Greetings, citizens! I'm a writer, mostly freelance, but I've been working on my own setting for a while now. I've already described some of the basics of how my world is organized in the two posts on another subreddit, so I won't repeat them unnecessarily. Long story short: this is an alternate world that has deposits of metastable metallic hydrogen, concentrated at deep waters and in cold regions. Hydrogen, instead of oil, is the basis of the world's economy here, the corporations that have grown from its extraction and use have more power than governments. The political map of the world is different from our own, with different forces at play than we are used to.
The main setting is the city of Neone, located somewhere on the coast of the Balkan Peninsula. I won't specify a particular place or pick a certain country for its location. Instead, I will take some features from some various ones to add local flavor. As one of the largest trading hubs in the world, this city is very wealthy, but it's the kind of wealth that easily slips through your fingers. Everything is buying and selling here, and human life is just as much a bargaining chip. Life in Neone is determined by the actions that the Players, the main political forces in the city, take with one another. Relations between them can swing from friendship to hostility... Or sometimes a combination of both at the same time. So, here's a preliminary list of the ones I've already come up with:
CORPORATIONS:
Astara Industries is the “beauty industry” in all its forms. Silk and gold, perfume and cosmetics. Modeling, music, entertainment, plastic surgery, and escort services. Rumored to be involved in much darker affairs, but that doesn't stop a lot of young guys and especially girls from trying their luck and signing another cabal contract with Astara. The higher the ranks of their employees, the more the corporation seems to be a kind of cult that worships the very idea of beauty itself. Recently, this company has been investing colossal amounts of money into an ambitious project designed to stop aging and mortality.
Change Inc. is a pretty mysterious organization that primarily provides construction and design services as well as financial operations and data protection services. On deeper layers lies espionage and information trading to anyone who can offer a more interesting price for it.
Chapek's Clockworks is the other major robotics company that has dominated the market for quite a while. Now they are more famous for their retro designs and sponsorship of the theatrical scene.
Chimera Chemicals is a biochemical giant that once started out as a fertilizer manufacturer. Now they deal in just about everything chemical related, including weapons, and also sponsor gene modifications.
Dragonfruit Digital is a world famous software and electronics developer that was leading the market before the rapid... well, rise of Risen Robotics.
Friture Science is a food concern dedicated to the mission of feeding the world. In addition to natural products, they develop synthetic ones as well as a number of associated products.
Fortuna Fishing - seafood production in Neone coastal waters and also beyond and deeper. Some of the things they found deep in the waters made them a little bit... Well, superstitious.
Greenfield Gardens - Similar in many ways to the previous one, this company focuses on environmental protection and recycling methods. Owns many farms and gardens in the city and beyond. Genetic modifications, too.
Hecate Guaranty is a law and insurance company. Deals with all possible disputes of their clients, property issues, and more. When required and paid decently, can provide a person or group of people a new life and a new home.
International Inc. is the most boring company in the world. Originally a construction contractor they pioneered the technology of rapid modular building. Because of this, International Inc. quickly built up capital and influence by rebuilding cities after wars. Eventually they expanded into selling associated products and services, then logistics, recruiting personnel... And now International Inc. provides half of the world's products. Each of their products is completely featureless, but they get the job done at an acceptable price.
Keller & Crow is one of Europe's largest arms manufacturers, dating back to World War I, or maybe even earlier. Known for their high quality and appropriate prices.
Keller-Tec is, in more than one sense, a daughter corporation of Keller & Crow. It develops the most cutting-edge custom weapon and gear systems. It works closely with Risen Robotics and actively funds the Fountain of Good.
Kiki Courier Company is a network of independent couriers working through the app. Moving around the roofs of Neone, they are able to deliver a small cargo personally in their hands for those who don't trust big companies.
Matsubayashi Motors is a Japanese vehicle manufacturer. Raised on defense contracts, they now make anything that can carry a human in it, from scooters and cars to aircraft and bolides.
MOLOT manufactures is another major arms manufacturer in Europe. In fact a franchise that sells to factories around the world the rights to produce copies of their world famous models. Their designs are a bit crude, but reliable and durable.
Poseidon's Possibilities - A marine transportation company that plays an important role in city and global shipping. Considering the high risk of piracy, possess pretty good assets to protect themselves, and sometimes execute third-party orders in coastal zones.
Risen Robotics is one of the world's important corporations. Creating innovative neural chip technology, Risen Robotics quickly earned financial and political capital and aiming for more. They were the first to commercialize a truly cheap and mass-produced android called the Peacebringer, and these robots can be seen in the military, security companies, and even as security guards in the market and malls and as bouncers in nightclubs. Building its influence, Risen Robotics aims to actively bring its tech into the lives of everyone in the world... And then their gaze will be directed higher into the skies and to the stars.
Royal Arms - Once a major weapons company, they are now more focused on the civilian market and support tools. Their high-precision tools and cybernetic limbs are widely used in civilian and military markets, as well as the medicine and even space industries.
Strigoi Sovereign is a company with a long history of working with private customers. They originally focused on hunting and harvesting of high-value resources, but gradually expanded. Nowadays, they are known for their customized combat enhancements, whether it be tough training and gear customization as well as biological, chemical, and cybernetic enhancements. Among all forms of payment, they prefer transactions in precious metals.
Van Nueve Innovations is another deep genetic research company. After their role in human trafficking and criminal experiments was revealed, their assets were mostly shut and sold down. Now their stuff keeps popping up on the black market - though, in this city, the difference between the regular and black market is barely noticeable.
Vulcan Weaponry is another firearm company with a long history, with a good reputation for their trusted builds, high quality and classy designs. Among the mercenary world, their weapons and equipment is considered indicators of prestige and good taste.
PRIVATE MILITARY COMPANIES:
Deepwater is a notorious American PMC with a well-deserved dirty reputation. Their Sigma division deployed in Neone has been caught in the middle of scandals more than once.
FIREBIЯD - Russian PMC, looking after order in and around Neone. Having a small size they are all carefully selected by their leader and follow him into both fire and water.
Ryujin - Japanese PMC, which has a good social image and actively finances all kinds of entertainment.
Schwarzwald is a German PMC with a long-standing reputation and connections. It usually works for the benefit of Western European clients and has a long history of cooperation with the Keller family.
Keller's Claws is a passion project of Alex Keller, CEO of Keller-Tec. A small and elite female PMC, operating in the interests of their mistress or executing carefully selected contracts around the world.
This is not all PMCs in the city, but only those that are not directly linked to specific corporations that were listed above.
GANGS:
The Blazer is a broad and diverse group of radical anarchists. They are mostly drawn to the destruction of corporate property and speculation about “power of the people”, but some of their members are not averse to almost any type of work.
The Crooked Circle is another cult-like gang, or vice versa. They focus on collecting unique technology, but aren't particularly successful at it. But they're still alive and kicking, praying that their mechanical messiah will save them.
The Grey Court Syndicate is the largest criminal organization in the city, and one of the largest in Europe, maybe even in the entire world. Reminiscent of the classic Mafia. On one side they have the exterior gloss, protecting order and running legal businesses, but on the other side they have human and organ trafficking, prostitution and assassinations for hire. The Grey Court is one of the main sources of migrants in Neone.
The Himmelreich is a disorganized gang fighting for the “purity of humanity”. They oppose the very fact of existence of chimeras and cyborgs in this world. In fact are useful fools for the real Players in the city.
The Tulips are something between a gang and a religious sect. Spoken with Christian-like mottos, they attract beggars and cripples to their ranks, especially focusing on PMC veterans and former corporate workers, but in fact they accept all the desperate. They have squatted some ruins on the outskirts of the city, including the abandoned greenhouse that gave them their name. However... They are rapidly expanding their influence and their source of funding remains unknown.
OTHERS:
The City Council is the primary administration of the city. They manage, but they don't reign. They are a handful of exhausted clerks, doing the hard work that no one else accepted to do. Basically maintain the city's communications and keep the Players away from killing each other and too many ordinary citizens.
The Forge is a secret organization that exists for a very long time and runs deeply secured operations all over the world. They believe it's their duty to protect humanity from dangerous ideas, technologies, and obscure subjects such as [UNKNOWN]. Forge is often found to be a puppeteer, directing the actions of other Players or certain individuals.
The Fountain of Good is a globally respected charity organization primarily focused on orphanages. One of the few Players who maintains truly bright ideals. The children who grow up usually become corporate employees afterwards. Other Players fund them mainly to launder money, calm their karma and create a positive public image for themselves.
The Nuevians are a deep-covered organization slowly gaining influence in the city. They are led by an artificially created living entity known only as "The Queen" that seeks to bring prosperity to the planet. They have good intentions, but fear to repeat the fate of the Zero Cycle.
The Union of Nations Peacekeepers - maintaining a shred of peace in the aftermath of the Incident, a massive earthquake that recently struck Neone. Many urban areas have since descended into chaos and lawlessness, while others live as if nothing has happened or are experiencing minimal inconvenience. The competency of these soldiers is questionable and they are barely supplied.
The Volunteer Vanguards are an organization that maintains order in those Neone districts where the City Council or other Players do not. Generally a barely trained and armed militia, but there are some skilled veterans and former corporate workers in their ranks.
The Workers Ring is Neone's major blue collar association. They support city communications so they have a lot of influence. Individual members may or may not be involved in working for other Players and illegal activities. The second meaning of the "Ring" word is also utilized - many members of this community are known for their passion for arena fighting.
The Zero Cycle is a secret organization of intelligent machines once created by a rogue AI. Several Players united to destroy this threat, leading to the Incident. Now, shards of the Cycle's technology, superior to anything created by humanity, is the most valuable hunting treasure in Neone. Owning one of them means risking the lives of yourself and your loved ones, but that rarely stops hunters who desire wealth or driven by some personal reasons.
Well, that's the draft. Any ideas, suggestions, any other feedback?

With the recent info that the $5 fillet-o-fish meal is a permanent item, I am wondering how unhealthy is it to eat it more often?
$5 is really very good value for a meal with drink now, plus I can sit in aircon. Can be even cheaper than cai fan and almost all kopitiam prices.
If I get this meal, I would change my fries to corn and get coffee without sugar for the drink, leaving the only ‘fast food’ part of the meal to be the burger.
From google, the fillet-o-fish burger is close to 300 calories. There are also actual fish meat in the patty. I would think the worst part would be the crust and the oil used for deep frying, which, compared to other outside food, doesn’t seem any worse.
For those who are well-informed about food and healthy eating, how bad is it to eat this meal 2-3 times a week?

This isn't that deep but I realized how much of a horrible store owner I was when I realized that I have been overstocking my sushi place in Dave the Diver and have continued to fuel my downfall for every successive evening.
I tend to only stock food that have a 1:1 ratio for output (one fish = one dish). But then I had a great opportunity to use high-end ingredients for once and tried going all out. My menu looked to be fully stacked, lots of dishes and high variety for every menu item. After I setup my menu, I realize the wooden menu slabs hung on the rooftops actually showed the amount of dishes I had and then they updated with each food item sold. At the end of the evening shift I realized my highest value dishes were unsold in bulk and only my lowest value dishes sold.
As with my horrible nature, I save-scummed and re-did the evening shift and tried to make a better menu. But everything was still unsold by the end. I wasn't able to save scum this time, I had overwritten on the save already. But who knows how many times I've done this without knowing. It made me realize that the quantity of the dishes I've been trying to serve do not equal the sales I've been getting.
I just feel great grief over my overenthusiasm causing me to be impulsive and over-spend on things that don't need to be. It's a painful lesson, even if it's something as unserious as a diving game... I'm starting to realize how poorly placed my grievances are.

Previous diary entry here: https://www.reddit.com/buffy/comments/1cuyf6k/rewatchers_diary_season_2_episodes_15_to_18/
The last sprint to the finish line: I Only Have Eyes for You (2x19), Go Fish (2x20), Becoming (2x21-2x22).
Man, I Only Have Eyes for You is such a beautiful gem of a composition. Go Fish is less bad than I remembered it (but still bottom-tier), Becoming FUCK YEAH!
I Only Have Eyes for You
It's the Sadie Hawkins dance and the gender roles are reversed—on BTVS, of all places ;-)
Xander suggests it's the brain child of a hairy-legged feminist and Cordelia is upset not only at losing her privilege of having her date pay for the date but also at having the tables turned all the way around and having to be the one who has to pay. Man I love the anti-chemistry of Xandelia.
But all is not well: Sunnydale high is haunted by the ghost of a student (James), whose romance with a teacher (Grace) was broken off by her. He responded with a murder-suicide which he is now reenacting. This is the mystery of the week.
The emotional significance is that Buffy identifies with James: she feels she betrayed and murdered Angel, unleashing Angelus. Her inability to kill Angelus in Innocence led to Jenny's death in Passion, which Buffy feels guilt about.
The punchline is Buffy and Angel(us) reenacting the ghost story, with Buffy in James' shoes, Angel surviving Buffy's murder attempt and preventing Buffy-as-James' suicide. Grace forgives James and says she never stopped loving him, the ghosts depart, Angel is back in his Angelus form who runs off.
Also, the final reveal: Spike, driven more crazy by Angelus, has been overstating his incapacitation.
I frigging love this episode.
I think Buffy's big change is her acceptance that Angel is dead, and that a demon (Angelus) has taken up shop in his body. It walks and it talks like Angel but it's no longer him. This has to be it, because the ghostly reenactment basically says that the Bangel love is forever and is still there even if Angel isn't—and yet, Buffy is more resolved and determined to kill Angelus than ever. This only makes sense if she's distinguishing between the two, i.e. if she's accepting that the man she used to love is gone.
The ghost story is beautifully tragic. The resolution, Grace's forgiveness and the departure of the ghosts, is such a heart-warming relief. And Buffy sorting out her feelings is wonderfully bittersweet.
Giles being distraught by the loss of Jenny, to the point of him not thinking straight, is heartbreaking. Metaphorically Giles is Buffy's mind, making it very fitting that Buffy's resolution is about sorting out her understanding of the Angel/Angelus distinction.
I noticed a thing: during the triangular binding spell we have Buffy at the center of the action, with Willow, Xander and Giles Cordelia supporting her, a motif replayed in Primeval (4x21).
If we understood the metaphor in Teacher's Pet (1x4) we learned that student-teacher romance means the teacher is preying on the student. Here it was... well preying is the wrong word, but here it was the student harming the teacher. I feel this might dilute the message of Teacher's Pet; this episode could've been a bit more on-brand with a line or two with the message that it's not uncommon or shameful for teens to have feelings for 20-somethings—but, if reciprocated, it's inappropriate for the older person to act on those feelings. The tie-in between James/Grace and Buffy/Angel would be perfect, the social commentary would be more to my liking, and I think the social commentary I want is on-point for BTVS. Heck, if you peel of the big S2 metaphor, I see a 16yo girl crushing on a ~26yo red flag, with disastrous consequences. The social commentary I'm calling for is the whole bloody point of S2, so why not reinforce it here? Maybe it would dilute the "awww" when Grace forgives James, like, we're meant to feel it's a sweet couple and they should get each other and that has to be an undiluted high note.
Nitpicking aside, what a gem!
Go Fish
I asked the writers for a good episode, but they said "go fish". Oh well, I guess there's plenty of fish in the sea. Let's plunge in and take a deep dive.
I remembered this as "that one really awfully disappointing episode of Buffy". This time, I found it to be merely "meh". There were a few decent comedy bits: "undercover" // "not under much" and "I'm dating a guy on the Sunnydale High swim team" // "you can die happy" #OohBurn look at the shallow Spordelia Cordelia.
There was a gender role reversal—on BTVS of all places—when Buffy walks Swimmer #2 home from The Bronze (for his protection) after he was attacked.
But on the whole... see, I kinda' enjoyed the early S2 MotW episodes, back when MotW was pretty much all that BTVS was. But now that I have tasted the Bangelus arc (again, this being a rewatch), I have lost my taste for MotWs—at least if they have no tie-in to the bigger picture. This is an episode I simply have no taste for, it doesn't excite me.
[I consider Phases (2x15) and BBB (2x16) MotW episodes with strong thematic tie-ins to the Bangelus arc: all the scoobies are dating monsters. And arguably, Passion (2x17) is about Jenny making risky dating choices, a follow-up on The Dark Age (2x8), making 2x14-2x17 a thematically cohesive run of episodes.]
Becoming
Fuck. Yeah.
Joss is such a scumbag. First he gives Buffy this great resolve and determination (perhaps after some feelings of resignation) in I Only Have Eyes for You, then he makes her waver a bit when she discovers Jenny's re-ensoulment spell. And then she gets Angel back, but it's too late since Angelus already pulled the pin on the doomsday vortex grenade, so she has to let go of him AGAIN! :(
Spike is chaotic and funny. You can always count on his loyalty, at least if you're the highest bidder, and Buffy effectively offered him his big ho girlfriend back. He's such a fool for love, wink-wink nudge-nudge.
I noticed a parallel between the trio of vampires and the trio of nerds: Angelus/Warren is the evil sociopathic leader of the group, Drusilla/Andrew has a crush on the leader and Spike/Jonathan betrays the group and sides with Buffy and the scoobies. [But also differences, of course: SpikeSilla are not as weak-willed as Andrew/Jonathan, for one. And the trio of vampires is charming.]
... and Xander brings Willow back by talking about their friendship and telling her he loves her!
Angelus talked about ascending—retro-echoing the mayor's plot in Graduation Day 2 (3x22).
Also: Angelus tried to pull a sword out of a stone (Acathla). We just went from gothic horror to Arthurian legend? Spike's reaction, "someone wasn't worthy", indicates that Angelus is a false king, not worthy of the throne of Sunnydale. He's not the real mayor so he won't ascend: while he eventually manages to pull the sword out of the stone, his ultimate fate is a downfall—he descends into a hell dimension.
The scoobies have a disagreement in the library about how to deal with Angel(us). I find it notable that it's Xander, Buffy's metaphorical heart, who responds to "I'll stop him" with "like you did last time, with Ms. Calendar"—Buffy is still feeling guilty about not having the heart guts to kill Angelus in Innocence. It's Xander who knows the location of Angelus' mansion, i.e. it's her heart which leads her to lost lover, and it's her heart which says "kick his ass". When he rescues Buffy's metaphorical mind, he (Giles) says "why would they make me see you", i.e. Buffy's mind doesn't want what's in her heart, they are conflicted. Buffy is driven by her feelings and passions now just as much as she was in Surprise when she unleashed Angelus. Once her metaphorical mind has been rescued it saves the day: she gives her regained love one last kiss and one last goodbye, then, letting cooler heads prevail, kicks his ass stabs him in the heart, breaking it, to save the day.
And some greatest hits: "nobody asks for their life to change, not really" ;; "what's left?" // "me" ;; "you hit me one time with an axe" ;; "have you tried not being the slayer?" ;; "you're expelled".
Becoming is peak Buffy.

Hello, cat lovers of Reddit!
I'm looking for advice on how to help my 2.5-year-old female cat become more sociable and responsive to training. We adopted her when she was just 2 months old. She has a gentle temperament, is not aggressive at all, and remains very playful—she can entertain herself for long periods by tossing around and playing with her plastic scrunchies.
However, there are two issues:

1. Socialization with Guests: My cat is quite selective about human interactions. To date, she has only sat on the laps of two people. A few others have managed to pet her back briefly, but that's about it. She's very cautious; when guests arrive, she hides and later comes out, sniffs their shoes. She remains distant and won't approach even when offered food directly. She generally only eats treats if they are thrown a safe distance away.
2. Training Challenges: Another concern is that she doesn't have fav dry treat, which complicates any training efforts. She enjoys wet food but hasn’t really liked any dry treats we've tried, and she's indifferent to catnip. She's crazy about chicken and fish, which could potentially be used for training purposes.

Given her soft character and the behavior described, what strategies could I use to make her more friendly towards others and begin training on some basic commands? Any suggestions or similar experiences would be greatly appreciated!

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.

Hi to everyone, typically i do not play games on anything, but consoles, but i got tired of how expensive it is to play on consoles long term. At least where i live it is become over the years by multitudes more expensive. And as im getting older i have less enjoyment to play inside, but i dont mind to play an hour or two outside.
That said heres what i bought for work and a bit of gaming :
.o+` ----------------------- `ooo/ OS: Arch Linux x86_64 `+oooo: Host: Katana 17 B12VEK REV:1.0 `+oooooo: Kernel: 6.9.1-arch1-1 -+oooooo+: Uptime: 1 hour, 11 mins `/:-:++ooooo+: Packages: 949 (pacman), 23 (flatpak) `/++++/+++ ++: Shell: fish 3.7.1 `/++++++++++++: Resolution: 1920x1080 `/+++oooooooooo/` DE: Plasma 6.0.4 ./ooossso++osssso+` WM: kwin .oossssso-````/ossssss+` Theme: Breeze-Dark [GTK2], Breeze [GTK3] -osssssso. :ssssssso. Icons: breeze-dark [GTK2/3] :osssssss/ osssso+++. Terminal: konsole /ossssssss/ +ssssooo/- CPU: 12th Gen Intel i5-12450H (12) @ 4.400GHz `/ossssso+/:- -:/+osssso+- GPU: NVIDIA GeForce RTX 4050 Max-Q / Mobile `+sso+:-` `.-/+oso: GPU: Intel Alder Lake-P GT1 [UHD Graphics] `++:. `-/+/ Memory: 6470MiB / 15697MiB
I tried other distos like ubuntu, mint and such as stock without changing anything, but it wasnt good experience, the issues i faced on xfce and few others is the greeter, i couldnt use touch pad, but only buttons under touchpad, im guessing there 2-3 of em. There were some other little thing that been annoying and i couldnt live w em, changing the desktop envirement and greeter on different distros been quite an experience, so i decided to land on Arch to see what is all noise about, it is about what i was expecting and feels better, but i couldnt fix the sddm and managed to breake it twice and went lightdm-gtk greeter and given arch wiki existence i managed to do some stuff i needed without breaking anything, yet i wish wiki were more detailed, had to look info i needed piece by piece wherever i could.
Now about the game, it is warframe and the issues i have few i would like to find solution to for.
First thing i would like to have vsync on, but with 60fps limit, it doesnt feel as good as 120-200 that system is averaging, but not much of a difference and the battery life is far more important for me. i tried mangohud, gamescop and libstrangle and non of em do work, the game doesnt start, not even a launcher, ive been switching between different versions of proton that steam has to offer (flatpak package) plus proton ge, same result. DXVK frame rate limiter doesnt do anything either. I see a lot of the hype about upcoming drivers 555 and some changes about it, including that gamescop should be working, had to go and read on that subject quite of few pages on the internet.
The second issue i guess cannot be fixed until next nvidia drivers or there anything i could learn about how to reduce flickering, screen tearing in a meanwhile? I do prefer to play in a windowed mode, so can keep an eye on things related to my work and such. When i installed Arch it was a bad experince to play it in a windowed mode, then after another typical sudo pacman -Syu it was great for a day or two bcz there were a kernel update and nvidia driver -4, my guess. But i had to reinstall steam bcz ive been trying to work with pacman/flatpak and set em to install all packages on a different partion, with no success. The instructions, even official, on any matter is so vague to my taste and it takes way to much time to learn about simple things.
EDIT: Thanks to Spodermarc i figured how to enable mangohud
I can live with the first two issues, sort of. But the third issue is bugging me. With that recent kernel update i launched warframe and to my surprise the sensitive of touchpad was like in the system, which i enjoyed until i had to resinstall steam, i guess. Its the same slow unresponsive experience now again. The actual game does work great and there no issues with sensitivity, but when i have to use the cursor for navigation in the UI it is like 4-5 times slowwwwwer. I begging to help me with that one. I havnt had that issue only on Mint cinnamon/mate, but i had that issue everwhere else.
And the forth issue comes from steam, the issue is "dbus-update-activation-environment DISPLAY" i ran it in the terminal as is and with --user argument. From time to time on a login steam refuses automatically to start with given error displayed. It does start no problem immidietly from the shortcut/ctl with no issues. Cant figure out how to track down that issue, the only solution as far as i can understand could be delaying autostart, but i havnt read on that subject anything yet, mint had that option, where it could be set on arch i have no idea atm, prolly gotta go through aur and find something related to autostart.

As someone who is constantly on the lookout for health and wellness products that are both effective and easy to use, I recently decided to try Fitspresso. I purchased it directly from the official vendor to ensure I got the genuine product. Here's my take on this popular fitness aid.

My Findings So Far

Effectiveness: From the first week of using Fitspresso, I noticed a significant increase in my energy levels. It's been about a month now, and I can say that this product has contributed positively to my weight management routine. It seems to boost metabolism effectively, as I feel more active throughout the day.
Taste and Mixability: One of the biggest pluses for me is how Fitspresso tastes. It has a pleasant, mild flavor that goes well with both water and milk. It mixes quite easily, without leaving any clumpy residue, which makes it a great companion for my morning smoothies.
Packaging and Instructions: The product came in a sleek, well-designed package. The instructions were clear and straightforward, which I appreciated. It’s always good when a product is easy to use right out of the box, and Fitspresso was no exception.
Value for Money: Considering the benefits I’ve experienced so far, I find Fitspresso to be reasonably priced. It’s not the cheapest on the market, but given the quality and effectiveness, I feel like I’m getting my money’s worth.

My Questions

1. Long-Term Use: I'm curious about the long-term benefits of Fitspresso. How long should I continue to use it to see consistent results? Is it designed for extended use, or should I take breaks?
2. Compatibility with Other Supplements: I currently take a multivitamin and a fish oil supplement. I wonder how Fitspresso interacts with other supplements. Should I be aware of any potential interactions?
3. Optimal Time to Consume: I usually have Fitspresso in the morning, but is there an optimal time to consume it to maximize its benefits? Would it work better if taken before workouts?
4. Adjustments for Different Fitness Levels: As my fitness level improves, should I adjust the dosage or continue with the recommended amount? What’s the best approach here?

Overall, my experience with Fitspresso has been overwhelmingly positive. It's a straightforward, no-nonsense product that delivers on its promises. I'm looking forward to seeing how it will help me in my ongoing quest for better health and fitness. If anyone has insights regarding my questions, I’d love to hear them!

*CONTAINS SWEARING*
This is gonna be a hefty and most likely triggering post for specific groups of people out there (meaning people who struggle with anger, people who don't want poltical content/opinions etc), so please stop reading and leave if you figure this is gonna be rough for you. This will (mainly) be about the conflict between Palestine and Israel. (and apparently a long one) No hate towards any specific groups of people, but I do have a lot of *frustration regarding behaviours*.
Before I start, I want you to remember some facts about me as you read;
I am autistic
I am heavily influenced by world peace, hate, racism and other unfair situations
I have incredibly high standards for myself that I strive to not break, including, but not limited to, being kind and respectful *always*, despite being in a bad mood, not liking someone, or disagreeing, especially political disagreements
I have always, and will always, stand against widespread hate, racism and other discrimination towards any specific religions, ethnicities, nationalities, cultures, etc.
I also want you to know that I named this throwaway accordingly.
So let's get this shitshow started then, shall we.
As the details of the conflict stands, it is beyond obvious to me that this is racism and, literally, a Holocaust. Not *the* Holocaust, but *a* Holocaust. Oxford Languages has the term defined as a destruction or slaughter on a mass scale, especially caused by fire or nuclear war . I'd say that's very much accurate. Proof to come.
Regardless, this situation has had me very pressed the last almost 8 months, as I know most other people have been too. Without getting too much into the conflict itself, I want to talk a little about what I've seen from the Jewish community.
This is where I advise anyone who struggles with anger especially to leave and try to keep your day positive. If you have a magical potion to stay stable after this, who am I to stop you...
Alright, onto the dreaded part. And yes, I am stalling.
I have never, and I truly mean *never* had any hateful thoughts or opinions about religions (other than Christianity but that's one for another time), and as we are all aware of, The Holocaust had massive effect on the world some 80 years ago. I have always seen Jews as victims due to this, but in recent times I've realised that a lot of them, too, see themselves as victims. The issue is that they aren't the victims right now. They (Israel) aren't defending themselves, they have nothing to defend themselves against. Israel is currently doing the exact same thing as Germany did to them, to Palestine. Sure, maybe at some point who knows when, Palestine *was* the land of Jews, but since then, multiple religions have been thriving together on that land, including Jews. They were never excluded. From what I've understood, there weren't any wars or conflicts going on within the country that didn't happen elsewhere. The issue began when in the late 1940's zionists brutally murdered families to steal their homes. I'm sure the situation was so much more complex than that, but in a nutshell that is basically it. The fact that everyone today have been so desensitized from the travesties happening around the world is depressing and hope-killing. I truly am well on the way to giving up, and at this point in time I'm so angry all the time due to the Middle East's situation.
So a few weeks ago, probably closing in on months at this point, I randomly got a notification from reddit about someone posting on /Jewish. They didn't say anything explicit, so I pressed the notification and I was met with the worst victimization and ignorance I've ever seen. I truly believed most jews would see this for what it is, and not let some racist maniac spoon-feed them propaganda and hate, but I was brutally and humbly proven wrong. They were mocking proPAL parades, hating on news anchors and civilians alike calling this a genocide, insisting that Israel has no other choice, saying "casualties happens in war", convincing each other that zionism is a good thing, and feeling sorry for themselves when friends and families cut contact because they said they supported Israel and saw this as the only solution. Some might have been genuine problems, idk, but for the most part, that subreddit seems to only be about hating the rest of the world because their great grandparents were killed. I know I sound like a complete asshole, but the world isn't antisemetic anymore - they are actively looking for it and then using that one person telling them to stop feeling so sorry for themselves as proof that everybody in the world wants to throw them back in gas chambers.
I commented on my personal once where I mentioned that judaism and zionism are two separate things and got downvoted to oblivion. Someone replied saying that my comment was very much exactly what they too feel, but I got downvoted *simply because* I referred to them as separate entities. That is another criticism they've recieved lately; the pure idea of zionism is on the complete opposite side from what Judaism stands for. I've seen so many of the members there calling Jews protesting against Israel "self-hating" and traitors.
I've also made so many replies that I never sent because I know for a fact they would do anything in their power to ban me from ever using reddit again, and I wouldn't be surprised if I got doxxed and harrassed IRL from it. I saved them all, though. I found that it was kind of therapeutic to get it out, but it still bugs me that I never found a way to say it to them. I once also made a post about my rage for their behaviour connected to this genocide, but I thankfully stopped myself before I posted it. I'm so enraged by their sheer ignorance and hypocritical behaviour, all the while Gaza is still being eradicated and slaughtered, war crimes happening day in-day out, inhumane atrocities by the IOF being posted and hailed, and they have the audacity to say that they are the victims? That Israel has no other choice but martyring tens of thousands of CHILDREN? Starving the entire Gaza Strip, segregating West Bank, literally teaching their young in school to hate and attack arabs? That last one might not be true as I don't speak Hebrew or Arabic, so anyone could've just made up the translation, but I still feel it's worth mentioning in case it actually *is* real.
My point is that the guts they have to claim to be so moral, yet still be so unfaced from what's happening in Gaza is beside me. Sure, for those living near the Gaza wall, I'm positive that hearing bombs and screams were traumatizing as fuck, but to then leave for work the next day and claim that "shit happens"? It's insane! It's inhumane. They can leave whenever they like, children can play football (soccer) in the streets and not having to worry about shit, hotels and restaurants with 5-star ratings thriving, plants and flowers still blooming, absolutely no threats on a daily basis. The fact that people are still calling this a war, something necessary, is beyond devastating to me. There are millions still siding with zionism, claiming there's nothing wrong with the belief that you have an innate right to some dirt simply because your holy book says that thousands of years ago, your religion lived there, and simply because of that religious fact you are rightfully owed thousands of young lives, the death of an entire country with its own culture, just to feed the irrational religious political system? How in God's name has that ever, *IS* that still okay? If Muslims were the ones saying that shit, they would've been completely destroyed by now, today's generation wouldn't know what the fuck Islam was. They are still being slaughtered though, because they're saying it's *not* okay. How is that not racist again?
My brother and I got into a heated argument a few days ago about this. I am very much *for* Palestine to have human rights and to own their own land - he is very much *against* "ugly blackies" having any rights because they're *not* human. Boi when I tell you I got so angry I started crying. And the worst part about that fight? He claims that Jews aren't any better, however they still deserve to defend themselves against children running on the beach. "But Hamas-" is so over-used and outdated by now, it just proves that he doesn't follow up on statistics and evidence. Even if there only were one-sided news (from Gaza), the fact that the ICJ ruled Israel's actions a genocide and war crimes still proves everything he claims to be "n*****'s propaganda". And the fact that he so underminds my autism and *need* for factual evidence before discussing it also goes to show that he genuinely does not care about anything other than the black "terrorists" being eradicated. I said "So you're not just a racist, you're just plain racist?" he just scoffed and looked at me as if I just said the most nonsensical bullshit gibberish ever, practically saying "I'm not gonna say anything, but it really took you that long to realise?" Either that, or he actually didn't comprehend the words coming out of my mouth, like it was a foreign language or something. Because he genuinely does not have a single reason to be racist.
He can't even blame suicide attacks because 1) not all are carried by muslims, and 2) between 1981-2015 around 45,000 were killed by suicide attacks worldwide, where in 2019 the total death toll was only 1,699 more than amount of attacks; whereas in Gaza, between Oct 7 to present there are about 34,000 confirmed palestinian deaths, and assumed around 42,000 with unconfirmed deaths. If, in 36 years, "muslim terrorism" killed about the same amount as Israel has in almost 8 months, how on earth are Arabs the terrorists?
And I've also seen the argument that 30,000 is nothing compared to the total population in Gaza, as if that makes it okay. I will, again, make example of The Holocaust. When 30,000 Jews were martyred, people were already catching on, and this was without the technology we have today.
How have we been allowing this to happen to Palestinians *with* our technology today? Why haven't people been doing more; striking our jobs, cummute chauffeurs striking, proper permanent boycotts, more coverage from news anchors and private people alike? Even if it is to officially reclaim your love for white supremacy, you're still talking about it. Why are people still not reading up on this? Why does millions still not know that this *didn't* begin on October 7th? And why are there still those who claim that the past doesn't matter today? I have so many questions, and if I do get an answer I will only end up with more questions. How hasn't the world stopped over this? Why are people so okay knowing that there are children being intentionally murdered every single day? How can you go to work and talk about Dave's new tie? Or your 6 year old's birthday party with 15 other 6 year olds? Hasn't it crossed your mind that if the roles were reversed, your precious princess would be the one burried under tons of rubble, dying slowly while simontaniously starving, dehydrating, suffocating and crushing, and *knowing* that absolutely no one cares because you're [skin color] and it's normal for your kids to be horrendously massacred? "Oh but the Taliban-ISIS-Al Qaeda" OKAY so what are you gonna do to help save innocent lives and suffering??? How are you gonna contribute to STOP these organizations that have manipulated and murdered to rule their country and are intentionally making the citicens miserable? Are you even aware that your own govurnment is essentially the same fucking thing, just disguised as a well dressed, polite gentleman? Aren't you sick of all those ads on TV showing brown children with flies in their eyes? Or your mama telling you to think about the starving children in Africa? Because I am.
I am so sick and tired of how inhumane humans have come to be. You don't see animals (and I'm trying my best to not mention how humans *are* animals, guess I failed) intentionally kill another animal simply because they're that animal. They kill prey; polar bears kill seals, seals kill penguins, penguins kill fish, fish kill amoebas, and you can get to that result from absolutely everything. What you don't find as a natural event is a golden, brown mane lion attack and kill an albino lion simply because it's albino. You don't see a school of fish swim away from one with two heads, because "*omg Jared is such a freak with his two heads*." So why the FUCK DID WE START DOING THAT? Where did this hunger for power come from? You *will* see a female lion tell the king that enough is enough, and he *will* accept that. I could go on and on for DAYS if I got the chance, but I don't wanna get too off topic here.
I've started a list of all the universally illegal shit Israel has done, and once I'm satisfied with it, I'll make one comparing Israel to Palestine, and then Arabs/Muslims as a whole. I can guarantee that I will still hear "on-sided sources" still, or "You can't trust Wikipedia!" Have you ever tried to edit or create an article on Wikipedia? I have, and I had to confirm that I had a degree or a current valid work ID to prove that I was elgible to speak on the topic. I tried to make a site for myself... Sure, there are more trustworthy sites, but even in a discussion about wether or not being trans is a mental illness, where I quoted and linked all of the most well known official sources like WHO, I was still slapped with "but this shady ass article from a random Deutch website that explicitly says everything I've said, yet still isn't actually saying the same thing because I misquoted and mixed the words to form my own sentence says that it is" when they literally linked a website called "disabled world". I will say though, I agree with that name. Today's world is so non-funtional for neurotypical, hetero, white MEN, it's no fucking wonder everyone else are classified as disabled or whatever. Also, on that disabled topic, if you've made it this far, please don't say "differently abled". A quote unquote quote (heh geddit? cuz it's rephrased and I don't have the book near me rn to directly quote) from Devon Price's "Unmasking Autism" that I really like: "You wouldn't say "a person with Asianness", you'd say "an Asian person"." We are disabled because today's world isn't made for us, and for the most part isn't even accomodated or accessible to us. We are different, yeah, but literally everyone is. We just got that term because we can't do the same things as you (assuming you're neurotypical) without aid. We are able, just not like you. Of course, if an autistic person tells you they prefer "person with autism", listen to them! But most of us embrace it as a part of us because we can't just get rid of it. Autism is what make me me, I wouldn't be me without my autism, so I *am* autistic, for better or for worse. :)
I find it kinda ironic that I started this as a venting about a lot of Jews' hypocritical behaviour, and now ending up on autism. Yaknow, cuz Dr. Asperger during WW2 experimented and tortured autistic people, and found out that some where more alike him than others, which then coined the term Aspergers for the Autistic Community.
Anywho, I feel better now, so thanks for letting me vent a little (a lot). I want to finish off by restating my intro; I have not, and will not tolerate any hate, racism or discrimination towards any religion, ethnicity, nationality, culture etc. This post is not intended as a rant about how aweful jews are, because they're not. I just wanted to air some frustration over their behaviour regarding I/P genocide. This is also not about *all* Jews, but that's the same discussion as "not all men" so I'll leave it at that.
I will delete this account in a week, so if you have any questions, be fast ig. If you find I've mis-phrased, used irrationally insensitive wording or any other complaints that calls for a repost, I will fix it and post an updated version. My DMs will also be available if that should be of interest, but I will not be responding to hate or personal attacks for my opinions. If the issue is my wording, again, tell me and I'll fix it.
At this point I've written so much that I don't remember if I found anything myself that I figured was worth fixing, and I've proof read it so many times that my eyes are crossing and giving me a headache lol
Gosh I'm scared of posting this. I don't want anyone to read this and think I support what A. H. did in 1940 cuz I cannot begin to describe my hatred for that man

So I saw all the hype on the Sally pistols to use in zombies and read on how to get them. Ive only played a few matches of warzone cuz no matter how many thousands of hours of video games I've probably played played since SNES Mario I suck at Vidya gamz and PvP shooters.
So I go into warzone for the first time tonight, drop in on the docks of the stronghold, open the crate and BOOM BABY SALLY'S!!!!!!! and a uav, so I see there's a player swimming in the water "literally shooting fish in a barrel I think" haha so I'm shooting them thinking wow so so lucky, and then I get killed from behind like one shot from getting them Sally's :( Noob Life 4 Lyfe!!!!!
Update: went back in a few more times and got it again...and died with a 0/6kd ratio hahah NOOB LYFE

A bit of backstory: I’ve always fished here and there but never really anything serious until a few years ago. my first year was great I caught a few Pike and a handful of bass-which pretty much got me hooked. The next year (last year) I went out and bought a fishing kayak, proper rod setup and a fish finder (before I was a bank fisher). However it seems ever since I invested all this money into the sport I’ve hardly caught anything. Especially this year, I’m 2 months in and have only caught a single rockbass.
I know fishing from a boat compared to shore is different and I’ve invested a lot of time into learning different techniques for both, however nothing has been as great as the first year I spent fishing. Last year I caught 3 bass, 2 pike and some pan fish but nothing close to the size I got back then & this year I’ve caught just one fish. Idk if I just had beginners luck but I’m pretty sure I just suck.
I’ve gone fishing for walleye/pickerel about 30 times over the years and still have never caught one yet. People beside me will be pulling them out like hotcakes on lures while I’m throwing live minnows and catching nothing lol. It’s about an hours drive for me one way so never having caught one is pretty brutal none the less. I know the journey is part of the fun but I can’t help but shake the feeling I’m just wasting my time now. I’ve checked with locals and tried all suggestions so it can’t be my lure, just has to be my technique right?
Any advice on how to start catching more fish or atleast even a single fish each trip would be great, I’m familiar with the 1-2 pause 1-2-3 and looking for possible structure’s underwater where fish might be, etc. but maybe there’s something more simple I’m missing? I’ve been getting nothing but skunked and so far this season is not off to a good start beings I was excited to maybe catch a trout this spring and it’s pretty much over now, Maybe in the fall I guess lol
If it helps, I run 15lb braid (green) usually with a snap/swivel on what ever I’m using and I normally fish in the evening, sometimes during the day but only in deep water.. I’m kinda lazy so hopefully I’m not missing all these fish bc I’m not a morning person lol.
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