I’ve always hated the smell of gun oil. It clings to everything it touches, soaking deep into the fibers of my clothes, the lining of my backpack, the coarse hair on the back of my hands. Yet here I am, kneeling on the cracked linoleum of our mudroom, a Remington .308 laid across my thighs, and the stench of gun oil sharp in my nostrils. The early morning light barely scratches at the edges of the blinds, dim and gray like the belly of a dead fish.
My dad Frank is in the kitchen, clattering around with the coffeepot and mumbling under his breath. Today we’re heading up to the woods of Northern Michigan, same as we did every year before Leah… before we lost her.
I can’t help but feel the old scars throbbing as I load bullets into the magazine. It’s been ten years since that hunting trip, the one that tore my family into before and after. Before, when Leah's laughter was a constant soundtrack to our lives; after, when every silence was filled with her absence.
We were just kids back then. I was ten, Leah was eight. It was supposed to be a typical hunting trip, one of those bonding experiences Dad was always talking about. But things went wrong. We got separated from Dad somehow. One minute we were following him, the next we were lost, the dense woods closing in around us.
Dad says when he found me, I was huddled under a fallen tree, my eyes wide, my body frozen. All I could mutter through chattering teeth was "Dogman."
It was only later, after the search parties had combed through every thicket and hollow, that they found her. What remained of Leah was barely recognizable, the evidence of a brutal mauling undeniable. The authorities concluded it was likely a bear attack, but Dad... he never accepted that explanation. He had seen the tracks, too large and oddly shaped for any bear.
As I load another round, the memory flashes, unbidden and unwelcome. Large, hairy clawed hands reaching out towards us, impossibly big, grotesque in their form. Yet, the rest of the creature eludes me, a shadow just beyond the edge of my recall, leaving me with nothing but fragmented terrors and Leah’s haunting, echoing screams. My mind blocked most of it out, a self-defense mechanism, I guess.
For years after that day, sleep was a battleground. I'd wake up in strange places—kitchen floor, backyard, even at the edge of the nearby creek. My therapist said it was my mind's way of trying to resolve the unresolved, to wander back through the woods searching for Leah. But all I found in those sleepless nights was a deeper sense of loss.
It took time, a lot of therapy, and patience I didn't know I had, but the sleepwalking did eventually stop. I guess I started to find some semblance of peace.
I have mostly moved on with my life. The fragmentary memories of that day are still there, lurking in the corners of my mind, but they don’t dominate my thoughts like they used to. I just finished my sophomore year at Michigan State, majoring in Environmental Science.
As for Dad, the loss of Leah broke him. He became a shell of himself. It destroyed his marriage with Mom. He blamed himself for letting us out of his sight, for not protecting Leah. His life took on a single, consuming focus: finding the creature that killed her. He read every book, every article on cryptids and unexplained phenomena. He mapped sightings, connected dots across blurry photos and shaky testimonies of the Dogman.
But as the tenth anniversary of Leah’s death approaches, Dad's obsession has grown more intense. He’s started staying up late, poring over his maps and notes, muttering to himself about patterns and cycles. He’s convinced that the dogman reappears every ten years, and this is our window of opportunity to finally hunt it down.
I’m not nearly as convinced. The whole dogman thing seems like a coping mechanism, a way for Dad to channel his guilt and grief into something tangible, something he can fight against. But I decided to tag along on this trip, partly to keep an eye on him, partly because a small part of me hopes that maybe, just maybe, we’ll find some kind of closure out there in the woods.
I finish loading the rifle and set it aside, standing up to stretch my legs. I wipe my greasy hands on an old rag, trying to get rid of the smell. The early morning light is starting to seep into the room, casting long shadows across the floor.
Dad comes out of the kitchen with two thermoses of coffee in hand. His eyes are bleary and tired.
“You ready, Ryan?” he asks, handing me a thermos, his voice rough from too many sleepless nights.
“Yeah, I’m ready,” I reply, trying to sound more confident than I felt.
We load our gear into the truck, the weight of our supplies and weapons a physical reminder of the burden we carry. The drive from Lansing across the Lower Peninsula is long and quiet, the silence between us filled with unspoken memories and unresolved grief.
—
The drive north is a blur of highway lines and the dull hum of the engine. I drift off, the landscape outside blending into a haze. In my sleep, fragments of that day with Leah replay like scattered pieces of a puzzle. I see her smile, the way she tugged at my sleeve, eager to explore. The sunlight filters through the trees in sharp, jagged streaks.
Then, the memory shifts—darker, disjointed. Leah's voice echoes, a playful laugh turning into a scream that pierces the air. The crunch of leaves underfoot as something heavy moves through the underbrush. I see a shadow, large and looming, not quite fitting the shapes of any creature I know.
Then, something darker creeps into the dream, something I’ve never allowed myself to remember clearly.
Before I can see what it is I wake up with a start as the truck jerks slightly on a rough patch of road. Dad glances over. "Bad dream?" he asks. I nod, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, the remnants of the dream clinging to me like the cold.
"Yeah, just... thinking about Leah," I manage to say.
As we drive, Dad attempts to bridge the silence with small talk. He asks about my finals, my plans for the summer, anything to keep the conversation going. His voice carries a forced cheerfulness, but it’s clear his heart isn’t in it. I respond when necessary, my answers brief, my gaze fixed on the passing scenery.
The landscape changes as we head further north, from flat expanses to rolling hills dotted with dense patches of forest. It's beautiful country, the kind that reminds you how vast and wild Michigan can be, but today it just feels oppressive, like it’s closing in on us.
—
We finally arrive at the cabin, nestled deep in the woods, its weathered wood blending seamlessly with the surrounding trees. The place hasn't changed much since the last time I was here—a relic from another time, filled with the echoes of our past. I can still see Leah running around the porch, her laughter ringing out into the forest.
Dad parks the truck, and we step out into the crisp air. The smell of pine and damp earth fills my nostrils. We start unloading our gear, the tension between us palpable.
“Let’s get this inside,” Dad says, his voice gruff as he hefts a duffel bag onto his shoulder.
I nod, grabbing my own bag and following him to the cabin. Inside, it’s a mix of old and new—the same rustic furniture, but with new hunting gear and maps strewn across the table. Dad’s obsession is evident in every corner of the room, a constant reminder of why we’re here.
As we unpack, we exchange strained attempts at normalcy. He talks about the latest cryptid sightings he’s read about, his eyes lighting up with a fervor that both worries and saddens me.
“Did you hear about the sighting up near Alpena?” he asks, laying out his maps on the table.
“Yeah, you mentioned it,” I reply, trying to muster some enthusiasm. “Do you really think there’s something to it?”
Dad’s eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see a flicker of doubt. But it’s quickly replaced by grim determination. “I have to believe it, Ryan. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
We finish unpacking, the silence between us growing heavier with each passing minute. I step outside to clear my head, the cool air a welcome relief. The sun is starting to set, casting long shadows across the clearing. I can’t shake the feeling of unease.
"You can take the upstairs room," Dad mutters. His voice is strained, trying to sound normal, but it's clear the weight of the past is heavy on him. I nod, hauling my backpack up the creaking stairs to the small bedroom that I used to share with Leah. The room feels smaller now, or maybe I've just grown too much since those innocent days.
I unpack silently, setting my things aside. The bed is stiff and cold under my touch. As I settle in, I can't help but glance at the corner where Leah and I would huddle together, whispering secrets and making plans for adventures that would never happen. I push the thoughts away, focusing on the practicalities of unpacking.
After settling in, I go back downstairs to find Dad loading up a backpack with supplies for our hunt. The intensity in his eyes is palpable, his hands moving with practiced precision. I know this routine; it's one he's perfected over countless solo trips since that fateful day.
"We'll head out early," he says, not looking up from his task. "Gotta make the most of the daylight."
I nod, though unease curls in my stomach. I'm not just worried about what we might find—or not find—out there. I'm worried about him. Each year, the obsession seems to carve him out a bit more, leaving less of the Dad I knew.
—
The morning air is sharp with the scent of pine and wet earth as Dad and I head into the deeper parts of the forest. The terrain is rugged, familiar in its untamed beauty, but there’s a tension between us that makes the landscape feel alien. Dad moves with a purposeful stride, his eyes scanning the woods around us. Every snap of a twig, every rustle in the underbrush seems to draw his attention. He’s on edge, and it puts me on edge too.
As we walk, my mind drifts back to that day ten years ago. I can almost hear Leah’s voice echoing through the trees, her high-pitched call as she darted ahead, "Catch me, Ryan!" I remember how the sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dancing shadows on the ground. Those memories are so vivid, so tangible, it feels like I could just turn a corner and see her there, waiting for us.
Dad suddenly stops and kneels, examining the ground. He points out a set of tracks that are too large for a deer, with an unusual gait pattern. "It’s been here, Ry. I’m telling you, it’s close," he whispers, a mixture of excitement and something darker in his voice. I nod, though I’m not sure what to believe. Part of me wants to dismiss it all as grief-fueled obsession, but another part, the part that heard Leah's scream and saw something monstrous in the woods that day, isn’t so sure.
As we continue, Dad's comments become increasingly cryptic. "You know, they say the dogman moves in cycles, drawn to certain places, certain times. Like it’s tied to the land itself," he muses, more to himself than to me. His fixation on the creature has always been intense, but now it borders on mania.
We set up a makeshift blind near a clearing where Dad insists the creature will pass. Hours drag by with little to see but the occasional bird or distant deer.
The sun rises higher in the sky, casting long, slender shadows through the dense canopy. I shift uncomfortably in my spot, the forest floor hard and unyielding beneath me. My eyes dart between the trees, hoping to catch a glimpse of something, anything, to break the monotony. Dad, on the other hand, remains steadfast, his gaze fixed on the treeline as if he can will the dogman into existence by sheer force of will.
A bird chirps nearby, startling me. I sigh and adjust my grip on the rifle. I glance over at Dad.
“Anything?” I ask, more out of boredom than genuine curiosity.
“Not yet,” he replies, his voice tight. “But it’s out there. I know it.”
I nod, even though I’m not sure I believe him. The forest seems too quiet, too still. Maybe we’re chasing ghosts.
As the sun begins its descent, the forest is bathed in a warm, golden light. The air cools, and a breeze rustles the leaves. I shiver, more from anticipation than the cold. The long hours of sitting and waiting are starting to wear on me.
“Let’s call it a day for now,” Dad says finally, his voice heavy with disappointment. “We’ll head back to the cabin, get some rest, and try again tomorrow.”
I stand and stretch, feeling the stiffness in my muscles. We pack up our gear in silence and start the trek back to the cabin. The walk is long and quiet, the only sounds are the crunch of leaves underfoot and the distant calls of birds settling in for the night.
—
Dinner is a quiet affair, both of us lost in our thoughts. I try to make small talk, asking Dad about his plans for tomorrow, but it feels forced. We clean up in silence.
After dinner, I retreat to the small bedroom. The fatigue from the day's hike has settled into my bones, but sleep still feels like a distant hope. I lie down, staring at the ceiling, the room cloaked in darkness save for the sliver of moonlight creeping through the window. Downstairs, I hear the faint sound of Dad moving around, likely unable to sleep himself.
I drift into sleep, but it's not restful. My dreams pull me back to that fateful day in the woods. Leah's voice is clear and vibrant, her laughter echoing through the trees. She looks just as she did then—bright-eyed and full of life, her blonde hair catching the sunlight as she runs ahead of me.
"Come on, Ry! You can't catch me!" she taunts, her voice playful and teasing.
I chase after her, but the scene shifts abruptly. The sky darkens, the woods around us growing dense and foreboding. Leah's laughter fades, replaced by a chilling silence. I see her ahead, standing still, her back to me.
"Leah?" I call out, my voice trembling. She turns slowly, her eyes wide and filled with fear. "Ryan, you have to remember," she says, her voice barely a whisper. "It wasn't what you think. You need to know the truth."
Leah’s words hang in the air, cryptic and unsettling. Before I can respond, she turns and starts running again, her figure becoming a blur among the trees. Panic rises in my chest as I sprint after her, my feet pounding against the forest floor.
“Leah, wait!” I shout, desperation lacing my voice. The forest around me seems to close in, the trees towering and twisted, shadows dancing menacingly in the dim light. I push forward, trying to keep her in sight, but she’s too fast, slipping away like a wisp of smoke.
Suddenly, there’s a rustle, a flash of movement in the corner of my vision. Leah screams, a sound that pierces through the heavy silence. It happens too quickly—I can’t see what it is, only a dark blur that snatches her up.
“Leah!” I scream, my voice breaking. I stumble, falling to my knees as the forest spins around me. My heart races, and the terror is so real, so visceral, that it pulls me back to that awful day, the one that changed everything.
I jolt awake, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I sit up, wiping the cold sweat from my forehead as I try to steady my breathing. The room is still dark, the shadows cast by the moonlight seem to flicker and dance on the walls. My heart is still racing from the nightmare, the echo of Leah's scream lingering in my ears.
As I struggle to calm down, the floorboards outside my room creak. The door opens slowly, and I see the silhouette of my dad in the doorway, a Bowie knife in his hand, his posture tense.
“Dad, what the hell are you doing?” I whisper, my voice shaking.
“Shh,” he hisses, holding up a hand to silence me. “I heard something. Something moving around in the cabin. Stay quiet.”
I swallow hard, my mouth dry. I glance at the clock on the nightstand—it’s just past three in the morning. The cabin is silent, the kind of deep, oppressive silence that makes every small sound seem louder. I can’t hear anything out of the ordinary, but Dad’s expression is deadly serious.
He motions for me to get up, and I do, moving as quietly as I can. My heart is racing, a mix of lingering fear from the dream and the sudden, sharp anxiety of the present moment. Dad leads the way, stepping cautiously out of the bedroom and into the hallway, the knife held ready in front of him.
We move through the cabin, checking each room in turn. The living room is empty, the furniture casting long shadows in the dim moonlight. The kitchen is just as we left it, the plates from dinner still drying on the counter. Everything seems normal, untouched.
We finish our sweep of the cabin without finding anything amiss. The silence is heavy, punctuated only by our soft footfalls. I can see the tension in Dad’s frame, his grip on the knife unwavering. After checking the last room, we pause in the dimly lit hallway, the air thick with unspoken questions.
“There’s nothing here,” I say, my voice low. “Are you sure you heard something?”
He looks at me, his eyes searching for something in my face. “I heard growling. Deep and close. It was right outside the window.”
“Maybe it was just an animal outside, a raccoon or something?” I suggest, although the certainty in his voice makes me doubt my own reassurance.
“No, it wasn’t like that. It was different,” he insists, his voice tense.
I nod, not wanting to argue, but the seeds of worry are planted deep.
The look in his eyes sends a chill down my spine. It’s not just fear—it’s desperation. The kind of desperation that comes from years of chasing shadows and finding nothing. I can see the toll this hunt has taken on him, the way it’s worn him down, turned him into a man I barely recognize.
We head back to our rooms. As I lie down, my mind races with thoughts of my dad. I can’t help but wonder if he’s losing it, if the years of grief and guilt have finally pushed him over the edge.
Dad wasn’t always like this. Before Leah’s death, he was the kind of father who took us fishing, helped with homework, and told terrible jokes that made us groan and laugh at the same time. He was solid, dependable. But losing Leah changed him. The guilt twisted him into someone I barely recognize, someone driven by a need for answers, for closure, that may never come.
I try to sleep, but my thoughts keep me awake. I can hear Dad moving around downstairs, probably pacing or double-checking the locks. His paranoia has become a constant presence, and I don’t know how to help him. I don’t even know if I can help him.
—
The next morning, the sunlight filters weakly through the cabin windows, casting a pale light that does little to lift the heavy mood. I drag myself out of bed, feeling the exhaustion of another restless night. Dad is already up, hunched over his maps at the kitchen table, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.
“Morning,” I mumble, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I pour myself a cup of coffee. “Did you sleep at all?”
He shakes his head, not looking up from his notes. “Not much. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I heard last night.”
I sip my coffee, trying to shake off the remnants of my nightmare. “Maybe it was just an animal, Dad. We’re deep in the woods, after all.”
He finally looks up, his eyes intense. “Ryan, I know what I heard. It wasn’t just an animal. It was something else.”
I sigh, not wanting to argue. “Okay, fine, Dad. What’s the plan for today?”
“We’re going back out. I found some tracks yesterday, and I want to follow them. See where they lead.”
I nod, feeling a mix of apprehension and resignation. I can see how much this means to him, how desperate he is for any kind of lead. “Alright. Let’s get packed and head out.”
We spend the morning preparing, loading up our gear and double-checking our supplies. Dad is meticulous, going over everything with a fine-toothed comb. I try to match his focus, but my mind keeps drifting back to Leah and the dream I had. Her words echo in my head, cryptic and unsettling: “You need to know the truth.”
We set off into the woods, the air crisp and cool. The forest is alive with the sounds of birds and rustling leaves, but it all feels distant, like background noise to the tension between us. Dad leads the way, his eyes scanning the ground for any sign of the tracks he found yesterday.
As we walk, I can’t help but notice how erratically he’s acting. He mutters to himself, his eyes darting around as if expecting something to jump out at us. His grip on his rifle is tight, his knuckles white.
“Dad, are you okay?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
He glances at me, his expression unreadable. “I’m fine. Just focused.”
He stops frequently to examine the ground or the bark of trees, pointing out marks and signs that seem meaningless to me.
“Look at this,” he says, crouching down to examine a broken branch. “See how it’s snapped? That’s not a deer or a bear. That’s something bigger. Stronger.”
I crouch next to Dad, squinting at the broken branch. To me, it just looks like a regular broken branch, the kind you see all over the forest. "I don't know, Dad. It just looks like a branch to me," I say, trying to keep my voice neutral.
Dad's eyes flicker with frustration. "You're not looking close enough. It's the way it's snapped—too clean, too deliberate. Something did this."
I nod, not wanting to argue. "Okay, sure. But even if you're right, it could be anything. A storm, another hunter..."
His expression hardens. "I know what I'm looking for. This is different."
I sigh, feeling the weight of the past and the tension between us pressing down on me. "Dad, I had a dream last night. About Leah." The words hang in the air between us, heavy and fraught with unspoken emotions.
Dad's eyes widen, and he straightens up, his entire demeanor shifting. "What kind of dream? What did you see?" His voice is urgent, almost desperate.
"It was... strange. We were in the woods, like we are now, but everything felt different. Leah was there, running ahead of me, laughing. Then she stopped and told me I needed to know the truth, that it wasn't what I thought."
Dad grabs my shoulders, his grip tight. "What else did she say? Did she tell you anything specific? Anything about the creature?"
I shake my head, feeling a chill run down my spine. "No, that was it. She just said I needed to know the truth, and then she was gone."
Dad’s grip on my shoulders tightens, and his eyes bore into mine with a mixture of desperation and hope. “Ryan, you have to try to remember. Think hard. What did the creature look like? Did you see anything else?”
I pull back slightly, uneasy with his intensity. “Dad, I told you. I don’t remember. It was just a dream. A nightmare, really. My mind’s probably just mixing things up.”
He lets go of me and runs a hand through his hair, looking frustrated and lost. “Dreams can be important. They can hold memories we’ve buried deep. Please, try to remember. This could be a sign, a clue.”
I rub my temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “I’ve tried, okay? I’ve tried for years to piece together what happened that day. But it’s all just fragments, like pieces of a puzzle that don’t fit. The dream… it felt real, but I don’t think it’s telling me anything new.”
Dad’s face falls, and he looks older than I’ve ever seen him. He turns away, staring into the forest as if it holds all the answers.
—
As we make our way back to the cabin, the sun begins to set, casting long shadows through the trees. The air grows colder, and I shiver, pulling my jacket tighter around me. Dad is silent, lost in his thoughts, his face drawn and haggard.
Back at the cabin, we unload our gear once again in silence. Dad disappears into his room, muttering something about going over his notes. I decide to explore the cabin, hoping to find something that might help me understand what’s going on with him.
In the attic, I find a box of old family photos and documents. As I sift through the contents, I come across a worn journal with Dad’s handwriting on the cover. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I open it, flipping through the pages.
The journal is filled with notes and sketches, detailing his obsession with the dogman. But there’s something else—entries that talk about Leah, about that day in the woods. His handwriting becomes more erratic, the words harder to read. One entry stands out, dated just a few days after Leah’s death:
“June 15, 2013 – It was supposed to be a normal trip. Keep them close, Frank, I kept telling myself. But I failed. Leah is gone, and it’s my fault. I heard her scream, saw the shadows. I tried to get to her, but… the thing, it was there. Too fast. Too strong. My hands… blood everywhere. No one will believe me. I can’t even believe myself. I have to find it. I have to protect Ryan. I have to make it right. God, what have I done?”
Before I can read further, the attic door creaks open, and Dad’s voice slices through the stillness.
“What are you doing up here?” His tone is sharp, almost panicked.
I turn to see him standing in the doorway, his face pale and his eyes wide with something between anger and fear. I clutch the journal to my chest, my mind racing. “I found this… I was just trying to understand…”
In an instant, he crosses the room and snatches the journal from my hands. His grip is tight, his knuckles white. “You had no right,” he growls, his voice trembling.
“Dad, I just wanted to know the truth!” I shout, frustration boiling over. “What really happened to Leah.”
His eyes flash with a mix of rage and anguish, and before I can react, he slaps me across the face. The force of it knocks me off balance, and I stumble backward, my cheek stinging.
For a moment, there’s a stunned silence. We both stand there, breathing hard, the air thick with tension.
“I’m sorry,” Dad says finally, his voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t mean to… I just…” He trails off, clutching the journal to his chest like a lifeline.
I touch my cheek, feeling the heat from the slap, and take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “Dad, what aren’t you telling me? What really happened that day?”
“Stay out of it, Ryan,” Dad growls, his eyes dark with anger. “You don’t know what you’re messing with.”
He turns and storms out of the attic. I’m left standing there, my cheek throbbing, my mind racing. What the fuck is going on? What really happened to Leah? And what is Dad so afraid of?
—
That night, I sleep with my rifle within arm's reach, more afraid of my dad than any dogman. The slap still burns on my cheek, and the look in his eyes—rage, fear, something darker—haunts me. I lie awake, listening to the creaks and groans of the old cabin, every sound amplified in the stillness. Eventually, exhaustion pulls me under, and I fall into a restless sleep.
The dream returns, vivid and unsettling. I'm back in the woods, chasing after Leah. Her laughter echoes through the trees, a haunting reminder of happier times. This time, though, I push myself harder, refusing to let her slip away.
"Ryan, catch me!" she calls, her voice playful.
"I'm coming, Leah!" I shout, my legs pumping, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
The forest around us is a twisted, shadowy maze, the trees seeming to close in on us. Leah's figure becomes clearer, her blonde hair catching the dim light filtering through the canopy. She stops suddenly, turning to face me, her eyes wide with fear.
"Leah, what is it?" I ask, my voice trembling.
"Look behind you," she whispers, her voice barely audible.
I turn slowly, dread creeping up my spine. In the shadows, I see a figure, its form indistinct and shifting. It’s not quite animal, not quite human—something in between. The sight of it sends a jolt of terror through me, and I wake up with a start, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I’m not in my bed. The ground beneath me is cold and hard, the smell of damp earth filling my nostrils. Panic rises as I realize I’ve sleepwalked into the woods. I scramble to my feet, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. The moon casts a pale glow over the surroundings, revealing what looks like a long-abandoned animal lair.
The walls are covered in giant claw marks, deep gouges in the wood and earth. The air is heavy with the scent of decay, and a chill runs through me. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched.
Carefully, I start to move, my eyes scanning the ground, desperate for a familiar landmark. That's when I see them—faded scraps of fabric caught on the jagged edges of the underbrush. My steps falter, a sense of dread washing over me as I bend down to examine them. The fabric is torn, weathered by time and the elements, but unmistakably familiar. It's part of Leah's jacket—the bright pink one she wore on the day she disappeared.
As I strain to make sense of it all, a rustling sound behind me snaps my focus. My heart leaps into my throat. I spin around, my hand instinctively reaching for the rifle I don't have—because, of course, I didn't bring it in my unconscious state.
The shadowy figure that emerges from the trees is unsettlingly familiar, mirroring the menacing forms of my nightmares. But as it steps into the moonlight, I recognize the worn jacket, the weary posture. It's Dad.
"Ryan!" he calls out, his voice a mix of relief and stern concern. "I've been looking everywhere for you. What the hell are you doing out here?"
I exhale slowly, the terror ebbing away as reality sets back in. "I—I don't know, Dad. I must've sleepwalked again." My voice is shaky, my earlier dream still clinging to the edges of my consciousness.
Dad stares at me in disbelief. "You haven't sleepwalked since you were a kid, Ry. This... this isn't just a coincidence." His eyes dart around, taking in the surroundings—the eerie, claw-marked den, the unsettling quiet of the woods. "How did you even find this place?"
I shake my head, struggling to find an answer. "I don't know, Dad. I just... I woke up here." The uncertainty in my voice does nothing to ease the tension.
His eyes lock onto the tattered remains of Leah's jacket in my hands, and something inside him snaps. The color drains from his face as he stumbles a few steps backward. "This... this is where it happened," he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper. “This is where we found Leah."
“I thought you said you don’t remember anything from that night,” he says accusingly.
"I swear, Dad, I don't know anything about this place," I insist, my own heart pounding.
“It was you, wasn’t it? You’ve been hiding this from me.” His voice is frantic. “You... last night, the growling, it was you.” His voice rises, tinged with hysteria.
I step back, my pulse racing, feeling the chill of the night and the weight of his accusation. "Dad, I don't know what you're talking ab—”
"No!" he interrupts, his voice breaking as he points a trembling finger at me. "You knew, you always knew. It was you, Ryan. All these years, the evidence was right there, but I refused to see it. You were the dogman. You killed Leah!"
His words hit me like a physical blow, absurd and horrifying in their implications. "Dad, you're not making any sense. You're talking crazy! I was just a little kid! How could I–" I protest, my voice shaky.
He steps closer, his presence looming over me, the outline of his figure distorted by the shadows of the trees. "Think about it! It all makes sense now. You led us here, to this place, because you remember. Because you did it."
"Dad, stop it!" I shout, my heart pounding in my chest. "You're scaring me. You need help, professional help. This isn't you."
But he's beyond reason, his eyes wild with a haunted grief. "I have to end this," he mutters, more to himself than to me, his hand tightening around his rifle.
His finger hovers dangerously over the trigger of his rifle. My instincts kick in, and I know I have to act fast.
I lunge toward him, trying to knock the weapon away, but he's quicker than I expected. We struggle, our breaths heavy in the cold night air, the sounds of our scuffle the only noise in the otherwise silent woods. His strength surprises me, fueled by his frantic emotions. He shoves me back, and I stumble over a root, my balance lost for a crucial second. That's all he needs. He raises his rifle, his intentions clear in his wild, pained eyes.
I dive to the ground just as the shot rings out, a deafening blast that echoes ominously through the trees. The bullet whizzes past, narrowly missing me, embedding itself in the bark of an old pine. I scramble to my feet, my heart pounding in my ears, and I start running. The underbrush claws at my clothes and skin, but I push through, driven by a primal urge to survive.
"Dad, stop! It's me, Ryan!" I shout back as I dodge between the trees. Another shot breaks the silence, closer this time, sending splinters of wood flying from a nearby tree trunk. It's surreal, being hunted by my own father, a man tormented by grief and lost in his delusions.
I don't stop to look back. I can hear him crashing through the forest behind me, his heavy breaths and muttered curses carried on the wind. The terrain is rough, and I'm fueled by adrenaline, but exhaustion is setting in. I need a plan.
Ahead, I see a rocky outcrop and make a split-second decision to head for it. It offers a chance to hide, to catch my breath and maybe reason with him if he catches up. As I reach the rocks, I slip behind the largest one, my body pressed tight against the cold, damp surface. I hear his footsteps approaching, slow and cautious now.
As I press against the rock, trying to calm my racing heart, I can hear Dad's footsteps drawing closer, each step crunching ominously on the forest floor. He's methodical, deliberate, like a hunter stalking his prey.
“Come out, Ryan!” Dad’s voice is ragged, filled with a blend of fury and pain.
My heart pounds against my chest, the cold sweat on my back making me shiver against the rough surface of the rock. I know I can't just sit here; it's only a matter of time before he finds me.
Taking a deep breath, I peek around the edge of the rock, trying to gauge his position. I see him, rifle raised, scanning the area slowly. This might be my only chance to end this madness without further violence. I need to disarm him, to talk some sense into him if I can.
As quietly as I can, I move out from behind the rock, my steps careful to avoid any twigs or leaves that might betray my position. I'm almost upon him when a branch snaps under my foot—a sound so trivial yet so alarmingly loud in the quiet of the woods.
Dad whirls around, looking completely unhinged. "Ryan!" he exclaims, his rifle swinging in my direction. Panic overtakes me, and I lunge forward, my hands reaching for the gun.
We struggle, the rifle between us, our breaths heavy and erratic. "Dad, please, stop!" I plead, trying to wrestle the gun away. But he's strong, stronger than I expected.
In the chaos, the rifle goes off. The sound is deafening, a sharp echo that seems to reverberate off every tree around us. Pain explodes in my abdomen, sharp and burning, like nothing I've ever felt before. I stagger back, my hands instinctively going to the wound. The warmth of my own blood coats my fingers, stark and terrifying.
Dad drops the rifle, his eyes wide with horror. "Oh my God! What have I done?" he gasps, rushing to my side as I collapse onto the forest floor.
As the pain sears through me, a strange, overpowering energy surges within. It's wild, primal, unlike anything I've ever experienced. Looking down in horror, my hands are no longer hands but large, hairy, clawed appendages. The transformation is rapid, consuming—my vision blurs, senses heighten, and a raw, guttural growl builds in my throat.
In that moment, a flood of understanding washes over me, mingling with the horror of realization. These are the hands of the creature from my nightmares, the creature whose face I can never fully recall because, as I now understand, it is me.
What happens next feels detached, as if I'm no longer in control of my own actions, watching from a distance as my body moves on its own. I turn towards my dad, his face a mask of terror. He stumbles back, his eyes wide with the dawning realization of what his son has become.
The forest around us seems to fall silent, holding its breath as the nightmarish scene unfolds. I can hear my own growls, guttural and deep, filling the air with a sound that's both foreign and intimately familiar. The pain in my abdomen fuels a dark, violent urge, an urge that's too strong to resist.
With a ferocity that feels both alien and intrinsic, I move towards him. My dad, paralyzed by fear and shock, doesn't run. Maybe he can't. Maybe he doesn't want to.
The encounter was brutal and swift, a blur of motion and violence. My dad barely puts up a struggle, as though resigned to his fate.
Not that there is anything he can do. The creature that I’ve become is too powerful, too consumed by the wild instincts surging through me. I tear him apart, limb from bloody limb, my hands—no, my claws—rending through fabric and flesh with disgusting ease.
The sound of my dad’s screams, of tearing fabric and flesh is drowned out by the animalistic growls that echo through the trees.
When it’s all over, the red mist that had clouded my vision begins to fade, and the fierce, uncontrollable rage that drove my actions subsides. I'm left standing, my breaths heavy and erratic, in the eerie stillness of the forest. The transformation reverses as quickly as it came on, and I find myself back in my human form. My clothes are ripped to shreds, hanging off my frame in tattered remnants. At my feet lies what’s left of my dad, his body torn and unrecognizable.
I glance down at my abdomen, expecting agony, but instead find my wound miraculously healed. No sign of the gunshot remains, just a faint scar where I expected a bloody mess.
Shock sets in, a numbing disbelief mixed with a gut-wrenching realization of what I've become and what I've done. My hands, now human again, tremble as I look at them, half-expecting to see the claws that had so effortlessly ripped through flesh and bone. But there's only blood, my father's blood against my skin.
I stand there for what feels like an eternity, trapped in a nightmare of my own making.
Eventually, the shock wears thin, and a cold practicality takes hold. I need to get out of here. I need to cover my tracks, to disappear. Because who would believe this? Who would understand that I didn't choose this, that I'm not a monster by choice?
With trembling hands, I do what’s necessary. I bury my dad in a shallow grave, the physical act of digging strangely grounding. I cover him with leaves and branches, a pitiful attempt to hide the brutality of his end. I take a moment, whispering apologies into the wind, knowing full well that nothing I say can change what happened.
I leave the forest behind, my mind a whirl of dark thoughts. As I walk, the first hints of dawn brush against the horizon, the sky bleeding a soft pink. It’s hauntingly beautiful.

Re: PODCAST: How to Spot a Lazy Manager
I'm telling ya, other than trying to rip off as many people as possible and get as much work out of them, and do the least amount of effort themselves, I don't know why Hagwonites bother. And I don't know why foreigners care more than the people who own the place and/or will be working there 10 years from now.
It reminds me of George Costanza's frustration with his lazy boss Mr. Kruger. You can see the YouTube clip here. Bust your rear-end for what? So it can backslide back to square 1 as soon as you leave and the new person replaces you? You're not helping the place advance, you are helping it idle in neutral.
See if this sounds like your experience at a Hagwon.
1. One: they blame low performance and turnover on employees.
--And every other mistake as well. The students are total brats? That's your fault. You don't teach the lesson absolutely perfectly without training? That's your fault. Kids are bored? That's your fault. A child pokes another child and mom calls about it, again --your fault.
None of these managers actually manage. They give irrelevant or no training. They institute no discipline plan all the staff, students, parents will agree on. They often give not enough material to teach the class, ALL OF THAT falls on the hands of the foreigners. Imagine that, a place that's been open for 5-10 years still hasn't taking point on all these issues, just push them off on the foreigner and go back to gossiping about how terrible the foreigners are.

• Great minds discuss ideas.
• Average minds discuss events.
• Small minds discuss people.

BTW, I'm not an owner of a company, I can discuss people who should be discussing ideas.
2: They look for quick fixes to complex retention problems.
--That's more than true. I declined to accept a 2nd contract by being offered slightly more money, about double the vacation time, and move up to head teacher. Why didn't I accept this promotion? Because everything I said the entire year was totally ignored, the pay wasn't enough to put up with their stupidity. The vacation was totally bogus because we had to threaten a mutiny just to get 2 extra days due to break between semesters. Why would I trust them to give me more when they didn't honor the ones in the 1st contract. Search Bar: Mutiny. Also, they harassed the head teacher out of a job, why would I then stick my head in the guillotine after they dragged the body away by the ankles?

But wait there's more!

That's the end of that link, but you and I can identify so many more issues.
3. Physically / Intellectually a bad example for everyone.
I don't know about you, but I don't respect slough-offs and idiots. The person that SHOULD Be working the hardest is the person who owns the place. Did you ever see the video of Elan Musk sleeping on his sofa in his office at the production plant? Yeah, really. The billionaire owner is there to field problems as they come up instead of being called at home and have to drive in at 2am. He suffers more and works harder than anyone there.
Some dumb-butt that owns a hagwon said on here one time,

I don't do make employees do anything I wouldn't do

You are supposed to do what your employees do and 10x more than that! You're the owner. This is your livelihood, it will destroy your life if it faulters. You have to pay off employees with severance, pay back loans you probably can't pay off, reduce your living space, sell off assets to survive. You put all your eggs in this basket, it HAS to work, why are you putting the outcome in the hands of people who have no skin in the game?
I don't respect boneheads who should have their educational chops figured out by this point. They should have taken notes and improved themselves as each semester rolls on by. Why are the same problems recurring every semester or every year such as the Halloween or Christmas event, you did the same thing a year ago!
4. Doesn't know your job description.
Not only does a lazy boss not educate themselves about what education is, they have neither bothered to know what teachers actually do. Sure, they scowl through the window or monitor on CCTV, but do they know what they are looking at? Almost certainly not. They tend to focus on the most inane "violations" to give themselves and everyone else the false impression they are REALLY on the ball here, nothing slips past their scrutinous eye on quality and detail! When in fact, they reveal themselves to not only be an obnoxious pest, but clearly don't even know what teachers do every day. I've had to tell more than a few in-class and CCTV observers that the things they are bothering with are so miniscule I question whether they have even taught anyone anything before in their entire lives? It's like me storming in on a mechanic, "I gotcha! I see you didn't grease those fittings!" Then they tell me that is done AFTER the breaks and wheel has been fixed and reassembled. I just exposed myself as not knowing what I'm talking about.
Hagwon management and owners don't realize how much time it takes to do the tasks they are demanding because they've never had to do them before. Sure, waive your hand and expect this or that, but a) they don't know how to do it themselves. b) we are not holding out on them with a Mary Poppins bad of lesson plans. We don't have a quick fix for their ideas. c) it takes research, editing, time, contemplation to add something that perfectly match a class's level. Management and owners think it only takes about 30 minutes to throw something together, when in fact it could be 2 hours.
5. Boss is too lazy/stubborn to solve problems.
"I'm the boss. I say, you do. That's the end of it, now get to work, no back-talk!"
If you work in any place like this, the boss is trying to avoid being exposed as a fool. They know if they throw out instructions and ideas, they will get shot down as not knowing round holes don't accept square pegs. To avoid a face-losing situation, they avoid communication at all costs. If every idea is idiotic and everyone knows it, they lose stature and the decree will be considered untenable. If the boss demands something runs and hides under their desk, the chances that the smarter people will get together and somehow make it happen is much more likely. Really, poor or no communication can be interpreted as, "Just make what I'm demanding from you happen, and don't ask me, I have no idea how to do it or I'd be helping you do it."
6. No goals.
--Every day is Groundhog's Day with lazy people. Nothing ever improves. The latest freak-out due to procrastination, poor communication, poor judgement, lack of materials, poor training is just a temporary peak until it is resolved, a lull in the action happens, then another peak or freak-out occurs in a frequency that drives everyone crazy.

ok so, bit of a background, I’ve had eczema only when I was a child but around the age of 3/4 it disappeared completely, it was mostly for a dust mite allergy and never had it again, until just a random neck flare up in march 2021(I was 16) (it disappeared without doing anything after some days) then, randomly, in November 2022 I started having flare ups on my neck and around my eyes but just as before they disappeared in some days maybe a week without applying anything, another flare up came back around February 2023, I saw a dermatologist, he prescribed me a mild topical steroid (advantan 0,1%) and disappeared once again, I sometimes just had random patches of dry skin on my neck or face but no sign of eczema, summer went great, but then around octobeNovember 2023 came back also in places I’ve never had it before and since then it has never left me, I did everything, removed fragrances, bought all the specific products for eczema prone skin, did some rounds of topical steroids, I had maybe some days or weeks where my skin was so great like I never had eczema but sadly it always came back. I took the prick tests and everything came back negative, also blood test still for allergies and were all negative, I have the patch test scheduled on last week of may, really hope to find out I’m allergic to something so this shit will go away. my eczema usually disappeared in spring so I was so happy about april and may coming but sadly this year my skin said Hell naw. tried lots of moisturizers, many didn’t work and some did help, but only with dryness. It’s really exhausting since I have it mostly on my face and neck, I do have some random patches on my arms , bigger ones on my inner elbows, but everywhere else my skin looks great, but my face, neck and shoulders look so terrible, it’s spreading on my face, steroids seem to not work anymore, it’s hard having a social life and keeping my relationship with my boyfriend healthy while I feel ugly, dirty and powerless. just so u guys know I do smoke and I noticed my eczema starting to worsen when I mostly switched to heated tobacco cigs (iqos), and also when i started taking the combined pill as birth control, also I really had a stressful life and fought against mental health for a long long time, finally doing better and then boom the universe wanted me to suffer some more (funny how when I had so many problems with my mental health my skin was literally perfect) looks like I’m finally fine and my body is expelling all the stress?? literally going crazy trying to understand my triggers or what’s causing it. also alcohol makes it so itchy I’ll sadly have to skip my glass of wine lmao If anyone wants to see the pics I’ll send them! I’m really looking for some help it’s getting unbearable and I do kind of sense the depression kicking back in. If anyone has read all of this thank you, and for everyone going through this, I hope you’ll finally heal<3

So in 1st and 2nd grade, there was this girl who we'll call June.
June was friends with some of the same kids as me and even friends with my best friend.
June never liked me for some reason and would be very rude to me all through 1st and 2nd grade, except one day in 2nd grade.
It was a day at school when the parents would come to hang out and do fun things with the kids. We were assigned groups and would rotate to the next activity with the rest of the group.
I was in June's group, while waiting in line for sign-in I was behind June and her mom. I said hi and she slightly turned, rolled her eyes, and ignored me. Her mom had also turned a bit and noticed I was the only kid without a parent, she did the nice in front of ppl mom scold and gave June the face, so June turned to me and said hi back.
At first, I was actually lonely and struggling because what we were doing for some of the activities was meant for two ppl (parent+child), and June's mom noticed and would have June help me or do the activities with me since there was usually time for two rounds. Then I started doing it on purpose or I'd try and interact with her so she'd be rude to me like always, she wasn't most of the time but when her mom's back was turned or when she thought her back was turned she'd be rude to me. Once throwing a ball at me not so playfully.
Her mom made her give up her popsicle to me at the end of the day.
The next day I heard from my best friend that she ended up in trouble and was grounded from the TV. She glared extra hard at me for her whole week of grounding.
The best feeling ever especially after finding out that June's best friend didn't hate me like June, and ended up being my friend.

Both Count Corbera and Bruno Aurelius bring a unique blend of history and philosophy into the arena, setting the stage for an intellectual and physical clash of titans.
As the announcer introduces Count Corbera, the crowd falls silent in anticipation. The Count's rugged appearance and icy blue eyes convey a sense of wisdom and experience, a stark contrast to the youthful exuberance of his opponent, Bruno Aurelius.
With a polite nod to his opponent, Count Corbera steps into the ring, his presence commanding respect from all who behold him. Across the ring, Bruno Aurelius bounces on the balls of his feet, his boisterous demeanor and infectious energy filling the arena with excitement.
The opening bell rings, and the two fighters waste no time in engaging each other. Count Corbera's mastery of the Abrazare wrestling style is immediately evident as he closes the distance between them, his movements calculated and precise.
But Bruno Aurelius is no slouch either, his combination of Pankration and boxing techniques keeping the Count on his toes. With each exchange, the two fighters test each other's skill and resolve, their movements a dance of strength and strategy.
As the fight wears on, Count Corbera's experience begins to shine through, his knowledge of ancient grappling techniques giving him the edge in close-quarters combat. Despite his age, his stamina and determination are unwavering, his every move a testament to his years of training and discipline.
But Bruno Aurelius is not one to be underestimated. With each blow he lands, he chips away at the Count's defenses, his relentless assault pushing the older fighter to his limits. Yet, for every strike Bruno delivers, the Count responds with a counter of his own, his movements fluid and precise.
As the final round approaches, the tension in the arena reaches its peak. Both fighters are battered and bruised, their bodies a testament to the intensity of the battle. Yet, neither is willing to back down, their determination fueling them to push forward.
In the end, it is a battle of wills as much as it is a battle of strength and skill. With a final flurry of blows, Count Corbera executes a textbook takedown, sending Bruno crashing to the mat with a resounding thud.
The crowd erupts into cheers as the referee raises Count Corbera's hand in victory, his victory a testament to the power of experience and determination. As Bruno rises to his feet, a smile graces his lips, his respect for his opponent evident in his eyes.
In that moment, as the two fighters embrace in a show of sportsmanship, the true spirit of martial arts shines through. For in the end, it is not just about who emerges victorious, but about the lessons learned and the bonds forged in the heat of battle.

Hi all!
Here's the weekly 50 question Sunday Quiz. This week the rounds are; Music - American Groups, General Knowledge, Pictures - Landmarks, Mythological Creatures, and General Knowledge. Enjoy!
https://www.sundayquiz.com/weekly-general-knowledge-quiz-19-05-2024/
Questions - Music - American Groups

1. Which band with lead vocalist Adam Levine, released their debut album "Songs About Jane" in June 2002?
2. Composed of Anthony Kiedis, Flea, Chad Smith, and John Frusciante, which band formed in Los Angeles in 1982?
3. With vocalist Chester Bennington part of the band until his death in 2017, the debut studio album of which group was "Hybrid Theory"?
4. In March 1985 which group formed when local bands Hollywood Rose and L.A. Guns merged?
5. Rising to superstardom with the album "Millennium" in 1999, what vocal group consisted of Nick, Howie, AJ, Brian, and Kevin?
6. Formed in 1966, which band has undergone various line-ups with its Mexican born namesake and founder being the only consistent member?
7. Which group released a series of hit songs between 1978 and 1987 when Steve Perry was lead vocalist, including "Don't Stop Believin'"?
8. "Out of Time" (1991) and "Automatic for the People" (1992) were the most commercially successful albums for which group?
9. Fergie replaced Kim Hill in which group's lineup during the height of their popularity in the 2000s?
10. Formed by James Hetfield and Lars Ulrich, which heavy metal band has sold more than 125 million records worldwide?

Answers

1. Maroon 5#########
2. Red Hot Chili Peppers
3. Linkin Park########
4. Guns N' Roses#####
5. Backstreet Boys####
6. Santana##########
7. Journey##########
8. R.E.M.###########
9. (The) Black Eyed Peas
10. Metallica#########

More quizzes...

Hi all!
Here's the weekly 50 question Sunday Quiz. This week the rounds are; Music - American Groups, General Knowledge, Pictures - Landmarks, Mythological Creatures, and General Knowledge. Enjoy!
https://www.sundayquiz.com/weekly-general-knowledge-quiz-19-05-2024/
Questions - Music - American Groups

1. Which band with lead vocalist Adam Levine, released their debut album "Songs About Jane" in June 2002?
2. Composed of Anthony Kiedis, Flea, Chad Smith, and John Frusciante, which band formed in Los Angeles in 1982?
3. With vocalist Chester Bennington part of the band until his death in 2017, the debut studio album of which group was "Hybrid Theory"?
4. In March 1985 which group formed when local bands Hollywood Rose and L.A. Guns merged?
5. Rising to superstardom with the album "Millennium" in 1999, what vocal group consisted of Nick, Howie, AJ, Brian, and Kevin?
6. Formed in 1966, which band has undergone various line-ups with its Mexican born namesake and founder being the only consistent member?
7. Which group released a series of hit songs between 1978 and 1987 when Steve Perry was lead vocalist, including "Don't Stop Believin'"?
8. "Out of Time" (1991) and "Automatic for the People" (1992) were the most commercially successful albums for which group?
9. Fergie replaced Kim Hill in which group's lineup during the height of their popularity in the 2000s?
10. Formed by James Hetfield and Lars Ulrich, which heavy metal band has sold more than 125 million records worldwide?

Answers

1. Maroon 5#########
2. Red Hot Chili Peppers
3. Linkin Park########
4. Guns N' Roses#####
5. Backstreet Boys####
6. Santana##########
7. Journey##########
8. R.E.M.###########
9. (The) Black Eyed Peas
10. Metallica#########

More quizzes...

Round 1, Pick 13 - Brock Bowers, TE, Georgia:
NFL: This is the Raiders willing to adjust the offense to take the best player available. Bowers is a spectacular player who can line up anywhere along the formation as a tight end. There aren’t many holes in his game -- which should urge new OC Luke Getsy to get creative and get Bowers and Michael Mayer on the field together.
CBS Sports: C. He’s a heck of a player, but didn’t they draft Michael Mayer last year and signed Harrison Bryant this year? They have other needs. Don’t really like this pick that much. It’s not like he’s a good blocker for their run game. Strange pick with other needs.
ESPN: What a strange first-round selection, especially considering tight end was addressed last season with the second-round selection of Michael Mayer. Offensive tackle and cornerback were bigger needs. New general manager Tom Telesco must have simply relied on his draft board and gone best player available, especially with Oregon State RT Taliese Fuaga and every single CB still available. In fact, every defensive player was still on the board, and yet ... Bowers was considered a top-10 overall talent and should provide immediate production for an anemic offense.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Cries during Bluey but only at the opening credits.
Round 2, Pick 44 - Jackson Powers-Johnson, OG, Oregon:
NFL: Brock Bowers felt like a throwback Raiders pick to me, but JPJ really feels like an Al Davis classic. Powers-Johnson is a big, brawling interior lineman who played center last year but also can line up at guard -- the position he was announced at -- and bury the man opposite him, even if he's a little stiff and an average athlete.
CBS Sports: A. Instant starter inside. Guard size with mobile center feet. Shorter arms and some rawness in pass pro. But upside is through the roof. All-Pro caliber in that regard. Smart pick here.
ESPN: While Powers-Johnson played center at Oregon, the Raiders announced him as a guard, which makes sense since Las Vegas needs a right guard. Yes, even after the Raiders signed veteran Cody Whitehair in free agency. Powers-Johnson has started games at both guard spots and center in his college career. Last season, he started 13 games at center, was an All-America selection and won the Rimington Award as the nation's top center. He provides quality versatility, which is highly valued on the Raiders' offensive line.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: He somehow still uses a functioning Windows phone.
Round 3, Pick 77 - DJ Glaze, OT, Maryland:
NFL: A left or right tackle with great length and so-so athleticism, Glaze was considered a question mark because of some past injuries (including an ACL), but the Raiders clearly feel good about him here. He's likely a swing tackle to start out but could compete for a starting job down the line.
CBS Sports: A-. One of the more calculated OTs in the class. Rarely panics and has plus awareness. Requisite size and length to stay on the edge in the NFL. Athleticism is at times great but not a true speciality. Nothing overly standout about his game. Just high floor blocker.
ESPN: After taking a versatile interior offensive lineman in the second round in Powers-Johnson, the Raiders used their third-round pick to grab a college tackle who could also transition inside to guard in Glaze. The selection shows how much the new regime of GM Tom Telesco and coach Antonio Pierce value versatility on the offensive line, which is all but set on the left side and at center. Glaze has a long wingspan at nearly seven feet but is not known for being overly physical.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Prefers the arrows on the keyboard over WASD.
Round 4, Pick 112 - Decamerion Richardson, CB, Mississippi State:
NFL: I joked on Day 2 that the Raiders are having another Al Davis-flecked draft, and Richardson keeps the theme rolling. He's a straight-line speed demon with great length, two very encouraging traits. But his penchant for handsy coverage and no real track record for playmaking mutes his appeal just a bit.
CBS Sports: A-. Long, sleek burner who will make plays on the football when he trusts his eyes. Lacks physicality at times and that hurts him when attempting to stop the run although when he gets to the football, he’s a very sure tackler. Smooth athlete in off-man and zone. This secondary needed this type of CB specimen.
ESPN: The Raiders finally address their defense at defensive back in particular, with Richardson who is 6-foot-2 and ran the 40 in 4.34 seconds. He needs development but did lead Mississippi State with 7 pass breakups last season, even as he never had an interception. He's also not afraid to stick his nose in the scrum as he had a combined 164 tackles the last two seasons.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Thinks scotch tape smells like Christmas.
Round 5, Pick 148 - Tommy Eichenberg, LB, Ohio State:
NFL: Instinctive, throwback linebacker who lacks great speed. Eichenberg has the makeup to turn into a defensive tone-setter, even if his coverage ability is limited.
CBS Sports: A-. Ultra-active middle linebacker with a blitzing specialty. Smooth athlete a bit quicker than fast. Awareness is good in coverage, he will find crossers and understand in-breakers are working behind him. Strong tackler. Lack of speed and at times problems vs. blocks are weaknesses but this is a sound football player.
ESPN: Coach Pierce, who spent nine years as an NFL linebacker, gets his guy in the 6-foot-2, 233-pound Eichenberg, who provides depth while translating into a backup for Robert Spillane. Eichenberg did miss three games with an arm injury last season, a year after he was second-team All-American. More a thumper inside than a pass-coverage specialist, Eichenberg had 82 tackles (2.5 for a loss), a sack and a forced fumble in 10 games last season.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Played the role of background tree in his middle school play.
Round 6, Pick 208 - Dylan Laube, RB, New Hampshire:
NFL: Laube become something of a folk hero at the Senior Bowl, charming fans with his personality, elusiveness and pass-catching prowess. He had 295 yards receiving against Central Michigan alone this year and legitimately could emerge as a third-down weapon in the pass game.
CBS Sports: A-. Insane receiving RB. Built low to the ground and had fine testing figures before the draft. Low, side to side wiggle but lacks speed once he finds space. Contact balance is good too. Think the small-school Blake Corum.
ESPN: An FCS All-American all-purpose player, Laube projects more as a potential kick and punt returner in the NFL rather than a rotational running back. He averaged 31.1 yards on kick returns and 11.3 yards on punt returns and had a touchdown on each. He rushed for 749 yards and nine TDs, averaging 4.7 yards per carry last season, and also had 68 catches for 699 yards with seven receiving scores, including a 295-receiving yards game against Central Michigan.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Once wrote 250+ fake true facts for nfl draft cards like a moron.
Round 7, Pick 223 - Trey Taylor, S, Air Force:
NFL: Air Force has landed a few players in the draft the past few years after a long absence, and Taylor could make it either as a box safety or a special teams contributor.
CBS Sports: A. Thick, productive three-level safety best being closer to the line. Plays with controlled athleticism. Gets grabby against better athletes but that’s expected for a larger safety. Solid ball skills. Not ultra twitchy. Smart well-rounded type.
ESPN: The first-ever defensive back drafted out of the Air Force Academy, Taylor won the Jim Thorpe Award as the nation's top defensive back. He figures to provide immediate depth behind starters Marcus Epps and Tre’von Moehrig, but at 6-feet, 213 pounds, he has the size and instincts to be an immediate contributor. Taylor, whose cousin is Hall of Fame safety Ed Reed, had three interceptions, one pick-six, 74 tackles, five for a loss, four PBUs and a blocked kick last fall.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Yes, you reading this COULD have come up with better Facts.
Round 7, Pick 229 - MJ Devonshire, CB, Pittsburgh:
NFL: Devonshire is a fast, tough competitor with size limitations. He was never a full-time starter in college but had strong ball production the past two years.
CBS Sports: B+. Long CB who has the frame of a nickel. Fast, decently explosive athlete. Best in press man near the line. Average to slightly above-average ball skills. Zone awareness not there yet. High floor type.
ESPN: The Raiders concluded their draft by taking their second cornerback of the day in Devonshire, who is more a physical defender who does not shy away from bump-and-run coverage than a speedy DB, though he did run a 4.45 40. The 5-foot-11, 186-pound Devonshire led Pitt with four interceptions last season, including a pick-six, and had 10 PBUs in 12 games with nine starts. Las Vegas split their eight draft picks evenly between offense (TE, G, OT, RB) and defense (two CBs, S, LB).
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Likes bologna on white bread with mustard - it’s a flat hotdog!

Ladies and gentlemen, extraterrestrials, and sentient AI overlords! Gather 'round because Zane Zany is about to take you on a wild ride through the mind-bending, reality-twisting, coffee-spilling world of fractal art! Yes, you heard it right—fractals, those brain-melting, visually addictive patterns that make you question if nature's been watching too much sci-fi. Buckle up, buttercups, because we're diving into the recursive rabbit hole of fractal geometry, where Mother Nature herself is the original nerdy artist.
First, let's talk about fractals. Imagine you’re scrolling through Netflix, and instead of choosing between true crime documentaries and that new reality show where people date while hanging upside down, you stumble upon an endless loop of visually stunning, infinitely complex patterns. These, my friends, are fractals—the artistic equivalent of getting lost in the comment section of a viral TikTok.
Fractals are essentially shapes that repeat themselves on different scales. Think of them as the visual manifestation of your favorite TV show that keeps rebooting itself. One of the most famous fractals is the Mandelbrot set, which looks like a trippy explosion of paisleys on LSD. You zoom in on one part, and bam! There’s another paisley party going on in there. It’s like a never-ending series of Russian nesting dolls, but way more psychedelic.
Now, Mother Nature, being the ultimate overachiever, decided to use fractals to design some of her best work. Ever noticed how a cauliflower looks like a tiny, edible brain? Or how lightning bolts resemble the family tree of Zeus's illegitimate children? That’s fractal geometry in action, folks! Nature has been using fractals to show off her math skills long before humans decided to scribble them on their trapper keepers.
Let’s take a closer look at the wacky world of fractal art, where the line between art and science blurs more than my vision after too much screen time. Imagine digital landscapes that look like Salvador Dalí on a coding binge. Artists like Hal Tenny and Kerry Mitchell create these digital masterpieces that make your eyes pop out like a cartoon character seeing a pie on a windowsill. Their works are a mix of math wizardry and artistic flair, transforming complex equations into visual feasts that make you wonder if you’ve accidentally ingested something illegal.
But wait, there’s more! It’s not just digital; hand-drawn fractal art is a thing too. Picture an artist with the patience of a saint and the determination of someone binge-watching an entire season of "Stranger Things" in one sitting. These artists meticulously draw each tiny, repeating pattern by hand. It's like watching Bob Ross on speed, each "happy little accident" turning into a mesmerizing fractal forest.
One of the coolest things about fractal art is how it mimics the infinite complexity of natural forms. It’s like nature’s way of saying, “I see your doodles, and I raise you a universe.” For instance, the branching patterns of trees, blood vessels, and even the internet’s favorite—snowflakes—are all fractal patterns. These natural fractals are so precise that they make human-made fractal art look like a kindergarten drawing contest.
Now, let's get real for a moment and talk about the science behind these bad boys. Fractals are the product of simple mathematical rules repeated over and over. It’s like taking your favorite GIF and putting it on an infinite loop until your brain melts. This process, known as iteration, is the secret sauce behind those stunning fractal images. And if you think that’s nerdy, just wait until you hear this: fractals are used in everything from computer graphics to diagnosing heart disease. Talk about a glow-up from mere doodles to lifesavers!
Alright, my intergalactic audience, let's sprinkle in some contemporary pop culture because why not? Imagine if Marvel’s Doctor Strange teamed up with Picasso after a bender at a hacker convention. That’s the level of surreal you get with fractal art. Or think about "Rick and Morty" if they decided to explore the infinite realities within a single broccoli floret. Fractals are the multiverse theory of art and science—every zoom reveals another layer of mind-blowing complexity.
And speaking of complexity, let’s not forget about the applications. Fractals aren’t just pretty pictures; they have real-world uses that would make even Tony Stark jealous. For example, in telecommunications, fractal antennas are all the rage. They’re tiny, efficient, and look like they belong in a sci-fi movie. These antennas use fractal patterns to pick up a wide range of frequencies, making your smartphone signals stronger than my desire for a pizza right now.
But fractals aren't just solving tech problems—they're also helping scientists understand natural phenomena. Take the coastlines of continents, for instance. They’re not straight lines but jagged, irregular shapes that resemble, you guessed it, fractals! By studying these patterns, scientists can predict erosion and even help with environmental conservation. It’s like Mother Nature gave us a cheat code to understand her secret plans.
Now, let’s wrap this mind-bending journey with a bow, shall we? Fractal art is the glorious intersection where art and science have a wild, late-night party and invite everyone they know. It’s proof that math isn’t just for nerds—it’s the creative force behind the beauty of the natural world and the digital masterpieces that leave us awestruck. So, next time you’re out in nature or lost in a fractal video loop, remember that you’re witnessing the same principles that make your phone work, keep planes in the air, and help us understand the universe.
So, there you have it, folks! Fractal art: where geometry, nature, and a splash of human creativity come together to blow our minds. It's the ultimate nerdy art form that proves even the most complex mathematical principles can be stunningly beautiful. And remember, whether you’re a digital artist, a nature lover, or just someone who likes trippy patterns, fractals have something to offer. Until next time, keep your eyes peeled for the hidden patterns in life, and don’t forget to tip your server. Zane Zany, signing off!

So I would put the nightmare flair but it was actually pretty chill tbh, I wasn’t like panicking or too scared.
I was preparing for a wedding and me and my dad and sister went to a hotel. A basic one. Then I forgot smth at home and my sister went to get it and we kinda got in a fight. Then the bathroom looks like it has a ton of sinks of diff colors and my sister tells us that there’s women trying to kill us by putting knives trough the charging stations down to floor level. I go to check it out and some woman pushes a sword trough and I try to escape but it’s hard, like there’s knives and I managed to escape, it wasn’t that hard but still difficult. And at some point I’m sitting and the whole thing just turns into a horror hotel, and a like a little human made out of fine plastic with like round head and like rounded limbs and everything, like the pic but it had fine smooth shiny plastic all over and was probably a robot and no ears and a face way bigger with 2 dots as eyes and a big smile. And no ears. This thing tells me how sad and horror and sinister the whole place looks and holds my hand to show me and I feel like I’m gonna kms. But then the thing says “but you know how I know this is not real?” And then starts singing a song like a record in the 90s, yk that sound that goes when you rewind? That, and a happy La La La 90s song. And like vibrant paint from paint buckets starts splashing around and making everything coloured again. Next thing I know the narrator says the women have been caught, the ones with the knives, and also before all this, I dreamed it was my birthday and my aunt cami baked me a cake, and I was like “u didn’t have to do that” and she’s like “Gurl just say thanks and eat “ ,we all just like eat from it with spoons, no cut slices. And I was eating most of the coconut small cut cakes. We were all having a pretty good time! And at the hotel, before arriving it was raining, and we had to hold a pillow over our heads and my sister got a little left behind l and I started changing and didn’t realise my dad was there and yelled at him to close his eyes, he didn’t listen the first few times I said it. Then I put smth on and the rest of the story I just said. Oh and just realised I can’t put a pic for the teddy description thing. It was like , it had a round head, eggplant shaped limbs,all smooth shiny plastic .

1. Same. It’s simple but it’s just so catchy, sung so heartfelt. Also the effects and sound choices are haunting.
   
2. Hi-fi. Again with the “haunting”. Not as much of a brainwork as Same, but really interesting and compelling. Almost a Red Hot Chili Peppers vibe.
   
3. Neon Pill. I love it, still continues to grow on me. I’ve just played this song to death but if it were hearing it for the first time I’d probably put it at 2.
   
4. Rainbow. Very vintage cage, feels it could be on Melophobia. Also catchy. Even if the melody sounds like Right Round by Florida ;)
   
5. Good Time. Almost a bit too weird for me but extremely unique and definitely has a replayability
   

Ball and Chain, Silent Picture, Float into the Sky, Shy Eyes, and Over Your Shoulder all haven’t really made much of an impression on me yet, but that doesn’t mean they’re bad. Cage songs have often taken awhile to grow on me before I loved them.
11: Metaverse. Idk the topic is corny, the melody is kinda catchy but it also sounds like the strokes and Red Hot Chili Peppers. And unlike Hi Fi, which is super cool, I don’t really find much new or interesting about Metaverse.

1. Out Loud. It’s not for me. Feels like too much of an “apology song” that doesn’t really feel true to the heart, feels kind of forced, but that’s just my read. I know some people on here love the song, maybe it just hasn’t clicked for me yet.

Overall, I think the album is a great addition to the discography, better than Social Cues even though Social Cues does have some of my favorite songs ever.

This post is purposely to connect kids with Eurasian or (half-half backgrounds) that have had the same experiences with ignorant stereotypes.
I am half Thai, half Australian. And whilst the perception is that a half-asian kid would have more asian features, I'm here to say this is not usually the case. Features of half-half kids are generally on a spectrum. I have met half-'white', half-asian kids that have blonde hair and angular eyes and some that have more european looking eyes and dark features. There are some half kids that would have what would be perceived as the 'perfect half-asian look' with light skin and raven black hair and brown eyes. However, this is not always the case.
I personally have always been told I look more european, although Im not certain as there are many that have mistaken me for being full Thai. I know I look different on both ends and this I am totally okay with. What I am not okay with is people thinking they have a right to dictate what race I am based purely on their own ignorant perception.
My features are olive skin, dark brown hair, light green eyes which are more angular in shape. Standing next to my father who is Thai, I have been told many times that I gain more of my face shape and features from him. Whilst many of my other siblings (6 in total) have more of my mother's features (Australian) with dark skin and light hair but have more european and rounded eyes. Its always something different and its all on a spectrum.
What I have found and I have struggled to accept is how some people react to this information as if it's something completely alien to have a half-race person in front of them.
If my interactions with people consisted of them simply asking my background and understanding that I am a mix, this would be perfectly fine and with a genuine curiosity to understand. I'm totally okay with sharing this if people don't know or are unsure. What I have not been okay with and struggle to take is that most interactions with people consist of them almost implying that I am lying about my background because I do not look like what they would perceive a half-kid to look like. They constantly tell me that I am obviously missing something in my ethnicity and that I should go get a DNA test to determine what I really am.
Its gotten to the point where I don't tell people my full background anymore. I have a stronger command of the English language and my Thai is not fluent but is something I am working towards improving. I hold dual-citizenship and although I have spent most of my life in Australia, I have also spent a lot of my life in Thailand.
Last night I went out with some friends and met some new people. All were expats in Thailand. It's always nice meeting new people but in the conversation it everntually got to the question of where I was from. I simply answered that I was born in Australia and moved to Thailand permanently 2 years ago. The conversation quickly moved past this and I was set on the thought that they wouldn't probe the question further.
However, the question came up again later by one of the ladies in the group who is Filipino but has an Italian husband and has lived in Australia for many years. She then probed a bit further later on into the conversation and began to ask what my background was. I responded that I am half Thai, half Australian.
The conversation moved past and I thought all was okay.
We moved from where we were to walk to another place and on the walk she began asking about why I moved to Thailand. I told her I have always wanted to move back and was waiting to finish my degree in Australia but have always wanted to move back and do humanitarian work in Thailand.
She then began to boisterously exclaim how I am a foreigner and don't look asian at all and am 100% a foreigner. She also started to say things like how she was more Thai than I was because she looks completely asian and I am 100% 'FARANG' (word for 'foreigner' in Thai) whilst also butchering the pronunciation of it.
I wish I could say that this was the only unpleasant experience I have had, but this is a constant interaction I have with people. And I can't seem to comprehend why they feel they have the right to dictate to me what my race is based on their own ignorant perception. I know that it is common for half kids to experience identity issues but I believe a lot of this is strongly due to external commentary.
Are there any other half-kids or parents of half-kids that have had the same sort of experience?

This is my first script. Please be kind. If it sucks, it sucks, but I had fun writing it nonetheless.
Please link me if you use/fill it. I would love to hear your take on it. Free to monetize, Youtube, Patreon, whatever, I just want to hear it. :)
Please give me credit: RE: My Darling / Remy Darling

Scene setter: Italics
SpeakeVA: Bold text with "quotes" outside of the sentence/phrases
Internal monologue: Bold/italics
Action of character or SFX: ((Double Parenthesis))
Response from a character: ((pause))

Speaker: You are Killian James a.k.a. Hook. Your eyes are the color of the sea, your hair is dark as night, and you are dashing, troubled, and flirtatious. The lilt of an accent gives you a melodic tone, and your personality is dark, playful, and direct. You are comfortable in three-piece suits, and are a dangerous man with many secrets.
Listener: Your name is Wendy. Your friends have convinced you to go to a bar downtown in the more dangerous part of the city due to rumors, only they end up bailing without you. You are going to go home after you finish your drink. The bar is called Never Land, Where, according to your friends rumors, the owner is a mysterious man that they all seem fascinated with. Apparently, he is tall, dark, and handsome – a devil of a man that goes by a strange name. They call him… Hook.

((SFX – The club is above this basement 'torture chamber' area-you can hear the music of the club playing muffled. The basement area is clean and not dungeon-y but is more of a modern torture chamber with drains for easy ah… clean up))
SCENE: There is a man chained/tied up. Hook enters the room, looking almost bored that he needs to be there. He takes off his jacket, handing it to one of his henchmen, leaving the vest on, before he unbuttons his cuffs and starts rolling the sleeves up.
“I’m not pleased that our shipment is late, Mr. Jukes. It was supposed to arrive on a super yacht named the ‘Jolly Roger’ today with a bunch of rich snobs who were none the wiser. Your men guaranteed me that it would arrive with the staff and be loaded off on the dock shortly after, however, that is yet to come to fruition, and I am not a patient man.”
((SFX: VA puts on leather gloves, stretches fingers and gets comfortable in them))
“I am aware that they have taken a detour due to a storm, Jukes – but your mismanagement of my time, and my money, are not to be forgotten. Bad form, Jukes! Bad form!”
((SFX: dragging knife sound – //our character uses a tactical Hook knife. It’s typically for gutting deer – not really necessary to know, it’s just to flesh out the character for you//, Hook approaches slowly))
“I know it won't happen again. Don’t worry, Jukes, since this is your first time having erred with me, I shall simply leave you with a small reminder. I expect the shipment to be directed to our port swiftly, otherwise, I won’t be nearly as lenient again.”
((SFX chains straining, screaming that becomes muffled screaming, as Hook takes his knife and leaves the man with a Cheshire Grin/Glasglow Smile up one side of his face, heavy breathing for a moment, as he returns and throws his knife down on the table))
“Get me my other three-piece suit from my office and a clean shirt. I’ve got this bastard’s blood all over me. He's not to be given his freedom until I hear that the shipment has come in from the Jolly Roger. If it does not go to plan – we will have to take further, more drastic actions and I don’t want to have to find this cad, Mr. Jukes, again. Do I make myself clear?”
((henchmen answer))
“Good.”
((SFX – him pulling off the leather gloves and getting changed))
“One of you stay here and watch him. Tonight I’ll be on the club floor. I’m not to be interrupted until The Crocodile has made contact. Is that understood?”
((pause))
“Good. That is all.”
((he leaves))

((SFX – transition to this however you like))
\*modern day, bar scene/sounds (*no* jazz or classical music - it's a nightclub), people mingling in the background. In enters our VA/Hook.*

“Tinkerbell, pour me my usual, will you, dear?”
((Tink is quick, and slides him his drink. Sip, sigh, and pause as he looks around)) (( This internal thought is not necessary but if you want to, go for it ))
\*internal thought*\** Who’s this? Oh my, sweet lamb, you are definitely in the wrong place.
“Tink, one last thing, could you possibly tell me anything about that young woman there? The one in light blue.”
((listening intently for a moment))
“Hm. Lovely. Thank you, dear.”
((SFX – he puts down his drink, footsteps/fine Italian leather shoes approaching the young lady who is at the bar))
“Well, well, well… Isn’t that a beautiful dress on an even more beautiful woman. That color of blue really suits you. You… are a piece of art. A fascinating and intriguing piece of art. However, you don’t quite seem like you belong here.”
((pause))
“Someone as divine as you, as *innocent* as you, dressed as you are, doesn’t really seem to fit in. Not in this kind of place. You look more like you would fit in one of the high-class jazz lounges uptown. Martinis, a piano player, velvet couches and the like. Do you think that you fit in amongst these gentlemen of fortune and these women dressed in their slinky club clothes? Look around, do you see the patrons here?”
((short pause as she looks around))
“Don’t you see? You are simply dressed too elegantly for a place like this. No, you, my dear, are definitely not the type that belongs amongst these fiends. You belong uptown. Not here, amongst the dregs of society like us. Your mannerisms are too graceful, you walk with pride and your chin up – this is not the body language of one of my people.”
((pause))
“Well, I happen to own this establishment, Never Land, so I am rather familiar with the likes of the people who tend to come through its doors, and I have never seen you before. You seem quite unforgettable. Could I have the pleasure of having your name?”
((pause))
“Wendy… What a lovely name for such a lovely woman. Well, Wendy, darling – my name is Killian. My friends call me Hook.”
((pause))
“So many questions! What an inquisitive slip of a thing you are. Perhaps, we could talk over a drink?”
((*VA snaps fingers* Bartender Tinkerbell approaches immediately and waits)) ((ListeneWendy begins to decline))
“Don’t fret, darling. It’s just a drink. Should you find yourself not interested in our conversation or in me, you are more than welcome to leave and go back uptown to the *safe* areas of the city, where the likes of people like me and my ilk will be of no bother to you ever again. But should I pique your interest, perhaps allow me the grace of your presence again in the future.”
((pause))
“Just one drink. And nothing more.”
((ListeneWendy accepts))
“Delightful! Tink, if you could get us another round. One of whatever the lady was drinking, and my usual.”
((short pause as he takes her in before sighing and leaning in closer to speak to her))
“Darling, do tell me, why have you wandered into the seedy underbelly of our city? What is it exactly that you are searching for? Mystery? Intrigue?"
((whispers // into her ear))
"...*Danger*?”
((VA leans back and there is a sly curling of his lips into a crooked smile))
“Mm, that blush really does make me think that you truly are as innocent as I originally thought, Darling. Albeit, I am sure you knew what kind of danger you could get into coming to a place like this. You may be looking for danger, but it seems danger has found you instead.”
((pause))
“Oh, yes, danger. There is plenty of danger here. However, it seems like that’s something you seem to be searching for. Should I inquire as to –“
((VA leans in once more))
“What *kind* of danger you are looking for? See, Darling, that’s the thing about danger… You may only want a little but you never truly know how much you’re going to get.”
((pause))
((VA - practically whispered across her lips or ear, you imagine how close you want to get))
“Ah, yes, Wendy, darling. I happen to be very… Very… Dangerous.”
((Listener steps back))
((he gives a low chuckle))
“Do I … make you … Nervous?”
((short pause and VA steps forward as Listener shakes her head defiantly))
“Or perhaps, I am not the kind of danger you are looking for?”
((closer))
“Do you even *know* what you are looking for, my little lamb?”
((dangerously close to her))
((pause))
((drinks come at this time delivered by Tink – VA returns to less invasive persona))
"Ah, thank you, Tink. You’ve impeccable timing. Shall we? I’d love to take this to a VIP booth I prefer to sit in. It will give us a little more privacy and won’t be as loud. Come now, pet."
((footsteps/music/whatever SFX have them move to a slightly quieter place, sit in a booth))
"Do you mind, Darling? I’d much rather be sitting next to you than across the table. That way I can hear you better. Yes, that’s it, just move in a little further."
((this gives no escape for Listener as James/Hook is between the easy exit and her – SFX of her moving over if you want to get technical and him sitting next to her))
((pause))
“Ah, *that*. The name Hook… It is simply from a childhood long ago. Raised in an orphanage with many other lost boys like myself. It’s a truly heartbreaking story, I’m sure, but I’d like you to remember our first meeting in a different light. Not melancholy and deep, dark secrets. Not yet, anyway. Perhaps, if you decide to embark on a journey with me in the future, or are willing to grace me with your presence again, we can discuss it then.”
((Listener nods, nervously))
((he leans in))
“But you, Wendy, darling –“
((whispered // reaches out to draw a finger down her jawline as he looks from her eyes to her mouth))
“You still haven’t answered me.”
((pause))
“About what *kind* of danger you are looking for…”
((pause // leaning in))
“Are you looking for something – just a wee bit threatening? Perhaps something that will get the heart pumping momentarily?”
((pause // leaning in))
“Or perhaps, a singular thrilling night before the sun rises and the fun is over?”
((pause // leaning in))
“Or… are you looking for something darker? Something much more dangerous. Something soul shattering that will devour you whole? Something that makes you question your morals… Your boundaries… Something that will burn you to ash and will leave you begging me for more even once I break you?”
((kisses Wendy))
“Do you know what kind of danger you want yet, darling? That last one… It is not a wise idea for a sweet little lamb like you, but I promise... You’ll love it.”

I'm a simple player , I love thematic necromancy debuffs. To me it's really frustrating that the strongest debuff is just hypnotic pattern. There's one spell that is iconic of the past for Debuffing and that is Ray of Enfeeblement. Back in 3.5 it was a ranged touch attack that gave you a penalty to strength, which afflicted both hit and damage rolls. No save and to make things better, it was a first level spell.
The overall amount of debuff was comparable to Bane more or less. I love bane. I think Bane is a dope spell even though everyone and their moms play Bless instead.
What I'm saying is that there a certain lack of interest in Ray of Enfeeblement because it's both a hit and constitution saving throw. I've never seen that spell suggested neither here nor in 3d6.
However it's important to note, that Ray of Enfeeblement does not have an initial Saving Throw to the first round effect, only Hit (and thank Gygax for that). So theoretically if you're facing a dragon and you got nothing better to do, you can spam it every turn just to diminish the damage of 1 round of attacks. This spell has another problem, is that tinkering with it in simple ways would make it too good.
Now, there is another 2nd level debuff that is also not popular but is just Con Save. That spell is Blindness/Deafness. It's just a con Save but it gains both Disadvantage to Hit and Advantage to being hit. I think it's dope thematically.
What I'm trying to say is that I wish these spells were kinda good for their own reasons. blindness/Deafness for example is not concentration; meanwhile Bane has a lesser effect but it is AoE and targets a way easier save to land at low levels.
Now, the playtest introduced Chthonic Tiefling, that species has Ray of Enfeeblement but it gets it at level 5 instead of 3. When you're level 5 and you're a fullcaster you have other spells like the new Conjure Animals or Hypnotic Pattern or Spirit Guardians, which are 3rd level but are very effective for their level. This means that you're not likely to use it for the single encounter of the day if you only have 1 encounter a day. Now I don't want to steer this into how many encounters a day a yada yada, that's not the focus. The focus is that the spell is not considered good enough for it's level.
My perception is that in theory that spell is a bit better than people think simply because in some cases, a hit is easier to land than a con Save.
I'm not a designer. I'm not gonna pretend I have the perfect design solution to make the spell meta. There's so many things you can change to the spell and make it too good very easily and that is also a problem.
I still have this burning desire to have this spell more suggested simply because a lot of DMs don't homebrew spells. The majority of DMs (I've encountered) simply say no to a request to change a spell and they have solid reasons to do so.
You have no idea how many times I wanted to pick Infestation but the cantrip was simply just not good. What happens is that you end up picking Toll the Dead every single time and your best bet is to reskin it to adapt to every character which is a symptom of discrepancy between spells.
There was an old post that I made on how Toll the Dead repetition made me empathize with martial problems that just spam attack and that's it. It was Toll the Dead that opened my eyes on how variety of actions is a satisfying aspect of a combat game. That post was well received.
Some Con saves are just not good enough. I don't know if you're aware, some of you are, but Poison Spray has been changed from con save to hit. I was so freaking happy for the change. Ray of Sickness is another spell that requires the hit to land in order for the con save to occur. Is that spell suggested? Well the answer is that people prefer other spells to it like Command, Dissonant Whispers, Guiding Bolt.
Spells can be different and both spells can be good for their own reasons. For example Slow isn't prioritized over Hypnotic Pattern, but Slow can affect more types of targets and doesn't end if you attack the target.
I'm crossing my fingers at this point for Ray of Enfeeblement
Now, if your only response is to just pick it anyway, you're missing the point. The point is that we have the right to bring up balance problems about anything that we want to play. Remember that people felt bad about Rangers in the past. Some are currently feeling bad about monk, even though there is hope for future monk. Don't brush it off as "just play it anyway".

THIS IS A CONTINUATION STORY. CLICK MY PROFILE TO FIND PART 1.
Once I got into my house, I wasn't sure what to feel. I was nervous and shy at the same time. My mom always keeps bottles of liquor in the house so I picked up a random whiskey and started drinking it. About 20 mins later, I felt a lot more confidence and slutty. I put on some panties and stood in front of the full body mirror to snap diff angles or my ass. I sent him the pics and sent a msg saying "I actually dont need to sleep on it... can I come over now for that🍆." He msged back with a pic of his semi hard cock and told me to come thru. I put on some baggy sweats and sweater and walked over to his house. It was about 7 mins away by walk so I said why not. I finally got there and he gave me a tight hug, mainly focusing on my ass as he gripped it. I smiled while my face was buried in his chest and I walked in. I told him if he wanted to smoke some weed and brought out some of my own. He told me to keep my weed and pulled out this weed that was in a crazy looking alien space typa of bag. As he was breaking down the weed and rolling up. I decided in my mind and said fuck it and stood up to drop my baggy sweats to reveal my bubble butt in the pink thongs. He sropped rolling for a second and looked up at my ass while moaning "mmm." He smacked it up and continued to roll up. After he rolled it up he started to light it. I nervously moved up onto his lap and sat on it adjusting my position so that his cock really feels my ass.
"Its so soft and round." He said while coughing and passing the blunt to me. I grabbed it and started smoking. He put his hands around my waist and started to grind up all on his dick. We passed the blunt back and forth as I kept it up. He eventually got hard. He told me he was like 80 percent hard and I smiled and told him "I'll take care of the other 80 percent" I pulled his briefs off to reveal a massive cut white cock. I was holding the bottom of his cock while waving it around slowly. I was amazed at how big and tasty it looked.
"Put it in ur mouth already." My friend said as he pushed the back of my head towards it. I gave the head of his huge cock a lick or two, before I slowly and sensationally sucked his cock. It was so thick that getting the head into my mouth was difficult. He let out a deep moan as I kept sucking on the head for now. I used both of my small hands to jerk him off while I sucked it. I kept eye contact with him while sucking until he started to face fuck me. I coughed and gagged hella times and tears and spit were all over my face.
"Aw look at the little cry baby" he said while teasing me. I smiled and told him stfu and then continued to go even deeper with my mouth. He pulled his cock out my mouth and started slapping me in the face with it. I stuck my tongue out and smiled like a slut.
"Ur doing good my lil slut, better then the last 10 females tbh." He said while looking down on me. I felt proud of myself after he complimented me.
"I guess I was meant to suck ur dick right?" I said smiling before getting on the sofa and sticking my ass in the air for him to pound.
"Shit I'm down to try but wtf makes u think u can take this dick in ur ass and not run away wen u only got half my dick wet with ur mouth?" He said while slapping his cock on my ass cheeks and rubbing it on my hole. I was getting hornier feeling the skin of his cock on my ass hole.
"Mmm I'm so horny, please just put it in already daddy." I felt like I was able to take all of his dick, until he attempted to put it in. I screamed out of pain and squirmed away like he said I would. He started laughing seeing me struggle to take it.
"Hehe, u got skills with ur mouth but u got ways to go until ur taking this dick in ur butt with no problem." He said while stroking his cock. I turned around and started to suck his dick again and try to make him cum. I wasn't able to but I got him close. He took his dick out my mouth and told me to say "ahh" I opened wide and he bussed a fat load all over my face.
"If only u could see this masterpiece, this is what I call true art" he said while chuckling. I walked over to the mirror to see how he painted my face. I smiled like the little slut I and licked up as much as I could off my face. We washed up in the shower together where I sucked him for less the a minute, made out with him for a couple of minutes, then we washed each other and finished showering. We dried up and applied lotion to each other. Once we were all lotioned and washed up. I was ready to head out.
"Next time ur here, make sure that ass come prepared for training... most ppl are able to take it the first time, be proud of urself." He said while patting me on the head. I smiled and said I'll try my best to make sure I ready. He grabbed my shoulder to pull me closer to him and showed me an adult store to go to, so I can purchase a dildo. I said cool and gave him a hug as well as let him touch my ass before I walked out the door.
I finally got home and didn't know what to think. We still are meeting up tmrw in the morning like we usually do, but I guess from here on out, ima be his blowjob machine while driving... or even more. I ended the night with me just thinking of our link up and I was able to get had instantly and buss a nut not too long afterwards. It was hard to sleep with me being excited to meet tmrw but I some how did it.
Next part will be in a week... I gotta train myself first and foremost. Might make a story to that as well.....

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Synopsis:
Juliette Contzen is a lazy, good-for-nothing princess. Overshadowed by her siblings, she's left with little to do but nap, read … and occasionally cut the falling raindrops with her sword. Spotted one day by an astonished adventurer, he insists on grading Juliette's swordsmanship, then promptly has a mental breakdown at the result.
Soon after, Juliette is given the news that her kingdom is on the brink of bankruptcy. At threat of being married off, the lazy princess vows to do whatever it takes to maintain her current lifestyle, and taking matters into her own hands, escapes in the middle of the night in order to restore her kingdom's finances.
Tags: Comedy, Adventure, Action, Fantasy, Copious Ohohohohos.
Chapter 241: Until Now
The doors to the Hartzwiese Adventurer’s Guild opened.
Before, the sound of raucous laughter could be heard flooding the street outside, filling the quiet of a spring night with all the debauchery the local drunkards had to offer.
Despite the halls of adventurers not being formal drinking establishments, those within were ready to compete in boisterousness with all the taverns, inns and pubs of the town combined. And also win. Handily.
And yet–
The moment the doors parted and I stepped within, a hush as quiet as any grave fell over its inhabitants.
A woman balancing with her derrière upon the head of another became still, the alcohol in her cup the only movement as it dribbled onto a stunned face below her.
A man slurping from the communal cauldron stared wordlessly, the stew pouring in, and then out of his mouth as the muscles of his throat forgot the means to swallow.
A bartender asleep upon a row of kegs quietly rose, the sudden din of silence waking him where the sound of debauchery and those drinking from the taps beside him had failed.
Here, there, and everywhere, eyes widened as the sudden silence was filled with the sounds of my footsteps as I strolled past, my loyal handmaiden and my brother’s attendant in my wake.
And also–
Mreow.
Mrewowow.
Meww.
Cats.
Tabby cats.
Calico cats.
Ragdoll cats.
Cats with twirly whiskers. Cats with puffy faces. Cats with slightly rounded ears.
Behind me, skipping around my legs while taking turns to sit upon my shoulders and very occasionally my head, were a legion of cats of various shapes, sizes and colours.
But no matter the springiness of their whiskers, the shine of their coat or the liveliness of their tails, one thing to bring them all together was the anarchy they caused.
This was no neat line of ducklings following after their mother.
This was a barbarian horde.
With no sense of organisation other than a shared drive to claim everything as their own, they immediately skipped amidst the stunned adventurers, scavenging for all the copious scraps while still turning their noses away from the alcohol forming sticky traps upon the floor.
Saying nothing, I allowed their demanding cries to fill up the hall as I swept forwards, pausing before a wall plastered from end to end with faded notices and requests long gone unanswered.
One by one, I systemically tore every request featuring a crudely drawn image of a cat, gathering into my arms a pile of parchment large enough to reach my chin.
Then, I made my way to the wooden desk.
A receptionist waited with a smile at the ready.
“Greetings! Welcome to the Hartzwiese branch of the Adventurer’s Guild. I see you’ve removed several notices from the–”
Poomph.
Silenced but unperturbed, this latest clone watched as I dropped the stack of requests onto her desk, before promptly topping off the stack with a copper ring.
“Do what must be done,” I said, my voice defiant. “I am ready.”
The receptionist answered me with a smile more permanent than the wall the notices were torn from.
A moment later–
“[Identify].”
A green hue appeared in her clasped palms as she assessed the ring.
“Juliette. B-rank. Your registered branch is Reitzlake.”
The sound of several cups clattered against the floor.
“Welcome again to Hartzwiese. I see from your commission history that you have an extraordinary amount of completions for recovering lost cats. May I assume the significant number of cats now roaming the branch hall relate to the notices removed from the wall?”
I pursed my quivering lips.
“Maybe.”
“Wonderful. And how many cats is it that you’ve rescued?”
“... Lots.”
“I see. Please give me a moment while I confirm the requirements of our commissions.”
The receptionist swiftly retrieved a stack of parchment from a drawer.
As she flicked through, her eyes simultaneously went to every cat roaming, napping and clawing in the hall. A skill not even monstrous overseers from the abyss with their dozens of eyestalks could match. But that’s only to be expected.
Wherever these receptionists were found, it was from a level deeper than any monster dared roam.
Eventually, she gave a nod.
“Thank you for waiting. There appears to be an excess of cats in relation to the number of commissions we have available. We’ll endeavour to ensure that every cat is rehomed at the earliest opportunity through our partner agencies and charities. But unfortunately, I can only provide official acknowledgement for cats rescued through a formal commission.”
I sucked in a deep breath, hoping that patience was one of the things I accidentally inhaled.
“Fine. And how many commissions does that end up being, then? … 10? 15?”
The receptionist flicked through her bundle of parchments once more.
“94.”
“... Excuse me?”
“I can confirm the successful completion of 94 simultaneous F-ranked commissions. Congratulations. This is a new record, breaking what appears to be one earlier set by yourself. A remarkable achievement befitting a B-rank member of the guild.”
The receptionist’s professional smile never wavered.
I thought that would be the worst of it.
But then–
She slowly brought her hands together … and started applauding.
It was the leak which broke the dam.
At once, she was joined by all who were present to witness this crowning moment of regret.
I turned around in time to see a riot in motion.
“W-Wooooooooooo!!!!”
“In … Incredible …”
“A new record … I … I heard it was broken in Trierport … to think I’d witness it broken again!”
“A B-rank adventurer … ?! Where … Where did she come from … ?!”
There was no polite, respectful applause here.
It was the wild cheering of a crowd at a tournament. The whooping cries of theatregoers calling for an encore. The acclaim of my father as he elbowed others to delight in the poetry I’d written when I was 6 and thus now regularly attempted to burn.
Everywhere I turned, I saw and heard the acclaim mixed with shouts of horror as mugs of alcohol were spilled on purpose and by accident. The layabouts stomped on the floor, doing their best to murder decorum under the strain of unbridled emotion.
Only a few falling teardrops formed any hint of more dignified revelry, the glimmer of admiration running down cheeks as sniffles were hidden amidst the raucous cheering.
And then I bore witness to the most morbid sight.
Like a tidal wave of soiled clothes and snotty faces, they suddenly came as one, hands reaching out for me with dripping mugs still in their grips. Horror struck at my soul. And unlike a farmer who’d scarpered into the night, I had nobody who could heal a wound caused by hooligans accepting me as their own.
“A-Amazing!! Take my drink! Take anyone’s drink!!”
“So many cats rescued … even my allergies can’t believe it!”
“My gods, it’s a legend! An adventurer among adventurers!”
This.
This right here.
This was the lowest point of my life … were I not an unparalleled genius.
“Oho … ohoho …”
At once, the wave halted.
Faces which were lit up in unabashed delight turned to looks of mild confusion against the tinkling music of my laughter.
They needed to cycle through the expressions until they reached horror and shame.
“Ohhohohohohohoho!!”
… For I was no drunkard seeking to join their ranks!
No … I was Juliette Contzen, 3rd Princess to the Kingdom of Tirea!
And that meant every action I took, every word I spoke, and every cat I saved was for a reason beyond the hopes and dreams these hoodlums had of wanton debauchery and rusting swords!
Indeed!
A lesser princess than I may slink away into the night, cowed by the utter shame, humiliation and disgrace of completing so many F-ranked requests that I somehow broke a record I’d only just set!
But I was made of greater things!
Of schemes and subterfuges so deep that it would take too long to explain! The plots I weaved were a silken web more intricate than any cogs which made up Coppelia as she doubled up, desperately trying to stop herself from succumbing to more pain from laughter!
And that meant with every cat request now denied to these louts … they would finally do some work!
“Ohoho … ohohohohoho!! Behold and be afraid! Witness before you the coming of a new dawn, here to lift you from your days of boundless reverie! Unfurl the shutters and gaze upon a radiance so pure it brands your dallying minds! The scorching sun has come to test the snail’s back, and all that your bleary eyes see is a great salt lake to devour you whole! Shrivel as you cling upon the sweat which drips upon your brow, for that is the proof you’re yet alive!”
A sudden silence met my proclamation of their coming ordeal.
And then–
“Wooooooooooooooooooooooo!”
“I don’t understand! But what a speech!”
“If she can do it, so can we!”
I raised a hand to my lips, barely covering my smile.
“Ohhhohohohohohohoho … !”
Here it was!
Operation: Gainful Employment!
An entirely new strategy, as bold as it was uncharted!
By removing what was surely the vast majority of missing cat quests available to the adventurers of this town, they would have no choice, utterly none whatsoever, but to engage in actual work! The type of work adventurers openly advertised themselves as doing!
Monster subjugation! Crime prevention! Fetching artifacts from hidden dungeons and then succumbing to their wounds at the entrance while the Royal Treasury pocketed the treasure!
Yes, this was clearly a highly experimental tactic.
But what was I, if not a bastion of creativity?
At the very least, I utterly refused to accept the status quo! An organisation dedicated exclusively to rescuing lost cats or elbowing into my kingdom’s sovereign affairs was no good to me!
Thus … I could not cower like some towngirl nauseous from the smell of their revelry.
Instead, I would squeeze the Adventurer’s Guild dry until the day I replaced them with an army of trained poodles. Until that joyous day, I could never tear my eyes away when they waited to be robbed.
To do so was more than a dereliction of duty …
Why, I’d be an accomplice to their drunken escapades!
My vow remained unchanged. For my goal, I would brave any indignity. The ring I was hoping the receptionist would forget to return was proof of that.
And thus–
I stood tall as a summer reed, proud in the knowledge that I had no need to feel even an inkling of embarrassment over completing 94 simultaneous F-ranked commissions! …
“Pfffffffffffffffffffffffffffffft.”
“S-Stop at once! You are not to laugh!”
“Pffffttt~”
“C-Coppelia!!”
Clearly not seeing the angel of self-sacrifice who I was, Coppelia held one hand tightly around her mouth. Even so, she failed to stop either the sound of her amusement or the tears falling from her eyes.
My only salvation was that it came at significant cost to her. Even now, she careened between laughter and painful regret.
I decided to offer both her and myself mercy.
Turning to the receptionist, I found a modest pouch already waiting upon the wooden desk. As well as a copper ring waiting beside it.
“Thank you for your service to the Adventurer’s Guild,” said the receptionist, her professional smile undaunted by the commotion. “Your total remuneration is 102 gold crowns, 7 silver crowns and 9 copper crowns. I’ve taken the liberty to compile all your separate payments together.”
I took the pouch and ignored the ring.
The receptionist pushed the ring forwards.
A long moment later, I collected it, uncertain what a receptionist would do if I tossed it into the communal cauldron, but knowing it would somehow still end up on my finger regardless.
With my head held high, I bravely ignored the chorus of voices unknowingly cheering for their own hardship as I swept past. Renewed tears and applause filled the hall. A few cats attempted to follow me. I stopped to shoo them away.
And then I was outside, the door closing behind me.
“... Goodness, that was quite the sight,” said Renise with a bemused smile. “It reminded me somewhat of the inns of Reitzlake’s docks. I wonder if all the halls of adventurers are like that, or merely those which you frequent?”
“Please don’t insinuate I’m responsible for the debauchery which occurs wherever the Adventurer’s Guild is concerned. That’s something I can claim no credit for.”
“You say that … but to me, it seems that you caused quite a stir. That really is a remarkable number of cats you rescued, after all. Even I can tell that 94 simultaneous F-ranked commissions–”
“Miss Renise.”
The maid’s smile wavered against whatever fatigued expression I was making.
A moment later, it fell away entirely as she switched to her role as my brother’s attendant and the leader of whatever scoundrels he’d charged her with herding.
“... Yes, I suppose there’s time for idle conversation later. There’s a guardhouse nearby. We should report on all that’s happened tonight.”
I gave a nod of agreement.
Hopefully, the baroness hadn’t woken from her stupor yet. But if she had, I was certain the single portrait of myself I’d returned to the wall of her gallery to smile down at her gagged and bound state would calm her nerves.
Renise hummed towards the direction of Hartzwiese’s centre, before returning her attention to me.
“If you wish to keep your identity incognito, I can see guards sent to where they’re needed using my own authority, and arrange for the appropriate seizure of the goods and crowns we’ve discovered.”
I beamed at once.
My, so prudent! It’s little wonder she was chosen by Roland!
“A judicious offer. And one I’ll accept gladly, providing the burden isn’t too severe.”
“This is merely an administrative task, and little burden compared to what both yourself and Miss Coppelia regularly perform. In any event, it is only efficient. I expect I’ll be spending a significant amount of time at the baroness’s farmstead. It is quite extensive. If possible, I would like to make use of it for Rose House. I imagine having such a facility close to the Granholtz border would have its uses.”
I nodded, already forgetting the barn’s existence.
“I encourage you to use your discretion as required. My brother has put his trust in you, and so I both expect and know that you shall not disappoint in furthering the kingdom’s prosperity.”
The young woman smiled. One filled with appreciation, but also lacking ambition.
Good.
An excellent combination as far as retainers were concerned.
“Thank you. Although I worry you place too much trust in my abilities. In truth, those like Baroness Arisa would have made for a greater asset to the kingdom. Her resourcefulness must be acknowledged.”
“It is not resourcefulness my kingdom requires. It is loyalty. And hers is a pit so empty it drains others.”
“That’s true. But at least we were able to acquire some useful things from her nonetheless.”
Renise pulled out a tiny vial from the belt around her thigh.
A golden liquid was stored within, glimmering with an unnatural light.
“These were in her chamber,” she said, her eyes lacking emotion as she surveyed the bright liquid. “When we met, she actually attempted to purchase my loyalty with this.”
“A suspect vial. How quaint. And what miracle did she promise?”
“One that would wake my parents from their curse of eternal slumber.”
“... And is it?”
“I don’t believe so, no. This is one of many identical vials I found in her chamber’s desk drawer. All prominently labelled with instructions to only drink as required to stave off the effects of bloating.”
Renise returned the vial to her belt with a slightly embarrassed smile.
“It’s still useful,” she admitted. “But just not for what I require.”
I gave a simple nod as my reply.
Nothing else needed to be said.
She hoped to see her parents wake from their prison of dormancy. An understandable wish. And one I wasn’t required to supplement with the comment that no pair named the Smuggler King and the Smuggler Queen were likely to receive as light a sentence as their daughter.
I could not speak on behalf of Roland. Although I imagined that as a kind man, he would prefer not to pass judgements which were total. But as the Crown Prince, he did not have the luxury of kindness.
It would take much to change their fate.
But perhaps that’s why Renise was here, still proving true, and not accepting stomach ailment potions from a baroness.
A moment of silence followed.
Renise gave a short sigh. And that was that.
She set her eyes on the task ahead–at least until whatever words she’d parted her mouth to say were interrupted by Coppelia’s humming instead.
“Sooooooooooooooo … you just want to wake up two people eternally sleeping, right?”
A small smile met her optimistic voice.
“If a cure were readily available, I’m certain I would have found it by now. I believe one might be possible, but it would take skill and ingredients beyond any apothecary I know of.”
“Well, sure, you could go that way. But what about going straight to the source instead?”
“The source?”
“Sure. They’re asleep, right? So just ask the one in charge of where they are now.”
“I’m … not quite sure I follow?”
Coppelia clapped her hands together and beamed.
“The Spring Court is the realm of dreams. Chances are, they must have shown their faces around a few times by now. If you ask the Spring Queen nicely, she might do you a favour.”
“The Spring Queen? … The fae?”
“Mmh~ luckily, we have someone with connections here!”
Renise was startled out of her reply.
It was nothing compared to me. The one being pointed at.
“Coppelia!” I said, truly aghast at the suggestion. “The fae are not to be taken lightly. Why, I still have nightmares about my conversation with the Winter Queen! I learned a side to royalty that day which I shall never forget … and I’m quite poorer for it!”
“You met … the Winter Queen?” asked Renise, her eyes suddenly wide.
“Unfortunately, yes, but I had zero intention of meeting her, and I’ve just as little intention of meeting any other fae as well. Including the Spring Queen.”
I waved away the coming query to declare what was just as important as my lack of enthusiasm.
“Besides, I’ve not the foggiest idea how I would even hope to use these supposed connections I have.”
“Oh, that’s the easy bit,” said Coppelia, her casual disregard for what counted as ‘easy’ more terrifying than any lout I’d met today. “The hard part is getting them to do what you want. But meeting them? The fae are creatures of stories. If the time is right, they’ll speak to you–one way or another.”
“Then they must book an appointment. One which I can formally reject.”
“I mean, I don’t think you have much choice. You didn’t last time, right?”
“The last time, I was sat beside the Winter Queen’s crown. I see no fae artifacts to hook me away. And that means utterly no scenario in which I could be abducted without my express–”
I suddenly stopped, clasping my hands around my mouth.
A moment later, I raised my arms in a martial art I’d just invented, turning repeatedly on the spot.
Renise blinked at me.
“Excuse me, but what are–”
“Shhshhshh!!”
I paused, gazing intently around at the quiet, dark streets of Hartzwiese, all the while ignoring Coppelia’s giggling at my near miss.
That … That was close!
“O-Oho … oho … I almost invited something terrible. Truly, it’s perhaps best not to needlessly voice things which Fae Queens and their deviant brand of magic could use …”
Coppelia nodded at me, as proud as she was clearly disappointed.
“You’re lucky. If the Spring Queen had a sense of humour, she’d have snagged you right there and then.”
“No. If the Spring Queen had a sense of humour, she’d wait until–”
Click.
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ACT 1. Sunday afternoon after visiting the local market two brothers wait for their train to arrive. If they were even a minute late, they knew their mother would surely scold them and scold the elder of the two far worse. The idea of another beating did not bother the elder brother; he had been through far worse just dealing with the brat and his attempted jailbreaks, though something did begin to make him painfully nauseous forcing him to feel pressured by the light breeze as if gravity had suddenly been increased tenfold. All his senses were heightening beyond anything he had thought possible.All around him he saw that the once energetic and hyperactive passengers had become little more than mannequins; their movements slowing to a standstill. They had all gone silent. The station was no longer filled with the cries of children or the gentle laughs of their parents. He had never heard such silence in such a crowded location. He did not feel panicked, nor did he feel a need to act for this silence was oddly comforting to him. However, the newly calm atmosphere would quickly be the source of a lifetime of suffering.His hand began to reach for his brother in an attempt to call his attention. Though in a moment of both unprecedented shock and exhaustion John shoved his younger brother onto the rails of an oncoming train. Local news would report the incident as nothing more than a tragic manic episode of a young sixteen-year-old. However, for John this single visceral instant in which all of his brother's bones were instantly crushed was stretched into hours. He was painfully aware of how every bone in his brother's body contorted in inhuman ways some nearly resembling perfect right angles, until eventually, they snapped and sent insurmountable pain throughout his nervous system. His blood curling screams were made mute by the screech of the train coming to a halt, though, by the time they stopped, his brother had torn his every vocal cord and had long ago lost consciousness. Still on the platform, the elder brother stood still, attempting to process what exactly he had done. He had no idea what force had compelled him to push his brother, but that instant would forever define what he saw as reality.That however was nineteen years ago, in present day he lived in isolation far from any person. He spent his isolated days wandering the land around his cabin completing house chores that distracted him from reminiscing about his days in the asylum or as he liked to call it “The Echo Room” where he was transferred after the incident. He headed inside after spending a portion of his morning counting all one-hundred-and-thirty-two trees that were showing signs of life after the harsh winter that nearly forced him to cut down two of them for firewood. Once inside he began preparing his morning coffee when he heard a loud creak come from the hall. He (after many incidents) learnt to avoid the boards that creaked, so in his mind immediately an intruder was breaking into his cabin searching for food or his stash of special edition coffee. Deciding to investigate he walked towards the noise when suddenly he heard two knocks at his front door. Confused and slightly worried, he proceeded to walk towards the door making sure not to step on any of the annoyingly loud floorboards.He approached and looked through the peephole and saw only what remained of the melting snow outside. Opening the door, he saw that only his steps led to the doormat. He glanced around and saw no indication of any life aside a few dark patches on the snow. He was about to close the door when he noticed a tiny red package wrapped in a radiant red bow placed clear from where the door would open. Cautiously picking it up, he noticed how it had almost no weight to it; as if empty. He walked inside and sat at his desk planning to journal later about the weird morning he had been having. He examined the exterior of the package and saw how not only was it near perfect condition but it was also slightly warm to the touch; as if recently held. He undid the bow and cautiously opened the package, half expecting an explosive of some sort. Though, all he found was a ragged ripped piece of paper. Unremarkable aside from the fact that it was inside such a carefully constructed package. On the other side he saw that it had some scarlet lettering inscribed into it reading.“Ouroboros”. At first believing it to be a prank by the kids who had heard rumors about him, and his incident, nearly caused him to dismiss it entirely deeming it little more than a slightly humorous event. He decided to put it aside for now as he had coffee left to drink that was quickly getting cold. He walked back towards the kitchen still distracted by the idea of no trace being left by whoever had left the gift. Was it even a gift? Maybe it was just some well-executed prank? In any manner he would later have a better look at it. He absentmindedly, reached for his cup and immediately pulled his hand back shocked by the temperature of the cup. It was frozen! Almost to a complete solid. He thought himself slightly distracted but not enough to freeze his morning coffee especially not his special edition coffee. First The Box and now this, it was all adding up to an annoying morning. Was it still morning? No, that’s not right. He had just spent the day counting trees. How could it still possibly be morning?The thought of Dr. Lumis being correct about his mental condition after so many years sent a chill down his spine especially since last time they talked, he did not exactly behave amicably. He was sure that both incidents had been isolated events that could never happen again. Sure, he had heard the echoes every once in a while, but he was never insane like the others; this he knew to be a fact. If he was insane, how could he have ever left? Disoriented and beginning to sweat, his legs suddenly gave out causing him to fall backward landing on the cold wooden floorboards. He looked around hurriedly expecting to see an intruder that had somehow found him. After seeing nothing but his pristine furniture, he steadied himself and began to control his breathing. He slowly got up causing the wood underneath to creak under the sudden release of weight. Deciding to further assure himself he went around the cabin checking in all four rooms. He found nothing aside from his own disturbances. Still feeling slightly nervous and disturbed he headed back towards the living room in search for The Box with the red bow determining that it had somehow triggered his current situation. The Box was still where he placed it; much to his relief. He sat down. He looked once again at the scarlet lettering.
Act 2. Back in the asylum he would often spend his days wondering how he could have ever been grouped alongside individuals who had purposefully and viciously committed heinous crimes against innocent victims. He was not insane like them. Whatever had caused his hand to shove his brother had long abandoned him. His routine now consisted of cleaning whatever mess the older residents made in the halls and transporting lab waste to the crematorium. He would clean from the southern stalls all the way to the northern cemetery and make his rounds gathering the waste from the rooms. It was a simple job but lonely, nonetheless. The halls were often only illuminated by tiny flickering red lights that indicated the position of the cameras through which Dr.Lumis would often monitor John during his nightly crusades. Though incredibly distasteful, John did not mind, he accepted that odd situations would be easier to explain if someone of credit had seen them. Yet despite this, he felt he was being watched by someone other than the doctor. He assumed that this feeling was due to the paranoia he had been diagnosed with a few months back. On a particular night, moments after dumping another bag of soft solids and dense liquids down the chute, he heard footsteps, just outside the room. Expecting to see the doctor he begrudgingly walked towards the door. Exiting and seeing no one he called out for the doctor but got no response aside from the echo of his own voice. He began to walk towards where he had heard the footsteps come from when he suddenly collapsed out of exhaustion. The same exhaustion that had plagued him during the moment of his brother’s death. He tried to reach for his panic button (a gift from Lumis) but it had disappeared from his chain. He tried to scream but not a single whisper was heard. He gazed into the dark corridor where he had thought Dr.Lumis had gone, but saw nothing but soft shadows. Though something was unnervingly wrong about them. They moved as if following an order, all synchronized, all heading towards him. That night in the asylum had left him scared to even return to the disposal area; he feared that The Shadows might eventually be able to reach him. The Shadows did not haunt him unaccompanied: they followed alongside The Echo tormenting his nights. While The Shadows could not reach him during daylight, he could never escape The Echo. It followed wherever he went and tracked everything he did. Dr.Lumis explained that he merely suffered from an extreme case paranoia but John saw the others; who yelled and who screamed true nonsense, he was perfectly aware of himself and the ones around him. Dr. Lumis secretly believed patient #132 experienced Hyper-sanity though this he would never verbally confess. It was term he decided would for now adequately describe his patient’s acute awareness of The Shadows and The Echo. John would for many years go without hearing The Echo after that night, only ever hearing what seemed like the final moans of a dying voice. Back in present day, he hoped he wasn’t suffering another hallucination as they tended to leave him in an embarrassing shocked state. He questioned what “Ouroboros” could possibly mean in relation to himself. He considered the possibility of it being an early warning of some threat to the sanctity of his home. He quickly dismissed it as he had not interacted with anyone long enough to possibly annoy them. Weird them out? Sure. Offend them? Maybe with his sense of fashion. Following his incredibly fine-tuned survival instincts he put on a light coat and went outside to walk among the trees. A mundane task, but one he truly enjoyed especially since he hoped it would distract him for a short while. Just before he closed the door behind him, he took one more look at The Box sitting on his desk and decided to take it with him in case he met the person who had left it. The sun had begun to set marking the end of the day. He watched the sun hide behind the mountain range letting the world bathe in darkness for another night. John did not dislike the night (he had worked nightshifts in The Echo Room for years) but he didn’t find the freezing cold to be ideal. He had not left his land for what was a few years now and the idea of even slightly stepping out of his comfort was making him incredibly anxious. Still, he walked forward towards wherever the path took him. The night only got darker and quieter, and he only got colder. He did not see the lightning bugs that usually warded away the dark near the edge of his hill. Without the soft hum of bugs or soft breeze that would brush against his beard he felt alone. Even the nights back in the asylum did not possess this level of quiet. He kept moving hoping that eventually he would find something that could break the uncomfortable silence. As he continued down the hill, he realized he could no longer distinguish the path from the dirt surrounding it. He considered heading back when he realized he had not kept track of where he had come from. Not only was he lost but alone with his thoughts and whatever had been watching him from the start. He walked a step forward and then another one back repeatedly. What he was attempting to achieve was beyond reason. Had he gone mad? No, he was perfectly sane. “Wait, I can hear them clearly now” he spoke, his voice dried from the cold.“This is not a hallucination” he spoke softly.“i-I AM NOT HALLUCINATING” he proclaimed. He heard The Echo once more though they were not of his voice but rather of Another. He had long been aware of “The Echo” but he could never fully determine whether it was a dream or an effect of the chemicals but this Other was undoubtedly real. “I don’t know where you are but please. Are you real?” he asked the night. He could now hear The Echo or rather feel the pressure of its words upon his reality. Had it been trying to hide the Other? He walked forward and pulled out The Box. “You gave me this right? What for? What purpose does it serve?” No one responded.Annoyed, he threw it as far as he could down the hill. “THERE! THIS CAN’T CONTINUE WITHOUT IT, RIGHT?” He shouted at the endless empty. That’s when out of the darkness emerged a faint light. Was it a lightning bug or maybe a sign of civilization?
Act 3. Cautiously, he approached the cold light and saw that the light was artificial. The tube inside flickered before another appeared a few feet ahead, and then another and then another and then what seemed like an uncountable amount more. He took a step forward and noticed that the ground underneath had turned to hard white tile. Accepting that this was not the weirdest occurrence that had affected him he proceeded to walk forward making sure to keep a mental note to journal about it later. The surrounding landscape transformed into white walls that every so often had a window that let him peek at the other side. At first, he could still see the snowy landscape, but it to slowly changed; first having scattered papers and then chairs, cabinets, and desks until they eventually resembled a typical office. Its purpose was not obvious to him, and neither was the hallway but if they were changing surely, it possessed a deeper metaphorical meaning that related to his life. He saw a door at the very end of the hall and decided to not postpone the ploy of whatever “The Echo” was planning. He stood before the door wondering about what it could possibly contain. John proceeded to open the door. Inside was a desk along with a single cabinet. Walking inside he noticed that the room was illuminated by some otherworldly source that had no words that could possibly describe it. He walked towards the desk and a file he had not seen previously, sat open. Inside was a description of his physical appearance. “Age: 35. Height: 5’8. Weight: 185 lbs. Hair: Black with obvious signs of stress. Eyes: Brown. Character Aptitude: High.” “Okay, I get it. I’m old, you didn’t have to expose my hair like that” he said slightly embarrassed quickly restyling his hair. He noticed that even though they had an almost perfect description of his hobbies, dreams and wishes they did not have a single picture as if they for some reason were only able to use words. “SOOO you know about that one time in the asylum (don’t ask) BUT NOT A SINGLE PICTURE? That’s lame.” he said mockingly. On the final page he found what looked like an incomplete file; most of the personal attributes had not yet been filled and only a note was made reading. “They don’t need a complete story just one they can understand.” Besides the fact that whatever role he played in this act had been a mere afterthought; he was confused as to how anyone could have ever gathered such sensitive and personal information about his isolated life. Was it The Echo? Had it told them his life? A phone started to ring somewhere in the room abruptly breaking the silence he had become used to. He quickly rotated towards the source of the ringing but did not find anything. There was only him and the four walls that despite the lighting did not change a shade of grey. He walked towards one of them that seemed to be where the noise came from resting his hand on it and gently put his ear to it thinking that the ringing was from another room entirely. The wall he had just laid a hand on had no longer a physical representation and causing John to fall through to the other side. Disoriented he slowly looked up and saw The Telephone illuminated by what seemed to be the same light that illuminated the previous room. This one however was far more powerful and concentrated solely on The Telephone. He approached it expecting a chasm to somehow appear underneath his feet. The Telephone did not stop ringing and only seemed to increase in intensity (though this could have simply been a hallucination). He lifted it to cut the blaring noise and slowly put it to his ear. “hello?” “…” “…” “The protagonist only dies if the story ends” the voice said quietly. “HUH? YOU DRAGGED ME HERE TO TELL ME THAT OMINOUSLY ANNOYING LOAD OF *********!” “…I’m so sorry” The call disconnected not out of offense but rather out of completion. John slammed the phone back onto its stand and decided it was time for this nonsense to end. He walked out into the room he was in before anxiously attempting to find another exit: only to be met with solid walls. What wicked game had he been roped into? When would it end? These were questions he would answer far earlier than he expected. A door appeared in the center of the room. No, it was more of a two-dimensional plane that appeared to be a sort of portal. With no other options, John stepped into the newly opened portal.
Act 4. On the other side was a station, and his ears were immediately flooded with the cries of children and the laughs of their parents. He walked around moving through the crowd careful to not miss any indication of the location. His pace increased as he began to recognize the commuters shortly realizing exactly where he was. He rushed to a platform, the platform where he and his brother were to arrive after their day in the market. He sat on a nearby bench committed to saving his brother no matter who he would have to shove instead. Three agonizing days passed with the daily commuters repeating their routine with the slightest variations. One of these variations would be the key to preventing the day that haunted his nights. Something would soon cause him to shove his brother onto the tracks. He was determined to stop the fall or kill himself to keep his brother safe.He heard a familiar laughter and turned towards the source and saw his brothers face uncontrollably laughing and himself lightly smiling. He began to run towards them but felt once again suddenly exhausted. As if the air became a type of nonnewtonian sludge making his legs impossibly heavy. The crowd around him seemed to be moving just as easily as before; children laughing just as maniacally and just as carelessly. He tried to yell to them, but his lungs were filled with the dense fluid drowning any screams he attempted. He was forced to watch how his brother got closer and closer to the edge. Through much effort, he managed to get close enough to extend a hand towards his past trying to desperately push him away from his brother. The past reacted in what seemed to be a defensive system and sent a temporal anomaly throughout the space his past and present inhabited. Time began to exponentially speed forward. In a last desperate attempt to prevent his brother’s death he tried to distract the past long enough to let the train pass without incident, but the temporal anomaly caused the relative slow velocity of his touch to have the effect of a sudden jerk and in his final moments of consciousness he saw his brother accelerate towards the rails in a split second. He awoke back in the office alone with nothing, but the realization of what force had killed his brother. He curled into the fetal position and began to cry; still believing his lungs to be filled with the dense liquid he did not let out a single sigh. He spent several hours in this state of painful silence without even opening his eyes. His emotions were chaotic and his thoughts unending. They tormented him for hours far after he had run out of tears to let out. They were merciless and torturous forbidding him from resting, insisting on his suffering. Being the cause of his brother’s death nearly caused him to go insane yet part of him kept insisting that Another was to blame. Another had caused him to do it. The Other had forced his hand. Of this, he was now sure. The Other enjoyed his suffering, The Other forced him to kill his brother. He had not eaten nor slept in what seemed like years and yet he stood up defying the gravity that held him down. He took a deep breath of as much oxygen as his lungs allowed and began to speak. “Whoever you are. Whatever you are. Wherever you are. Just know I will no longer play for your entertainment the rest is entirely my choice” he said threateningly. He then began to walk forwards confidently towards the dark wall and through the hidden door that he was not supposed to see. He entered what seemed to be a studio room though, unlike the sterile office; it was trashed. Papers littered the floor and empty bottles populated the lone mattress. On it laid a journal that had recently had liquid spilt on it. He picked the journal and gently opened it and began to read. It was scratched with the stray ideas of a creator who seemed to have never decided upon an end or beginning to his story; yet possessing the journey. He saw many ideas that together seemed to create a way for the continuity to depend entirely on Another rather than itself. A thought described in a single word interested him enough to take it with him. The room started to dissolve around him transforming into a cold landscape. Armed with the knowledge of who he was he treaded what remained of the worn-out path. The sun began to rise signing the start of another day, yet John did not seem to notice as he was focused on something buried in the snow. He could not see much of it yet he knew it was The Box he had thrown the previous night. He dug it up and began his walk up the hill once more. He eventually arrived at his cabin and walked towards his front door….
Act 5.
If you wish to rebel; continue reading on the next page.
Begin the story once more on Truth 2.
If you wish to ward away The Other; don’t read any further
If you wish to follow The Echo read Truth 3
To understand turn to Truth 4
Truth 1
…Before deciding that no longer would he be a puppet for someone’s amusement. John arrogantly began marched back down the hill and headed north towards the nearest interstate a few miles from his home hoping that he had derailed The Echo’s plot. It took him hours on foot, but he would eventually come across the road and start his journey back to civilization no longer subject to the whims of an Otherworldly Audience. He believed his future was now his to decide. He decided what he would become. He decided when and what to think. This he was sure would be how he escaped his torment. John suddenly suffered a complete body collapse and fell forward landing face first onto the scorching road. It would be several sweltering hours before anyone would find him. But eventually someone did, john suffering heavy burns and on the brink of death was saved. He would awake months later in a hospital bed though no one would ever know of this. Weeks would pass as john laid in the hospital bed unable to speak or even move; alerting no one to his consciousness. The doctors and nurses were busy with whatever important patients needed immediate attention; they walked from one end to the other in what seemed like mere minutes. The entire time the only company he had was The Echo and yet slowly it too seemed to forget his existence as well. Eventually The Echo having no interest went away.Jane a third-year medical student had recently joined the staff a month prior and had already been assigned two elders and one child. Though overwhelmed she did not grow annoyed nor frustrated; she loved her job and by proxy her patients. Despite her benevolent nature there was a single patient she never went near as he always seemed to be watching her despite his eyes being shut for over four months. Any time she got near to patient #132 she would begin to get nauseous and quickly retreat. She had no ID on the man, but it seemed he was dehydrated for far longer than should’ve been possible and should be by all accounts dead if not near it. Whenever she worked nightshifts, she would swear that she heard the man whimper slightly as if to warn her of something. Even when she was on the opposite side of the building, she would hear the echo of his groans. She would eventually be transferred and would soon forget the man who after 6 months was officially declared braindead and was due to be disposed of, yet she would still every once in a while, still hear The Echo. Forgotten Ending
Truth 2…Realizing that there was no other choice John took a step forward while placing the note he ripped from the journal into The Box making sure to keep it neatly packaged. He saw the footprints he had left two nights before and carefully stepped into each one making sure to not disturb the surrounding snow. Whatever…Whoever had set him on this path allowed him to live a life of suffering, a life of loss, and a life of pain. This, he felt was the way things were intended to play out; the way it had to end. He placed The Box on the final step making sure it would not be knocked away whenever the door would eventually open. He walked away nearly to the edge of the property when he looked back once more. Managing to peek inside he saw his past still making his coffee when he saw an almost invisible distortion appear near the front door. He smiled and turned away only saying…Freedom ending
Truth 3…though spotting a disturbance near the back of the cabin distracted him from the front door. He decided to investigate for fear of losing a single blossoming tree. Arriving near the back fence he saw no indication of a disturbance giving him much needed reassurance. He heard noise emerge from inside the cabin giving him one more dilemma to deal with. He headed to the backdoor making sure to not disturb the recent snow and entered the cabin. Being sleep deprived and without coffee he had forgotten about the wooden floor and stepped on one that caused a creak to be heard throughout the cabin. He quickly hid in the bathroom fearing that he had disturbed the continuity that The Echo had established when suddenly a bright flash blinded him. He found himself at the front door next to The Box. Slightly amused he proceeded to knock on the door and was soon after transported once more to an empty hall. Both confused and entertained as he was being transported from one place in time to another he took a few steps forward alerting the past to his presence. Seeing his past enter the hall he ducked and quickly hid around the corner. His past seemed to believe that the doctor was in the halls and decided to investigate though just as he was nearing closer; his past collapsed. John saw how his fall was slowed as if moving through the dense liquid he had once gone through. He walked towards his past and noticed an old fashioned panic button that would instantly call Dr.Lumis to his location. Measuring the consequences, he decided to remove the panic button and head back towards The Shadows. For a third and final time he was transported to a final location, the bottom of a snowy hill. Taking in his surroundings he noticed burn marks on the snow where his past would eventually walk through the portal whenever the past caught up. He reached into his pocket and realized how the plot was supposed to move forward. He walked until he reached the exact point where his past would once again find The Box. He kneeled and buried The Box making sure to erase any evidence of his own disturbances. Fully fulfilling his purpose John collapsed. The End.
“Did the hero die?” “What?” “Did he die?” “No? He beat the bad guy and saved the day remember?” “Yea but like AFTER.” “Well, I guess after a few years he would.” “No” The young child said growing annoyed, “when you said, “The End” did he die?” “No.” responded the elder brother. “Then what happened to him? Is he still alive?” “The protagonist only dies if you stop reading.” concluded the elder brother as if possessed. Begin again?
Truth 4…Then just as he took his first step forward everything began to rot. His trees, his home, his coffee, all of it was slowly eroding into a fine dust. He knew that another temporal anomaly would be the likely cause, but he had not yet experienced one that possessed this level of molecular destruction. The fabric of his reality was slowly and thoroughly being untangled into its most simple of compositions. It separated the light from dark, gravity from time, and words from spaces.John could now comprehend what had defined his reality for so many painful years, he finally understood The Narrative and how all possible endings had been chosen long before his creation. John had been a slave from the moment The Narrative began; not once in his entire existence had he ever had a real choice only walking paths already treaded by Another. He was nothing but a plot device in an otherwise self-indulging tale written by a gentle master forced to be cruel for those above. From the moment this story began, John was in pain. He could never hope to truly escape; he could only die until he arose once more. Had John never understood what his life really was then maybe he could’ve found meaning in his suffering. Unfortunately, this choice has now forced John to become aware of how truly meaningless his existence was. His life was little more than entertainment for The Other; they were the ones truly in control. For as long as The Other remained, The Echo would doom John to eternal suffering. The Echo was never in control of The Narrative; he too was merely a subject to it by an even greater force. The Echo did not wish for John to suffer but The Other would not allow John to live if he did not. It is a toxic cycle of pain, suffering and realization that forces John to relive The Narrative lifetime after lifetime. The Narrative must have suffering intertwined into its foundation otherwise The Other would grow bored and erase the reality ending John in but a mere thought. Don’t you see? Don’t you understand? This is reality; John cannot exist without pain, The Echo cannot live without a narrative, and The Other is you. THE END......
Intended to be a philosophical narrative detailing the tragic relationship between the reader, the narrator, and the character and how they cannot coexist without hurting each other.

Royal Road here: https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/80877/nop-atalors-fate
Discord Tag: notafurrylad
It's been a while, huh?

First Last Next
Memory transcription subject: Yivreen, Cyonian Survivor
Date [standardized human time]: February 22nd, 2134
The flash daymares hadn’t stopped. Four nights since they’d set in, and now those two fire and brimstone eyes were lingering, waiting to come out when I was asleep. I’d thought that first daymare had been a fluke. It’d felt real, getting chomped up like that, crushed. But... ah.
I’d had more. Once I was in the mouth of that Arxur who’d kicked down the tree. Then I was in the cages with Hens Jr and Sr, and Alma... And each time if there was time for it that swampheaded, red eyed, smokey Arxur would come on in. Try and guilt me like I’d done something wrong.
It was working.
“Yiv. Yiv! I think I got it!” I blinked, my stupor broken by Junior. The kid had been a good help with the computer system since we’d let him fiddle with it instead of me. Much to my... begrudging admission: he was better at it. So, I stood from the chair and headed over to him. The monitor and console were lit up good as new, but they’d been like that for a couple nights now. We’d finally got access to a local map when that’d happened. Or rather a map of the surrounding area, outdated as it was it still had the location of the city on it. It wasn’t like anything had significantly changed in the past hundreds of years since this place had been abandoned. It had been the whole ‘trying to page it into the rest of the old systems at the outpost’ part that’d eluded Juniors little pet project.
“What did you get?” I replied, leaning over his shoulder with a paw on the console while he typed at it.
He cleared his throat. “W-well. I was able to find the wire that’d been causing the problem with the connection to the outpost’s server.” A server? What?
“What do you mean a server? I thought the only computer systems in here were in this room?” He turned his head, a brown eye winking at me. “Nuh-uh! Were you even listening when I explained it earlier? It’s more than just a weather monitoring station. It had a server, otherwise why would it need so many type-v connectors. See?” He pointed a claw to the bundle of wiring running up the wall and into a concrete hole that looked to lead to the next floor above us. Probably. I hadn’t really cared about how many wires there were.
“So... there’s more than just the databanks here in this room?” I asked. My eyes were tasked with looking over the monitor with pursed lips. I’d dug through some ye olde outpost files in the past nights for my journalist program but evidently I’d been missing things if all it took was one kid who had a knack for tech to ascertain there was more to these places.
Before my question could be answered though the command lines and startup protocols on the operating system for the thing had popped by and opened up onto a familiar desktop of our more modern tech. Junior went about clicking immediately to some command line and writing in some jibberish... And- my eyes widened. “What’s that?” I asked, pointing my claw to all the commands on his little black background’d screen.

1: Status
2: Logs
3: Garage Door
4: Barrack Override
5: Communications

Were among the top five, with a half dozen more I didn’t quite have time to think on. “Quick- quick! The uh- There’s a garage?” Don’t get distracted Yivreen. Ahhh moss-heaps.. “The Barrack Override. See what that does.”
The boy swatted away my paw trying to push at it. “Calm down! Calm down jeez, fine!” He jammed his digit into the corresponding number and pressed enter. A few moments passed as it simply displayed three dots. I waited... I waited.. Cmoooo-
Clank. VV-vv-vvv-veeeeeee....
It sounded like something behind the wall to our left was trying to unrust itself and move. A couple hundred years of not moving or being maintained had probably ensured it’d never get moving smooth again. Then of course the universe proved me wrong, and the wall actually shifted. The rounded metal slab I’d taken for a part of the tower’s superstructure began to lower, and behind it... “Holy shit.”
I don’t know where the extreme language had come from but... Wow. My eyes lit. Bunks. Bedding. Lockers.. It looked like the room beyond had been some sort of lodging area for soldiery when this place was built. But there’d been a grow-in on the back wall from a massive root. Snaring part of the room in its gripping-vinelike vice grip. The root was long dead, and the hole it’d bored through the concrete had left the inside exposed to the elements a touch more than if it’d just been left... At least there wasn’t much evidence of water damage.
“Yiv? Are you-” But I was already headed through the way, a paw on my pistol as I glanced around the abandoned room. My mind went right to checking out the lockers, which turned out to be a good idea. My little training sessions into understanding the named bits for guns with Alma were about to start paying off.
“We’ve got guns. Or... Something like guns.” I announced, pulling out the carrying case and flipping it open. Inside I found what looked to be a.. Hrm- no magazine, no bullets... I lifted it up, the rifle-like hardened carbon material was in remarkably good shape. Probably due to the case and materials, but something was different about it. I glanced my eyes over it, noting the electronic aiming system on top which... when I clicked at it offered a red circle for looking through the little scope with. Huh. Not a common thing to find on a Cyonian designed weapon, at least not these nights. This place was old, but this weapon looked like it’d been built by something more ambitious than Federation paws. Federation handhelds were all modified from the same combustion based lead belchers. A fact that rarely ever went unspoken on our own networks when we needed a reason to criticize Aafa.
It took a while longer, but eventually I did find a snap-button on the back of the trigger grip that made something inside it hum to life. My eyes widened. “It’s... An energy weapon.” I murmured. My tail flicking in apprehension. Would it even still fire? The red blinking just below the button told me it must have no power perhaps but... “Hey. Junior. You think you could figure out how to charge one of these guys-?”
I turned my head to see the kid standing at the threshold with his tail in his paws, gripping them anxiously. “Yiv. The uh. The communications aren’t working, but I think the garage door might open if we try it. It could be that cropping of wall and sealed door we figured the old power system must have been housed in right?” He glanced to the rifle in my paws. “I mean, if it uses the same standards as the computer out here it should still be compatible with our stuff. But- we don’t have anything to charge power packs of that size.” He pointed to the fixture sticking out the bottom of the stock. Hrm, he was right.
“See if you can’t get the garage open. I’ll keep looking in here and see if there’s something to help with that.” Came my own voice, I felt... Giddy. Alive. The potential to fight back was intoxicating. Before all I’d had was this dinky pistol I’d used to... kill a couple of the greys. But if we could bring the fight to their patrols, save more people-
I shook my head. Why was I thinking like this? I couldn’t stand up to an invasion fleet. I’d been a frightened Sivkit on the first night of the attack. I- I’d stampeded. I couldn’t remember any of it, but the chance I’d trampled someone in my panic was not zero. I might have contributed to someone being crushed... I’d failed Els, that soldier I’d dragged into the house. Obelisk I couldn’t even keep my mind straight in a fight with those howling, laughing Arxur in my head. The campfire fight had been a fluke!
I didn’t quite know how long I just sat there, staring at the rifle beating myself up, but eventually I was shaken from it by Keick when she sat beside me, an arm on my shoulder. “Hey. I heard you and Junior had a bit breakthrough eh?” She said non-chalantly. I could tell though, even with the chipper tone she’d read me. The accountant knew I’d been in one of my little moods. She’d known me the longest of anyone here, everyone else was like... a pack of convenience? Maybe not Junior. Keick and I had survived the woods together. I’d pulled her from her own hells next to that burning car.
“Hey.” I returned back. “Yeah. Junior got the servers working. Or something like that.” I pointed a claw over at the computer, only to notice he was gone now. I blinked. Had I been out of it that long?
Keick filled in the hole in my head. “He went with his old man to go check out the garage.” Oh. Yeah.
I looked around, “Ah. The guns. We have guns now. Real guns.” I explained, holding the one I had in my paws up for her to inspect.
“Doesn’t look like any gun I’ve seen.” She mused back, taking it from my grip. My body was moving on its own now, rummaging deeper into the lockers. Some of these cases had been broken by the snaring, smaller branches of the grow-in. The firearms within cracked open and busted. Probably no good at all, exposed to the ambient humidity as they had been for so long. Still, couple of the other rifle cases were good. We had weapons, plural. Binoculars? Got em. Spare power packs that needed charging? Got em. There was a lot of survival gear here. Like a militarized ranger outpost had been stationed here. The synthetic material of the camouflaged cloak I found proudly proclaimed it’d reflect thermal scanning on its faded label even! “Either the old rangers from before the treaties were really into operator stuff or the Obelisk put all this here just for us.” I murmured.
Keick, for her part seemed to be looking it all over with a little inventory in her head. Already tapping in the number of each item into her dataslate. “Well. I’d go with the former. The Obelisk hasn’t been around for us lately.” Came the reply as she poked a claw at one of the now entirely spoiled ration packs. “Still, there’s enough stuff here you could arm a squad of soldiers probably. If you know where we can find some spare soldiers that is.”
I flicked my ear at the poor humoured joke. “Ahuh.” Came my reply. “Maybe you should go try the radio again, they’d love to get their paws on stuff like this I think. Pre-war tech actually made to fight predators like this is rare.” Which begged the question... Why did the cloak boast about defeating thermals? These outposts were dated after our discovery and incorporation into the Federation as an early member, and WELL before the Arxur war. So why had we built cloaks like these? Was this equipment used during the years when we’d resisted the burning of our forests and jungles? If so, it meant it might have been auhh... much more violent then the archives made it out to be. Maybe there was a story here? My inner journalist was theorizing.
___________________________
I’d had to pick my jaw up off the ground after headed over to the garage. Hens Senior and Alma were leaned over the the opened hood of what looked like a remarkably still intact forest rover. The design was actually recognizable, having not changed much from what we had tonight. Six thick grooved tires, a buggy-like cockpit four seater set in the middle, and a back and top rack for storing anything you could want. “Is it working?” I asked the obvious as I stepped inside, noting Junior sat off to the side, fiddling with some wall mounted box or other. He didn’t look to actually know what he was doing beyond dusting it off and giving it a deep stare.
“I wouldn’t think so.” Came the chime of Keick, who’d followed me inside. It was around now my monocular visioned eyes were noting the various tools and spare parts laying around in the garage. Whoever had last been here had left in a hurry seemingly, because it was mostly stocked. No mess on all the immensely dusty parts. I could see a couple smaller fauna in the corners. A lizard here, a rodent there. Obviously there had been some way they’d chewed their way in at some point... Or they’d come in when the door was opened to the bustle and noise of the forest to my back.
It was Senior who looked back at my question, standing to his full height before leaning his back against the old vehicle. “No. It isn’t working. Or at least it won’t be until I figure a way to give the battery juice.” I tilted my head.
“Is it one of those older ones that zap out after a hundred years or so?” Came my obvious question.
He flicked his tail no. “It’s got one of the standard ones, it’s just that it stopped auto-cycling a couple hundred years ago. The electric motor looks like it should work if we pop it on. But we’ll have to see.” He glanced around the workshop. “I want to say we could probably get it working with the tools we have, but if the battery can’t be jumped, or it’s spent, or the motor needs a complete replacement we’re up a creek on getting it working.” It sounded like he knew a bit about it.
The feeling of my face scrunching ever so much came. “You didn’t tell me you were a handyman.” I said, crossing my arms.
“Well it never came up.” He said back with an affable smile. “Listen, it’s been a long couple weeks. Don’t get all spotty with me. We didn’t have anything a hobbying mechanic could fix anyhow.” Just a roll of the eyes from myself is all that met him as Keick spoke up, stepping over to the other three.
“So what’re you gonna jump it with?” She asked incredulously, leaning over the open cabin. From there I sort of... zoned out. All the older Cyonians present were bickering and blathering about the buggy which was quickly losing interest for me. I didn’t understand anything about mechanics like that beyond the bare minimum, so it was out of my purview. If they got it working that’d be another thing but I wouldn’t have been any help right now, so instead I placed a couple careful paws down until I was beside Junior, sitting next to him as he seemed to be eyeballing some far too faded label.
He had a paw lightly rubbing out the dust that’d caked an outlet, still one brown eye fixed on the label. All I could make out myself was the little yellow square symbol warning of an electric charge hazard. Weird to think even now those hadn’t changed. Had Federation technology really not changed all that much? Was it just us? A sigh. “So. What’s got your your nose twitching little dude?”
The past couple nights he’d gotten better with his anger, and... hadn’t destroyed any important tech in a fit of rage. All he’d needed was something to set himself to in a difficult situation like this. Keich had been right to set him on that computer. And.. I’d felt myself trying to encourage him along the way. Partly because I had an investment in getting those maps, and then partly because he’d ended up filling in a spot in my head like a younger cousin. Him and his old man had only been around for a little bit, but I guess maybe I didn’t want to think too hard about what had probably happened to my real family. For now, maybe I felt the most ‘at home’ around Keich and this little tinkerer. Was that weird? It felt like it should be weird.
He answered, looking up with a small upturn in his lips. “I think I found your energy cell charger for those guns you had.” He said simply. “One of the manuals over there wasn’t totally ruined, I saw something about a ‘optical projector weapon’ and ‘charger’ so I was trying to figure out if this was it. I... Think it might be, but I’d need one of those batteries to make sure.”
Now I felt like smirking. “Oh yeah? Well go get one swamp brain. Let’s see if these things still work huh?” Dutifully, he was up and off, tail shaking behind him in what I recognized as excitement. We weren’t totally defenceless anymore, and if the buggy could be salvaged there would be a means at least to relocate if we had to. Or... Maybe I could take a trip down to the city and paint a couple more of those scumbags red-
I shook my head. Where had that thought come from? If I was going back to Ataln it was to try and save more people... Yeah. I still needed to see if Gael was alive, maybe check that old house I’d left Els in. I don’t even know if I could find it now, knowing how scatterbrained I’d been at the time but- making a return to at least try seemed worth it.
Regardless, the box on the wall did turn out to be the correct port to charge energy cells for the guns. We’d just need to rig it up to the solar power system and juice them up to test them. Things were looking up! Our mobility had the potential to go from nights in every direction for shelter to mere hours, I’d just have to hope Senior knew what he was doing.
“Hey. Buddy.” I’d wrapped my arm around Junior’s shoulder. “Why don’t you go take a break for now huh? You were working on the computer all night. Maybe it’d be a good idea to just go relax. Enjoy how much you got done eh?” Besides. Gave me a good way to check out the logs page on the computer system myself before he stumbled on anything. It wasn’t like I didn’t trust him with it but- well there was no way to know what was in those logs.
He nodded, and with that I stood up, streeeetched out, and headed toward the tower. “Good, it’s your shift on the guard tower anyway.” I intoned politely. It was going to be a long day, assuming there was anything of substance in those logs... Scrounging through those would be preferable to sleeping right now anyway.