bugger
Paul pulls out a "Super cool taser gun" as the label on the taser gun says.
Tom Lame.
(Tom is shocked and knocked out by the taser gun)
(The group watches in shock as Tom goes down from the taser-gun.)
Matt (Panicking) "Oh no, Tom! Edd, do something!!"
Edd (In shock) "What can I do? There's two nut jobs with a taser gun and an assault rifle who are trying to capture us!"
Paul (Casually) "Don't worry, if you don't resist, you'll be safe. The Red Leader just wants you guys for a special project.”
Edd Whatever.
Edd blacks out
(Cut to) Helicopter - Backseat - Morning
Edd wakes up
Edd (Distraught) Ow my head hurts!
Tom (Confused) What happened?
Edd (Deep Voice) Hey Babe.
Tom (Angry) Wtf Edd!
Matt is making muffled sounds because of a mask on his face that says "Beware ugly fish monster behind mask." Edd takes the mask off of Matt.
Edd (Disturbed) EW, the mask was right!
Matt (Angry) Hey!
Paul So you finally woke up!
Matt Uh, yeah
Edd This reminds me of when I flew a Helicopter when I was in the Uk Army!
Paul (Confused) You were in the army!?
Matt We all were can't you tell just by looking at us!
Camera pans to show all of the three boys looking exaggeratedly more stupid than usual.
Paul No.
The three friends look at each other in annoyance, feeling belittled by Paul's remark. Tom speaks up.
Tom (Sarcastically) "Oh wow, thanks for the compliment. Nice to know we look like a bunch of army rejects."
Matt (Defensively) "Excuse me, we are actually highly trained and intelligent individuals... in our own special way.”
Tom (Sarcastically) At least two of us are!
Tom and Edd high-five. Matt not realizing that they are inferring that he's the stupid one, keeps a smile on his face
Edd (Amused) Wait didn't your Helicopter crash like a few hours ago?
Patryk (Proudly) This is my 857th Helicopter!
Edd's Amused face goes to worried.
Edd (Unsettled) “Oh boy, this is going to be one bumpy ride…”
Edd At least we're away from the HELI-COP-TER
Everyone looks at Edd because of the horrible pun.
Tom So, where are we going?
Paul To the "SUPER EVIL EDGY VILLAINOUS BASE!"
The camera zooms out of the Helicopter to show that the place is actually called "SUPER EVIL EDGY VILLAINOUS BASE!"
Edd Well that's just silly.

Hi, I often times dislike people, but I want friends so here I am. I am a dad to 4 awesome kids, and a fur-dad to a large headed dog, an old man cat and finally an overly obese cat who blows bubbles in his water bowl for entertainment.
I am extremely quirky, as I can often times be seen in the weirdest of clothes (I have a lot of humorous shirts) and my sense of humor is vast and often times dark. I am 420 friendly - let’s face it some interesting conversation comes from those who are high; I typically don’t ever sleep, and I can tell you all about why deep space is so f**king terrifying.

Previous Part
The next day went by in a blur. Rocco was walking the perimeter of the camp, keeping an eye out for Brooke when I woke up. I didn’t really think he’d leave, but it seemed to give Rocco something to do other than being a general menace to society. All of us ate breakfast as normal but no one really said much. I’m not sure if they were still reeling from things they saw yesterday or if they just weren’t in a talking mood. The thought occurred to me that Shaoni may have payed a visit to each of them as well. Prying into what they saw and answering questions they might have. Honestly the whole thing felt like we were guinea pigs. Shaoni didn’t really seem to have a great handle on the trials so far. It was… mildly concerning that the ringmaster of all this didn’t seem 100% in control anymore.
Actually, I’d thought about that a lot last night. Shaoni just sort of left us to our own devices when we went through those “visions” yesterday. It’s not like she backed up her claim that she’d know what we’d seen either. If anything the fact that she came to ask me about it made me even more suspicious that she wasn’t really sure what she was doing. It was the first time I’d ever thought of Shaoni as anything other than in complete control. Slowly but surely it was becoming glaringly obvious that wasn’t the case.
If I was remembering correctly today’s trial was the trial of strength. I sincerely hoped that was a metaphor for something. You’ve got to understand, I’m not a very strong person, not physically anyways. I hoped Shaoni wanted to test mental strength or strength of will something like that. My hopes shattered as we arrived at the coliseum and saw an arena set up. There were several dummies in a corner, the kind you would see used in martial arts or HEMA or something to that effect. At the foot of the dummies were several wooden clubs. I couldn’t see them to clearly but they almost looked clawed from a distance. The real centerpiece was the platform in the middle of the coliseum. It looked like a stage and I’m sure that’s exactly how we were going to use it. The raised wooden platform had been constructed with boards placed across the top. It looked like those boards could be removed and under that was simply the cold hard ground about two feet below.
Katrina’s eyes lit up as she looked over the room.
“Now this is what I’m talking about, a real trial!”
She just about shrieked in excitement, throwing one fist in the air and startling the rest of us to attention. Katrina was the only one that really seemed excited about this. John and Robert just looked accepting and I’m not sure Brooke had put two and two together yet. I’d seen the clubs laid out by the dummies and already figured we’d be sparing with each other.
“Good morning everyone, I hope your ready for today.”
Called Shaoni, emerging unseen from behind us. Anyone who wasn’t fully awake at that point sure was then. There’s just something about Shaoni that makes you really really not want her to show up behind you unannounced. Probably why she kept doing it to us.
“Today I will test your strength, while I’d rather avoid conflict it’s sometimes unavoidable. My ideal candidate not only knows themselves but can handle themselves as well. We will allow you some time to familiarize yourself with the war clubs you’ll be using. Then you will compete against each other to find the strongest, most skilled warrior among you.”
Shaoni explained, Katrina’ excitement growing with every word.
I wasn’t to keen to participate in any of this but, like usual, I didn’t really have much of a choice at this point.
“So will you be sticking around this time then?”
I asked, wondering if Shaoni was going to cut and run again.
“I have other matters to attend to today. While I would like to stay and observe the whole day I need to prepare things for the final trial tomorrow. I’ll be back in time to see you test each other though.”
She replied dismissively, already on her way out. Shaoni seemed almost uninterested in us now. For someone evaluating us she seemed awful happy to pass off the evaluation to her followers. I didn’t say anything else as she walked out of the coliseum and towards the exit.
As I walked over to the little training area I saw the clubs were actually ornate masterpieces. They were carved from a hard dark wood. The handles resembled an eagles talon, curving near the end to grip a wooden orb. Whoever made these was beyond skilled, these things were works of art. I didn’t have much time to admire them before Katrina interrupted me.
“Hey, Keith was it? Want me to show you how to use these things?”
She called over to me, it was more of a command than a question but that’s pretty par for the course with her.
“If you want, sure. I’m uh… I’m kinda a fish out of water with this find of thing.”
I told her, rubbing the back of my neck with one hand in embarrassment. I wasn’t sure why she was singling me out for that but she answered that question for me.
“Good, Those two creep me out and that one has been drooling over me since we got here.”
She said, pointing over at Robert and John who had already started practicing, then at Brooke. Katrina showed absolutely no subtly in any of this, earning us looks from all three of the others.
I was a little afraid of Katrina teaching me anything, if someone was gonna kill me by accident it would be her. That and she still had that gun on her. Despite my misgivings she was actually a pretty good teacher. She was a bit like a drill instructor but I learned a thing or two. By the time we were done I felt like I might stand half a chance in this trial.
“Just remember your footwork, keep your balance and the rest should come natural. Oh, and if we get paired up, take a dive, it’ll be less painful.”
Katrina added with a smirk, walking over towards the group by the stage in the center of the room. Shaoni had just come back in and was up on the balcony. A few of her followers had collected us and informed us we were about to start the, ”practical part”, as they put it.
“There’s five of you so for the first matchup one of my own will serve as the opponent. Anyone what to go first?”
Shaoni asked us, looking down with a raised eyebrow and waiting for a response. Before I realized what I’d done my hand was in the air, my body subconsciously wanting to get this over with as fast as possible. Shaoni actually looked surprised as she gestured for me to take my place on the stage. Two of the boards had been removed on either side leaving us something like six feet of space to work with before falling off the platform. But I was far less concerned about that after I saw the guy walking over. It was the driver from a few days ago when Shaoni had me brought out to the camp. The guy that had his friend stabbed by Bianca, he didn’t look like he’d forgotten about that as they gave him his club.
As I took my place on the stage the only thing I was thinking was exactly how bad it hurt when you got hit with one of these things.
“Begin when you are ready.”
Called Shaoni from her place on the balcony. The guy across from me took absolutely no time to think, charging at me wildly right away. I tried to brace myself and remember Katrina’s training, taking an even stance and angling my club for the coming blow. I did manage to block his strike but the force of it threw me to the ground. My mind went into full survival mode as he swung down at me. He was way less fluid than Katrina had been when she was showing me the ropes. He just seemed like he wanted to hurt me by any means necessary. As I rolled from side to side avoiding his blows I waited for an opening. He took a particularly hard swing at my head and I rolled at the last possible second. He lost his balance, giving me a chance to slip between his legs and get back to my feet. I stood back up narrowly avoiding a swing for my head as my opponent regained his balance and swung back at me. His wide hate fueled swing carried his whole body around with it and gave me another opening. I planted my feet and took one hard swing at the man’s turned shoulder hitting him right on the bone with a sickening crack. He stumbled around towards the edge, turning his back to me. I took one final swing, hoisting the club above my head and bringing it down in between his shoulder blades with a hollow thud. The blow sent him tumbling forward over the edge and off the stage, falling to the floor below.
Katrina shot me a quick thumbs up as I walked off the stage while Shaoni looked down at me and gave me an approving nod. No one else seemed to pay me any mind as I rejoined the group. I felt empowered, I hadn’t expected to get even that far, maybe there was a chance for me in this trial after all. Robert and John fought next and despite their age they each held their own. In the end John forced Robert off the edge, his age and weight throwing off his balance. I was still impressed either of them could move like they had, I guess I shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. Then Katrina fought Brooke in the last… round I guess I’d call it. The smile on her face was unsettling from the moment she realized she’d be paired up with him, like a shark smelling blood in the water. You could just tell that she was going to take pleasure in what happened next.
That smile was still on her face as she walked up onto the stage and took her place across from Brooke.
“I hope you like it rough baby, cause I’m not going easy on you!”
Brooke called to her from the other side of the stage making a point to puff out his chest and flex his muscles. That set her off like a bomb, the smile disappeared and she exploded towards Brooke. I saw the exact moment that false confidence left his eyes and he actually turned to run, he was far to late and way to slow. Her first strike went low, shooting out in front of Brooke and coming back to catch his knee sending him tripping forward. He tried to regain his balance but she had no intention of letting him. Katrina swung out in front of him again, this time catching his neck with the club on its way back. That sent him flat onto his back, the club falling form his hand and rolling off the edge of the stage was the only sound in the whole coliseum. All eyes focused on Katrina as she took a breath then delivered a kick to Brooke’s ribs so hard that he went rolling off the edge, following his club. I returned her thumbs up she had given me as she rejoined the group.
Next, those of us who remained got matched up with each other. Shaoni wanted to use another one of her followers to stand in but Katrina insisted on just going twice. That meant I’d fight her and then the winner would fight John to see who the victor of the day was. As I stood across from Katrina I considered taking her advice from before, “…Just take a dive…” she had said. I thought about it, I really did, but I’d done so well earlier right? Why stop now? While I’d been thinking Katrina had walked up to me and started to swing. I had just enough time to realize my mistake before she cracked me across the head so hard she knocked me out.
I came to an hour later, alone on an animal skin cot. I was still in the coliseum but everyone else had left apparently. The only thing I saw when I got up from the ground was the torchlight illuminating the passage that lead back outside. That and the note scribbled on a scrap of a sticky note taped to my fore head.
“I told you to take a dive.”
Well at least she might feel bad about knocking me out. I figured we must be done for the day given how dead the camp seemed when I emerged back into the light. With nothing better to do, I walked off towards the forest to clear my head. I wondered what Bianca had been up to since I’d been gone as I aimlessly wandered around the forest’s edge.
“No that wouldn’t work! We don’t know what’s up there and we are not just waltzing in through the front gates!”
Stein yelled at me as I went over my most recent idea for breaking Keith out of whatever trials were going on out by the old mine. It had been two days since I watched him get kidnapped in front of me and I was getting drastic, aaaannd maybe a little dramatic.
“But I could do it guys! Remember back at the reservation? Those guys were willing to do anything for me and there can’t be that many guards in one place. Maybe I just convince a small group to lead us in and make an excuse for us.”
“For the last time Bianca, They’re just about cultists far as I can tell. You ain’t gonna be able to fight the kinda conviction they have to that bird, even if ya could its to much of a risk.”
Tuck protested from his seat at the kitchen table.
The kitchen table had become our war room over the past few days. A map of Eagles Peak Frank had made lay across it with dozens of pins stuck in around where the old mine would be.
“I don’t think an approach from the front is a good idea at all. You and Keith got to the mine through the forest once. Could we follow that path, approach without anyone knowing we were there?”
Stein theorized as he paced back and forth at the head of the table.
“Well, we really just wandered around for a bit and ended up there. We didn’t find the mine either, it was a hole that lead down to an old cavern near the mine. They turned out to be connected but that was just dumb luck.”
I explained to the group. Tuck looked like that had given him an idea.
“So you two got some backdoor entrance figured out that you’re only just tellin’ me about? That could be perfect! The four of us could make our way out and drop through that hole, take em all by surprise!”
Tuck exclaimed, leaping to his feet. His enthusiasm was nice but it wasn’t going to be that easy.
“We… kinda made a bit of a scene when we were there, they might be watching for something like that to happen again.”
“True, but it’s the best entrance strategy I’ve heard so far, I think following up on it is worth a try.”
Frank added with a nod. Stein then started pacing up and down the length of the table for a bit. He was coming up with something, that much was obvious.
“So we’ll enter through this hole leading into a cave connected to the old mine. From what you told us about your time there its some sort of staging area for these trials, at least that’s my best guess. Odds are there won’t be many people there overnight so we make our way out there during the night. From there we move through the cave and into the mine but after that we know nothing about what we’re running into.”
Stein lectured to his audience.
“But I think we have a solution for that. Frank do we still have that drone?”
An hour later the four of us were gathered at the edge of town on that path Keith and I had taken into the forest. The trees growing together forming a sort of arch over our head’s were unsettling but I couldn’t decide why. It just didn’t sit well with me, it looked unnatural I guess and that just gave me the creeps. I get that’s rich coming from a literal succubus but its how I felt.
“Alright, just watch the trees as you take it up, I don’t want a repeat of Missouri.”
Stein instructed Frank as he got the drone in the air.
“You’re never going to let me live that down are you?”
Frank chuckled, shaking his head.
“It was the first time we used this thing, there was bound to be a few unexpected variables.”
“If you call “unexpected variables” an itchy finger on the throttle. We had to have Rocco untangle it from the branches.”
Stein joked as he checked to make sure the drones camera was feeding back into the app on his phone.
I hadn’t seen them like this, being friendly with each other. There was never a time where they hated each other or anything like that but they’d been so… business like with for a long time now. It was nice to see them act like real people again. Leaning over Stein’s shoulder I got a birds eye view from the drone.
“ Just go East, its what we did. Just walked East till we stumbled into everything.”
Frank followed my advice and flew the drone due East. Eventually a campsite came into view, there were a bunch of tepees and a bunch of people just walking around.
“What, they just look normal?!”
I blurted out, a little louder and a bit more distressed than I meant to.
“How’re they supposed ta look then?”
Tuck asked
“They’re just people like you n’ me. Nothin to special about em other than the fact they worship some big ass bird.”
He continued with mild annoyance.
“I don’t know, I guess I expected these creepy guys in tarps, like from Keith’s story. These are just… well they’re just people!”
I responded, Throwing my arms out to my sides in exasperation. Tuck was right, I shouldn’t have expected everything to be just as Keith had said. Still, something just didn’t fit together for me about that whole thing. What had the deal been with those people in Imalone then? I shook my head, clearing the question from my mind, it wasn’t important now.
“There! That’s the entrance to the old mine.”
Tuck told Stein as he looked at screen. I looked over myself and felt my entire being freeze. It was Brooke, walking out from the entrance with some bitchy looking girl and two older guys that I’d seen around town before. How could he be here? After all this time why, why was he anywhere near me?
My vision swam, when it came back Frank was standing in front of me. His mouth was moving but I couldn’t hear anything.
“…anca! Are you ok, what’s going on? Bianca!”
I finally heard over the sudden ringing in my ears.
“Him.”
Was the only thing the escaped my lips as I pointed one finger at the screen. I felt warmth coming back into my limbs as that frozen feeling slowly left me.
“He’s here…. Shouldn’t be here… why.”
I mumbled to myself as Frank helped me into the back of the SUV twenty minutes later. I was still nearly catatonic as we headed back into town.
“So… that was him, the one you were running from when we found you.”
Stein said, breaking the silence that had fallen. I could talk normally again but I still only managed a quick “yes”.
“You know you don’t have to come with us, I’d understand.”
Frank said, snapping me to attention again.
“NO! I’ve got to help Keith, I don’t care if… if Brooke’s up there too.”
I tripped over my words just mentioning his name.
“I can do it, I can do this Frank, please.”
I begged, taking deep breaths to try and calm myself down. We pulled into the driveway before Frank said anything back. As we were all getting out he muttered something under his breath. He didn’t mean for me to hear him but I did.
“I’m not sure you can girl.”
I went straight up to my room after that, I didn’t want to be around anyone. All I caught before I left Frank, Stein, and Tuck before running up the stairs was the hard look Stein shot both of them. A look that said “We need to talk” and told me that he finally had a real plan. I spent the rest of that night thinking about the past and what I’d been through. Could I go out to that mine and rescue Keith if I had to face Brooke again? The last time I’d seen him had been as I leapt out of a moving car as my eyes turned to meet his one last time, rolling down that hill to freedom. I’d never seen him since and it was rare for him to even cross my mind. I wanted to go with the rest of them but despite what I said I really wasn’t sure I could do this anymore. Eventually I just decided only time would tell, hopefully Stein’s plan was a good one and we could put this whole thing behind us.
“Ey! Ey Keith!”
Someone yelled out as I came back from my little hike around the edge of the forest. My eyes darted around behind me before they finally focused on a rustling bush. Rocco jumped out of it holding a cigar in his mouth.
“That Brooke asshole hasn’t gone anywhere, I found him out by that trail the trucks drove in on with this.”
He said, tossing the cigar up in the air where it twirled around before he caught it in his mouth again.
“I figured I should frisk him just in case. I took a bite of his pants and stole this little number out of his coat pocket.”
He continued, shaking a silver lighter with a gold inlayed image of a lion in his paw.
“Oh and the cigar, I took that too. Cuban so the guy’s got taste, still a prick. Anyways, it looked like someone got to him before me. The guy was pretty beaten up, had some nasty bruises.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I was just trying to picture Brooke getting mugged by a raccoon In my head and I burst out laughing. Rocco walked back to the camp in toe with me, only stopping to look up at some weird buzzing sound we both heard above us. Probably some rickety old plane or something way up there. I think I was finally starting to get why Frank and Stein had kept Rocco around. He may be a furry criminal mastermind but when he was motivated he could actually be really helpful. I never would’ve been able to keep any sort of tabs on Brooke without his help.
We made our way back to the long tent that still had remnants of lunch sitting on the table. Usually I would’ve tried to hide Rocco but at this point I figured he deserved the free food. Plus I just didn’t want to argue with him after getting my shit rocked most of the morning. Someone walked up behind me and I heard Shaoni’s voice, of course she was creeping up behind me again.
“Your feeling alright after today I hope?”
She asked me, taking a seat next to me.
“I’ll be alright, I’m sure I’ll have a killer headache in the morning but I’ll manage.”
“Good, good. We’ll be gathering in a few hours so I can announce the final trial. I expect you out by the entrance to the mine by 6.”
“What’s the matter? No cryptic questions this time Shaoni?”
I asked, paying no mind to what was sitting next to me.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you always stop by to check in after these trials. You don’t have any questions this time?”
“No, Katrina was the victor today, there is no question about that, the woman is… brutal. I just wanted to make sure she didn’t hit you to hard, you were unconscious for some time.”
She answered, some genuine concern slipping into her voice again.
“Heh careful, I might start to think you actually care.”
I joked, less nervous than I should’ve been.
“I’ll see you tonight with the rest for the announcement.”
She said with a deep sigh, standing up and walking off toward where ever she came from.
I took a nap and just barely managed to wake up in time for this “meeting” Shaoni had planned. I couldn’t find Rocco before I left but I wasn’t all that concerned about that anymore. When I got to the entrance a massive bonfire was lit and Shaoni stood alone in front of it. Robert and John were already there and Katrina showed up a little after me. Brooke hadn’t arrived before Shaoni started her speech.
“I thank all of you for coming here tonight. Regrettably one of you is missing but I won’t be waylaid by his absence.”
She spoke with clear annoyance in her voice.
“Tomorrow marks your final trial, the most important of the three. The trial of justice. Tomorrow there will be a murder in Eagles Peak. I want you all to work together to stop it. Then, succeed or fail, pass judgment on those involved in the murder. Afterwards I will select which among you will receive my gift. But for tonight, talk amongst yourselves, plan, and rest. Prepare yourselves for tomorrow, I will have my eye on each of you.”
With that Shaoni stepped away from the fire and into the night. Not accepting any questions about anything she had said.
“What do you think she has planned?”
Robert asked me as I took a seat by the bonfire to think over everything Shaoni had said.
“I don’t know, a murder apparently. Shouldn’t you know more about it? You’re one of her followers after all.”
I said as I turned my head to see John walking off into the night. That man was weird, really weird. I knew next to nothing about him and he seemed to never speak.
“Usually sure, but she hasn’t said anything to us about this. It’s why she hasn’t directly overseen all the trials, she’s set this last one up all on her own. I guess there’s nothing to do but wait, we’re all in this together for the first part of the trial I guess.”
Robert explained, leaning back and sprawling out on the ground. He was right, there wasn’t much we could do until we were in the middle of it.
I looked around, searching for Katrina in the firelight. I found her leaning against the rocky wall that made up the entrance of the mine. I stood up, leaving Robert to relax and made my way over.
“How’s the head?”
She asked, feigning taking a swing at me again with an evil grin on her face.
“I told you to take a dive.”
“Yeah, I should’ve listened.”
I admitted, rubbing the goose egg that had formed on my head over the course of my nap.
“So what do you thin about this last trial?”
“Well, I can say that If that Brooke guy tries flirting with me one more time the murder won’t be that hard to solve. Seriously though, I think she’s gone off the deep end. How does she know there’s going to be a murder?”
Katrina made a really good point, how was Shaoni so sure?
“That’s… hmmmm, you’re right.”
“Well I’m gonna head to bed then. Something tells me tomorrow is gonna be a headache. Just try to stay out of my way when we’re all forced to work together and you should be fine. All goes well and maybe we’ll be out of here tomorrow, I know I will.”
Katrina said as she pushed herself off the rock wall she’d been leaning against. Something about the way she said that last part, it made me think she was up to something. Like she was leaving no matter what or she had some sort of exit strategy.
As I left Robert relaxing by the fire and hiked back to my own tepee for the night I spied Katrina. She had climbed up a tree and had her legs wrapped around the trunk and one of her arms gripped a branch above her. There was some kind of box in her other hand, a radio maybe. I had no idea what she was saying, she was too far off, but it had to mean something. As far as I knew none of us had any contact with the outside world since we got here. My gut feeling was that she wasn’t meant to be doing that. I wasn’t going to bother her at this point though so I went my own way and settled down for 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.

So I was listening to a podcast by comedian Andrew Heaton (X), and he had a very interesting episode examining people's nostalgia for the American 1950's complete with humorous skits. For illustration's sake he assumed 50's America was another country called "Fiftiesland" and compared it's stats like GDP or live expectancy to Modern America. He conclude that a lot of the nostalgia came from how many astonishing improvements happened between 1900-1950 vs 1950-2024, even though Modern America is superior in almost every metric.
At the end he had a long monologue where he was trying to explain to his fictional Grandma Edna Bickle, born in 1889 and elderly by the 50's, what it'd be like in the future compared to how she grew up. Imagine trying to explain Netflix to someone who grew up with a radio.
It really demonstrates, in a lighthearted way, just how far we've come in ~125 years.
So imagine how astonishing the world will be in another 100, 300, or 500 years...
Anyway, it's a bit of a read, but I thought some of you all might enjoy it and Mr Heaten was nice enough to send me the transcript. Enjoy!

My great grandmother, Edna, was born in 1889. My Dad and I were recently reminiscing about her, and he said, “Gramma Bickle, tough old bird, tough old bird. Went blind at ninety-two, quit driving at ninety-four, died at ninety-six. Almost lived in three different centuries.” I have some immediate questions about that chronology, and the realization that Gramma Bickle apparently drove her car blind for two full years before handing her keys in, but I digress.
In 1954 my great gramma Bickle was sixty-five years old. Think about how the country changed from her childhood to her golden years. From when she was born, to a little younger than my parents are today, she saw an entire country go from horse and buggies and pretty much nobody owning a car, to almost everybody has a car. Only six percent of the homes in America had electricity when she was a teenager. By the mid nineteen fifties, the whole country is throbbing with electricity.
In her lifetime, the country went from basically no light bulbs, radios, telephones, refrigerators, or washing machines, to a country where all of that stuff is ubiquitous.
In the year 1900, only ten percent of American households had a stove in them. By 1960,--when my great grandmother is the same age as my parents are now—95% of households do. When she was born, anti-biotics didn’t exist, and polio could cripple your baby. By the time she’s my age, penicillen—a miracle drug!—has been invented. By the time she’s my parents’ age, penicillen is widely available and some genius has recently invented a polio vaccine.
So, if we’re looking at Fiftiesland as a country around today, here’s what’s going on. All of the old people in this country, in their lifetime, went from a horse-and-buggy 19th century third world economy with polio and no electricity—something that, if it existed today, we would be sending anthropoligsts to—to a more modern second world economy perhaps akin to contemporary Guatemala. Which is no small jump.
And the people my age who live in Fiftiesland are still celebrating kicking the crap out of the Nazis, inventing the atom bomb, and enjoying an economy which is comparatively booming—because all of the neighboring economies are rubble.
If Gramma Bickle, at forty years old, my age now, could somehow visit me in contemporary America—she would think I made a pact with Lucifer, the Prince of Darkness. Or maybe, maybe her progeny somehow goes on to conquer Oklahoma as warlords, and all her great grandchildren become opulant Oriental sultans.
I have an icebox in my kitchen that’s powered by lightning that lives in my wall. I have another smaller box that makes my food hot by shooting it with invisible particles like the ray gun from War of the Worlds.
Not only do I let my dog sleep in a tiny bed inside my house, like a toddler, we just finished up a round of antiobitics from when he cut his foot. My great-grandfather—this is true—lived with tuburculosis for years before it finally killed him. Anyway, see that dog I make wear a necktie for my amuesment? Yeah, my dog takes miracle drugs unavailable to John D. Rockefeller. Last year Wallace got elbow cancer but the doctor fixed that, no problem, took a couple of months. Wallace literally has better medical treatment available to him a mile from my house than any human being alive in 1950.
Gramma, you wanna watch Netflix, Paramount Plus, HBO, Peacock, or Amazon Prime? It’s television. Well, television is sort of like radio, only much better, and with images, and I can watch it whenever I want, and there are thousands of options. Like, imagine Broadway, only, like, a few thousand of them, and they’re all inside of that rectangle.
Huh, yeah, I’m not explaining that very well. Right. Okay, so you know how in your time you know multiple people who were literally slaves at some point in their life? Like, you personally know some older people who were, at one point, legally a form of property?
So basically, I have this glass rectangle on my wall that a million of the world’s greatest comedians and dramatists live inside of as my slaves, and they put on plays for me when I’m tired after work. Except I don’t have to feed them or pay them because I use my friend Nick’s HBO account. They just eat the lightning that lives in my wall.
What? Oh yes, I get very tired from work, Gramma. Really get [sigh] worn out, you know? Well, you know how your dad was a wheatfarmer, who spent hours and hours plowing through dust and boneshards in Indian Territory, where he might literally be shot by a Commanche, and the threat of looming starvation for the entire family was never more than one drout away?
Right, so I… I talk for a living. Yeah, that’s right. No, a bunch of strangers just sort of send me money every month cause they enjoy hearing me talk. It’s actually very challenging. Because! Gramma, I do a lot research, you see. Like for this episode, I had to read a lot, and I had to do a lot of math. No, I did not personally do the math.
I have another magical rectangle that has several thosuand math slaves trapped inside that do the actual math for me. When I was a kid I had to perssonally punch the equations in myself, and the rectantle would crunch the numbers. Those were hard times. Now I have a smarter glass rectangle that I can just talk to. I just type in, “Hey, average these ten numbers, okay” and there’s, I dunno, like translater slaves that talk to the math slaves, and they all figure out whatever I’m trying to say, increasingly in lower case and with minimal punctuation, and then give me the answer.
But I have to do the research. Like, I have to read a lot. No, I don’t go to a library. I have another rectangle that has all of the world’s libraries inside of it, and also a lot of pornography, so I just stay at home and look at that particular rectangle, alteranting between research and pornography depending on my mood.
It sure is tough, Gramma. I don’t have any coworkers to keep me company. I’m all by myself here in my well-lit, smokeless, air conditionined home. That’s right, air conditioning! Not just in my house, either—in my camper—which is a tiny extra house I tow behind my armored, self-propelling buggy, which I feed fermented dinosaur juice they pump out of the ground. Oh yeah. It has a rectangle in it that plays music. I’d say I have roughly… three to eight million musician slaves who live in the rectangle in my car, so I don’t get bored when driving to the movies, which is a very large rectangle I go to when I’m tired of watching rectangles on my couch.
What? Good question. It’s called a “camper” because I go camping in it. It’s sort of my hobby. You see, Gramma, my life is so stupidly cushy and comfortable that I amuse myself by going out into the woods to forego wall lightning, air conditioning, and even pornography sometimes, when I can’t get a signal, and instead I sit in a hammock and shit in holes I dig for fun. We call that “roughing it.” For sport, I spend hundreds if not thousands of dollars doing what your entire family did their entire lives until they finally got indoor plumbing, except of course my camper has a propane stove built in, whereas your pioneer family had to dig a hole in the side of a hill and cower in it from the weather like cavemen while burning cow dung for warmth. I dunno where propane comes from. Probably dinosaur farts or something.
Anyway, I prefer to travel around in my camper rather than fly—that’s right, fly—yeah, like a spitfire pilot—which I do multiple times a year using frequent flier points. Which are sort of free, imaginary coupons that banks give me to thank me for using their credit cards, which are also rectangles, but these particular rectangles are small and flat and full of slave bankers that live in my pocket, next to my nine-billion dollar super computer I mostly use as a map, so I don’t have to go through the hassle of folding and unfolding maps, and also to send funny pictures to people in Scotland, in between watching porn in the woods.
I digress. Let’s all take a deep breath. Somebody from my great grandmother’s generation, who lived long enough to be an adult in Fiftiesland, would rightly think: We live in a golden age! We live in the future!
Back in contemporary America, my parents are in their early seventies. My parents today are about how old Gramma Bickle was at the end of the 1950s. And the jump isn’t bad, but it’s not nearly as mind-blowing. The developments they’ve seen since childhood are very impressive in terms of computers and telecommunications and medicine, but otherwise, the world they live in is a more efficient, clever version of the world they grew up in. Cars are safer and more comfortable and fuel efficient, but they’re still basically cars. LED lights are cheaper than incandescent bulbs, but they’re still essentially electric lights. Penicillan is better, but it’s still just clinical mold that strategically murders errant bacteria.
If Fiftiesland were a country, rather than our own history, we would pretty much look at it sort of how we see the poorer parts of Latin America or Eastern Europe: a very nice place with lovely people, wonderful to visit, try the food. Get some funky vintage clothes while you’re there.
But a comparatively poor economy to America or Western Europe. You wouldn’t want to immigrate there for the money. And also, not surprisingly, some views about gender, sex before marriage, having kids really young, having lots of kids, and skepticism about homosexuality that a globetrotter and even quite a few conservatives today might be tempted to call “quaint” or “traditional.”
Basically, if Fiftiesland were a country today, we would view it like Honduras or Moldova, or maybe Czechoslavkia after the wall came down.

To note, this is a continuation of the sagas I wrote that took place after the Cell Saga. The two sagas were written with inspiration taken from MCU Peter Parker's arcs in Far from Home and No Way Home. The goal was to develop Son Gohan into a proper lead for the show. If you'd like to check them out, here are the links!
Bojack (Far From Home) Saga: https://www.reddit.com/fixingmovies/s/sK5zOnJ0oU
Broly (No Way Home) Saga: https://www.reddit.com/fixingmovies/s/R3sGOqdbIv
There are many things I find wrong in the Buu saga:

1. Goku coming back: This derails the narrative tremendously as he snatches back the torch from Gohan. He's going to play a role, but he will stay dead.
2. Gohan's writing: In canon, we ended up with a rusty, goofy, badly written character who lost all the development from the previous sagas. He became a useless disappointment and did not uphold his role as a protector of the earth. This won't go anywhere near that direction.
3. SSJ3 and fusions: These elements were unnecessary as they did nothing to solve the plot and only provided fluff. This can be introduced in Super, but that's another story.
4. Goten and Trunks SSJ: I wasn't a fan of how they easily transformed, treating it as an easy power-up. Here, it will be earned.

What I want to do here is combine the Buu saga with Fusion Reborn. For that movie, there are tons of elements at play that can be used to make the grand finale of Dragon Ball Z, more grand. The goal here is to increase the stakes, trim all the unnecessary fat, give everyone a chance to shine, and keep the main focus on Gohan. I also want to replace Buu with Janemba, as I find him much more threatening due to his unique abilities which would be perfect to challenge Gohan. It's also here that we avoid the rinse-and-repeat problem that came with Buu and his many forms.

Without further ado, here is the...... Janemba Saga!

Seven years have passed since the climactic battle against Broly. Gohan, now a young adult, has diligently pursued a delicate balance between his studies and training. During this time, he has honed his Super Saiyan 2 form and significantly elevated his combat skills. However, he deliberately restrains his power, refusing to succumb to the depths of his inner rage. Gohan believes that his technical prowess alone will suffice, opting to suppress the primal fury within him. Despite his reservations, Gohan attends a prestigious private school on an academic scholarship, alongside his steadfast companion Videl and their circle of friends. Gohan has embraced the responsibility of preserving peace on Earth as a valiant hero, adopting the mantle of Saiyaman. His suit has undergone a sleek redesign, shedding the theatrical poses in favor of a more streamlined appearance. Functioning as a dynamic duo reminiscent of Superman and Batman, Gohan and Videl tackle the city's crime wave together. Videl, having mastered her ki abilities under the tutelage of Piccolo, has grown stronger over the years. Glimpses of their everyday lives reveal the struggles of Gohan as he endeavors to balance the demands of school, training, and personal relationships. Amidst the challenges, he harbors a subtle resentment towards his duty, as it often encroaches upon his cherished personal time. Nevertheless, Gohan persists, fueled by his unwavering determination to live up to his father's legacy.
However, the tranquil facade is shattered when a harrowing turn of events unfolds. The narrative transitions to an otherworldly realm, distinctly separate from Earth. A mysterious figure cloaked in darkness materializes, none other than the malevolent wizard Babidi. Harnessing the unholy power of dark magic, Babidi establishes a sinister connection with his loyal minion Dabura, the King of the Demon Realm. United in their nefarious purpose, they orchestrate an audacious invasion of Otherworld, intent on freeing the formidable demon Janemba. Ages ago, Janemba had been sealed away in this celestial realm by the Supreme Kais. Babidi's malevolent ambition revolves around shrouding the universe in eternal darkness. To achieve this nightmarish vision, he plans to infect the denizens of Earth using the insidious Majin spell, thereby expanding his dominion across countless planets.
In the midst of this burgeoning chaos, Gohan, disguised as Saiyaman, finds himself investigating a peculiar incident involving the possession of one of his dearest friends. Videl, resolute and fearless, engages in a fierce battle against the malevolent puppeteer controlling Sharpner. With unwavering confidence, she urges Gohan to let her confront the threat alone. Sharpner, his strength unnaturally augmented, puts up a formidable resistance, but Videl's experience enables her to subdue him without resorting to fatal measures. As Sharpner awakens from his trance, Gohan seeks answers regarding the enigmatic force that had seized control of his friend. Sharpner reveals that a voice called Babidi had whispered malevolent commands into his mind. Armed with this critical information, Gohan summons Vegeta and Piccolo to join him in unraveling the unfolding crisis, embarking on a journey towards the epicenter of the ominous power emanating from a series of potent and wicked ki signatures, ultimately leading them to Babidi and Dabura.
Meanwhile, Earth becomes a battleground, besieged by an onslaught of resurrected zombies, soldiers, and former villains who once terrorized its populace. Though the trio finds themselves torn between aiding their beleaguered planet and confronting the imminent threat directly before them, they know their immediate priority lies in thwarting Babidi's scheme. Distracting them with his grandiose monologue, Babidi probes their minds, seeking susceptible individuals to manipulate. Initially targeting Vegeta, Babidi redirects his attention toward Piccolo, sensing his inherent duality as a being born of both good and evil. With a combination of Babidi's insidious spell and the lingering malevolence of Piccolo Daimao, the Namekian warrior struggles to resist the overwhelming influence. His powers surge exponentially beyond their previous limitations, clouding his judgment and driving him to confront his former student, Gohan. Amidst the shock of this unforeseen twist, Gohan assumes the responsibility of awakening Piccolo from his trance-like state, determined to restore his mentor's clarity. As the battle rages on, they sense a tremor that reverberates throughout the planet, an unmistakable ki signature brimming with icy coldness, signifying the presence of a singular entity—Janemba.
Bracing himself for the impending clash with this malevolent force, Gohan prepares to face Janemba head-on, while Piccolo embarks on a personal mission to neutralize Babidi. Meanwhile, Vegeta remains locked in a fierce struggle against Dabura, the Prince of Saiyans confronting the King of the Demon Realm. The confrontation unfolds with brutal intensity, and Vegeta finds himself teetering on the edge of defeat. Sensing his adversary's advantage, Dabura unleashes a legion of demons to tip the scales further in his favor. Pushed to his limits, Vegeta fights valiantly, but the odds appear insurmountable. Dabura, consumed by arrogance, revels in his imminent triumph, announcing his intention to unleash the full might of the demon horde upon Earth. Faced with the dire consequences of such a cataclysm, Vegeta musters every ounce of desperation within him. In a moment of self-sacrifice, he unleashes a devastating attack upon Dabura and his minions. The resulting explosion weakens Babidi's forces, repels the encroaching Demon Realm, and safeguards their dimension from untold chaos and devastation.
(Note: I wanted to keep Vegeta's sacrifice but make it matter and count. In canon, it didn't stop Buu, and he sent himself into cold oblivion on a lie. Here, he makes a difference in the long run and has a definitive redemptive moment. )
Startled by the sudden disappearance of Vegeta's powerful ki, Trunks defies the protests of his comrades on the Lookout and rushes towards the chaotic battleground. His heart pounds with trepidation as he races through the smoke-filled air, only to be confronted with the lifeless body of his father lying motionless on the ground. Overwhelmed by a torrent of despair and seething rage, Trunks' trembling hands reach out to shake his father awake, his desperate pleas echoing through the desolate landscape. But his efforts prove futile, and a profound sense of loss engulfs him.
In the midst of this heart-wrenching moment, a surge of raw energy courses through Trunks' veins, igniting a transformation that surpasses the boundaries of his mortal self. Radiating an aura of vibrant golden light, Trunks ascends to the legendary state of the Super Saiyan. His eyes ablaze with determination and fury, he is now ready to face the battle that lies ahead.The scene shifts, revealing the remaining Z-Fighters locked in a perilous struggle against hordes of relentless zombies. Fatigue weighs heavily upon their weary bodies as they fend off the relentless onslaught. Suddenly, a streak of intense power streaks across the sky, and Trunks descends before his comrades, newly transformed and brimming with indomitable strength. A burst of energy erupts from his fingertips, shattering a ki blast launched by one of the zombies, diverting it harmlessly away. In the eyes of his adversaries, astonishment mingles with mockery as they behold the sight of a mere child standing before them.Unfazed by their taunting laughter, Trunks addresses his comrades with unwavering resolve. He declares that he will shoulder the burden of the battle, vowing that not a single life will be lost on this day. With unparalleled speed and precision, he charges towards the encroaching horde, obliterating each zombie with astonishing ease. Their forces crumble beneath the might of his wrath, and the battlefield is transformed into a graveyard of defeated foes.As the last of the zombies falls, Trunks relinquishes his Super Saiyan form, his energy spent and body drained. Collapsing to the ground, he succumbs to exhaustion, his breathing ragged and labored. In this moment of vulnerability, Yamcha, recognizing the young warrior's valor, rushes to his side and gently lifts him from the battlefield, cradling his battered form with utmost care.
(Note: Kid Trunks' transformation is a direct reference to when Future Trunks found Gohan dead after the battle with the androids, and then he transformed. )
While this tumultuous event unfolded, the responsibility of safeguarding the Lookout fell upon the young shoulders of Goten. As time passed, a sudden intrusion disrupted the tranquility of the platform, as a malevolent henchman, infused with the dark power of King Cold, materialized before him. Though momentarily shaken, Goten summoned his courage and engaged in a valiant struggle against his formidable adversary.Initially, it appeared that Goten held his ground admirably, skillfully countering the attacks launched by the nefarious duo of Salza and Dore. However, their sinister coordination gradually began to overpower the young warrior. In a devastating display of force, Salza executed a malicious kick that sent Goten hurtling towards the precipice of the Lookout, teetering on the brink of unconsciousness.
Witnessing her son's battered and vulnerable state, Chi-Chi, consumed by a mixture of horror and fury, lunged at Salza in a desperate attempt to defend her child. Yet, her efforts proved futile as Salza callously seized her by the throat, mercilessly constricting the life from her. From his weakened position, Goten, wide-eyed and mouth agape, struggled to remain conscious, his mind besieged by the conflicting emotions of impending death and the weight of disappointment.
In that critical moment, he closed his eyes, his teeth sinking into his lip until blood stained his mouth. His trembling hands clenched into tight fists. And then, something within him snapped, unleashing a primal force that lay dormant within.Goten vanished, replaced by an embodiment of unbridled rage. Transformed into a Super Saiyan, his furious aura radiated with an intensity that defied comprehension. With a surge of unrestrained power, he propelled himself towards Salza, obliterating his malevolent foe with a devastating blast that eradicated him from existence. Undeterred by the remaining henchmen who sought to avenge their fallen comrade, Goten engaged them with a newfound ferocity.In a breathtaking display of combat prowess, it took mere moments for Goten to dispatch his adversaries, consigning them to the depths of the afterlife. Unaware of his mother's watchful gaze, Chi-Chi bore witness to the astonishing transformation of her once-innocent son, her heart filled with awe at the unfathomable power he now wielded.
(Note: This is a reference to when Superman had attacked Zod for attacking Martha in Man of Steel. With this, Goten is able to break out of his shell and experience some development. I also did not want Chi-Chi to die, but to have it be close. This way, she can witness firsthand her son fighting to avenge her and realizing that his saiyan blood kicked in to save them all, which would lead to some development towards her accepting that they have the natural power to fight, but also protect. )
Simultaneously, amidst the chaos, Piccolo found himself embroiled in a fierce battle of magic. His objective was to shatter the impenetrable barrier erected by his adversary, Babidi, to halt the relentless proliferation of Majin-infused beings. The odds were stacked against him, but with unwavering determination, Piccolo summoned the strength to rupture the barrier, ultimately delivering a fatal blow to Babidi. In doing so, he succeeded in halting the insidious spread of the Majin curse.Meanwhile, Gohan, driven by an overwhelming surge of power in his Super Saiyan 2 form, charged headlong at the formidable Fat Janemba, intent on swiftly ending the confrontation. Displaying remarkable valor, Gohan engaged his adversary with all his might, momentarily gaining the upper hand in fleeting bursts of fury. However, Janemba's energy continued to surge unabated, gradually overpowering Gohan and relegating him to a defensive stance.With the battle reaching its climax, Janemba unleashed a devastating onslaught aimed at obliterating the planet. In a desperate bid to protect all that he held dear, Gohan fearlessly interposed himself between Janemba's lethal assault and the world, extending his arms wide as he summoned the last vestiges of his ki to create a resolute energy shield. The technique demanded one final act of defiance, compelling Gohan to redirect the unleashed energy back towards Janemba, propelling the malevolent entity backward and teetering on the precipice of annihilation. Yet, the maneuver exacted a heavy toll on Gohan, leaving him grievously injured and drained of consciousness, hurtling through the sky and crashing deep into the untamed wilderness.
(Note: This maneuver is a mix of what Gohan did against Broly in Movie 10, and what Future Gohan did in his last battle against the androids.)
Subsequently, Supreme Kai, recognizing the dire condition of the young warrior, transported Gohan to the realm of the Kais. As Gohan gradually regained consciousness, he found himself surrounded by the presence of Supreme Kai, Kibito, and his father, Son Goku. Unbeknownst to Gohan, while the realms beyond had been engulfed in pandemonium, Goku had valiantly sought to subdue numerous formidable adversaries, most notably Broly. Upon learning of Gohan's presence on that distant planet, Goku implored for the opportunity to visit his son, a request that was granted amidst the bittersweet reunion.During their heartfelt meeting, they shared the weight of overseeing the turmoil ravaging Earth, realizing that Janemba still lingered, amassing the remnants of malevolent ki left unvanquished. Panic washed over Gohan as he urgently expressed his need to return to Earth, but his pleas were met with cautionary words from his loved ones. They acknowledged his unpreparedness to face Janemba anew, warning of the potential consequences should he engage the foe prematurely. Supreme Kai disclosed his true intention in bringing Gohan to this realm—to unlock the dormant power lying dormant within him. However, the process demanded a profound reconciliation of Gohan's dual nature as both human and Saiyan. To initiate this transformative ritual, Gohan would be immersed in a meditative trance within the sacred confines of a cascading waterfall, which would serve as a mirror reflecting his true self. Only then would he embark upon the arduous journey of unlocking his latent potential, fully aware that failure could result in dire consequences, even death.
Nervously, Gohan steeled himself for the imminent trial, drawing strength from the unwavering support of his father. With resolute determination, he approached the cascading waterfall, where Supreme Kai initiated the trance, enveloping Gohan in an ethereal aura of introspection.As the ritual commenced, Gohan's gaze fixated grimly upon vivid recollections of his past battles, struggling to reconcile the moments when he had succumbed to his own wrath. Before long, a projection materialized, representing his suppressed Saiyan essence—a separate entity demanding to be acknowledged. A tumultuous clash ensued between the two facets of Gohan's being, with the young warrior faltering in his attempts to gain the upper hand, for each surge of anger only fueled his other self. Finally, a profound realization washed over Gohan, piercing through the haze of conflict. He ceased resisting and, instead, extended a hand of acceptance and understanding to his Saiyan counterpart, embracing the essence of his true nature. In that transformative instant, the boundaries dissolved, merging into a harmonious unity. Gohan's eyes fluttered open as he awakened from the trance, reborn in his newfound Ultimate Form, his essence finally whole and indomitable.
(Note: Yes, this is a direct reference to Naruto obtaining true mastery of his nine tails form in Shippuden. I did not like Gohan's canon mystic ritual because it did not feel earned. He just sat around for a long time doing nothing and gained nothing from it. I wanted to fix that. So here, he went through a more direct ritual at the risk of death to be able to unlock his true abilities. )
In the midst of these events, Trunks and Goten find themselves under the tutelage of Piccolo within the formidable Hyperbolic Time Chamber. News reaches Piccolo that Gohan is undergoing a transformative process to unlock his latent potential, but the looming return of Janemba threatens to disrupt their plans. Exiting the chamber, Trunks and Goten emerge stronger than ever, having mastered their Super Saiyan forms and honed their teamwork to near perfection, compensating for their inherent power limitations.As Janemba crosses paths with them, the clash erupts in a spectacular display of martial prowess. Individually, they stand little chance against the overwhelming might of Janemba, but when united, a different narrative unfolds. Their combined efforts aim to sustain the battle long enough, providing Gohan with the precious time he needs to complete his ritual. Piccolo assumes leadership, valiantly holding his ground, although it becomes increasingly evident that Janemba possesses a distinct advantage. Piccolo strategically diverts Janemba's attention, creating openings for Goten and Trunks to launch coordinated assaults that vex their adversary, even if their impact is minimal. Nonetheless, every second counts.
In a fateful turn of events, Janemba unleashes an assault that overwhelms Piccolo, incapacitating him and leaving only Goten and Trunks to face the malevolent entity. Swift as a phantom, Janemba materializes in front of Trunks, delivering a devastating blow to his abdomen, leaving Goten as the lone defender. Standing tall, Goten defiantly assumes a battle stance, mustering his courage. However, before Janemba can unleash a devastating attack upon him, an unknown figure delivers a powerful kick to Janemba's head, hurtling him towards the distant mountains.
The camera pans, revealing the figure to be none other than Gohan, resplendent in his newfound form.
(Note: This entrance directly mirrors that of Future Gohan when he was about to begin his final battle against the Androids!)
A wave of elation washes over Goten as he beholds the return of his beloved elder brother, while Trunks and Piccolo visibly exhale with relief. Gohan and Piccolo exchange a brief but meaningful exchange, Gohan acknowledging his newfound strength while Piccolo recognizes that Gohan has ascended to an entirely different echelon. Janemba regains his footing, reemerging before them, demanding their attention and focus. Gohan asserts that he will confront Janemba directly, urging the others to evacuate. Though reluctant, Piccolo and the young warriors comply, dispersing to various parts of the world to address the chaos that plagues their surroundings.
With an air of fury, Janemba charges at Gohan, his fist extended menacingly. Yet Gohan intercepts the attack, seizing Janemba's fist in a vice-like grip, and in a flash of teleportation, they are transported to the dreaded realm of H.F.I.L. (Home For Infinite Losers).
(Note: I have Gohan teleport Janemba because at least this way their battle will not damage Earth. Also we will assume Gohan has figured out some sort of Instant Transmission movement like Goku.)
The eyes of Earth's denizens, the Kais, and the denizens of the Otherworld are fixated on this pivotal moment, the culmination of a battle that will determine the fate of the universe. And so, the clash commences, a cataclysmic struggle that echoes through the very fabric of existence.
In a breathtaking display of power, Gohan initially dominates the battle, effortlessly overpowering Janemba with his newfound might. However, the tables turn when Janemba unveils unexpected abilities: space-time manipulation and a formidable sword. Gohan is caught off guard, unsure of how to counter such unorthodox tactics. Desperation and frustration consume him, causing his control over his own power to slip away.Amidst the chaos, Gohan experiences a moment of revelation, a surge of understanding regarding his opponent's abilities. He realizes that in order to anticipate Janemba's next move, he must heighten his senses by channeling his ki, allowing for precise timing and swift reactions. With this newfound clarity, Gohan regains his composure, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Seizing an opportunity, Janemba materializes before him, poised to strike with his sword. Yet, in a stunning display of strength, Gohan catches the blade with both hands, shattering it into pieces.
The tide of the battle begins to shift, albeit slightly, in Gohan's favor. Frustrated and bewildered, Janemba exclaims, "Just what...are you?!" Gohan responds with unwavering resolve, proclaiming, "I am the hope of the universe. I am the answer to all living things that cry out for peace. I am the protector of the innocent. I am the light in the darkness. I am truth. Ally to good! Nightmare to you!"
(Note: I'm taking Goku's dubbed speech against Frieza and repurposing it for Gohan. As he's inherently more the justice-driven hero archetype rather than the fighting maniac that is Goku, it makes more sense. We'll just assume Goku gave Frieza the manga version of his speech. This is also the most pivotal moment of Gohan's journey as he comes to terms with being a protector. Throughout the show, he's been struggling between his desire to be a scholar and his responsibility to be a hero. That dubbed speech is exactly the moment that Gohan's arc comes full circle. Here, he finally embraces what he was always meant to be..... the hero.)
With renewed determination, Gohan launches various assaults in a bid to defeat his formidable adversary. However, his attacks fail to inflict lasting damage, and Gohan himself begins to exhaust his ki. It is then that he realizes the true nature of Janemba's existence—he is an embodiment of pure evil ki, unlike any opponent Gohan has faced before. A desperate plan takes shape in Gohan's mind. Mentally reaching out to his friends and even Videl, he calls upon them to gather their ki, reminiscent of the Spirit Bomb technique. Initially, only the Z-Fighters respond, but their combined energy proves insufficient.As Gohan valiantly defends against Janemba's onslaught, he mentally pleads with the people of Earth to lend their aid. Uncertainty and doubt cast a shadow over the crowd until Hercule steps forward, berating them for refusing to support the man who once saved them during the Cell Games. Revealing the truth of Gohan's identity as the Delivery Boy turned hero, the tide of public opinion shifts. People extend their hands, offering their energy to their savior. Shocked by the sudden turn of events, Gohan is relieved by the surge of ki coursing through him, providing a momentary opening to kick Janemba away. The collective assistance grants Gohan a substantial reservoir of energy, which he then summons forth, infusing it with the very essence of his soul—a daring and perilous maneuver.
Driven to his breaking point, a furious Janemba ascends into the sky, conjuring a colossal sphere of malevolent ki capable of obliterating the entire universe. Gohan remains calm, his gaze fixed upon the impending cataclysm. With unwavering resolve, he declares, "This is the end for you, Janemba." Closing his eyes, Gohan raises his left hand above his head, conjuring a radiant sphere of rainbow light. Seizing the opportunity, Janemba hurls his devastating attack towards Gohan. Sensing the imminent danger, Gohan's eyes snap open as he crushes the ball of energy in his palm. Swiftly pivoting, he hurls the fragmented energy towards the oncoming attack, effortlessly piercing through it, and hurtling towards Janemba, finally eradicating the universe's peril once and for all.
(Note: This is the same technique as Kid Buu's Planet Burst move, the one that destroyed Earth. I also repurposed Gogeta's stardust breaker technique for Gohan as I feel it makes sense for him to have it. It also makes him stand out from Goku even more in this case.)
As the dust settles, Gohan maintains his energy long enough to witness Janemba's demise. A triumphant smirk graces his face as he remarks, "Heh, looks like I finally did it." Exhausted, he collapses to the ground, almost completely drained. The onlookers erupt into joyous cheers, celebrating Gohan's hard-fought victory. Supreme Kai teleports Gohan from the depths of H.F.I.L back to Earth, specifically to the Lookout, where his family and friends eagerly await his return. In a heartwarming scene, Gohan is enveloped in embraces and expressions of relief. It is here, amidst the warmth of their loved ones, that Gohan and Videl share their first kiss—a tender moment of connection and celebration.Meanwhile, the Dragon Balls work their magic, rectifying the chaos caused by Babidi's dark influence. The majority of those who perished are revived, yet there are exceptions, including Vegeta. Accepting his fate and determined to atone for his past deeds, Vegeta expresses his desire to continue growing stronger in the afterlife, entrusting the protection of his family to his son. Tearfully, Trunks vows to make his father proud, with Goten stepping forward to support his friend in this emotional moment. Fond farewells are exchanged as everyone prepares to return to their respective homes.
Gohan and Goten engage in a heartfelt conversation, their bond as brothers strengthening. However, their exchange is interrupted by Chi-Chi, who unexpectedly interrupts their conversation. To their astonishment, she expresses pride in their valiant efforts to safeguard the world, finally relenting and granting them permission to train and protect. The three embrace, their family united and resolute.In a different realm, Vegeta stands before King Yemma, awaiting judgment. To his surprise, he is granted an Otherworldly body, a result of Goku's recommendation and Vegeta's ultimate sacrifice that tipped the scales of justice. With this second chance, Vegeta is granted the opportunity to train ceaselessly and, more importantly, to settle his unfinished business with Goku. The final scene between Goku and Vegeta unfolds, their fists colliding in a charged confrontation, their image freezing .( mirroring the intensity of Rocky and Apollo in Rocky III, leaving their ultimate showdown to the imagination.)
A decade passes, marked by a time skip. Tien and Krillin have established their own martial arts schools, dedicated to passing on their unique styles to the next generation. Goten and Trunks, under the tutelage of Piccolo, diligently train to harness their extraordinary powers. Gohan, now a respected scholar, has married Videl, and together they have a daughter. At home, Videl imparts the basics of combat to their daughter, Pan. Gohan, having just finished delivering a lecture on energy at the university, senses a disturbance reverberating across the planet. Instinctively, he rushes to the rooftop, pressing a button on his wrist. In an instant, he transforms into his iconic Saiyaman costume, soaring into the horizon with a mischievous grin. He breaks through the fourth wall, symbolizing his unwavering resolve to protect and inspire.
The screen fades to black.
The End.
There we have it! My final wrap-up of the MCU Peter ParkeGohan development journey! Honestly, I did have thoughts of just going straight into revising the Buu arc, but I felt there was more to be done before that. Gohan needed to go through the development I gave him in my two written arcs as there were lessons there that shaped him.
I also felt that a trained Gohan, who is naturally intellectual, would be a perfect antagonist in Janemba. He had to learn to outsmart him, and not just have it be a straight-up slugfest.
What do you guys think? Share your thoughts below!
u/fatherandyriley
u/dgenerationmc