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Exclusive interview with Famitsu and the devs

2024.05.19 20:37 Shiirooo Exclusive interview with Famitsu and the devs

Exclusive interview with Famitsu and the devs
https://www.famitsu.com/article/202405/5194 (translated by DeepL: there are probably translation errors)

Shadows is the next step forward for Assassin's Creed

Mr. KARL ONNÉE, Producer
--First of all, let me say "Thank you" from us Japanese, as "Assassin's Creed" is finally coming out, which is set in Japan!
KARL: Thank you for coming here today. I have been wanting to do this work for years, so my dream has come true.
--Why did you choose the Azuchi-Momoyama period as the setting for this work?
KARL: I chose it because it is a very rich period in history. It was a time of war and political maneuvering, a time of change from rural to urban areas, and also the birth of art. I also chose it because it was the start of the unification of Japan. It was a pivotal moment for Japan. Together, these elements provided an excellent canvas on which to tell the story.
--What kind of image do you have of the Azuchi-Momoyama period?
KARL: This was a time when the feudal lords of the warring states were fighting for power in the name of unifying the country, but it was also a struggle for control of trade. Portuguese missionaries and merchants came to Japan together. The Portuguese missionaries and merchants came to Japan together, and people who wanted a beautiful country and peace. This is the kind of image we have, but I think there was a mixture of various cultures and people's thoughts. And of course, there were the warring feudal lords. These are great canvases for the story.
--What do you think should be inherited from "Assassin's Creed" and what are the unique aspects of this game?
KARL: When people think of "Assassin's Creed," they think of stealth, but shinobi fantasy is not only a perfect fit for an "Assassin's Creed" game, it also fits the DNA of the "Assassin" brand.
What we wanted to do with "Assassin's Creed Shadows" was to push stealth even further. We started this effort with the previous game, "Assassin's Creed Mirage," but we wanted to take it further with new features. Systems such as light and shadow, grappling ropes, belly crawling, and a variety of tools available in the game provide a new experience.
The gameplay is also enriched by two characters, Naoe, a shinobi, and Yasuke, a samurai. Players will explore and discover Japan through the eyes of Naoe, a local, and one non-Japanese outsider. The game is more dynamic than ever before, pushing the limits of technology and offering an experience exclusive to the first state-of-the-art consoles.
The gameplay is also enriched by two characters, Naoe, a shinobi, and Yasuke, a samurai. Players will explore and discover Japan through the eyes of Naoe, a local, and one non-Japanese outsider. The game is more dynamic than ever before, pushing the limits of technology and offering an experience exclusive to the first state-of-the-art consoles.
--The "Assassin's Creed: Valhalla," released in 2020, is based on the theme of "Vikings" and has been a huge sales success. As a Japanese, I feel that from a global perspective, the Japanese "shinobi" theme is even more niche, but what is your current response?
KARL: I would like to talk about how it compares to "Viking" fantasy. Both shinobi and samurai are exciting and celebrated as fantasy with power, and are widely discussed in pop culture, and we are very much inspired by them.
Shinobi were on our radar from the beginning because we thought they fit well with the "Assassins" brand, but we felt that incorporating a powerful samurai would create two different gameplay experiences and give us the opportunity to tell the story from two different perspectives. We feel that this is a powerful motif that can compete with the "Viking" motif.
--How did you like the setting of Japan as a subject matter for the latest model?
KARL: I think it was perfect. For example, the "Global Illumination" technology allowed us to explore the response of light and shadow. Some consoles are still called "Baked GI", but by using dynamic lighting and the power of the new hardware, we were able to explore the creativity.
We are now able to express not only light and shadow, but also the dynamism of nature in greater detail. Naturally, since it is set in Japan, we have never dealt with so many trees, and thus so much data, in previous works in the series. We also needed more data to seamlessly move various things at the same time because of the seasonal changes. The latest models have allowed us to realize our vision, and our ambition for this film and for "Assassin's Creed" will continue.
--Assassin's Creed Mirage marks the 15th anniversary of the game. Can we consider this work as the next step forward for the next generation of "Assassin's Creed"?
KARL: You are absolutely right. Mirage" was a tribute to existing works, but this film is the first step into a new era. We are in the era of modern equipment. With the new generation of our engine "Anvil", plus the opportunity to create a new era by using the power of the latest consoles, we are able to do what we wanted to do with "Assassin's Creed Shadows".
With technologies such as global illumination and dynamism, we are now making the game we really wanted to make.
--What are the four pillars you are focusing on in the development of this game?
KARL: We are focusing on four pillars.
  • The first is to create an authentic and dynamic world.
  • Second is the story, introducing a new form of storytelling to "Assassin's Creed" by introducing two characters with different stories and perspectives.
  • Third, there are two different action sequences. Samurai and Shinobi each have their own training elements and unique weapons. For example, in castles, each has a different positioning that they excel at, which makes a big difference in how they play.
  • And finally, there is stealth. We are promoting the importance of stealth more than ever with new systems such as light and shadow, objects in the environment, depression, and grappling ropes.
-- The launch is scheduled for November 15, 2024. What is the current development status?
KARL: Development is going very well. We are proud to say that we have done a good job, but of course it is not finished and there are still glitches. This is the result of all the work we have done so far. We are very happy with how things are going right now, and we hope you will stay tuned for more news.
-- I understand that "Assassin's Creed Infinity" was announced at the previous Ubisoft Forward and that this title will be included in the game? Also, what is the development status of that game at ......?
KARL: "Assassin's Creed Infinity" is introduced as an Animus Hub (*a hub that will function in the future as an entry point for the series), which we will talk about at a later date.
--What is your message to your fans around the world and in Japan?
KARL: We are humbled that our dream of creating a game in this setting has come true. This is a setting that our fans have been anticipating for a long time, and for us it has been a wonderful experience to work on a game that we have always wanted to make.
This game is the result of our love. We hope you enjoy it. We look forward to talking more about it in the coming months.

The Shinobi Assassin and the Legendary Samurai. Experience the different fighting styles created by these two characters.

(left) Mr. JONATHAN DUMONT (Creative Director), (right) Mr. CHARLES BENOIT (Game Director)
--When did you start the development of this work?
JONATHAN: Development began about four years ago, and research into the time period in which the film is set began immediately. There were a number of cool subjects that brought us great characters and story plots. I had a gut feeling that this was going to be a very good game.
--Was the Azuchi-Momoyama period chosen as the period setting from the pre-development stage? Did you have an idea for a major point in Japanese history, such as the end of the Tokugawa Shogunate?
JONATHAN: I started from the beginning of my study of Japanese history, but I began reading with the feeling of a student. Following the Socratic principle, you took the attitude of knowing nothing. As I read on, I found some very interesting settings.
I focused on the Azuchi-Momoyama period because I felt it was an extremely important period for Japan. It was a time of warring states, the need to unify the country, and the need to defend itself against the growing influence of other countries.
It was a grand and complex period, and there are many stories that can be told from different angles. Among the heroes of the unification of Japan, Tokugawa Ieyasu, Toyotomi Hideyoshi, and Oda Nobunaga are best known among the outstanding characters in Japanese history.
Not only war, but also politics are involved, and they are moving toward the peace that will eventually come, with a good ending waiting somewhere in the middle. I strongly felt that this was a wonderful and interesting period that deserved to be featured.
It was also a time when the foundations of the arts were laid. Castle towns were built, the world changed, and people's relationships with each other and with art, as well as their inner lives, also changed. It was very interesting to explore this period, and I was strongly attracted to the characters who lived in this time.
-- Why did you choose the title "Shadows"?
CHARLES: From my point of view, there are two reasons. Shinobi hide in the shadows, so "Shadows" is of course inspired by that. In a way, this embraces the "Assassin" brand and shinobi.
There are other aspects to "Shadows" as well. There are "hidden things" in the game that must be discovered by the player, but they are hidden in the darkness in some way.
JONATHAN: Both characters are in a way connected to being shadowy heroes living in the underworld of this era. It's a cool title, if you can think of it this way.
--Why did you choose two main characters and two fighting styles? Also, what kind of combat action can the Shinobi and Samurai experience respectively?
JONATHAN: One of the reasons for the separation of the two styles is that from the beginning of development, we wanted to have two distinct and cool archetypes to play with: the samurai and the shinobi.
We also wanted to make sure that this fantasy was as close to reality and expectation as possible without being diluted. I also often felt the need to have two points of view in the development of the story, since history is rarely clearly black and white. The two protagonists provided interesting dynamics and perspectives on how to approach the game.
CHARLES: I think it is very interesting that in combat, both the samurai and the shinobi have special types of weapons. Therefore, the style of combat in this work is built on a more weapon-based approach.
There are weapons that only Samurai can use, and the same goes for Shinobi. The player can get a good feel for the two different fighting styles. And it is possible to switch between them.
--What weapons can Naoe and Yasuke use?
CHARLES: Both players have different types of weapons. For Naoe, we went for a more classic fantasy type shinobi. The chain scythe is a weapon that covers a wide area and can only be used by Naoe.
In addition, she also has a dagger used at close range, which can be combined with a hidden blade (Hidden Blade). Naoe can fight very quickly and efficiently with these.
On the other hand, Yasuke, who excels at overpowering with force, is given more types of weapons, some of which are firearms type weapons. They also have the typical samurai bow.
--Why did you choose to make the shinobi Naoe an original character and the samurai Yasuke a historical figure?
JONATHAN Even though they are well known in Japan, at least in North America, not much is known about farmers, what happened to them, and where the Shinobi came from.
So we decided to introduce a figure from Iga who is shrouded in mystery. We considered historical figures from the region, but we preferred a sense of mystery, so we came up with Naoe as someone who may or may not have actually existed.
As for Yasuke, from the beginning we thought that a story about the arrival of the Portuguese would be a very good way to tell the story of the crisis in Japan. The team liked the character Yasuke, and we thought we could use him to show the promise of discovering Japan.
We thought that if we started with a samurai already in Japanese society, he would be a very interesting and intriguing character, with concepts that we don't necessarily know. And it would also be interesting to see what happened to him. He starts out as a character who is already rooted in history, and we are curious to find out what happens to him.
I thought they would make a cool team, complementing each other in terms of storytelling, physique, and family background.
--What did you keep in mind when creating the scenario where the two main characters switch? What were some of the challenges?
JONATHAN: I wanted the audience to feel that "both are the main characters," but this was more complicated than it seems. Their stories overlap in places, but I wanted to make sure that as the game progresses, you gradually discover more and more about both characters. They have similar goals and motivations, but they are not 100% the same, which made it complicated and difficult to maintain their individual personalities.
Naturally, the quest can be played by either character. If a quest needs to be started by one character and completed by the other, the settings must accommodate both play styles. Thus, although it can be complicated, there are many opportunities to tell the story from one of the two perspectives.
Having two different points of view is a lot of fun, but there were some complications, such as having to use new technology in the conversation tools. There were some cool things, however. It is interesting that in the conversational scenes, the player decides which of the two protagonists speaks and they ask for different things. This is cool in a way.
CHARLES: Both characters are attacking the castle and at some point the player is asked if they want to continue with Yasuke or Naoe, both are interesting. At various points the player must make these choices.
The stories are independent, so if you want to know more about Naoe's or Yasuke's past, you can play as one character and delve into that character's story.
--Are there areas of action that differ, such as places that only Naoe, a shinobi, is allowed to enter?
JONATHAN: There are areas where both Naoe and Yasuke have different areas of activity. I can't go into details because there are a few surprises, but since Naoe can use a hooked rope, there are places that are almost exclusively accessible to her.
The world is designed to be enjoyed by both characters, and players can switch between the two at will.
Of course, if you want to reach the final point of the world or reach the summit through the ruins, then perhaps Naoe is the better choice. However, if you want to break through the fort head-on alone and open the way, Yasuke seems like a better choice. Of course, you can play with either character.
CHARLES: Each character also has specific actions. Naoe can hook the hooked rope to a specific spot and move like a pendulum, or hook the hook to a high spot and climb the rope to get to where she wants to go faster than Yasuke. However, Yasuke can use a shoulder bash to break down reinforced doors.
Yasuke can also perform parkour very efficiently in a more daring way. What can be felt when Yasuke performs parkour is how the crowd reacts. Because Yasuke is a samurai and exudes dignity as a superior class, the crowd reacts accordingly. Naoe, on the other hand, gives the impression of being more integrated into the world.
--Can you both use the Hidden Blade, Hawk's Eye, and other Assassin abilities?
CHARLES: Without spoiling anything, the traditional skills of the Assassins are mainly for Naoe. However, there is another mechanism called "Kantori" (tentative name) that can be used when you want to find an enemy or target person, and this can be used by both of them.
You can use free aim to look around, but you cannot see through walls. Yasuke can also be killed by stealth, but in a more direct and easier way. Even with stealth, there will be some sound, so it is a "stealth-like" approach.
JONATHAN: Kantori (tentative name) can be used to find many things in your current location. It is a very good guide for a certain area, but it does not take all the fun out of exploration. It is a good guide because you can learn a little more about where you want to go, but you are left with the surprise of discovering something.
-- Is there a skill tree that makes Naoe more combat-oriented or enhances Yasuke's stealth?
CHARLES: Both have skills that are more combat-oriented and stealth-oriented. Also, some equipment has effects such as increased resistance when attacked. We also offer perks that enhance your abilities in combat.
Naoe, enhanced to be more combat-oriented, has an advantage in melee combat compared to Naoe, enhanced to be more stealth-oriented. Both have a range, but cannot go in completely opposite directions. There is some overlap between the two, but we have made sure that the characteristics of each ability are properly felt.
--Please explain the skill system.
JONATHAN: Both characters share XP and level up together, but the rest of the system is a bit similar to that of "Assassin's Creed Odyssey".
XP and character abilities are available, weapons can be crafted to some degree, and various upgrades can be made as the game progresses. Weapons are not stand-alone, but for two, so each weapon has its own unique skill system. Players should not feel any discomfort, but this is a very different part of the game from the past.
CHARLES: There are two things that were very important to us in terms of skills.
First, we have to be very aware of archetypes. In Japan, there are distinct archetypes, such as the armor-clad samurai, the revolting monk, and the bandit, which are quite different. We try to make it clear to the player who is stronger, and we try to make that part of the leveling process as important as possible. Samurai are always stronger than bandits.
Secondly, player skill is added to the mix. The better you are at timing, reading attacks, understanding weapons, etc., the better you will be and the further ahead you will be.
--What is the volume of the map compared to past works? I would also like to know how you decided on the scale of this work.
JONATHAN: The biggest difference is the scale ratio. The mountains are not the actual size, but we wanted them to be true forests, consisting of trees of a certain size, so that you feel you are in a forest. To achieve this, we needed space.
We also decided to keep it close to a realistic scale, so we could feel the breath of many things. When we visited Japan and saw the castle, we were so glad we made this decision. Japanese castles are huge! Of course, we had seen pictures of castles before and thought they were big and magnificent, but when we saw them in person, they were astonishingly large.
And I wanted more space to explore the castle. Castles were built to be large battlegrounds, you know. You need space to build intricate walls for defense.
The overall scale of the map is similar to the size of the map in Origins. However, the scale ratio makes it feel more realistic. The open space leads to secluded areas throughout the game, which will be fun to explore. This sense of scale is a very interesting aspect of this film for us.
CHARLES: The story led us to choose which locations in Japan we would choose. The major events in Kyoto, around Osaka, and around Azuchi Castle took place in the same area, so we were able to focus on that.
JONATHAN: Of course, we had to choose a size that matched the game, but I think it was the perfect size for this story and type of game.
--Since the game is set in the Warring States period, is there a system that allows players to participate in battles?
JONATHAN: We see several battles in the story, and the battle at Iga is playable. There are other battles as well, but I can't talk about them right now. The game is set in the Warring States period, but it is not only about battles. It is a game that allows you to travel and discover that world.
--What challenges have you faced and what have you been able to achieve as a result?
JONATHAN: By making the big decision to go completely modern and demanding a very high level from the "Anvil" engine, we were able to increase the number of particles, create a more realistic atmosphere, and expand the graphical possibilities of the changing seasons.
This allowed us to work on a fresh new Assassin's Creed. This was a great opportunity for us to take a big leap forward in graphics.
CHARLES: Also, thanks to the new global illumination system, we were able to take advantage of light and shadow, which had a huge impact on the gameplay and stealth approach. For example, enemies became aware of our presence through our shadows, enemies gathered for warmth under a fire in the winter, or shadows through shoji screens depicted enemy presence, giving a new dimension to stealth.

By having two main characters, it is possible to show a wider range of angles and different perspectives.

(left) BROOKE DAVIES, Associate Narrative Director, (right) SACHI SCHMIDT-HORI, Narrative Consultant
--Did you choose the Azuchi-Momoyama period as the period setting from the pre-production stage?
BROOKE: I joined the project after the choice of period had been made, so the Azuchi-Momoyama period had already been chosen. This period offered so many wonderful opportunities from a narrative perspective. The complexity and duality of the period is well reflected in the characters of Naoe and Yasuke.
--What were you aware of and what were the challenges in creating a scenario where the two main characters switch?
BROOKE: From a storytelling perspective, I see it more as a wonderful opportunity than a challenge. When I write a story, I try to show rather than tell, and having two characters allows me to show what's going on from a wider range of angles and different perspectives. I hope this will encourage players to want to share their feelings with them.
--What do you think are the most important points in bringing original characters and historical figures into the game?
BROOKE: Both offer different and unique opportunities. With regard to Yasuke, I found him very interesting historically because we know some things about him, but there are many unknowns. So we needed to fill in the blanks in the story. It is important to note that Yasuke is a historical figure.
And in the case of Naoe, an original character, we were able to draw the story freely to some extent. The fact that she is a member of the Fujibayashi family and that her father is Masayasu Fujibayashi Nagato Mamoru allowed us to place her firmly within the setting. Because Yasuke is a real person but appears as a foreign-born samurai, the Japanese-born Naoe is on equal footing with Yasuke, although she has a different perspective.
--Will other historical figures appear besides Nobunaga Oda and Yasuke?
BROOKE: You will meet Luis Frois (a Jesuit missionary) at the meeting in Azuchi Castle. Also, Nene and Oichi will appear. The Japanese art renaissance that began in the Azuchi-Momoyama period blossomed in the Edo period, and you will also meet Sen no Rikyu, Kano Eitoku, and other important figures.
--Please tell us what year the story will be depicted.
BROOKE: I can't tell you what players will see, but I think it covers a part of the Azuchi-Momoyama period, from 1579 to 1584.
--I think the appeal of the series is to depict the struggle between the Assassin Order and the Templars while taking into account the history, but I would like to ask if there were any difficulties in putting the Azuchi-Momoyama period into it.
BROOKE: I don't want to mention the Knights Templar because I don't want to spoil anything, but the fascination and dynamics of this period are very interesting and provided wonderful opportunities for storytelling.
--How did you go about creating a world with a realistic feel of the Azuchi-Momoyama period?
BROOKE: We were very lucky to work with the Environment Team. The visuals they created for the game provided a great backdrop for the story.
The in-world experience added so much to the story. What we see from the stories and characters of this time period is complexity. I also believe that many of the people surrounding the World had their own struggles.
It was a very difficult time historically, and we see duality. Nothing is ever clear-cut and black and white. In warfare, two groups face each other and are confronted with different perspectives. But in the midst of it all, there are glimpses of hope for the future as we know it, which will later blossom.
--What advice did you actually give?
HORI: One scene that left a strong impression on me was the scene where Nobunaga's sister, Oichi, remarries Katsuie Shibata. In the original story we received, it was thought that the two families decided on their own without regard to Oichi's intentions, and Katsuie was portrayed negatively because he was more than 20 years older than Oichi.
So I spoke with BROOKE and the team and asked them to change it. Oichi had young children after the death of her husband Nagamasa Asai, so if her remarriage was to Katsuie, a trusted man who had served Nobunaga, she would have married him as a matter of course. When I explained that it was better to portray it in a positive light, it was a new discovery for the BROOKEs, and they were very moved by it. The rewritten version of the episode was very moving.
The other scene is the tea ceremony scene featuring Sen no Rikyu. Chanoyu is widely known to be translated as tea ceremony, but experts say it is a mistranslation. After researching the misunderstanding over here, I advised them, as far as I could understand, not to use a teapot or tea leaves, for example.
--Even we Japanese have a strong image of "ninja" as a fantasy. Did you encounter any difficulties with the theme of "ninja" in order to achieve a high level of fidelity to the historical reconstruction?
HORI: Ninja are certainly a fantasy, so I think it's a good thing that we can express ourselves creatively and without reservation. However, there are also dedicated ninja fans and communities around the world, and I am not sure to what extent they see the ninja as a real existence, or as an entity that existed in history.
Therefore, the extent to which ninja are represented in the game depends on the level of tolerance of the avid shinobi fans. I discussed this with the members of the development team. We did not have a specific policy on how much to express, but made decisions on a case-by-case basis. We decided on a case-by-case basis. We would say, "This is an acceptable creative expression," or "This is stereotypical", so let's not do that.
--I'm sure there are many references, but which one left a particularly strong impression on you?
BROOKE: The first book I looked through was "Nobunaga no Kouki" by Ota Ushiichi (Azuchi-Momoyama period, military commander and military history author). I was impressed by his personal observations as he recounts the details. We can learn a lot of historical facts from reading history books, but this author incorporated his own views so that I felt I could understand even his character and what it was like to live in that era, and I was completely drawn in. I was thrilled to be able to portray this time period and the people in this book.
--The drama "Shogun" which is set in a similar time period, has been a hit, and I hope that this work will attract the same kind of attention from game fans. I understand that you have prepared a "Discovery Tour" that allows visitors to freely walk around the game world with historical explanations.
BROOKE: I can't answer about the Discovery Tour today, but I am glad to see that interest in the setting and time period of the game is growing. I look forward to the day when we can bring this film to you.

Gathering a lot of information to recreate 16th century Japan and build a living world

(left) THIERRY DANSEREAU, Art Director, (right) STÉPHANIE-ANNE RUATTA, Historical Supervisor and World Director
--Please tell us what kind of materials you used as references to describe the field and the characters' costumes in the Azuchi-Momoyama period.
THIERRY: I have been working with experts and consultants for a long time, but for the characters, I referred to museum exhibits and books for their appearances and costumes. I visited several museums, did my research, and checked the materials with STÉPHANIE-ANNE.
Based on these, we created the characters. We also referred to descriptions in the books about the colors and the flags people carried. We used multiple sources, but we have checked them for historical accuracy.
STÉPHANIE-ANNE: For several years we had the help of experts, but we also did research with a Japanese studio and team. We used different kinds of sources to make sure the team got it right and had all the information they needed to reconstruct what Japan looked like in the 16th century.
We used museum databases, as THIERRY mentioned, but we also used inscriptions, scientific books, articles, and medieval depositions. For example, the Principles of Nobunaga has been translated into English, so we used that as a reference to describe 16th century Japan. I also referred to the documents of Luis Frois from the same period, which compare European and Japanese society.
--This period was also a time when there was a large influx of immigrants. Will you also depict the episodes, lifestyles, and culture of these people (missionaries, merchants, etc.) as well as Yasuke?
STÉPHANIE-ANNE: Yes, it is important to introduce the presence of Portuguese missionaries and merchants in the 16th century. They influenced the course of warfare during this period and the changing power of certain merchants in Japan.
--I am wondering what castles, shrines and temples that symbolize the Azuchi-Momoyama period will appear in the game. Although the game is set in the Kansai region, is the Osaka Castle built by Toyotomi Hideyoshi ......?
STÉPHANIE-ANNE: The era is represented by the construction of various castles and castle towns, so players will discover a wide variety of castle types and castles destroyed in battle. The Azuchi Castle, which is related to the name of the era, will also be featured.
THIERRY: Himeji Castle, Osaka Castle, and Takeda Castle are also available, and it is wonderful that players can visit and play in these castles. I think this is one of the strengths of the franchise, but all of the castles are based on actual historical blueprints, which I think is very unique, both as an experience and a learning opportunity.
The Koyasan Okunoin Cemetery is the oldest graveyard in Japan, which can also be seen in the game. There are too many to mention them all, but thanks to STÉPHANIE-ANNE and the experts, I think they are well described and it is wonderful that players will be able to travel to these places.
--The architectural style and decoration of the buildings is a different culture from the previous works in the series. What were you conscious of in recreating the culture and what were the challenges? I am also interested in the possibility of diving on the "Shachihoko".
STÉPHANIE-ANNE: The building team did a lot of research, and then we checked the results with experts and asked them to add the elements needed to build a great castle. We did research to recreate the decorations of not only the castle, but also the temples and shrines, and also to find out what materials were used to make them.
THIERRY: The colors also change over time, so we made adjustments to that as well. Of course, this is "Assassin's Creed," so you can climb anywhere and jump from almost anywhere. Exploring is fun.
--Japanese period games tend to be rather subdued, but were there any barriers to making it a worldwide production?
STÉPHANIE-ANNE: It's a game based on history, and we want players to have the opportunity to play with history. This period is so fascinating and celebrated, and has had such an impact on pop culture, that we were fortunate to have the help of renowned experts to make sure we had all the information we needed to faithfully recreate medieval Japan in the 16th century.
We maintained historical fidelity in this film because it was a rich period with so much to talk about and we didn't feel the need to change it. It is a rich setting, so there is an experience that goes into fantasy, but keeping it authentic was our primary goal.
--In the main storyline, can we experience famous episodes from the Azuchi-Momoyama period (such as the Battle of Nagashino, the Honnoji Incident, the Battle of Komaki and Nagakute, etc.)?
STÉPHANIE-ANNE: You will have to wait a little longer for that.
--In the recent series, "Origins," "Odyssey," and "Valhalla," you can enjoy the connection to mythology and fantasy elements based on mythological themes. Will this work also contain elements based on Japanese mythology, yokai, and other fictional creatures?
STÉPHANIE-ANNE: That is a very good question, but I will answer this one later.
--This work also reproduces the four seasons of Japan. Which season did you start first? And which seasons were particularly difficult to express?
THIERRY: I started with spring. We all know about cherry blossoms, and I think they are the most symbolic Japanese element for foreigners. And the big difference is winter. I wouldn't say that winter is more complicated because it has many different expressions, but it was very different from spring, summer, and fall, and the challenges were also different.
--What was particular about the representation of water, such as waterfalls, rivers, lakes, etc.?
THIERRY: All of the water topics were very important to us. We knew that there is a Shinto belief in waterfalls and rivers, and that they are important places in the Japanese eco-system. Even the blueprints of the suburbs are lined with irrigation canals, and they even go into the houses. Thus, we knew that water is a key component of Japanese culture, especially for agriculture.
This is why we installed drains everywhere in this work. The presence of water in the Japanese landscape was different, so we took it seriously and treated it as an inviolable part of the Japanese landscape and way of life.
--What are some of your favorite places, castles, or cultures that appear in your work?
STÉPHANIE-ANNE: That's difficult.
THIERRY: My favorite is Takeda Castle. It is on top of a high mountain and is called the castle in the sky, and I like this location. I can't say it's fair because we built it ourselves, but there are many other great places to visit.
It was a lot of work to create the forest, but I really enjoy looking at the landscape. I also like how all the ecosystems interact with each other, such as the clouds in the weather system. It's not a location, but I enjoy it because it encompasses the whole game.
STÉPHANIE-ANNE: I was impressed by the "Rakuchu Rakugaizu," Japanese folding screens from this period. I was fascinated by the fact that just by looking at them, one could come into contact with the vivid world of this period.
The artistic touch is something special. I have never seen anything so full of art. I truly admire the artists of this era.
THIERRY: I also think the most striking thing for me was the harmony of nature and architecture. I visited the site and found many places, and I could see how everything was deliberately composed.
I was told that trees were planted while the chedi was being built at the time, but everything looked perfect. Also, the culture loves the age and values it, so they cherish moss and things that have taken root there. Japan has maintained these places so they still exist and are still in use.
I realized that we are dealing with a subject that has a long history. It is also a culture that values space, living space. These were the most exciting discoveries during my travels in Japan.
submitted by Shiirooo to assassinscreed [link] [comments]

2024.05.19 20:32 El-ChosenJuan Car wont start? What is this? Please help

Hey all ive got an 05 mustang ive been working on thats been a pain in the ass. Its been sitting for a year and was ok before sitting. I just replaced the fuel pump cause it wasnt starting and had p0193 code. Upon replacing fuel pump and filter it started up great and sounded strong and cleared check engine light. I left it standing a few days while I received front lower control arm parts and when I went to start it took some long cranks before it started and I moved it, it was also throwing codes p2068 and b1202 as i checked when I was trying to start. Now that I finished the control arms I went to start and am getting this. No start, the fuel pump is still priming and im getting pressure at the fuel rail according to scanner tool. Ive got no active codes at the moment either. Very frustrated. What should I look for now? I dont know where to even start. I appreciate any help, thank you
Video on trying to start below
https://streamable.com/polp9q
submitted by El-ChosenJuan to AskMechanics [link] [comments]

2024.05.19 20:20 Harry-Billibab Commute Headphones around $200 AUD

So.. I currently use these DT770 Pro's as a commuter pair. The sound isolation is great and it is very nice to get "audiophile" quality on the go, but the timbre and the "Beyer Peak" just doesn't really work for me. I am looking for a headphone to replace it around the $200 AUD mark with a sound akin to a HD58X with the oratory EQ applied. I will be using the Apple lightning adapter to power them.
There is currently a Focal Elegia for around $200 on Facebook Marketplace, but Reddit reviews say they are not very good without EQ. Also, the Focal quality control issues scare me.
Any recommendations?
submitted by Harry-Billibab to HeadphoneAdvice [link] [comments]

2024.05.19 20:17 model-willem B1670 - Protected Sovereign States and Territories Bill - Final Division

Protected Sovereign States and Territories Bill

A
BILL
TO
provide greater protection for the recognition of certain nations’ independence, for certain nations’ sovereignty over disputed regions, and for connected purposes.
BE IT ENACTED by the King’s Most Excellent Majesty, by and with the advice and consent of the Lords Temporal, and Commons, in this present Parliament assembled, and by the authority of the same, as follows:—

PART 1

PROTECTED INDEPENDENCE RECOGNITION

1 Protected independence recognition status
(1) A polity in Schedule 1 is considered to have protected independence recognition.
(2) In this Act, ‘protected independence recognition’ is recognition that a polity is a sovereign state as it is an independent political entity comprising a people from a defined territory that has the capacity to enter into relations with other states and requires protection.
2 Amending a polity’s protected independence recognition
(1) The Secretary of State may, by statutory instrument amending Schedule 1 of this Act, determine that a polity does or does not have protected independence recognition and what the polity’s defined territorial boundaries are.
(2) Any statutory instrument made under subsection (1) is to be passed with affirmative procedure.
(3) The Secretary of State must consider adding a polity to Schedule 1 if—
(a) the polity in question has declared that it is an independent sovereign state;
(b) there is a dispute about the ownership of the territory that the polity claims sovereignty over; and
(c) the polity faces an active and serious threat to its existence.
(4) The Secretary of State must consider removing a polity from Schedule 1 if—
(a) the polity renounces its declaration of independence;
(b) the polity renounces its claim to their territory; or
(c) the polity no longer faces an active and serious threat to its existence.
3 Assistance in times of conflict
(1) The United Kingdom must assist a polity in Schedule 1 if another polity—
(a) declares war; or
(b) applies significant economic sanctions;
against that polity.
(2) The Secretary of State must consider whether it is appropriate and legitimate to provide the assistance requested or deemed to be necessary in regards to the assistance of a polity.
(3) If a polity in Schedule 1 engages in military action against another polity, the Secretary of State must consider—
(a) removing said polity from Schedule 1;
(b) making a determination about which polity has the valid claim to sovereignty over the territory; and
(c) diplomatic actions that can be taken to resolve the situation.

PART 2

PROTECTED SOVEREIGNTY RECOGNITION

4 Protected sovereignty recognition status
(1) A territory in Schedule 2 of this Act has protected sovereignty recognition.
(2) In this Act, ‘protected sovereignty recognition’ is recognition that a territory belongs to an existing sovereign state and needs protection.
5 Amending a territory’s protected sovereignty recognition
(1) The Secretary of State may, by statutory instrument amending Schedule 2 of this Act, determine that a territory does or does not have protected sovereignty recognition and to which sovereign state it belongs to.
(2) Any statutory instrument made under subsection (1) is to be passed with affirmative procedure.
(3) The Secretary of State must consider adding a territory to Schedule 2 if—
(a) the territory in question is recognised as owned by a sovereign state;
(b) there is a dispute about the ownership of the territory; and
(c) the territory—
(i) is under military occupation;
(ii) is facing civil war or unrest; or
(iii) is facing a high risk of military action.
(4) The Secretary of State must consider removing a territory from Schedule 2 if the sovereign state it belongs to renounces its sovereign over that territory.

PART 3

UNPROTECTED STATUS RECOGNITION

1 Unprotected Status Recognition
(1) A polity in Schedule 3 is considered to have unprotected status recognition.
(2) In this Act, ‘unprotected status recognition’ is recognition that a polity who has lost control of its claimed territory is and continues to be a sovereign state as it is an independent political entity comprising a people from a defined territory that has the capacity to enter into relations with other states and requires protection.
(3) In this Act, ‘alternative claiming polity’ is the other entity that currently occupies or controls the land in which the polity with unprotected status recognition claims.
2 Amending a polity’s unprotected status recognition
(1) The Secretary of State may, by statutory instrument amending Schedule 1 of this Act, determine that a polity does or does not have unprotected status recognition and what the polity’s defined territorial boundaries are.
(2) Any statutory instrument made under subsection (1) is to be passed with affirmative procedure.
(3) The Secretary of State must consider adding a polity to Schedule 1 if—
(a) the polity in question has continued to declare that it is an independent sovereign state;
(b) there remains a dispute about the ownership of the territory that the polity claims sovereignty over;
(c) the polity in question continues to maintain diplomatic consultation with the United Kingdom;
(d) the polity in question makes a formal request to the United Kingdom for continued recognition
(e) the alternative claiming polity to the polity in which is in question for unprotected status recognition is considered a terrorist or extremist state.
(4) The Secretary of State must consider removing a polity from Schedule 1 if—
(a) the polity renounces its declaration of independence;
(b) the polity renounces its claim to their territory;
(c) the polity itself recognises the alternative polity claiming the formerly disputed land;
(d) the alternative claiming polity establishes formal relations with the United Kingdom, and meets human rights expectations; and
(e) it is considered by the Parliament through affirmative measure to no longer be in the interest of the United Kingdom to be involved in the continued recognition of the polity.
3 Requirements upon the Government
(1) The United Kingdom is not bound to assist the unprotected status recognition polity in any way, however may do so if such is the wish of the government, or by parliament through an affirmative measure.

PART 4

FINAL PROVISIONS

6 Definitions
In this Act—
’sovereign state’ is to be construed as “an independent political entity comprising a people from a defined territory that has the capacity to enter into relations with other states and requires protection.”
‘protected independence recognition’ is to be construed in accordance with subsection 1(2).
’protected sovereignty recognition’ is to be construed in accordance with subsection 4(2).
’defined territorial boundaries’ is to be construed as the territories outlined for a particular polity within Schedules 1 and 2
7 Extent, commencement, and short title
(1) This Act extends to England and Wales, Scotland and Northern Ireland.
(2) The provisions of this Act shall come into force the day this Act is passed.
(3) This Act may be cited as the Protected Sovereign States and Territories Act 2023.

SCHEDULE 1

PROTECTED INDEPENDENCE RECOGNITION POLITIES

State of Israel
1 (1) The State of Israel has protected independence recognition as defined by this Act.
(2) The territory of the State of Israel is the territory under their name as defined by the demarcation line set out in the 1949 Armistice Agreements between the nations of Egypt, Jordan, Lebanon, Syria and Israel known as the Green Line.
State of Palestine
2 (1) The State of Palestine has protected independence recognition as defined by this Act.
(2) The territory of the State of Palestine is the territory under their name as defined by the demarcation line set out in the 1949 Armistice Agreements between the nations of Egypt, Jordan, Lebanon, Syria and Israel known as the Green Line.
Republic of Kosovo
3 (1) The Republic of Kosovo has protected independence recognition as defined by this Act.
(2) The territory of the Republic of Kosovo is the territory of the Autonomous Province of Kosovo and Metohija as defined by the Constitution of the nation of Serbia on the commencement of this Act.
Sahrawi Arab Democratic Republic
4 (1) The Sahrawi Arab Democratic Republic has protected independence recognition as defined by this Act.
(2) The territory of the Sahrawi Arab Democratic Republic is the territory of Western Sahara as defined by the border of the Islamic Republic of Mauritania and the line at 27° 40’ N extending from the ocean to the border of the Islamic Republic of Mauritania.
Republic of Cyprus
5 (1) The Republic of Cyprus has protected independence recognition as defined by this Act.
(2) The territory of the Republic of Cyprus is the entirety of the island of Cyprus excluding the sovereign base areas of—
(a) Akrotiri; and
(b) Dhekelia.
Democratic Republic of Timor-Leste
6 (1) The Democratic Republic of Timor-Leste has protected independence recognition as defined by this Act.
(2) The territory of the Democratic Republic of Timor-Leste is the territory of East Timor as defined in the Constitution of the Democratic Republic of Timor-Leste.
Ukraine
7 (1) The nation of Ukraine has protected independence recognition as defined by this Act.
(2) The territory of Ukraine consists of the Cherkasy, Chernihiv, Chernivtsi, Crimea, Dnipropetrovsk, Donetsk, Ivano-Frankivsk, Kharkiv, Kherson, Khmelnytskyi, Kirovohrad, Kyiv Municipal, Kyiv, Luhansk, Lviv, Mykolaiv, Odesa, Poltava, Rivne, Sevastopol, Sumy, Ternopil, Vinnytsia, Volyn, Zakarpattia, Zaporizhzhia, and Zhytomyr Oblasts.

SCHEDULE 2

PROTECTED SOVEREIGNTY RECOGNITION TERRITORIES

Crimea, Donetsk, Kherson, Luhansk and Zaporizhzhia
1 (1) The territories of Crimea, Donetsk, Kherson, Luhansk and Zaporizhzhia has protected sovereignty recognition as defined under this Act.
(2) The sovereign state of the territories of Crimea, Donetsk, Kherson, Luhansk and Zaporizhzhia is the nation of Ukraine.
(3) (a) The territory of Crimea is the territory of the Autonomous Republic of Crimea and the city with special status of Sevastopol
(3) (b) The territory of Donetsk is the territory of the Donetsk Oblast as defined by Ukraine
(3) (c) The territory of Kherson is the territory of the Kherson Oblast as defined by Ukraine
(3) (d) The territory of Luhansk is the territory of the Luhansk Oblast as defined by Ukraine
(3) (e) The territory of Zaporizhzhia is the territory of the Zaporizhzhia Oblast as defined by Ukraine
Golan Heights
2 (1) The territory of Golan Heights has protected sovereignty recognition as defined under this Act.
(2) The sovereign state of the territory of Golan Heights is the Syrian Arab Republic.
(3) The territory of Golan Heights is the territory under their name as defined by the demarcation line set out in the 1949 Armistice Agreements between Egypt, Jordan, Lebanon, Syria and Israel known as the Green Line.

SCHEDULE 3

UNPROTECTED STATUS RECOGNITION POLITIES

Islamic Republic of Afghanistan
1 (1) The polity of the Islamic Republic of Afghanistan has unprotected sovereignty recognition as defined under this Act.
(2) The territory of Afghanistan is the territory of the 34 divisions of Afghanistan.
This Bill was submitted by The Right Honourable Dame Youma, The Baroness of Motherwell, LT MBE PC MP on behalf of Unity.
Speaker,
Over the past few years, our nation has witnessed a wave of upheaval across the world, as nations returned to violent means as a method of the annexation of territory and people, a principle the world had thought was dismantled after the Second World War. As I said nearly two years ago, I shall repeat as I wish to cast reflection upon our role as a country across the global community with these matters in mind. Should we wallow in isolation, or should we stand for what is right?
When I stood at the Despatch box as Prime Minister, Foreign Secretary, or any other role, I spoke of the need for active foreign policy. Speaker, these are not just words or slogans, active foreign policy requires the United Kingdom to recognise its own duty as the mother of parliaments to defend, protect, and promote democracy and human rights internationally. It is part of this task that I present the Protected Sovereign States and Territories Bill to the parliament again, reflective of what we have witnessed over the past few years, to bring the needed legislative changes required to ensure an active foreign policy is at the forefront of the mind of the government of the day.
The Protected Sovereign States and Territories Bill is fundamentally about ensuring the recognition of vulnerable nations, whose existence is at risk of extinction due to potential conflict or collapse, continues regardless of the government of the day. This legislation would prevent a government from unilaterally revoking the recognition of the nations within Schedule 1, and the ownership of the territories within Schedule 2. As an example, I will highlight Kosovo as a nation that should be uplifted to protected independence recognition status. Kosovo is a relatively new nation, whose Declaration of Independence was recognised by our nation on the 18th of February 2008. Kosovo’s very existence as a sovereign nation is under threat each day, as an active campaign continues attempting to undermine its recognition and sovereignty. This legislation ensures that parliament’s will to stand with the people of Kosovo in recognising their independence is protected, away from the unilateral statement of a rogue foreign minister.
To alleviate any concerns, I will address some matters raised within previous debates on this topic. This legislation will not prevent the future recognition of new nations, his Majesty’s government retains this power to ensure our nation may quickly respond to fast moving scenarios. This legislation will not require conflict as an automatic means of resolution, all that is required by this legislation is for something to be done, diplomatic support covers this sufficiently. This legislation will not cripple the Government's ability to conduct foreign affairs and policy, the Minister retains a large variety of powers even on matters subject to this act to ensure the flexibility of our nation's foreign policy is preserved, whilst protecting the recognition of vulnerable nations.
With all of this in mind, and what we have witnessed over the past few years in our hearts, I urge all members to see the good that this legislation will bring, to stand with these vulnerable nations, and vote yes to this legislation.
This division shall end on the 22nd May at 10PM
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2024.05.19 20:13 PageTurner627 My Dad and I Hunted Down the Dogman that Killed My Sister

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.
submitted by PageTurner627 to TheCrypticCompendium [link] [comments]

2024.05.19 20:13 Perkelton Weekly Crowdfunding Roundup: May 19 2024 18 ending soon (incl. Dark Cities) & 30 new this week (incl. Feudum, 2024 Crokinole Board Season 8)

What is this?

This is a weekly crowdfunding roundup of new projects launched last week and projects that end the coming week.

Google Docs

As an alternative format, the lists are now also available as a Google Docs found here: Weekly Crowdfunding Roundup

Updates

Expect new lists every Sunday between 00:00 and 23:59 CEST on the following platforms:
Mastodon: @danielpervan@mastodon.social
Discord: https://discord.gg/dN4P4PZcU9
Reddit: /boardgames

Selection criteria

The criteria for the lists are as follows:

Ending soon

Newly launched

Notable filtered projects

Tags

🎉: Staff pick/featured
💰: Funded
🔥: More than average 200 backers/day
🌱: Creator's first project
🌳: Creator's >5th project
🔄: Money back guarantee (Read more)

FAQ

I live in Cuba/Canada/Haiti/USA, why are you posting on a Saturday?!
Because I'm writing this from Europe in the future where it's already Sunday. Timezones be crazy.
Why are there a bunch of non-board games in the board game list?
Because the Tabletop games category on Kickstarter includes anything remotely related to board games and sometimes things slip through my filters.
Why is this future award winning board game and literal saviour of humanity missing from your list?
Sometimes my filters get a bit overzealous and discard actually valid projects. If you feel something is missing for this reason, leave a comment and I'll add it (maybe).
Can I donate all my money to you?
No
Can you help me promote my game?
Please no. I make lists. Nothing more.
Your list is full of errors and now the great old ones have awaken!
Indeed, this fine piece of code runs purely on faith, trust and pixie dust, so anything can happen. Leave a comment and I'll see what I can do.

Ending soon (18)

Name Description Backers Pledged Ends Information Tags BGG
Dark Cities | Deluxe Editions Five games of social deduction & light strategy for up to 9 players. Deluxe book boxes include upgraded components & mini expansions. 2982 $321,124.00 (1284%) in 20 days 2024-05-23 💸 Kickstarter 🎉💰🌳
LONG DARK SEA Long Dark Sea is a cooperative adventure card game for 1-4 players focused on exploration and combat where deckbuilding and resource management are their main mechanics. Venture into the unknown with your pirate crew in search of ancient relics in a Sci-fi universe. 1006 €136,749.40 (228%) in 19 days 2024-05-21 💸 Gamefound 👥 1‑4 players 👶 12+ ⏱️ 40-60 min. Card Game Dice Game Deck Building Cooperative 💰🌱 BGG
Hannibal & Hamilcar + Metal Minis Hannibal: Classic Edition by one of the most acclaimed game designers in the world, Mark Simonitch. 972 €102,134.25 (340%) in 6 days 2024-05-24 💸 Gamefound 👥 2 players ⏱️ 120 min. Card Game Wargame Dice Game Area Control 💰🌳
Picky Eaters: Ultimate Collection A delectably devious game for 2-6 players. 681 $50,546.00 (1011%) in 27 days 2024-05-23 💸 Kickstarter 👥 2‑6 players 👶 8+ ⏱️ 20-40 min. 🎉💰 BGG
Apistocracy You're invited to make your season debut in a game that blends worker placement and trick-taking with the delights of Victorian London. 646 $55,877.00 (559%) in 27 days 2024-05-23 💸 Kickstarter 👥 2‑4 players 👶 12+ ⏱️ 40-80 min. 💰🌱 BGG
Park Life 🇬🇧 🇨🇦 🇪🇺 Cozy trick-taking game. A celebration of public spaces and cute hedgehogs! 🦔🦔🦔 461 $13,854.00 (13854%) in 27 days 2024-05-22 💸 Kickstarter 👥 1‑5 players 👶 10+ ⏱️ 15-30 min. 🎉💰 BGG
Long Live Backyardia! A modular expansion for the award-nominated Trick-Taking and Mancala board game Bug Council of Backyardia! 454 ¥2,447,309 (489%) in 20 days 2024-05-21 💸 Kickstarter 👥 3‑5 players 👶 10+ ⏱️ 30-40 min. 💰 BGG
AI 100% Human - Boardgame Innovative drafting game with a reserve and immediate scoring, all structured around building a tableau. 370 €24,480.00 (245%) in 20 days 2024-05-24 💸 Kickstarter 👥 2‑6 players 👶 14+ ⏱️ 30-45 min. 💰🌳 BGG
Nanga Parbat: Animal Powers A promo pack for Dr. Finn's Nanga Parbat to add even more strategy and fun to an already awesome game. 320 $4,223.00 (422%) in 12 days 2024-05-22 💸 Kickstarter 👥 2 players 👶 14+ ⏱️ 30-40 min. 🎉💰🌳 BGG
Cosmic Chains A tactical dueling card game of cats and robots. Build the longest satellite chain to provide the best network coverage! 293 $8,739.00 (175%) in 19 days 2024-05-26 💸 Kickstarter 👥 2 players 👶 14+ ⏱️ 30-40 min. 💰🌱 BGG
DragonStrike Mount your Dragon and ride into aerial combat in this fast paced but deviously cunning Board Game, using beautiful pre-painted Dragons! 261 $49,705.00 (124%) in 27 days 2024-05-25 💸 Kickstarter 💰
Potion Crafter Alchemy calls! Fill the shelves of your magic shop with unique potions in this roll and write, print and play strategy board game. 251 €2,762.00 (2762%) in 14 days 2024-05-21 💸 Kickstarter 👥 1‑6 players 👶 8+ ⏱️ 20-40 min. 💰 BGG
Renters + Parking Expansion (Print & Play) Renters, is a roll & write boardgame in which we will have to host groups of up to 5 people in our building, according to a roll of the dice. But our building requires repair the elevator, air conditioning and wifi. 225 €2,117.45 (4235%) in 45 days 2024-05-20 💸 Gamefound 👥 1‑10 players 👶 10+ ⏱️ 20-30 min. Dice Game 💰🌱 BGG
Dungeon Rooms with FLAVOR A deck of geomorphic dungeon rooms cards with... flavor! 205 €2,986.00 (299%) in 11 days 2024-05-24 💸 Kickstarter 💰🌳
Treasures Lost Navigate wisely across the uncharted lands. Choose your path and find the lost treasures! | Fantasy | PnP | Roll n write | Dungeon | 198 NZ$4,313.00 (431%) in 27 days 2024-05-23 💸 Kickstarter 👥 1‑99 players 👶 8+ ⏱️ 15-30 min. 💰🌳 BGG
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2024.05.19 20:12 PageTurner627 My Dad and I Hunted Down the Dogman that Killed My Sister

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.
submitted by PageTurner627 to Odd_directions [link] [comments]

2024.05.19 20:11 thatmozzie_ Created A CyberPunk Dystopian Choose-Your-Own-Adventure Novel Set In The Year 2124 In Los Angeles

Created A CyberPunk Dystopian Choose-Your-Own-Adventure Novel Set In The Year 2124 In Los Angeles
"The Neon District"
https://preview.redd.it/h6j5xnthef1d1.jpg?width=1792&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=2dac28553adfcd5e9a5762f45cecd76ca2071491
I was inspired after reading another user's experience creating his own world, so I decided to give it a shot. I wanted to create a sort of interactive choose-your-own-adventure cyberpunk story set in 2124 Los Angeles. I prompted ChatGPT to essentially create a story and world that revolves around common themes within a typical CyberPunk setting such as rampant crime, corrupt cops and politicians, massive drug usage, mega-corporations out of control, poverty, and technology blurring the lines between humanity.
One of my favorite video games lately of all time is CyberPunk 2077, so I just wanted to create something similar that I could experience and live through in a different interactive way while also testing out ChatGPT out of boredom. Here are some of the results from the simulation.
I'll denote "USER INPUT" as anything I wrote or input, and "CHAT GPT" anytime it outputs anything.
Rules: I will use minimal intervention / altering and mainly allow the program to pretty much lead me through the story barring any world-breaking narratives or plots:
  • CHATGPT:

Setting: Los Angeles, 2124

General Environment

  • Skyline: The skyline is dominated by towering skyscrapers, neon signs, and massive holographic advertisements. The upper levels house the wealthy elite and powerful corporations, while the lower levels are grimy, chaotic, and densely populated.
  • Streets: The streets are teeming with life at all hours. Neon lights and electronic billboards illuminate the darkness, casting a perpetual artificial glow. The air is thick with pollution, making clean air a luxury.
  • Architecture: Buildings are a mix of high-tech designs with futuristic materials and dilapidated structures. Graffiti covers many walls, and it's not uncommon to see makeshift shelters and slums in the shadow of corporate headquarters.
  • Technology: Advanced technology is integrated into everyday life. People have cybernetic enhancements, AI assistants, and immersive virtual reality systems. However, the gap between those who can afford cutting-edge tech and those who can't is vast.

Society

  • Crime and Law Enforcement: Crime is rampant. Gang wars and turf battles are common. The police are corrupt, often working for the highest bidder, whether it's a corporation or a crime syndicate. Justice is a commodity, and the wealthy can buy their way out of trouble.
  • Economy: The economy is dominated by a few mega-corporations that control everything from food and water to security and healthcare. Small businesses struggle to survive. Basic necessities are expensive, and clean water is a luxury.
  • Culture: The culture is a blend of hedonism and despair. Nightclubs, brothels, and underground fight clubs offer temporary escape from harsh realities. Art and music are heavily influenced by the cyberpunk aesthetic, with neon colors, dark themes, and digital elements.

Key Locations

  • The Underground: A labyrinth of tunnels, abandoned subway stations, and hidden passages used by criminals, hackers, and those avoiding the authorities. This is where Zoe feels most at home.
  • Corporate Towers: Massive skyscrapers where powerful corporations operate. They are heavily guarded, both physically and digitally, but hold valuable data and resources for skilled netrunners like Zoe.
  • Black Markets: Hidden marketplaces where anything can be bought or sold, from illegal tech and drugs to human organs and stolen data. Zoe frequents these markets to find jobs and acquire tools for her hacks.

Main Character: Zoe

Background

  • Early Life: Zoe grew up on the streets, learning to fend for herself from a young age. She quickly became skilled at navigating the dangerous urban environment and developed a talent for hacking and stealth.
  • Skills and Abilities: Zoe is a netrunner, capable of hacking into secure systems using her neural augmentations. She is also proficient with small arms and knives, and excels in stealth, disguise, acting, and manipulation.
  • Personality: Zoe is resourceful, intelligent, and determined. She has a sharp wit and a knack for thinking on her feet. While she can be cynical and distrusting, she also has a strong sense of loyalty to those she cares about.

Appearance

  • Height and Build: Zoe stands at 5'6" with a slim, athletic build. Her frame allows her to move quickly and silently.
  • Features: She has sharp features, piercing eyes, and a distinctive look that she can easily alter with makeup and disguises. Her hair is usually styled in a practical yet edgy way, fitting the cyberpunk aesthetic.
  • Augmentations: Zoe has several cybernetic enhancements, including neural implants for hacking, enhanced vision, and a subdermal interface for interacting with digital systems.

Plot Elements

Conflict

  • Corporate Rivalries: The mega-corporations are constantly vying for power, using any means necessary to sabotage their rivals. Zoe often finds herself caught in the crossfire, hired by one corporation to hack another.
  • Underground Power Struggles: Crime syndicates and gangs are in a constant state of flux, battling for control of territory and resources. Zoe's connections to these groups provide her with both opportunities and dangers.
  • Personal Stakes: Zoe's ultimate goal is to uncover the truth behind her parents' mysterious deaths, which she believes were orchestrated by one of the powerful corporations. This quest drives many of her actions and decisions.

Themes

  • Humanity vs. Technology: The story explores the tension between human identity and technological augmentation. Zoe struggles with maintaining her humanity as she becomes more reliant on her cybernetic enhancements.
  • Survival and Loyalty: In a world where trust is scarce and betrayal is common, Zoe must navigate complex relationships and alliances. Her loyalty to her friends and allies is both a strength and a vulnerability.
  • Power and Corruption: The pervasive corruption in both the corporate and criminal worlds serves as a backdrop for Zoe's journey. She constantly grapples with the moral complexities of her actions and their consequences.
USER INPUT
Lets create some additional characters to the story and more world building, starting with her childhood best friend. He's trustworthy, loveable character type. Strong, loyal to a fault, pure, but also an amazing fighter and can be mean to those that do him or his family wrong as quick as any common thug on the streets. What should his name be?
CHATGPT
Let's name Zoe's childhood best friend Lucas. Here's a detailed character profile and additional world-building elements:

Character Profile: Lucas

Name: Lucas "Luc" Raines

Background:

  • Age: 20
  • Height: 6'2"
  • Build: Muscular and athletic
  • Appearance: Lucas has short, dark hair and piercing blue eyes. His face is usually adorned with a friendly smile, but he can turn fierce in an instant when provoked. He has several tattoos, each symbolizing different aspects of his life and struggles.
  • Personality: Lucas is trustworthy and lovable, known for his unwavering loyalty and pure heart. Despite the harsh realities of their world, he maintains a strong moral compass. He's always ready to stand up for his friends and protect those he cares about, even if it means getting his hands dirty.

Skills and Abilities:

  • Combat: Lucas is an exceptional fighter, trained in various martial arts and street fighting techniques. His strength and combat skills make him a formidable opponent.
  • Loyalty: His loyalty to Zoe and their close-knit group of friends is unshakeable. He would go to great lengths to ensure their safety and well-being.
  • Strategic Thinking: While Lucas may come across as a brawler, he's also a strategic thinker, able to plan and execute complex operations when needed.

Relationships:

  • Zoe: Lucas and Zoe have been best friends since childhood. They share a deep bond, built on years of mutual trust and shared experiences. Lucas is fiercely protective of Zoe and often acts as her guardian in dangerous situations.
  • Family: Lucas has a younger sister whom he cares for deeply. His parents were victims of corporate exploitation, fueling his disdain for the mega-corporations that dominate their world.

Additional World-Building Elements:

Key Factions:

  1. The Vanguard Syndicate:
    • Overview: A powerful crime syndicate that controls much of the underground economy in Los Angeles. They deal in everything from illegal augmentations to black-market goods.
    • Leader: Damien "The Viper" Valdez, a ruthless and cunning leader known for his strategic mind and brutal enforcement tactics.
    • Conflict: The Vanguard Syndicate often hires netrunners like Zoe for high-risk hacking jobs, while also clashing with rival gangs and corporations.
  2. NeoCore Corporation:
    • Overview: One of the largest and most influential mega-corporations in the city. They specialize in advanced cybernetic enhancements, AI development, and data security.
    • Public Image: NeoCore presents itself as a benevolent entity, promising technological advancements and prosperity. However, beneath the surface, they are involved in unethical experiments and corporate espionage.
    • Objective: They are always seeking to expand their influence and eliminate any threats to their dominance, making them a constant antagonist in the story.

Key Locations:

  1. The Neon District:
    • Description: The heart of the city's nightlife, filled with clubs, bars, and entertainment venues. It's a place where people go to forget their troubles, at least for a while.
    • Atmosphere: The district is always buzzing with energy, illuminated by neon lights and holographic advertisements. It's a haven for both thrill-seekers and those looking to make shady deals.
    • Significance: This is where Zoe and her friends often gather, blending in with the crowds and keeping their ears to the ground for potential jobs.
  2. The Wastes:
    • Description: The outskirts of the city, where pollution and neglect have turned the landscape into a desolate wasteland. The Wastes are home to the city's poorest residents, who live in makeshift shelters and struggle to survive.
    • Danger: The area is lawless, ruled by scavengers and rogue gangs. It's a place where only the strong or well-armed dare to venture.
    • Connection: Zoe occasionally visits the Wastes to help those in need or to hide from the authorities when necessary.
  3. The Vault:
    • Description: An underground bunker and safe haven for netrunners. It's a hidden, secure location equipped with the latest hacking tools and technology.
    • Community: The Vault is a tight-knit community of hackers and tech enthusiasts who share information, resources, and protection.
    • Importance: This is where Zoe refines her skills, plans her heists, and collaborates with other netrunners on large-scale operations.

Plot Hooks and Story Arcs:

  1. The Heist:
    • Synopsis: Zoe and Lucas are hired by a mysterious client to infiltrate a NeoCore facility and steal valuable data. The heist requires meticulous planning and flawless execution, with high stakes and unexpected twists.
    • Challenges: They must navigate through tight security, betrayals, and unforeseen dangers. The job tests their skills and loyalty to each other.
  2. The Rescue:
    • Synopsis: Lucas's younger sister is kidnapped by a rival gang seeking leverage against him. Zoe and Lucas must track down the kidnappers and rescue her before it's too late.
    • Emotional Stakes: This mission is deeply personal for Lucas, and his rage and determination drive the story forward. Zoe must balance her tactical mind with supporting her friend through this ordeal.
  3. The Conspiracy:
    • Synopsis: Zoe uncovers clues about her parents' deaths, leading her to a massive conspiracy involving NeoCore and the Vanguard Syndicate. As she digs deeper, she realizes the scale of corruption and danger she faces.
    • Revelations: The story arc delves into Zoe's past, her parents' secrets, and the true extent of corporate manipulation. It sets the stage for a climactic showdown against the forces that have shaped her life.
These elements add depth to your story, creating a vivid and engaging world for Zoe and her companions.
USER INPUT
Can you generate an image in an anime/cyberpunk style reminiscant of the style of Ghost In The Shell. Generate our main character Zoe
CHAPTGPT
ZOE
  • USER INPUT
let's develop more scenes and characters as well. It would be interesting to have a sort of old underground father type figure to both Zoe and Lucas, someone not related to them but someone that took them in to the underground at a young age and taught them everything they know. He looks after them like family, but he is also a criminal type in the underground world so a mix of good to them, but can be evil to others. Feel free to create other interesting characters and scenes / locations / etc as well
CHATGPT

New Character: Marcus "Iron Hand" Kane

Role: Father Figure to Zoe and Lucas
Background:
  • Age: 55
  • Height: 6'0"
  • Build: Stocky and strong, with a presence that commands respect
  • Appearance: Marcus has a rugged, weathered face with deep-set eyes that have seen the worst of the city. His hair is a mix of grey and black, often tied back. His most distinctive feature is his cybernetic right arm, known as the "Iron Hand," which is both a powerful weapon and a symbol of his status in the underground.
  • Personality: Marcus is a complex character, blending kindness and brutality. To Zoe and Lucas, he is a protective and caring father figure, offering wisdom, guidance, and training. To others, he is a feared criminal, ruthless in his dealings and unwavering in his pursuit of power.
  • Skills and Abilities: Marcus is a master tactician, skilled in combat and cyber warfare. His "Iron Hand" cybernetic arm has multiple functionalities, including enhanced strength, weapon capabilities, and hacking tools. He is also a shrewd negotiator and leader.
History:
  • Marcus took in Zoe and Lucas when they were just children, recognizing their potential and providing them with a home in the underground. He trained them in survival, hacking, and combat, instilling in them the skills they needed to thrive in the harsh realities of their world.
  • He has a dark past, having been involved in numerous criminal activities and power struggles. Despite his ruthless nature, he has a strong sense of loyalty to those he considers family.

Additional Characters:

1. Lila "Viper" Santos
  • Role: Underground Information Broker
  • Age: 28
  • Appearance: Lila is a striking figure with sharp, green eyes and sleek black hair. She has a slender build and often dresses in stylish, high-tech attire. Her cybernetic enhancements include a neural interface that allows her to access and process vast amounts of information quickly.
  • Personality: Lila is cunning, resourceful, and always a step ahead. She has a network of informants and is known for her ability to find out anything about anyone. Despite her aloof demeanor, she has a soft spot for Zoe and Lucas, often providing them with critical information.
  • Skills: Expert in data retrieval, espionage, and manipulation. Her cybernetic enhancements give her an edge in accessing secure networks and uncovering secrets.
2. Riko "Ghost" Tanaka
  • Role: Elite Netrunner and Rival
  • Age: 22
  • Appearance: Riko is an enigmatic figure with short, spiky white hair and cybernetic eyes that glow faintly blue. He has a lean, agile build and is known for his stealth and speed.
  • Personality: Riko is a lone wolf, fiercely independent and highly competitive. He respects Zoe's skills but also sees her as a rival. He is driven by a desire to be the best netrunner in the city.
  • Skills: Master hacker with advanced cybernetic enhancements that allow him to move through digital networks undetected. He is also skilled in parkour and close-quarters combat.

New Locations:

1. The Hub
  • Description: The Hub is a massive underground complex that serves as the central meeting place for the city's netrunners and tech enthusiasts. It's filled with advanced tech, servers, and hacking terminals. The atmosphere is a blend of chaos and order, with people constantly exchanging information and working on new projects.
  • Significance: This is where Zoe and Lucas often go to gather information, meet contacts, and plan their operations. The Hub is also a place of relative safety, where violence is strictly forbidden.
2. The Sprawl
  • Description: A sprawling slum area on the outskirts of the city, characterized by makeshift shelters, narrow alleys, and rampant poverty. Despite its dire conditions, the Sprawl is a vibrant community where people band together to survive.
  • Atmosphere: The Sprawl is always bustling with activity, from street vendors selling homemade goods to children playing amidst the ruins. It's a place of both danger and resilience, where the inhabitants have learned to adapt to their harsh environment.
  • Connection: Zoe often visits the Sprawl to help those in need and to stay connected with her roots. It's also a place where she can move around relatively unnoticed.
3. NeoCore Headquarters
  • Description: A towering skyscraper in the heart of the city, NeoCore's headquarters is a symbol of corporate power and technological advancement. The building is sleek and modern, with state-of-the-art security systems and heavily guarded entrances.
  • Significance: NeoCore Headquarters is often the target of Zoe's hacking missions, as it houses valuable data and cutting-edge tech. The building's imposing presence is a constant reminder of the corporation's influence over the city.

New Scenes:

1. The Heist
  • Setting: NeoCore Headquarters
  • Description: Zoe and Lucas undertake a daring heist to steal critical data from NeoCore. The scene is filled with tension as they navigate through tight security, avoid detection, and hack into the corporation's mainframe.
  • Key Moments: Zoe uses her hacking skills to disable security systems, while Lucas provides physical protection and deals with any guards they encounter. The heist culminates in a high-stakes escape, with the duo narrowly avoiding capture.
2. The Rescue
  • Setting: The Sprawl
  • Description: Lucas's younger sister is kidnapped by a rival gang, and Zoe and Lucas must infiltrate the gang's hideout in the Sprawl to rescue her. The scene showcases the gritty, dangerous environment of the slums and the close-quarters combat skills of the protagonists.
  • Key Moments: The rescue mission is fraught with challenges, from navigating the labyrinthine alleys of the Sprawl to engaging in fierce hand-to-hand combat with gang members. The scene highlights Lucas's protective nature and Zoe's quick thinking.
3. The Confrontation
  • Setting: The Hub
  • Description: Tensions rise as Riko "Ghost" Tanaka confronts Zoe, accusing her of stealing a job from him. The scene is set in the bustling environment of the Hub, with onlookers gathering to watch the showdown.
  • Key Moments: The confrontation escalates into a heated argument, showcasing the rivalry between Zoe and Riko. Despite their differences, the scene hints at a potential alliance in the face of a greater threat.
USER INPUT
can you create images in the same style as the original image for the new Characters Marcus Iron Hand, Lila Viper Santos, and Riko Ghost Tanaka, Lucas, etc? Also generate additional images of some of the new locations etc separately.
CHATGPT
LUCAS
MARCUS \"IRON HAND\"
RIKO \"GHOST\" TANAKA
LILA \"VIPER\" SANTOS
THE HUB
THE SPAWL
NEOCORE HEADQUARTERS
"THE VAULT"
https://preview.redd.it/anol60qpef1d1.jpg?width=1792&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=fcfb76dc6ac42f816de6148e66d3f3f60f442d64
  • USER INPUT
Awesome. Lets start the story now. The story begins with Zoe waking up on a typical Saturday late morning. Friday night was a big night celebrating her childhood friends birthday drinking and partying at their favorite club. She wakes up with a slight hangover and is hungry. she notices several missed calls and messages
  • CHATGPT

Scene: Zoe's Apartment - Late Saturday Morning

The dim light filtering through the grime-covered windows of Zoe's apartment barely illuminates the cluttered room. The remnants of last night's celebration are scattered everywhere—empty bottles, discarded clothes, and the faint hum of old electronic music playing in the background. Zoe groans and sits up in bed, rubbing her temples to ease the throbbing in her head.

Narration:

Narrator: Zoe squinted at the holographic display, her vision still slightly blurry. The notifications were a mix of urgent messages and missed calls, each vying for her attention. She quickly scanned through them, her fingers moving with practiced ease over the interface.
Zoe: (mumbling to herself) "Great, just what I need. More problems to deal with..."
She swings her legs over the edge of the bed, stretching and wincing at the persistent hangover. With a sigh, she picks up her cybernetic arm from the nightstand and attaches it, feeling the familiar click as it integrates with her neural network. She taps her wristband, bringing up the missed messages and calls.

Dialogue:

Zoe: (talking to herself) "Let's see... job offers, updates from the underground... and what's this? 'Urgent Opportunity – High Reward.' Sounds promising."
Her stomach growls, reminding her of her hunger. She heads to the small kitchenette, grabbing a protein bar and some instant coffee. As she munches on her makeshift breakfast, she taps the message to read the details.
Zoe: (reading aloud) "High-risk, high-reward job, requiring a skilled netrunner. Substantial payout. Meet at The Hub tonight. Perfect."
Her thoughts are interrupted by a knock at the door. She frowns, not expecting visitors this early. Cautiously, she approaches and peers through the peephole. Recognizing the familiar figure on the other side, she relaxes and opens the door.
Lucas: (with a grin) "Morning, sunshine. You look like hell."
Zoe: (rolling her eyes) "Thanks, Lucas. You’re a real charmer. Come in."
Lucas steps inside, looking as rugged as ever with his scruff and tattoos. He drops a bag on the table and takes a seat.
Lucas: "I brought breakfast. Figured you’d need it after last night."
Zoe: "You’re a lifesaver. So, what’s up?"
Lucas: "Got a tip about a job. Sounds like it could be worth our while. But first, you need to get your head straight. Eat up and let’s talk."
They share a quick meal, discussing the potential job and catching up on recent events in the underground.

Choice Point 1: Zoe's Response to the Job Offer

Option A: Agree immediately and start planning. Option B: Ask for more details and express caution. Option C: Refuse the job and suggest looking for something safer.
Please choose an option by typing "Option A," "Option B," or "Option C."
  • USER INPUT
Option B
  • CHATGPT

Choice: Option B - Ask for More Details and Express Caution

Zoe: (taking a sip of her coffee) "Hold on, Lucas. Before we jump in headfirst, I need to know more about this job. What exactly are we dealing with here?"
Lucas: (nodding) "Fair enough. It's a high-stakes heist at NeoCore Headquarters. Our client wants us to steal some sensitive data from their secure servers. The payout is massive, but so are the risks. We'll need to get past top-tier security, both physical and digital."
Zoe: (raising an eyebrow) "NeoCore, huh? That place is a fortress. Who's the client?"
Lucas: "No name, just an anonymous contact. But they seem legit. They've provided detailed blueprints and security protocols. Still, I get it if you’re hesitant. This one's big."

Choice Point 2: Zoe's Next Action

Option A: Accept the job but suggest taking extra precautions and planning thoroughly. Option B: Contact Marcus "Iron Hand" Kane for his advice and see if he has any additional information or support. Option C: Investigate the client further to ensure their legitimacy before making a decision.
That's all i have so far but this was a super cool way to pass some time on a Sunday. I am considering starting a parallel story similar to this but a horror-survival one, similar to something like the original Silent Hill etc.
What do you guys think - Anyone interested in seeing how this develops?!
submitted by thatmozzie_ to ChatGPT [link] [comments]

2024.05.19 20:10 PageTurner627 My Dad and I Hunted Down the Dogman that Killed My Sister

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.
submitted by PageTurner627 to creepypasta [link] [comments]

2024.05.19 20:08 PageTurner627 My Dad and I Hunted Down the Dogman that Killed My Sister

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.
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2024.05.19 20:02 PageTurner627 My Dad and I Hunted Down the Dogman that Killed My Sister

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.
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2024.05.19 20:00 530josh The Green Fields of the Mind

A PREFACE: This is an essay written by former commissioner of Major League Baseball, A. Bartlett Giamatti, and it is something I always read following the conclusion of one of my team’s (across various sports) seasons, and I’d like to introduce it to all of you, in hopes that some of you may pick up this tradition for yourselves.
I find it’s a good way for me to appreciate and reflect on the experience of following a team over an entire season and beyond, and more broadly to examine why, despite the inherent futility in wrapping up so much of our emotional well-being in something we ultimately can’t control, we do precisely that anyway.
I will post the essay in its entirety here. Even though it was originally written about baseball, I believe the underlying themes can apply to any sport. Since it is a bit lengthy, I’ve highlighted the three most important and universally-applicable paragraphs. Despite this, I encourage you all to read the whole thing. Even if not for its own sake, at least do it in order to properly give those three paragraphs their intended rhetorical and emotional weight.
Without further ado…
"The Green Fields of the Mind”
”It breaks your heart. It is designed to break your heart. The game begins in the spring, when everything else begins again, and it blossoms in the summer, filling the afternoons and evenings, and then as soon as the chill rains come, it stops and leaves you to face the fall alone. You count on it, rely on it to buffer the passage of time, to keep the memory of sunshine and high skies alive, and then just when the days are all twilight, when you need it most, it stops. Today, October 2, a Sunday of rain and broken branches and leaf-clogged drains and slick streets, it stopped, and summer was gone.
“Somehow, the summer seemed to slip by faster this time. Maybe it wasn't this summer, but all the summers that, in this my fortieth summer, slipped by so fast. There comes a time when every summer will have something of autumn about it. Whatever the reason, it seemed to me that I was investing more and more in baseball, making the game do more of the work that keeps time fat and slow and lazy. I was counting on the game's deep patterns, three strikes, three outs, three times three innings, and its deepest impulse, to go out and back, to leave and to return home, to set the order of the day and to organize the daylight. I wrote a few things this last summer, this summer that did not last, nothing grand but some things, and yet that work was just camouflage. The real activity was done with the radio--not the all-seeing, all-falsifying television--and was the playing of the game in the only place it will last, the enclosed green field of the mind. There, in that warm, bright place, what the old poet called Mutability does not so quickly come.”
“But out here, on Sunday, October 2, where it rains all day, Dame Mutability never loses. She was in the crowd at Fenway yesterday, a gray day full of bluster and contradiction, when the Red Sox came up in the last of the ninth trailing Baltimore 8-5, while the Yankees, rain-delayed against Detroit, only needing to win one or have Boston lose one to win it all, sat in New York washing down cold cuts with beer and watching the Boston game. Boston had won two, the Yankees had lost two, and suddenly it seemed as if the whole season might go to the last day, or beyond, except here was Boston losing 8-5, while New York sat in its family room and put its feet up. Lynn, both ankles hurting now as they had in July, hits a single down the right-field line. The crowd stirs. It is on its feet. Hobson, third baseman, former Bear Bryant quarterback, strong, quiet, over 100 RBIs, goes for three breaking balls and is out. The goddess smiles and encourages her agent, a canny journeyman named Nelson Briles.
“Now comes a pinch hitter, Bernie Carbo, onetime Rookie of the Year, erratic, quick, a shade too handsome, so laid-back he is always, in his soul, stretched out in the tall grass, one arm under his head, watching the clouds and laughing; now he looks over some low stuff unworthy of him and then, uncoiling, sends one out, straight on a rising line, over the center-field wall, no cheap Fenway shot, but all of it, the physics as elegant as the arc the ball describes.
“New England is on its feet, roaring. The summer will not pass. Roaring, they recall the evening, late and cold, in 1975, the sixth game of the World Series, perhaps the greatest baseball game played in the last fifty years, when Carbo, loose and easy, had uncoiled to tie the game that Fisk would win. It is 8-7, one out, and school will never start, rain will never come, sun will warm the back of your neck forever. Now Bailey, picked up from the National League recently, big arms, heavy gut, experienced, new to the league and the club; he fouls off two and then, checking, tentative, a big man off balance, he pops a soft liner to the first baseman. It is suddenly darker and later, and the announcer doing the game coast to coast, a New Yorker who works for a New York television station, sounds relieved. His little world, well-lit, hot-combed, split-second-timed, had no capacity to absorb this much gritty, grainy, contrary reality.
“Cox swings a bat, stretches his long arms, bends his back, the rookie from Pawtucket who broke in two weeks earlier with a record six straight hits, the kid drafted ahead of Fred Lynn, rangy, smooth, cool. The count runs two and two, Briles is cagey, nothing too good, and Cox swings, the ball beginning toward the mound and then, in a jaunty, wayward dance, skipping past Briles, feinting to the right, skimming the last of the grass, finding the dirt, moving now like some small, purposeful marine creature negotiating the green deep, easily avoiding the jagged rock of second base, traveling steady and straight now out into the dark, silent recesses of center field.
“The aisles are jammed, the place is on its feet, the wrappers, the programs, the Coke cups and peanut shells, the doctrines of an afternoon; the anxieties, the things that have to be done tomorrow, the regrets about yesterday, the accumulation of a summer: all forgotten, while hope, the anchor, bites and takes hold where a moment before it seemed we would be swept out with the tide. Rice is up. Rice whom Aaron had said was the only one he'd seen with the ability to break his records. Rice the best clutch hitter on the club, with the best slugging percentage in the league. Rice, so quick and strong he once checked his swing halfway through and snapped the bat in two. Rice the Hammer of God sent to scourge the Yankees, the sound was overwhelming, fathers pounded their sons on the back, cars pulled off the road, households froze, New England exulted in its blessedness, and roared its thanks for all good things, for Rice and for a summer stretching halfway through October. Briles threw, Rice swung, and it was over. One pitch, a fly to center, and it stopped. Summer died in New England and like rain sliding off a roof, the crowd slipped out of Fenway, quickly, with only a steady murmur of concern for the drive ahead remaining of the roar. Mutability had turned the seasons and translated hope to memory once again. And, once again, she had used baseball, our best invention to stay change, to bring change on.
”That is why it breaks my heart, that game--not because in New York they could win because Boston lost; in that, there is a rough justice, and a reminder to the Yankees of how slight and fragile are the circumstances that exalt one group of human beings over another. It breaks my heart because it was meant to, because it was meant to foster in me again the illusion that there was something abiding, some pattern and some impulse that could come together to make a reality that would resist the corrosion; and because, after it had fostered again that most hungered-for illusion, the game was meant to stop, and betray precisely what it promised.
”Of course, there are those who learn after the first few times. They grow out of sports. And there are others who were born with the wisdom to know that nothing lasts. These are the truly tough among us, the ones who can live without illusion, or without even the hope of illusion. I am not that grown-up or up-to-date. I am a simpler creature, tied to more primitive patterns and cycles. I need to think something lasts forever, and it might as well be that state of being that is a game; it might as well be that, in a green field, in the sun.” — A. Bartlett Giamatti
16-1-1 in 2024, +62 GD and 89 points total. A remarkable season by all accounts, even if it ultimately didn’t receive the external validation of a trophy.
But, in any case, it is time to close the book on 2023-24. The countdown to 2024-25 begins.
COYG ❤️
submitted by 530josh to Gunners [link] [comments]

2024.05.19 19:47 Brohit96 My Review of Stellar Blade

Intro
I'd like to start by stating I didnt have high expectations for this game. The initial trailers made me think this game was going to be a shallow experience focused on the main characters sex appeal with some flashy visuals to back it up. Im happy to say this game exceeded my expectations.
Positives
Combat
The combat is easily the games strongest aspect. It is extremely to grasp and has enough depth to keep a player interested for the entire run time. It felt like a mix of Sekiro (focus on parrying and a balance meter, that most enemies, which is similar to the posture bar), Devil May Cry and GOW 2018/Ragnarok (Ability usage).
The sound and visual feedback was also fantastic. The perfect parry is the best example of this. Getting one of these, especially when parrying a full combo from a boss, was incredible. The various Beta Skills and Burst Skills were wonderful additions, each with their various uses and visual panache. The Blink and Repulse abilities were also nice additions, keeping the combats momentum.
I also loved how the game allowed me to lean into particular builds with its exo-suit system and the various gear one could equip. I loved my Beta Skill focused build which allowed me to gain Beta energy very quickly and spam Beta skills non-stop. The Trance mode perk on the exo-suit I used was just the cherry on top as it allows infinite use of Beta Skills while you are Tranced.
The ranged combat was surprisingly effective and well designed. I initially thought it would be a gimmick, to be used in niche situations but two particular missions (Altus Levoire and Abyss Levoire) convinced me that it close to, if not on par, with the design of the melee combat. Speaking of the two missions, they were so much fun. They felt inspired by Dead Space with the more claustrophobic level design, the effective jump scares and the necromorph-esque enemies seen.
Traversal
The traversal was solid. Eve felt smooth to control. Climbing was basic, follow the yellow-painted-assets which I don't mind. The less I have to look for discreet ledges, the better. I did notice that Eve would sometimes go through climbable ladders and ropes. While not super frustrating, it was a noticeable annoyance.
I loved the super sprint feature. It made traversing the larger worlds (Great Desert) much more enjoyable and replayable. I would love more open-world games to have this feature. However, if the super sprint activated at the edge of a ledge or ladder, Eve would not grab said objects but launch herself off them resulting in me taking significant damage. It never happened more than twice, but I did find it funny.
The biggest gripe I have though is thinking I'll make a jump, watching Eve go slightly past a platform, then trying to compensate by changing direction only to miss it again. This resulted in some annoying deaths.
Enemy Design (Bosses and standard enemies)
Every single boss was incredible. I rarely say this about most games as usually there are a few duds or boring ones (to compare it to Fromsoftware games, Dark Souls 3 is my favorite souls-like and even that had Halflight and Crystal Sage). Every single boss (Elite and Alpha) had distinct designs, and readable animations which made them a joy to fight. My top 3 bosses were Karakuri, Unidentified Alpha Naytiba and Tachy.
The same is true for the standard enemies. There was a great variety of them, each with there own move-sets. (the hardest one was definitely the Battle Droid). The two I hated however, were the Harvesters (I felt they had too much HP for their job as a path obstacle) and the Guard Turrets as whenever they were present, I knew the sequence would be annoying.
Music
Overall, the music was great. It definitely felt Nier Automata inspired, especially with the more dreamy like soundtracks. Two highlights were the Flooded District in Eidos 7 theme and the Raven boss fight theme.
Performance
The game ran flawlessly. I noticed no obvious frame drops. I did encounter one bug which prevented a door in Matrix 11 from opening (A naytiba is supposed to burst out of it but it never did).
Negatives
Story
The story was very boring until the last 5ish hours. I blame the boring characterization of the two main protagonists, Adam and Eve. The voice performances were flat. Major revelations barely affected Eve. I think the lore was more interesting with all the collectables found while playing. Each gave a bit more insight about the various aspects of the world which I liked. Some of the side quests were more interesting. I found more emotion in the Su and Enya side quest than the main story. Lily is the definite outlier. I liked her a lot as she had an actual personality.
The side-quests were a standard affair. Talk to an NPC/Bulletin Board, go to a location, find and item or kill a naytiba and come get the rewards. Yet they were quick and snappy which made them fun. Plus the rewards were always worth it.
Overall, I would say the combat and boss encounters more than carry the game (especially the final boss rush, which was just incredible) as the story unfortunately was not memorable. I have already started a New Game+ just for the boss fights, new outfits and skill unlocks.
Some other topics I wanted to talk about include:
The game's art style was fine. It gets the job done but doesn't stand out. The character models looked good but I did notice some obvious low-resolution textures on assets that a player could get close too. I think the latter half of the game is more visually interesting especially the Orbital Space Elevator. The naytibas are definitely the most visually intriguing parts of this game (and Eve, wink wink)
I loved that the developers gave us all the unlockable outfits for free. It really incentivized to find as many as I could and play dress-up with Eve. Fingers crossed for a 2B outfit since it just makes sense (maybe as a boss-rush reward?)
To conclude, Stellar Blade is a stellar game that I would highly recommend playing.
I would love to hear all your thoughts as well. Thanks for reading.
submitted by Brohit96 to stellarblade [link] [comments]

2024.05.19 19:40 LaughingX-Naut Fanfiction Sunday - 05/19/2024

For the uninitiated, Fanfiction Sunday is a bi-weekly recurring thread for you to talk about Fire Emblem fanfiction. Yours, others you stumbled on that you want to share, or even just brainstorms you have. Links to the work are highly appreciated!
As for the writing prompt's... I don't think I'll be continuing. This already petered out from low activity once, and while rethinking brought a glimmer of hope it's died again. If you were curious, the final slate was...
...but yeah, that's going to be it. Sorry to the three or so people who were invested in the idea.  
Ground rules:
  1. No linking explicit smut (NSFW content)
  2. No linking fics just to criticize them
  3. Prompts must be FE-related. Crossovers welcome!
You can find the last thread here: https://www.reddit.com/fireemblem/comments/1ckxjw9/fanfiction_sunday_05052024/
submitted by LaughingX-Naut to fireemblem [link] [comments]

2024.05.19 19:38 dnelson2408 Summary of this channel, data, and news for the last 3 weeks.

Summary of this channel, data, and news for the last 3 weeks.
Afternoon all,
I thought it might be fun to try and take the last three weeks and have a recap of the data and news surrounding RILY. I just searched this sub and news outlets and such for the last 3 weeks and took notes then fed them into an AI software asking it to summarize everything. In no way is this Financial Advice just a fun task.
"The financial landscape for B. Riley Financial, Inc. showcases a dynamic narrative of operational resilience and strategic positioning. The company's recent activities reflect a strategic focus on managing debt obligations effectively while optimizing business segments for sustainable growth. The strategic review process for Great American Group retail liquidation and appraisal businesses is progressing, indicating a commitment to enhancing operational efficiency and value creation.
In the earnings summary, a net loss of $51 million was reported, primarily driven by investment-related losses and professional services expenses. Despite these challenges, the company's strategic initiatives and operational performance remain robust, as highlighted in the earnings call. Executives Bryant Riley and Tom Kelleher emphasized the company's operational excellence and strategic direction, underscoring a commitment to shareholder value and sustainable growth. The company's strategic reviews and commitment to shareholder value remain steadfast amidst market volatility caused by short manipulation.
Furthermore, the full redemption of $25,000,000 aggregate principal amount of 6.75% Senior Notes due 2024 signifies a proactive approach to managing debt and strengthening the company's financial position. This strategic move aligns with the company's focus on optimizing its capital structure and enhancing financial flexibility.
Overall, B. Riley Financial's narrative is one of resilience, strategic foresight, and operational excellence in navigating market dynamics and challenges. The company's commitment to financial prudence, strategic reviews, and operational performance positions it well for sustained growth and value creation in the evolving financial landscape."
Below is the data the AI used to create the summary. Just copy and pasted from a very quick and crude gathering of information into a word doc. I also enjoyed the earnings summary the AI did. The last line made me feel happy thoughts. - In summary, B. Riley Financial's first-quarter 2024 results underscore its strong operational foundation and strategic foresight, positioning it well for future growth and shareholder value creation.
1. Cohodes being loud and classless examples
https://preview.redd.it/xymj94vp5f1d1.png?width=637&format=png&auto=webp&s=3d9f18f4f877f7fb518039bc78198e77e3fcd190
https://preview.redd.it/bxacg0bp5f1d1.png?width=975&format=png&auto=webp&s=9a4eba6a4a39457cc47661be5836008976b37fc6
https://preview.redd.it/q5kdr5qo5f1d1.png?width=975&format=png&auto=webp&s=14dcb5473ed7dcac4646eaba2b983806f32bd875
https://preview.redd.it/ky1hlc1o5f1d1.png?width=789&format=png&auto=webp&s=4c603719820d06ea91d9181ad3c41734a603b795
https://preview.redd.it/soco7bjn5f1d1.png?width=969&format=png&auto=webp&s=dfbcf20f984e391c51afcc89e46597d1d9dff6ad
https://preview.redd.it/pwbnnwwr5f1d1.png?width=975&format=png&auto=webp&s=fe06146b727540c291825eda8db5f33b11e9e992
2. Discussion about FUD and shorts deception
I see the shorts (Marc Cohoded and Co.) are still at it, trying to l use a fake psychological twist to cause doubt. Let's stick to the facts and let the price go where it will in the long term. Short thesis was and is there was fraud, both proven wrong by independent investigation and a clean independent audit if the 10-K and now 10-Q. You can slap that one around anyway you want, but both came up clean. First, they have stated their intentions of a sale of a carried undervalued asset (Great American) by a third party for a massive realized gain. Good for the investors and bond holders as they said they would use funds to deleveverage the balance sheet and buy back stock which already has very little float. Second, I have never seen a company that is paying dividends go under whith out, completely eliminating the dividends first (RILY still pays a dividend and baby bonds are all current--none are in any default). Third, business has been good with lots of new hires, new capital makets raises and fees and their business seems to be thriving. Shorts will try to mislead all of us with their lies and deciept but if we hold strong I believe that the stock will go to at least 50 ish in the short term where they did their secondary. I believe at that point, RILY may run into a bit of resistance. However, a squeeze could easily send us through that to new highs. Patience is the key as they have stated all this in their press releases in the recent past. If we al on this sitel just buy 100 to 1000 shares on Monday and hld through the 29th to get the dividends. this will rocket to new heights. This is not a recommendation, simply my thoughts. Do your own due diligence.
3.Stop lending shares=pain for shorts = short squeeze
If all longs can stop lending shares at least I believe we can cause shorts to cover. There is no valid short narrative, both longs and shorts know this. Now it’s purely who can hold out longer. Shorts have been very active as of late trying to push share price lower and with many of us loaning shares out we are actually helping the shorts hurt us. I believe if we stopped lending out shares borrow rate skyrockets and that added cost combined with dividend and gradual upward movement will force shorts to cover. Granted news release can help but we don’t need news we just need to stop lending and wait and see.
4. Smoking Gun: Thursday dropped because shorts borrowed and sold 724K shares (with 2MM total volume) and 447K on Wednesday (with 1.3MM total volume). They're trying to drive price down, induce panic, get folks to sell, and buy back shares at a super low price.
https://preview.redd.it/hopdxkbt5f1d1.png?width=975&format=png&auto=webp&s=3945adf69a00addb0c2da4ea0c26b2a4de2749b3
5. Article showing RILY coming back https://www.investmentnews.com/broker-dealers/news/b-riley-bouncing-back-after-tough-winter-253448
6. Rily - Day 3 of short attactks - There's a positive
Our favorite shorts cohodes&co is on overdrive releasing as much fake accusations as possible, they now have been adding a lot to their position at a higher price point with shares in the 30s, now the shorts cost basis has gotten worse for them. With more shares at a worst cost with dividends coming due as well as borrow fees , shorts have less wiggle room especially if stock goes to 40 again. Now at 40 I believe they will be losing money. With insiders hopefully buying soon and the company continuing their share buy back program , that can lead to upward movement in share price leading to the “squeeze “.
7. $RILY Earnings Summary
Not financial advice.
It was an interesting investor call, an almost boring call which was refreshing. The company had a net loss of $51m driven by non-cash items including $29m unrealized loss on investments and a $30m fair value adjustment on their loans.
Cash flows were pretty good, with operating cash flows of $135m and adjusted operating EBITDA of $66m.
Targus and American Freight contributed nothing this quarter, both companies are historically strong businesses but have been working through a business cycle post-COVID after many Americans bought the things they needed. Those companies should improve in the next year.
The company previously announced a potential sale of Great American Group. Q-1 earnings for that segment increased to $35m of EBITDA, so at 10-12x a potential sale is looking like $350-$420m. On the call they said that is expected by early Q3. They also mentioned possibly looking at a sale in their Brands division later this year with the goal of retiring their discounted debt, citing it as an opportunity.
The short thesis crumbled last month with a clean 10-K and two internal investigations which added an additional $7m in expense but presumably were quite thorough and completely debunked claims by bears.
There are no shares available to borrow per Fintel:
https://preview.redd.it/ukhk0tou5f1d1.png?width=975&format=png&auto=webp&s=0622973216e0293d7f2699c1b6eee3216824305e
And short interest remains at approximately 65% with 9 million shares short, though the retail float is thought to be much smaller, maybe 2m shares.
The company has $34m available at quarter end for buybacks from a previously approved program.
I see value here, and I liked what I heard on the call.
8. Misconceptions - Rily Share Structure
[THIS POST IS FOR EDUCATIONAL PURPOSES ONLY] mumen_rida
There seems to be a lot of confusion about the company’s share structure and I would like to use this post to help not only my own understanding but also help others. It’s a bit confusing but let’s tackle it together.
I got this information from marketwatch: Total Float = 30 million shares Public float = 16 million shares Shares sold short = 9 million shares % of public float sold short = 56.38%
According to fintel: Institutional ownership = 14.18 million shares
So let me get this straight, there is 16 million shares in the public float and institutions own 89% of that (14.18 million shares). So that would mean retail investors collectively only have about 1.82 million shares to trade around amongst ourselves. Let’s call that retail float.
So, retail float = 1.82 million shares.
Let’s wrap up all the most important information (imo) regarding the current share structure and please correct me if any of the information I presented here today is false:
Total float = 30m
Public float = 16m
Shares short = 9m
Retail float = 1.82m
Where I think it gets the most interesting is when you divide shares short by retail float. 9/1.82= 4.95 or 495% of retail float.
Hope this helps clear up any confusion regarding the share structure.
REPSONSE TO THIS BELOW
EnvironmentalBreak48
•3d ago
THIS RESPONSE IS FOR EDUCATIONAL PURPOSES ONLY. NFA. Do your own DD, make your own decisions.
Based on OP calculation.
1. Total Float: About 30 million shares.
2. Public Float: 16 million shares.
3. Shares Sold Short: 9 million shares.
4. % of Public Float Sold Short: 56.38%.
5. Institutional Ownership: 14.18 million shares.
6. Retail Float: 1.82 million shares (calculated as Public Float - Institutional Ownership).
Given this information:

Understanding Short Interest

· Shares Sold Short: About 9 million shares.
· Retail Float: 1.82 million shares.
· Short Interest as a Percentage of Retail Float: 9 million shares/1.82 million shares≈495%
This high percentage indicates that the short interest is nearly five times the available retail float, which could lead to a short squeeze if investors hold onto their shares and/or demand increases.

Days to Cover (Short Interest Ratio)

The Days to Cover metric gives an estimate of how many days it would take for short sellers to cover their positions based on the average daily trading volume. Here’s how to calculate it:
1. Determine the average daily trading volume (ADTV): This information is usually available on financial websites like MarketWatch or Yahoo Finance. Let’s assume the ADTV is 1,000,000 shares (this is an example, you should use the actual ADTV for a more precise calculation).
2. Days to Cover: Shares Sold Short/ADTV
Using our example ADTV: Days to Cover=9,000,000 (short shares)/1,000,000(Avg. Daily Volume)=9 days Days to Cover

Potential Implications

· High Short Interest Ratio: A high Days to Cover ratio suggests it would take a significant amount of time for shorts to cover their positions, which can lead to increased volatility.
· Potential for a Short Squeeze: With a high percentage of the retail float sold short, if retail investors decided to hold their shares and the stock price rises, short sellers may be forced to buy back shares at higher prices, leading to a potential short squeeze.
· Limited Retail Float: With only 1.82 million shares available for retail trading, any significant buying pressure from institutional investors and/or retail investors it could quickly drive up the stock price.
9. Why Even the Joker Thinks You’d Be a _____ For Not Taking A Look at RILY Stock
Batman here. You might know me as the Dark Knight, the Caped Crusader, or the guy who really, really, really wants to own a spaceship. Today, straight from the Batcave, lets talk about something as exciting as racing the Batmobile or the return of Roaring Kitty—RILY stock.
First off, let’s talk numbers, because even a superhero knows the importance of a strong financial foundation. RILY has been buying back shares like Alfred buys Bat-gadgets—strategically and frequently. This move isn’t just a nifty trick; IMO it’s a signal that RILY is confident in its value. When a company buys back its own shares, it’s like Batman investing in more Batarangs—it’s a smart play that shows belief in future performance.
But that’s not all, folks. The recent buzz around RILY isn’t just cat signals in the sky—it’s grounded in solid developments. RILY had to work hard to file their 10K after all the mudslinging from the shorts, but got it done. The first big catalyst domino to fall.
Now, let’s get to the juicy part—earnings and dividends. RILY’s about to drop their Q1 earnings tomorrow, and you know what that means? Dividends! That’s right, folks. RILY is likely to declare a dividend, that our short friends will be paying. Dividends are like the Batmobile’s turbo boost—an extra kick that gets you excited and propels you forward. Plus, once they file their Q, a few days later insiders should be able to start buying again. Form 4s anyone?
Here’s where it gets really interesting: meme stocks are back with a vengeance, wow talk about a left jab, and shorts are on their heels. The RILY squeeze might start very soon or it might not, but with shorts potentially facing margin calls due to price movements in various holdings, and especially if they’ve been shorting RILY all the way down it has not been a good week for the shorts so far. Just look how RILY stock popped this morning on about 200k in volume.
To add insult to injury, to date, NONE of the short thesis has come to fruition or has been confirmed by independent information. They’re in quicksand, and it’s time to gas up the rocket. There are still several catalysts that may come into play here:
Q1 Earnings Release: Scheduled to be filed tomorrow, providing insights into the company's recent performance. The deal flow on their website was up YoY.
Dividend Announcements: Anticipated dividends right around the corner.
Insider Buying: Once the Q1 earnings are filed, insiders should be able to buy stock again, expect to see some Form 4s in very short order.
Sale of Great America Division: If RILY sales Great American, they have said the proceeds from this sale are expected to be used to reduce debt and fund further stock buybacks, potentially enhancing shareholder value.
Low Float: With a limited number of shares available for trading, increased demand can lead to significant price movements.
Buybacks: Ongoing buybacks can continue to support the stock price.
Meme Stock Momentum: With meme stocks making a comeback, there's increased interest and activity in stocks that are short and that could drive up RILY’s stock price.
Short Squeeze Potential: Low public float, company buybacks, insider buying…mix that up and you have the recipe for a potential squeeze.
Roaring Kitty's Return: The return of Roaring Kitty, a key figure in the meme stock movement, brings renewed attention and excitement to the stock market in general.
And, guess who just chimed in on RILY earlier today? That's right—JeffAmazon from the GameStop meme trade and Netflix documentary! He made a little tweet tweet on $RILY
Additional Catalysts: What do you all think…..
Stay vigilant, stay smart, and just my thoughts—do your own due diligence and make your own decisions. NFA.
10. FAKE ARTICLE BULLSHIT FUD…………
Well, IMO even Stevie Wonder can see that the latest article on FRG is just another hatchet job. IMO the problem with creating a narrative is that the facts can’t keep up, and boy, did they fall behind here.
RILY conducted not one, but two independent investigations and found zilch issues with its FRG investment or loans made to Kahn. And guess what? No connection with Prophecy either. FRG did their own investigation and also found no connection with Prophecy. So, to call the relationship between RILY and FRG controversial is like calling a puppy dangerous—laughable.
In RILY's 10k, they marked up their FRG investment FMV $281 million to $286 million…
FRG's FY23 financials are public, and the attached table shows the maturities of their debt. In 2024, about $10.5 million in debt is maturing. Big deal. Looming debt? Hardly. The real kicker is in 2026 when about $1.5 billion of debt matures—not this year, not next. LOL.
The FRG financials clearly state they were in full compliance with their debt covenants in FY23 and fully expect to be in compliance in FY24. Yet, "the people" say FRG is down double digits in Q1. Funny timing with RILY's Q1 financials coming out on Wednesday, huh? And by the way, FRG's adjusted EBITDA for Q1 FY23 was $66 million, not the $62 million the article claims. Why not use the actual FRG public company number? Maybe because when you're rushing to write a hit piece, you just pick random numbers.
https://www.globenewswire.com/en/news-release/2023/05/10/2665414/0/en/Franchise-Group-Inc-Announces-First-Quarter-Fiscal-Year-2023-Financial-Results.html
So, according to the article, FRG is down 63% in revenue ($66 million vs. the alleged $25 million).
Sure, FRG sold Badcock and Sylvan Learning, so they might be down YoY, but down 63%?
FRG sold in FY24 Q1 Sylvan for $185 Million cash….and they’re worried about paying $10.5 million in long term debt due this year. Got it.
https://www.franchisetimes.com/franchise_mergers_and_acquisitions/unleashed-brands-buys-sylvan-learning/article_a568813e-d4c7-11ee-bb32-1f85230cfdda.html
https://preview.redd.it/lry689p16f1d1.png?width=975&format=png&auto=webp&s=0714b3b378abb528f0abb470ade0deb3d34c2d39
•5 days ago
BleepBlimpBop
NT-10Q mirrors the press release about the 5-day delay on the 10Q. It's the formal document for the SEC. It also includes estimated earnings.
13F-HR lists their investment holdings as of 3/31.
"Estimated results of operations for the three months ended March 31, 2024 are summarized as follows:Cash and cash equivalents is expected to be approximately $191 million at March 31, 2024, a decrease of $41 million from $232 million at December 31, 2023. Total debt is expected to be approximately $2.19 billion, a decrease of approximately $170 million from $2.36 billion at December 31, 2023. This reflects the early redemption of approximately $115 million of senior notes during the three months ended March 31, 2024. Net loss available to common shareholders is expected to be approximately $51 million during the three months ended March 31, 2024 compared to net income available to common shareholders of $15 million in the prior year. The net loss is due to non-cash items which includes unrealized losses on investments and fair value adjustments on loans of approximately $59 million; in addition to incremental expenses of approximately $7 million incurred for professional fees relating to the filing of our 10-K and outside counsel review and subsequent independent investigation conducted as part of the previously disclosed investigation of the Audit Committee of the Company’s Board of Directors."
12. Friendly PSA: Manage your emotions
•5 days ago
BleepBlimpBop
I'm optimistic that the shorts' game will begin to fully unravel this week. This is a PSA to please manage your emotions, set your strategy intelligently, and don't get carried away by emotion.
For many longs, the past months have had a lot of negative emotion. Especially for long-time holders, who watched the full show:
· Initial short attacks
· Months of tailspin
· Months of trading sideways like an EKG
· A run up to $40
· A swift retrace -25%
· Endless vicious attacks on the company, its clients, its employees, its auditors, and on any individual who publicly states they see value in the company (including personal attacks on people on this sub)
Whether you got in years ago, and stayed for the growing business, fat dividends, and diversification...or got in last week because the short ratio is astronomical...
The recovery to fair value, whatever path it takes (squeeze, or gradual) will provoke a varied and wide range of emotions. The emotional component of investing is the hardest part.
Personally, I think it's a deep value play, and I'm not anxious to jump off the train. It's a company where insiders are huge owners, and their interests are truly aligned with shareholders. Because they're the biggest individual holders. The huge extra profit sharing dividends of 2021+ were impressive; this company rewards shareholders.
Please manage your emotions. Please invest intelligently. Please be nice to other nice people.
This isn't financial advice, but it is life advice. Manage your emotions, and make intelligent decisions.
13. RILY RS Article 76 to 83
https://www.investors.com/ibd-data-stories/b-riley-financial-shows-rising-price-performance-with-jump-to-83-rs-rating/
B. Riley Financial (RILY) saw a welcome improvement to its Relative Strength (RS) Rating on Thursday, with an increase from 76 to 83.
IBD's proprietary rating tracks share price performance with a 1 (worst) to 99 (best) score. The score shows how a stock's price performance over the trailing 52 weeks stacks up against all the other stocks in our database.
Over 100 years of market history reveals that the stocks that go on to make the biggest gains typically have an 80 or higher RS Rating as they begin their biggest climbs.
Now is not an ideal time to jump in since it isn't near a proper buy zone, but see if the stock manages to form a base and break out.
The company showed 0% EPS growth last quarter. Revenue rose -9%. The company is expected to report its latest earnings and sales numbers on or around May 15.
The company earns the No. 24 rank among its peers in the Finance-Investment Banking/Brokers industry group. Interactive Brokers (IBKR), Piper Sandler (PIPR) and Ameriprise Financial (AMP) are among the top 5 highly rated stocks within the group.

14. Announcement of 2024 Annual Meeting June 21st
https://www.sec.gov/ix?doc=/Archives/edgadata/0001464790/000121390024041725/ea0205510-01.htm
15. Repost: $RILY DD: The real price potential...when the stock is a solid/growing company (not just a squeeze).
9 days ago
BleepBlimpBop
In response to multiple requests, reposting my DD on price potential from 2 months ago. Will hopefully facilitate intelligent thought about price potential.
--------
Many have been speculating about the squeeze price potential (75.72% of free float shorted per Fintel). Lots of posts discussing "how high" and "how soon." As others have observed, correctly, no one knows.
However, I think we can look at financials, and past price, to get a good indication of a reasonable range, after any "squeeze dust settles."
Let's recognize a few things:
A) It's a growing, and historically very profitable business. It's not GME (dying company with obsolete business model).
B) It rewards its shareholders with regular dividends, and large special dividends when profits are high.
C) It spent a year (early 2021 to early 2022) around $70/share. Plus or minus $20. High of $90.
D) July 2023 $100MM share offering was at $55, with lots of institutional interest, and lots of employee interest (7% of the new shares). It was only a small discount to the $60 stock price at the time (often, the offerings are at a much greater discount to induce institutions to invest).
· Institutions do their due diligence - they don't buy unless they think it's a good deal.
· Same with employees!
E) It didn't tank because their business model is obsolete (i.e., GME issue). It tanked because of:
· Short seller reports spewing fear, uncertainty, and doubt.
· Rampant flimsy speculation
· Poor earnings during a crappy time for investment banking (their main business), and some unfavorable mark-to-market of some of their investments.
· Note that RILY makes a business of supporting and investing in companies in distress. When they provide financial options, they also actively help the company right the business. That process takes time, so there's often interim volatility in the value of their assets. But their historical investment returns and recovery rates seem to be very good. Profitable, but can create volatility in the books as it plays out.
· Character assassinations.
F) From the looks of it, now that Reg Sho is in place, a concerted group using naked short selling, spoofing bid/ask, keeping a cash account to sell shares and manipulate low volume (all speculations, but notice the radical difference in how it trades now that there's regulator scrutiny and forced settlement - as well as observant people here and on Twitter calling out the egregious observable issues in the trading action)
G) It's continued to grow since 2021/2022 (look at the investor presentation in December). They've continued to disclose deal flow and make acquisitions since.
What does that all mean?
A) $70-90 would be a reasonable steady-state price if the shorts moved on, profitability returns to normal levels, and the company was the same size as 2021-2022.
B) Significantly higher than $70-90 would be a reasonable steady-state, given growth in the company, and a return to historical scale of profitability.
· You can also bet-your-bottom-dollar they're going to make sure their balance sheet is IRONCLAD go forward, and they do a better job of explaining their business.
· Management owns a huge chunk of the business, and they'll **never** want to be susceptible to this crap again.
C) A squeeze could have one of two impacts:
· Return the business to a reasonable steady-state price (e.g., $70-100+)
· Accelerate the company well above a steady-state price, where it could remain for an extended period, or return to a normal steady-state price.
D) A squeeze isn't necessary to return this to a steady-state price. Just time... Company executes, shorts pay high borrow fees, shorts hedged positions decay.
How do I think about it?
· I'd love to see the slightly-slower-road to steady-state.
· I'd love love to see the fast road back to steady-state.
· I'd love love love to see this thing shoot well beyond any reasonable steady-state, and bankrupt the most vocal short sellers. By all appearances, they rank among the more degenerate of their species.
· For those that sell early, they'll be sad watching from the sidelines. The road may not be linear, but I think it's paved with gold.
These are my thoughts. Not financial advice. To the moon, baby.
16. $RILY- “They can win by doing nothing
12 days ago
Outrageous_Appeal_89 “
Whitebrook capital assessment addressing cohodes&co BS at the peak of their false accusations and in a polite way stating short funds were making things up (misinformation & manipulation ). It seems $RILY is executing on some of the recommendations Whitebrook capital had - share buy back and bond buy back has been executed and continues to be executed on. Whether you invest in $RILY for the long term prospects or the short squeeze that can be triggered any day as lie after lie is exposed. Bottom line is the fair value of $RILY is a lot higher then where it currently trades. We will get a better idea whether share prices deserves to be in the 50s or 60s as we get an update on GAG valuation. Seems many here forget that $RILY creates value by turning companies around and then monetize, this process takes time , they have been able to do this successfully, repeatedly over the years.
https://preview.redd.it/uiisruq36f1d1.png?width=792&format=png&auto=webp&s=e6c32c04877ae21b51cb8a99cee0aef17cdb32c4
17. 3 Videos from Value Don’t Lie on Youtube talking about Financials of RILY and overall company valuation
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kRenvff8duE&t=1s
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EoaCZw7AmpA&t
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7_Ayoox3fvM
18. Getting around the NBBO and Longing the Box
So let this sink in… the market opens and in 5 minutes we rally to $34.42, then over the next 15 minutes we drop to $28.80 at which point SSR was triggered and sell volume slows WAY the hell down. That drop was ALL short sellers and NO longs selling shares (otherwise the sell-off wouldnt have stopped literally minutes after SSR triggered). NOW, what the scumbag shorts are doing is going Long Against The Box.
19. Steve Cohen and Point 72 buy 24,917 shares long on May 15th
https://preview.redd.it/fhdhyco46f1d1.png?width=975&format=png&auto=webp&s=6600f6a9a3f0bc5bc8823cddb5f52defdf282063
20. Summarize this earnings call and keep pertinent quotes and data in the summary.
https://filecache.investorroom.com/mr5ir_briley2/925/RILY_1Q24_Earnings_Release_vFINAL.pdf
Chat GPT Summary of the full report below
B. Riley Financial, Inc. (NASDAQ: RILY) reported its first-quarter 2024 financial results, showcasing resilience and operational strength despite facing challenging market conditions and unique internal events. Here's a summary with a positive outlook:

First Quarter

2024 Highlights:

1. Quarterly Dividend Declaration:
  • B. Riley declared a quarterly dividend of $0.50 per share, reflecting the company's commitment to returning value to shareholders. The dividend will be paid on or about June 11, 2024, to shareholders of record as of May 27, 2024.
2. Operational Performance:
  • Despite reporting a net loss of $51 million, the company's core operating businesses demonstrated solid performance. This loss was primarily due to non-cash, unrealized investment losses.
  • Total revenues for the quarter were $343 million. Operating revenues, excluding investment-related impacts, were $379 million, showcasing the underlying strength of the company's operations.
3. Strategic Debt Management:
  • B. Riley successfully retired $115 million of its 6.75% 2024 Senior Notes and repaid $57 million of bank debt facilities and notes payable. This strategic move highlights the company's focus on strengthening its balance sheet and reducing interest expenses.
4. Cash and Investments:
  • As of March 31, 2024, the company had total cash and cash equivalents of $191 million and total cash and investments of $1.61 billion, providing a robust liquidity position to support ongoing operations and future investments.
5. Segment Performance:
  • B. Riley Advisory Services: Delivered its strongest first-quarter results in the firm's history, driven by increased demand for appraisals, bankruptcy restructuring, litigation consulting, and real estate services.
  • B. Riley Securities: Benefited from a steady dealmaking environment, generating higher fee income despite a decrease in overall capital markets segment revenues.
  • Wealth Management: Continued to improve operating margins and managed $25.8 billion in assets by quarter-end.
  • Communications: Provided steady cash flow, contributing to the platform's stability.
  • Consumer Products (Targus): While facing macro headwinds in the PC market, Targus remains a leader in its sector, poised for growth as the market stabilizes.

Leadership Insights:

  • Bryant Riley, Chairman and Co-CEO, emphasized the company's operational stability and strategic focus amidst challenging conditions. The firm's resilience is attributed to the dedication of its employees and robust core business performance.
  • Tom Kelleher, Co-CEO, highlighted the impressive performance of B. Riley Advisory Services and the steady contributions from B. Riley Securities and Wealth Management. He expressed optimism about Targus's potential recovery and the company's strategic investments.

Looking Ahead:

B. Riley's strategic initiatives, such as debt reduction and selective investments, position the company for continued success. The ongoing strategic review of its Great American Group retail liquidation and appraisal businesses indicates a proactive approach to optimizing its portfolio. The firm remains committed to delivering value to its shareholders through dividends and operational excellence.
In summary, B. Riley Financial's first-quarter 2024 results underscore its strong operational foundation and strategic foresight, positioning it well for future growth and shareholder value creation.
20. State of the Stock
15 days ago
UF_Secret_Account
Not financial advice, do your own research. Don't take advice from the internet, consult a professional financial advisor.
On April 19th, the stock closed at $19.99. Today, it is over 50% higher after a positive 10-K clearing the company of fraud allegations.
The stock touched $40 on April 26 and 29, a 100% gain from a week prior.
The short interest has remained relatively consistent during the move, with 10-11 million shares still short. However, given the time lapsed, I think it's safe to assume that most of those shares were covered and re-shorted in the last two weeks. For future research, we should assume they have an average $35 entry on their short positions.
1st quarter earnings are coming soon. Like many of you, I am a little curious that it hasn't been announced yet, but I have no concerns with everything the company has on its plate. 10-Q's are unaudited and it's very unlikely there is anything to be concerned about, in my opinion.
The company could be coming to the end of their strategic review for GAG. That will eventually result in some additional financial statement adjustments for presentation.
I would expect 1st quarter earnings to be good based on their deal flow and reported transactions.
In November 2023, the board approved $50m for stock buybacks. The company repurchased 728,330 shares at an average price of $21.85, but mainly bought shares in November. That's $16 million spent, and means the company had $34 million approved to buy back stock at year end. The program continues through October 2024. At our current price, that would be 1.1 million shares (3.3% of the outstanding stock).
That is significant for a stock with this many outstanding shares, but more significant for the number of freely traded shares which is far less. How many times have we seen huge price moves on small blocks of shares? If the company adds $10-15 million to that program, that's another 300,000-500,000 shares. Again, it doesn't sound like a huge number but it would add pressure to what will become a dire situation for the shorts.
The shorts may decide not to cover, or to continue the strategy of taking their losses and re-shorting, but their ability to influence the stock back to a level where they truly profit is nonexistent in my opinion, particularly when volume dies between market-moving events.
I am eyeing the $50-$55 range as my price target in the next move up.
21. NOTE on FRG Independent Auditor’s Report
One of the positive things I see IMO was for the billion dollar loan that matures in 2026. “On July 2, 2021, the Company repaid $182.1 million of principal of the First Lien Term Loan using cash proceeds from the sale of the Liberty Tax business. The prepayment also satisfied the requirements for the quarterly principal payments so no additional principal payments with respect to the First Lien Term Loans (excluding the Incremental First Lien Term Loan) are due until the First Lien Term Loan maturity date.” To me this gives them some flexibility for their cash as there isn’t much long term debt due in 2024 or 2025.
https://preview.redd.it/ib92t7e66f1d1.png?width=975&format=png&auto=webp&s=df286021b0653db92122e33df0ed37f1068a0c6c
22. on May 3rd Cohodes or someone else got media to report 4th quarter from last year as q1 earnings this year. Which was a lie and FUD
https://preview.redd.it/nlau48276f1d1.png?width=623&format=png&auto=webp&s=832695b6c331c3df6dbcb861dc90551ee42a036a
23. B. Riley Financial Announces Full Redemption of 6.75% SR Notes Due 2024
17 days ago Wolfiger
LOS ANGELES, May 1, 2024 /PRNewswire/ -- B. Riley Financial, Inc. (NASDAQ: RILY) ("B. Riley" or the "Company") today announced that it has called for the full redemption equal to $25,000,000 aggregate principal amount of its 6.75% Senior Notes due 2024 (the "Notes") on May 31, 2024 (the "Redemption Date").
The redemption price is equal to 100% of the aggregate principal amount, plus any accrued and unpaid interest up to, but excluding, the Redemption Date, as set forth in each notice of redemption delivered to noteholders on May 1, 2024.
https://ir.brileyfin.com/2024-05-01-B-Riley-Financial-Announces-Full-Redemption-of-6-75-Senior-Notes-due-2024
24. 8k filed May 1st for Nasdaq Compliance
25. Found management bonus if above 136 by October. Did anybody else know that a part of managements comp was in the form of Performance-based Restricted Stocks Units with a vesting date of 10/27/24 AND A HURDLE PRICE OF $135?!?
https://preview.redd.it/wo2uh54k5f1d1.png?width=547&format=png&auto=webp&s=8b6dedf28ec845b2170647674f5b39b6eaac96a1

submitted by dnelson2408 to RILYStock [link] [comments]

2024.05.19 19:28 confuze0 This is my story. I am now the problem. How do I change my mindset once more?

(F21, M21, together for 2 years, found out 6 months ago)
TL;DR: relationship is healing after his porn addiction and micro-cheating. We have had many conversations, he makes a solid effort and seems to be a changed man. The problem now is the constant flashback reminders. How do you trust again, seeing daily triggers, when the relationship is seriously improving? How to reprogram the mind into renewing trust once more, so I’m not stuck in the past?
**I know people don’t read long posts but if even one person has advice I will seriously appreciate it! PSA: our first relationship. **
Been with my boyfriend for 2 years. He was my best friend before that for 3. I get it, we’re young and it’s normal for guys to watch porn blah blah blah. But this was cheating.
The week we were official, we discussed porn. I asked him how he would feel if I watched porn and vice versa. He expressed strong discomfort. I asked if it would be beneficial to us, he agreed it wasn’t. Since neither of us thought to gain sexual gratification through anybody else, and wouldn’t walk into a strip club or brothel, we decided not to do it online either. We agreed in the conversation that porn is now considered cheating, and off-limits boundary. He admitted to having a porn addiction before, since he was 12.
Fast forward to 6 months into the relationship. I noticed he became far more degrading in sex and also far less interested in me. He would make up excuses for being busy (despite living with me, I know it was quick but this wasn’t official living, he was with me 6 nights a week in a flat on my parents property. We basically lived together as I moved into the flat instead of the main house). After sex, I would explain that I don’t like being degraded THAT much (I normally don’t mind a bit but this was a noticeable difference). He apologised. I asked him if he was watching porn on countless occasions after that, feeling as though the sex was scripted or weirdly unnatural. I told him it was okay if he was watching, I would just prefer to know. He said “of course not” every. Single. Time.
Fast forward to 10 months in. At this point we had been official for that long, but “seeing” each other for roughly a year. I had consistent dreams about him cheating on me with the girl he slept with (my toxic ex-best friend, before we were together in school). She used to judge me for being close friends with him then one day said “I had sex with him last night” as if it was a power move that she got the guy who was flirting with me.
I had insecurities because she is tiny and petite, would talk shit about me to him and brag about having sex with him when he first showed signs of interest in me back at school). Before the porn I struggled with this history and used to cry mid-sex over it because I felt annoyed I wasn’t as sexually experienced or petite as she was. I hardly thought about her after overcoming this so it was weird I saw her fucking him in my dreams after 3 years no contact. My gut was screaming something is wrong.
He left his laptop at mine, (this never happens so I took the opportunity) he had openly told me the password to it before so I knew. Anyway, only come to find that in his search history he has Grace Charis, Kim Kardashian’s tits (he typed a typo so he searched 9 times to find the images) and other girls scattered through his timeline since the last time he cleared his search history. This was without incognito, I could only imagine what else was hidden. It killed me because he told me one of his friends’ girlfriends looked like Kim Kardashian once, I instantly remembered. Yuck.
What hurt most was his instagram. He “never” uses it, and often takes days to respond to cute stuff I send him on there. Turns out he was searching Asian AI pornstar models on instagram (hana_bunny bunny or something), 2 DAYS after my birthday! (Which he put barely any effort into. My 21st he bought me a bucket of cheese and flowers. Thanks I guess?? I spent hundreds for his 21st and made him a book of personalised memories and drawings).
Fast forward. I felt sick to my stomach like never before. Left work early and he knew I went home because he noticed my car wasn’t at work, so he came over. I confronted him. Asked him if he remembered how we talked about porn being cheating? He said yes. I asked him why he thought I deserved to be cheated on then, to which he was silent. I explained how I felt and cried to him saying I would never look like them, and we agreed not to do it.
He confessed straight away. I asked him what genres he normally went for, of course he said “college girls fucking”. Also said he mostly used the top pornhub results that week and did it roughly twice a week for the past 8 months despite the conversation. I believe it was more times than this. At least he was admitting to some of it.
Lots of discussing followed and has ever since. Lots of empty-handed apologies when it was brought up. He purchased porn blockers that I could easily outwit within half a second of testing. But at least he was spending money to fix the problem and it was his idea.
He offered couples counselling but it’s so expensive, I can barely afford rent. He’s offered to pay but I think I need private sessions first, I’m exhausted even explaining this in writing let alone talking to a stranger. I think it’s just a me problem now.
He then decided living with his mates would be better than living with me, despite us going to the same city and same university for the next year ahead. I had turned down moving to another state because he said he would never move there. He told me I had “no chance” of ever living with him and his friends in a heated argument. He said he didn’t want me to “become an accessory to his life”, words he has apologised for but I never forgot.
He moved in with them… but here’s the thing. One of (our mutual) roommate friends has a girlfriend (different girl) whom he has admitted he used to be really attracted to. I told him I would feel gutted that he couldn’t just choose to live with strangers instead so I don’t have to deal with the discomfort of him seeing her potentially more than me, and also that way we would both be in the same position, starting fresh (not choosing his friends over living with me). He then tells the boyfriend I’m upset because he used to like his girlfriend and sugarcoated it, which obviously isn’t the whole story. He told me his friends say I’m crazy for being upset over that, lessening the chance of me ever mingling with them again. Mind you, these guys have all cheated on their partners before and discouraged him from living with me.
Fast forward again. I’m struggling to find a job. I have to pay triple rent because he doesn’t want to live with me at this new place. He has job offers left right and centre, one of them being at a hostel, which is also a club. I told him any of the other 8 jobs sound really good, that’s the only one I’m uncomfortable with due to his porn addiction. I’m worried he will just be flirting the whole time. I was right. He chose that job despite the sadness and anxiety he knew it would bring me.
One day, he BUTT DIALLED me at work (lmaooo). I could hear him flirting with girls in another language (I didn’t know he was learning another language!) and laughing with them like I’ve never heard before. Then he bragged about it to his coworkers and said “she’s so nice, such a great girl”. They cheered him on for speaking the language.
I was fuming. I nearly called it quits that night but since, he has been making an effort. He has drastically improved his behaviour and genuinely makes an effort. He said he has changed his ways, he has apologised many times and though I don’t think he’s necessarily watched porn since I found out, it has been 6 months since, and I’m devastated like it’s the day it happened. The flirting. The way he behaves when I’m not around. I will never know when he’s being disloyal, which sucks. But it’s not like he’s actively messaging or sleeping or hooking up with anyone, it’s only small stuff.
He has done little things here and there to try and reignite the passion: flowers, cards, chocolates and dates etc. which I really appreciate. He doesn’t leave his laptop at mine, even if he knows he is coming back over the same day with it, which was a red flag to me. But so far, I don’t think he’s watching porn. And I have seen a huge improvement in the relationship overall.
My problem now is the reminder. I can’t trust him the way I used to. Every time I see a model I want to crumble. Every time I see Kim Kardashian or Kanye or golfers (Grace) or ads or beautiful women from different countries, it kills a part of me. I have no idea how to move on from this. I get flashbacks all the time. Our intimacy is pretty good still. But every time he calls me beautiful I don’t buy it. There’s always someone better, I feel worthless and I can’t control it anymore. I feel terrible because whilst he’s making great efforts, I still don’t trust him and feel insanely insecure at the thought of him getting to live a double-life. He is a beautiful soul who really does bring out the child in me and I don’t want to lose that. I feel so bad that my brain has changed its thought process. We are now in a much better place together.
He has been proving himself but it still makes me feel like shit knowing I was never good enough for him in the first place. I was his 7th, he was my 1st, not that I care but it explains my devastation. Hence why it’s so heavy for me. I gave him everything and it still wasn’t enough. He was happy to keep secrets and risk the relationship on multiple occasions, but now that things are fine I’m starting to process more. I need a quick fix to changing my mindset and believing him again to save our relationship. Because things are different now and I have hope for us in the future.
—————————- I would LOVE advice on ways to reverse negative thinking. Ways to forgive, truly, and to learn how to believe partners again. I need new tools to be more resilient and confident again, otherwise this won’t survive. I wouldn’t have stayed with him if I didn’t think it was worthwhile, I don’t want to put 5 years down the drain and would like advice other than merely breaking up. I’ve seen a difference, I am the problem now.
Does anyone have any healthy mind habits they can share, or positive ways to overcome this situation? How do you trust again and stop comparing when triggers arise?
submitted by confuze0 to loveafterporn [link] [comments]

2024.05.19 19:26 CnRhin We Were Sent to find an Ancient Weapon called Human- Chapter 2

First
Auraxium Captain Nikto Rakzes POV
Those traitors think they can hide from us in the old home system of the Elyrian? I’ll show them what happens when they cross Captain Nikto Rakzes! Nobody pulls one over on me and gets away with it. I mean how did I honestly believe that they were courier runners? Yes, they had the necessary paperwork, so I had to go by the books and let them go. But once they strayed from their route their fate was sealed. These three shall rue the day they thought they could escape the great Nikto Rakzes!
Crew of the Scav POV
“No weapons, that’s fine we can still manage. Little one I never got your name by the way.” Asked Tic-Tac from the speakers all around the room.
“My name is Lizra, Captain Lizra Riteness the Third to be exact.”
“Adorable, ok Captain Lizra, how sure are you that these ones incoming are hostile?”
“I'm Fairly certain. I just didn’t think that they would be so suspicious of us as to follow us here.”
“Well we did lie to them and pretend to be galactic couriers. And that dumbass bought every word of it too” Chucked Argall.
“Argall language. We are Tic-Tac's esteemed guests here.”
“No worries little one. That's ok, I think I have a plan that may get us all out of here. I can completely stabilize the atmosphere within the facility and then when they enter I will be able to jettison them from the airlocks. Do you think that might buy us enough time to get to your vessel?”
“We’re not going to fight them ourselves? The whole reason I was sent with you was to carry this weapon back! I was hoping to get to use it at least. But now I can’t even do that since the weapon is a fucking guy.” Complained Argall, annoyed that there still hadn’t been a confrontation that required his expertise.
“Don’t worry Induran, if they manage to stick around after we show them the door, we may have use for you yet. And your name is?”
“Argall” He grumbled, still disappointed there was no ancient weapon of destruction he could wield like some god of war.
“Argall what?” Questioned Tic-tac confused.
“Just Argall”
“Appropriate. They should be arriving any second now. I am going to go ahead and remove the atmosphere from this room so that we do not have to worry about pressure equalization when we make our move. Z-8 do you have any way to remotely pilot your ship from here?”
“We do not even need to inquire as to how you know our name, but please call us Zate from this point forward. Yes we have the ability to control the ship remotely. What do you have in mind Program?”
“I can see from the security feeds they are going to station their ship near yours. I will forward you the location of where to move your ship once I eject the intruders. I am going to illuminate the path to another exit, for you to move to. Once there I’ll pressurize the door, open the airlock, and throw you into space.”
“You’re going to do what with us!? I do not consent to being blasted into the cosmos Mr. Tic-Tac.” Replied Lizra clutching onto Argall even tighter.
“Captain, the claws”
“Yes my apologies Argall”
“Do not worry. If Zate gets the ship in position you will be propelled right into the loading bay or your vessel. When I was connected to Zate I was able to view the schematic of your ship. I will send her a visual representation of how to orient it to properly recieve you.” Tic-Tac replied matter of factly.
“Not necessary, we can visualize that without your aid computer.”
While the plan was being created the Human sat silently watching them. Throughout the entire conversation he hadn’t taken his eyes off of the small Elyrian captain in the room. His masked helmet gave away no signs as to how he felt towards the plan, or other occupants in the room. Lizra hopped down from atop Argall and made her way over to Human looking up at him. When standing on her hind legs she barely came up to his knees.
“Um, Mr Human, do you have anything to add to the plan?”
“No.”
“Will you defend us if it comes to that?”
“Yea sure…and I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? For what exactly?”
“Just that-”
As Lizra and Human were locked in their engrossing dialogue, a loud bang echoed throughout the facility that shook the walls of the research room. The trio jumped into action and gathered around the exit door as Human walked over to the small black box looking down at it.
“Just lemme know when Tic-Tac.”
“Disconnect me only when they get to safety. Any earlier and I will not have access to the facility.”
“You aren’t coming with us?” Asked Lizra looking down at the little black computer.
“We will be following shortly, I have to ensure your safe exit. We also have a few more items to grab before we make our leave.” A second later an explosion was heard down the hall, followed by a booming voice that echoed throught the base.
“This is Auraxium Captain Nikto Rakzes of The Prowler. You are in violation of Core federal code 13-7451 impersonating a galactic courier and attempting to flee from federal authorities. Cooperate and you will be handled respectfully. If you refuse to do so then you shall face severe repercussions. Such as a fine upwards of 10,000 credits. That will be all.”
“He seems to be in a better mood today,” Lizra chuckled.
“Oh we’ll see if he’s still threatening us with a fine when I threaten him with his own spine.”
Argall grunted putting his fists together.
“Ok Zate get the ship moving, I’m opening the airlocks now. Good luck everyone, see you soon.”
When Tic-Tac finished his farewell, the sounds of air rushing out of the facility sounded from the other side of the door. It opened up moments later and the three rushed out into the hall. They followed the blinking lights that guided them through the corridors. Upon reaching the exit they made their way into the small airlock and the door sealed behind them.
“7 seconds and we will have the ship in position. We hope Tic-Tac does not send us out too e-” Zate was cut off as the opposite door opened and plunged the trio untethered out into the stars. Outside they could see countless others flailing around in the vacuum of space, having also been unexpectedly jettisoned from the base. Lizra locked her eyes onto the ship and saw it on an interception course with them. Their trajectory was impeccable, sending them right into the open loading bay. Argall grabbed the small captain and wrapped his bulk around her to shield her from the impact. The three were thrown into the ship with the blast door slamming shut behind them.
“Wait, what about Human and Tic-Tac?” Lizra asked squirming free of Argall grip.
“We have established comms with Tic-Tac again, he says not to worry and to prepare for departure.” Zate said, picking themselves up off the floor.
“Right, lets get out of here before those Core clowns get their bearings again.”
“What? No, thank you Argall for saving me? No, Oh Argall are you hurt from taking that fall for me?”
“You’re expected to save your captain Argall, we need to focus on saving Human and Tic-Tac right now.”
“No problem, you're welcome captain, yes i'm fine, thank you for asking.”
Once back in the command room of The Scav they surveyed the situation. The majority of The Prowler’s crew was still floating around aimlessly outside. The Prowler itself had started moving away from the landing pads, bearing down on The Scav.
“Captain weapons lock detected. They are directing us to stand down and not to flee.”
“Or what? We get another fine?”
“We believe they might not tell us again.”
As the two ships faced off, Lizra was debating whether to give the order to make a slipspace jump or to surrender. Before she could make up her mind, she saw the form of Human launching himself from the facility below. He was not headed for The Scav, but instead towards The Prowler.
“Quick Zate tell him that’s not our ship! That's the ones that came here to attack us!”
“We believe he knows that.”
“Then what is he doing? Is he betraying us? And here I thought he was just warming up to me.”
Human was silhouetted against the bright red hull of the Prowler as he made contact with it and latched on. He launched himself from the side of the ship making a beeline for the front. Once there he dug his hands into the metal walls, climbing towards the windows of The Prowler’s bridge. Human stared into the bridge of The Prowler before raising an arm and shattering the glass of the viewport and throwing himself inside. A few stray plasma shots could be seen exiting the bridge before the ship’s metal shutters slammed shut in an attempt to stop the atmosphere from escaping.
“Remind me to ask Human to show me how to punch like that.”
“Captain weapons are no longer locked. Should we start a slipspace jump?”
“Yes, go for slipspace, seatbelts everyone! Zate open the cargo bay again.”
A minute later the metal shutters were torn open from the inside and Human jumped from the ruins of The Prowler's bridge towards The Scav. The Scav moved closer to intercept, and Zate oriented the ship to receive him in the open bay. Once Human was safely aboard, the cargo bay was closed and Zate initiated the slipspace jump. Once away from danger the crew gave a sigh of relief, Lizra unbuckling herself from her pedestal and surveyed the monitors.
“Well I’d like to see them give us that fine now. Great work everyone. And Argall? Thank you for shielding me earlier, it looked like it hurt.”
“Of course captain you’re welcome. And I’m fine thank you.”
“Oh come now, I was being genuine. I appreciate your initiative to keep me safe. I’ll put you in for some sort of medal when we return.”
“Nah I don’t need a medal. I just wanna actually do my job when it doesn’t involve moving around cargo.”
“Well then, shall we go greet Human and Tic-Tac then? I believe a thanks is in order.”
“We will stay here and notify you when we are clear of the system. Ensure Tic-Tac will not meddle with our systems again or he might find himself being the one jettisoned from an airlock.”
“Duly noted Zate, keep us on course and notify me of any updates.”
Lizra and Argall shed their environmental suits and made their way down into the cargo bay to see if Human was ok. When they arrived, there was a dent in the far wall, presumable from when they made the jump and Human wasn't properaly fastened in. He was wearing the small black box from the computer room on his back, and unlike before had a strange looking rifle in his hand.
“Ah that’s new, its a good look for you two. We’re not in space anymore so you don’t have to wear your suit around here when we're in transit.”
“I’m fine, thanks.” Human replied curtly.
Tic-Tac’s voice echoed from the black box attached to humans back, “Unfortunately he has no way of removing the suit here either way. We would have to construct the proper machines to remove it, as I do not believe they are present in this… galaxy." Tic-Tac said searching for the proper word. "But he hasn’t been out of it in a very long time, I assure you it’s not a burden to him.”
“Right, well thank you for saving us back there. So did you… um kill them all?”
“No, we merely disabled their systems on the bridge. They’re going to be stuck there for quite a while until someone can give them a ride. We have decided to accompany you to the nearest port where we can acquire our own ship and then we shall be on our way.” Tic-Tac responded.
“Wait wait wait, we went through all the trouble of getting you out of there, helped you bring Human back, and now you want to leave us already?”
“We have no desire to get involved in another conflict after having it be our sole purpose for as long as we can remember. I hope you can understand why we wish to make our own choices now.”
“Okay hold on, we helped you get off the base, and helped you wake up Human. So maybe you could at least come with us back home and hear us out. From someone a little more charismatic than myself.”
“Very well, how long until we arrive?”
“Um, maybe a week?”
“Terrific. Well maybe we can pass the time by telling me how you came to learn of us, and more about who you’re fighting. I only speak for myself saying I would love to know more. It really has been a long time since I’ve had a good conversation with someone that's not a part of myself.”
“Of course, here let me show you to the common room, you two can stay there until we make a stop.” Lizra led them to a large room in the center of the ship, adorned with various different chairs for the different species on board. She took the seat that was present for her, a round flat bed where she was able to curl up and use her long tail as a pillow. Human took off the black box that was Tic-tac and dropped it onto the table in the middle.
“Enjoy.” He spoke before leaving the room. Argall followed closely behind Human and Lizra only picked up the beginning of his sentence, asking about how he was able to break into the ship like that.
“Is he always this… charming?”
“He isn’t the nicest, you don't have to sidestep it. We have been through a lot. I’d like to tell you more, but I do not want to make him any angrier with me than he already is. He’s been through more than I could possibly begin to explain.
“Well I hope he ends up doing better. Maybe we can find a beach for him when we make a stop, I remember him mentioning that.”
“I’m sure he would appreciate that.”
“You know, I have been thinking about something rather peculiar he said to me when we were in your computer room.”
“And what might that be?”
“He apologized to me, but he hadn’t done anything that warranted an apology at the time.”
Tic-Tac was silent for a moment before speaking, “He has been trapped in his own head for quite some time. I would not dwell on anything strange he says. 909 is a man of few words, and does not come from a world that places social interactions in their list of their priorities.”
Lizra was quiet for a moment, feeling as if there was more Tic-Tac had wanted to say but decided not to. Before she could press further, the black box spoke again. “So, who is this Core you mentioned back there?”
“Oh my where to begin with that one. I guess my own species’ story would be a good place to start. About 1000 years ago we were nearly brought to complete extinction…”
submitted by CnRhin to HFY [link] [comments]

2024.05.19 19:25 dalledayul I have a convoluted conspiracy theory regarding the United Kingdom's ESC entries between 2009-2013

Okay so just hear me out. This is going to be the weirdest thing I ever post.
Okay so:
In 2009, the United Kingdom entered Eurovision with Jade Ewen's "It's My Time" (with a cheeky cameo/songwriting credit by Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber). The song did really well: we got 5th overall (3rd with Juries and 10th in televote), and even got a 12 points from Greece! Random. This was our best result since our 3rd place in 2002, and came after a truly awful streak from 2003-2008 where we never broke inside the top 15, bookended by two last places.
At the time, I recall that a lot of us Brits suddenly looked at Eurovision and thought "hey, we sent a pretty good song, and we actually did okay. Maybe we're not as doomed as we once thought". The sentiment in the UK about Eurovision was that the rest of Europe hated us and that's why we never did well. As a result, we never tried either, and that was the cycle of misery. We send a bad song -> we get no votes -> we're convinced Europe hates us -> we have no desire to even try -> we send a bad song. We sent some absolute stinkers in the 2000s. Like really stinky stinkers.
But now? We have a chance! We came 5th! We got 12 points from a country that is nowhere near us geographically! The sky is the limit!
Okay so here starts my conspiracy:

Chapter 1: London 2012

In 2012, Britain was preparing to host the 2012 Summer Olympics. I cannot begin to stress to you how excited we all were at this time. I'm not sure why, but the entire nation went fucking ga-ga for the Olympics in every way. We all got into sports, there was constant news coverage about the building of the stadiums, excitement over how many gold medals we could win, the works. Right from when we won the bid in 2005, we were all hyped as fuck to see a Jamaican lad run really fast. We all knew it was going to be the highlight of the year.
Along with this comes the fact that the BBC would be controlling the broadcasting, and it was going to be a doozy. The entire world, stationed in the UK, with the BBC leading the way as the chief broadcaster. Plus, the government was also completely in on it. Think of the tourism, the advertising rights, the chance to showcase British culture. 2012 was going to be our year. And look, we just did quite well in Eurovision.
Hey, what if we got to host Eurovision in 2012 as well? That would be so cool! We could have two major cultural events hosted in London in the same year, for all the world to see!
But everybody knows that to do that, we need to win in 2011. And we still have 2010 to do first. And it's very difficult for an incumbent winner to win again, even if they send a great song. It's not been done since Ireland were gifted the music of the gods in the 90s. So in order to ensure that doesn't happen, we need to ensure we don't win: so let's send the shittest song we could possibly fathom.

Chapter 2: That Sounds Good To Me

As a British ESC enthusiast, it's difficult for me to overstate just how much I fucking hate our 2010 entry: Josh Dubovie's "That Sounds Good To Me". This song is the sound of a holiday bus trip in southern Spain where you get travel sick. This is the sound of a 4/10 X Factor audition. This is the sound of being 12, asking your school crush if she wants to go to prom, and her vomiting from disgust. It is simply putrid.
I feel bad for Josh, I really do. He was a lovely chap, but he had absolutely no chance with this utter shit. This song was written and produced by Stock Aitken Waterman, a British songwriting team with 13 UK Number 1 hits to their name. However, all of these hits were released before 1991. And it shows, because this song is plucked right from an 80s commercial about bleach. It's awful. It's so bad. William Hill had betting odds for this to win at 125-1, which is the lowest they've ever given a British ESC entry.
And they were right: it came dead last with 10 points. We got fucking slaughtered, and the UK looked and thought "god, we are shit at this. Europe hates us. Why do we bother."
But it's okay, because now the stage was set for a triumphant return in 2011 - one that would bring us the Eurovision glory that we thought impossible at just the right time.

Chapter 3: No wait you were meant to vote for us

In 2011, we weren't fucking around. We recruited one of our most beloved boybands, reunited after a 6 year hiatus just to bring home the gold. No more throwing up no-names singing advert jingles, we had the professionals in and we had a banger: Blue's "I Can". It was perfect. They were all good looking, they had cool suits, the song was produced by a bunch of Scandinavians. It was prime ESC winners material. And 2011 was a pretty inconstent year, so we really had a chance. Hell, Jedward were competing, surely we were going to look amazing compared to those weirdos.
But it all went wrong. The performance didn't sound great, especially with poor Lee Ryan struggling badly with the high notes. Meanwhile, Jedward had the audacity to do a better song and perform it better. I learned to forgive, but I'll never forget. Somehow, despite all of the planning, the 2012 dream, the Olympics-Eurovision double all planned out, we came a measly 11th. Jedward came 8th. We were humiliated. The dream was dead.
We need to be careful, now. The Olympics cost a lot of money to broadcast and organise, which means the BBC and the country might be skint come 2013. Now, the last thing we need is to host Eurovision. Quick, send in an artist that definitely won't win, but don't make it too obvious that we're trying to lose.

Chapter 4: E N G E L B E R T

Engelbert Humperdinck's "Love Will Set You Free" is... well, it's nice. It's lovely. It's like your grandad serenading your sleepy grandma. Wonderful. Sweet. Absolutely bound to do terribly in Eurovision. Crisis averted, we've nailed this. They'll never know that we're desperate to lose.
Engelbert performed first in the running order - likely the result of some exceptional bribery on the part of the British delegation, godspeed gentlemen - and finished a respectable and formidable 25th. Not last. That's the important part. We aren't last, which means we definitely tried. We definitely aren't still pissed about Lee missing his FUCKING HIGH NOTES FOR GODS SAKE LEE
In 2013 we decided to make sure, just to keep the treasury intact, and sent Bonnie Tyler with "Believe In Me". Another old legend, another nice, respectable performance. 19th isn't bad, I think we can be proud of that for sending a 61-year-old singing a rubbish pop ballad going up against Only Teardrops.
Crisis averted. We look like we tried, they'll never know that we had the venue booked for 2012 and everything. Oh shit they'll find the booking, quick burn the invoice quick!

Conclusion

This is a factual retelling. There is simply no other reason we would put up that entry in 2010, and why we would then send Engelbert fucking Humperdinck to try and follow up Blue. I know you think there's a more sensible explanation, but there isn't. This grand conspiracy by the BBC elites is simply the only way this ever could have happened and you know it.
submitted by dalledayul to eurovision [link] [comments]

2024.05.19 19:19 Temporal_Illusion Satisfactory Developer Q&A (05-14-2024)

The Live Stream on Twitch was posted Tuesday, on May 14, 2024 which will be available for viewing in full for a short time longer.
TLDW - Well if you don't have time to view full 1 Hour, 53 Minute Video here is a Video Quick Link List to key Bookmarks for the relevant "Intro", "State of Dev", "Community Highlights", and "Q&A Questions and Answers" discussed by Community Managers Snutt Treptow and Mikael Niazi, taken from the YouTube Channel for Satisfactory Q&A Videos and the Satisfactory Community Highlights Archive created by u/SignpostMarv (CREDIT)
NOTE: The Questions are the Video Title, and the Answers are a quick synopsis of what was said. The "order" of the Questions may or may not follow the original Twitch Live Stream. Some question are not shown as they are either repetitive and have been answered numerous times before, or simply Twitch Stream Chat Joke Questions. If you have concerns about the accuracy of what I posted, view the Videos and listen for yourself. Often there is more discussion related to a Question than I could post without getting too verbose.
Start of State of Dev Portion
Community Highlights Portion
  • View Community Highlights shown during this Livestream to see some great things other Pioneers are doing.
  • There was no Content Creator segment this week.
Start Q&A Portion
submitted by Temporal_Illusion to SatisfactoryGame [link] [comments]

2024.05.19 19:11 Bright-Elevator 33 [F4R] Canada/Online- Friend with benefits, but more emphasis on the friend part

Hey Reddit!
I'm your average plus size generic nerdy girl that loves sci-fi, fantasy, and all things adorable. I've recently been trying to get back into video games after a decade long hiatus, so I would love suggestions other than stardew valley!
I've spent the last year single, working on taking control of my own life and learning how to be happy with who I am. I'm getting really good at that now, but probably won't be ready for a relationship any time soon. I have a very demanding career and active social life, but a girl still has needs. Unfortunately, those needs gotta be filled by someone I trust and like as a person, so here we are.
For you, I hope you're also kind of or very nerdy, don't want someone that's going to want to talk all the time (a few weekly chats might be nice), not super into the plus size thing because I'm working on changing that, emotionally intelligent, more on the left leaning side of the political spectrum, and are patient and have a good sense of humor.
If this sounds good to you, send me a message and let's see where things go!
submitted by Bright-Elevator to R4R30Plus [link] [comments]

2024.05.19 19:05 Jcb112 Wearing Power Armor to a Magic School (80/?)

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The Grand Dining Hall. Local time: 1210
Emma
The dining hall was, for all intents and purposes, the den of gossip.
[Grand Dining Hall. Add: Alternative Designator - DEN OF GOSSIP]
This was proven true by the incessant and rampant whispers, most of which were eventually hidden under privacy screens.But some of which were allowed to permeate through the air like a foul and sickening stench.
“What’s he trying to prove?”
“Usurpers. Tepid-blood minor nobles thinking themselves bigshots in their ill-gotten castles. This is all they know — power through brute strength.”
“Do you think this could be some sort of a roundabout statement for the House Choosing Ceremony?”
“Could be, or maybe the newrealmer is rubbing off on him. I heard those savages live in hunting-packs that deal exclusively in violence.”
“Poor Lord Ping… the man’s been dealt so many blows both to his ego and integrity. He truly is the victim in this upstart’s rebellion.”
“Let us hope the pious Ping prevails over his undeserving trials and tribulations. The man’s a saint, a pious soul that must hold fast for those of us adherent to the eternal truths.”
“Or perhaps we should wait and see how things develop. I, for one, wish to side neither with the narrow-minded bull nor the aggressive upstarts.”
“Lord Qiv may prove to be the more suitable candidate for class sovereign… but only time will tell.”
“Never in my wildest of imaginations would I have ever considered that the one to threaten our position, our place, our image, and our very survival in this sky of feral drakes to be you — Prince Thalmin.” Ilunor managed out incredulously, breaking me out of my long-range acoustic reverie. Though unlike his prior confrontations with myself, his current voice lacked the same intense vitriol. Instead, that was replaced with what I could only describe as a genuine sense of disappointment, as if confronting a friend who knew better than to commit to a dumb decision.
“That’s an understandable statement to make, Ilunor.” Thalmin replied uncharacteristically calmly, as if he hadn’t even registered the Vunerian’s assaults. Or at least, that seemed to be the case, until he shot the deluxe Kobold a predatory side-eye. “Because creatures that lack honor, integrity, and personal dignity, often conflate sacrifices and risk-taking, for foolishness and idiocy. For within the heart of a Nexian, lies only compromise for the sake of convenience. Whether that be the convenience of survival, the convenience of continuity, or the convenience of the status quo, you will sacrifice everything to maintain it — even if it means allowing your honor to remain sullied and trodden when there exists a pool to cleanse away that shame.”
Thacea’s eyes grew wary with concern at that statement, one of the few instances I’d seen her genuinely worried about an Ilunor-Thalmin interaction. In fact, even I didn’t dare to interrupt, especially after both parties had shot death-glares towards our elven waiter as he arrived with the lunch platter.
“Restraint, Prince Thalmin.” Ilunor responded with a deep and calculating breath. “This isn’t the adjacent realms, this isn’t Havenbrockrealm.”
“Oh that much is very clear to me, Ilunor.” Thalmin interjected with something just short of a growl. “In Havenbrockrealm, we would sooner slash, stab, flay, or lash our enemies in fair and open combat, than reduce ourselves to cowardly attempts at assassination or retreat with our tails between our legs at the earliest signs of defeat.”
Ilunor took another breath, placing a small hand atop of his snout. “I… empathize with your desires to follow through with what you believe is a morally sound decision.” The Vunerian responded in a surprising display of maturity. “However, and this goes for you as well, newrealmer—” He paused for a moment, taking the time to glare at me before shifting back to Thalmin. “—we are not acting as independent actors anymore. For better or for worse… which, mind you, I still strongly believe this is very much for the worse in my case… we are now a peer group. And as such, the actions we take and their resultant fallout, should represent the interests of us all.”
“These are bold claims.” Thalmin began with a restrained snarl. “Even bolder when considering your actions the week prior. If the measure of a man were dictated by his words alone, then I would be inclined to acquiesce. However, considering the measure of a man extends beyond the weightless chatter of an exhaled breath, I feel far more inclined to reserve such actions for those far more deserving of my respect.” At which point, the lupinor turned towards both Thacea and I, following that up with a dip of his head. “I apologize, Thacea, Emma, for conducting myself in the way I did.”
Thalmin took a moment to pause, side eyeing Ilunor as he acknowledged him once again. “Whilst his character may sully his words, there is some truth to them. I have, admittedly, overstepped my bounds in committing to an action which undeniably affects the group. However, I genuinely hope you understand the reasons behind my otherwise brash decision. For I must stand on principle, lest I decide to stand at all.”
“Given the crap Auris Ping pulled last night, I’m inclined to agree with you, Thalmin. More than that, I would’ve gladly taken your place and dueled him the good old fashioned way if I could. Besides, the look on his face when you chose him to be your dueling partner? It was just priceless.” I offered with a snide grin. “In all seriousness, I’m really not in a position to chastise anyone on the issue of just gunning it with your gut instinct anyways. Heck, the entirety of last week was one long drawn out escapade for my sake, which came at the expense of the group after all.” I chuckled nervously. “So… yeah, this is incredibly tame by those standards, Thalmin.”
“Whilst… unexpected, and indeed a risk, I can understand the reasons behind it, Thalmin.” Thacea nodded uneasily. “However, I do not advise any of you to make a habit out of this.” She commanded, making an effort to make individual eye contact with each and every one of us.
Thacea’s group-mom vibes were definitely showing at this point, which was probably for the better. Given the group seemed to be a magnet for this sort of thing, it was good to have an anchor of sorts.
Sure thing, mom. Was what my gut instinct screamed at me to say.
But instead, I decided to tone it down a notch.
“As you command, princess.” I dipped my head in acknowledgement, garnering a look of abashed confusion from Thacea, and just plain-old confusion from the other two.
“In any case… I… believe you wished to discuss matters outside of classroom priorities, Emma?” Thacea quickly attempted to shift past that little bit of prodding, which I obliged with an affirmative nod.
“Yep. Well, it’s more of a small change of plans that I think is worth discussing with you guys. So, you remember how I was planning on deploying an infil-drone on Mal’tory after the end of class right?”
All three nodded, urging me to continue.
“Well, since Mal’tory was a no-show, and with Larial taking the reins instead… I think it’s best if we stick with the plan anyways, just swapping out Mal’tory for Larial. I honestly don’t see any other way we can continue the library’s questline, or any other way to find evidence to support the Auris Ping-Mal’tory hypothesis we have going on. I know it’s a huge gamble since there’s no way of knowing if she’ll even head to Mal’tory’s office after class. But honestly? This is our best shot right now.”
“I concur, Emma.” Thalmin announced with a nod.
“Given her proximity to the professor’s orbit, we may in fact gain a greater bearing on his actual state. Which in itself may prove useful.” Thacea offered, more or less acknowledging my change of plans implicitly.
“We don’t seem to have any other choice, earthrealmer. So a shot in the dark is better than stowing your wand.” Ilunor acknowledged in a rare display of solidarity.
“It’s settled then. I’ll deploy the drone right after class is dismissed. Then, we wait and see what the drone comes up with.”

The Grand Concourse of Learning. The Hall of Light. Local Time: 14:00 Hours.
Emma
Mana field perception was, as one would expect, dry, bland, and utterly nonsensical.
Throughout most of it, the lesson was taught as if it was referencing something obvious, something mundane, something so typical that a lot of the topics were all but overlooked as ‘self evident’.
A lot of what was taught reminded me of a mix between perception-theory, and situational awareness training. However, instead of relying on your eyes, ears, heck, even your nose or sense of touch… it was instead relying on something completely outside of the human experience.
“Mana field perception, is at its core, a subject that is inherent to the sapient condition. However, the extent to which it is appreciated, understood, and most important of all — applied — varies exponentially. To an untrained mind, and an untempered soul, the world feels tepid.”
The apprentice paused, gesturing to Sorecar, who answered his cue by pulling out a massive painting of a beautiful mountainscape that seemed to play through a closed animation loop; the effect was like a high-definition e-ink display.
“To a trained mind, but an untempered soul, the world feels… distant, unaccommodating, and frustrating to emotionally comprehend.” Larial continued, prompting Sorecar to pull out yet another painting. This one, the exact same as the first, with literally no differences between them.
“To an untrained mind, but a tempered soul, the world feels… unpredictable, erratic, and frustrating to logically put together.” Once again, another painting was brought out. This one, just like the previous two, looked completely identical.
“But to a sufficiently trained mind, and a tempered soul, with enough time invested into both theory and practice… the world becomes open, expansive, and above all else… it becomes rich with sights and sensations that would be impossible to feel with the physical form alone.” Larial concluded, just as Sorecar pulled out what looked to be yet another identical painting.
The EVI’s analysis concluded that there were absolutely no differences between the four paintings. Moreover, the mana radiation signatures for each were likewise exactly the same.
It was only after slipping a note towards Thacea with a question written in High Nexian did I finally get my answer.
‘What’s the deal with these paintings? They’re all identical.’
Thacea quickly slipped me a blank piece of parchment in response.
Though it didn’t remain blank for long, as words and sentences started appearing on it; mirroring Thacea’s furious ‘note taking’ in her own notebook.
‘They’re artisanal pieces imbued with the purposeful manipulation of the subject’s aura, mana-field, and the surrounding mana. They were brought out in order to demonstrate the different degrees of mana-field perception by exaggerating the most common shortcomings found in those training in the magical arts. The first piece was, similar to your memory shards, lacking in any mana-fields or auras. The second and third pieces demonstrated a failure to imbue one or the other of the two fundamental tenets of mana-field perception. The fourth piece is representative of a perfect balance of both tenets, and is an exquisite work of art that completely outshines the first. It radiates beauty, whilst the first is flat and lifeless.’
It took a moment for me to really register all that. Longer still, as I eventually became fixated on that last line in particular.
Flat and lifeless… is that what the world is like from my eyes?
It was around that time that a thought hit me, and a realization truly sank deep into my very being.
The world that Thacea, Thalmin, Ilunor, and the rest of the magical beings across the interdimensional plane experienced… was one that I was utterly blind to.
It’d been referenced before.
In fact, it’d been drilled into me time and time again by the likes of Ilunor that I was lacking in something fundamental.
But up until now, everything was either circumstantial, or outside of my general focus. So much so that I never was able to digest the implications of it.
However, as much as a pit formed in my stomach, growing tighter by the second as Larial went on and on about the ebbs and flows of mana, so too did a very human resolve suddenly dawn upon me.
“I’m going to see what you guys see one day.” I wrote down on Thacea’s magic paper.
“How?” Was the message I received back.
To which I only had one thing to reply with.
“The same way we overcame all of our other shortcomings.” I wrote cryptically, garnering a look of confusion from Thacea as she read the note, to which I only had to point at my armor for added effect.
By once again defying nature. I thought to myself.
If we weren’t born with the ability to ‘see’ this beauty, we’d find a way to break it down into its fundamental components, dissect it, analyze it, and then reinterpret it for ourselves.
The class continued on after that exchange of notes, as we touched upon what Ilunor had so eloquently described on that second day of the grace period:
One: that manastreams were everywhere around us.
Two: that manafields generated by living organisms were akin to rocks that not only parted those streams, but at times, interacted with them.
Three: that using manafields, one could make out the presence of other manafields through the manastreams, and thus detect and extract information as is pertinent to the context of the situation.
And while Ilunor would’ve blabbered on and on about the ability to see and sense the emotional state of others through the manastreams, what Larial seemed to be focused on instead were the practical applications of this natural ability. Namely, she focused on exactly how to detect a spell being cast, what sort of spell was being cast, and most importantly — she focused on how it all tied back to Light Magic.
“In summary, only when one is proficient in the detection and analysis of manafields, can one finally start to dissect the intricacies of a manafield during spellcasting. And only once one masters the detection of spellcasting, can one even hope to begin the process of dispelling. The first step of which is to know exactly what a manafield looks like during spellcasting. Is there anyone in the class that can tell me what that looks like?” The professor asked, looking around, before picking one of the many raised hands.
This one belonged to Qiv.
“Yes, Lord Qiv?”
“Influxes and effluxes, Professor. One will see the influx of ambient mana through the manastreams into a manafield, and the potential efflux of mana through a manafield back into the manastreams in the form of a controlled mana-construct.”
“Very good, Lord Qiv! Five points! Now, hold your thoughts on that latter part, because that ties into my next question!” Larial responded with a giddiness and chipperness that seemed to be lacking in every other class up to this point. “The fundamental means of detecting a spell being cast is by looking out for a point of influx, and a point of efflux. Influx being the more difficult of the pair to detect, for what you have to look out for is mana is being funneled into a manafield. A weak spell being cast, will incur less disruptions in a manastream. However, the opposite is also true. As the more powerful the spell, and the more powerful the mage, the greater the rate of influx, as the amount of mana needed to fulfill the requirements of the spell increases. Paradoxically this would mean it will be easier to detect a powerful spell before it is cast, as the reduction in the concentration of ambient mana will be more palpable as a result. Efflux however, is rather straightforward, and will be the primary vehicle through which Mana-field Perception will be taught. As it is through efflux that we can ascertain the most useful details of a spell, or as Lord Qiv so eloquently puts it — the mana-construct. Does anyone know what this next point may be referring to?”
Surprisingly, and out of a clear bias towards Qiv, Larial once more called him up.
I couldn’t blame her though.
The man, despite being a certified bully and teacher’s pet, was one of the few students who didn’t openly doubt the apprentice’s capabilities during the start of class.
“Yes, Lord Qiv?”
“The mana-construct refers to the skeleton of a spell; the arrangement and unique form it takes before manifesting into a proper spell.” The gorn-like lizard responded confidently.
“Outstanding, Lord Qiv! Five points! Now, whilst a mana-construct is indeed a vital step in the process of spell casting, its manifestation is rarely the point in time in which a spell can be intercepted — save for those who have mastered the art of Light Magic. As a result, a spell can be halted before it even has the chance to form. To most however, the mana-construct acts as a cue to prepare. It is a signal that demonstrates the irrefutable start to a spell. And as a result, it provides major structural clues as to the form of Light Magic that must be employed to combat it. Which leads me to my next point.”
The apprentice once more paused, as she manifested literally nothing visible to the tune of more than a dozen mana radiation warnings.
“When broken down to their basic components, every spell is a complicated meshwork of mana, channeled and contained within a dynamic pattern that continuously evolves throughout the duration of a spell. Because unlike artificing, the casting of magic evolves with unpredictability and thrives on organic change. No offense to you, of course, Professor Pliska.” The apprentice turned towards Sorecar worryingly, who simply responded with a bellowing laugh.
“None taken, my aspiring understudy!”
With that, Larial continued, her hands moving through an empty section of air that everyone seemed to be focused on; as if manipulating a hologram that I wasn’t privy to. “However, in spite of this unpredictability, the goal of Light Magic and Mana-field Perception in particular is to untangle the aforementioned meshwork of mana. For every spell is a puzzle and a series of knots to untangle. Your goal in this class, if I am to be reductive, is to untangle the complex mesh that comprises a spell, unraveling it to a point in which it can no longer maintain its form — collapsing it and thus, rendering it inert.” The apprentice emphasized this by miming what looked to be tiny little motions with her fingers, before pulling both hands backwards, garnering a series of affirmative nods from the crowd. “And with that, we now reach the conclusion of today’s class.”
“Or more accurately, the leadup to the climax of this class.” Sorecar quickly chimed in with a wave of his hand, prompting the room to change once more. Section upon section of the front of the classroom’s floor was dragged down into the impossible void, only to be replaced just as quickly by an elevated stage resembling that of a fencing strip. “Will the aspiring duelists please rise and approach the stage?” Sorecar turned back towards the crowd, prompting both Thalmin and Auris to stand, the pair giving each other some strong side-eyes before both marching up and towards the front of the class.
From there, with not a single word exchanged, they took their places, Thalmin at the far right, and Auris on the far left.
“The purpose of this demonstration is simple.” The apprentice began, as Sorecar began moving towards both Thalmin and Auris, insisting them to pay attention. “It is to show that even in spite of the complicated principles behind Light Magic, that there exists far simpler, far more basic principles that can achieve similar means. A precursor to more contemporary methods; spell-breaking. A maneuver that involves overpowering the structure and flow of a spell using a concentrated burst of pure mana irregardless of the type. However, unlike traditional dispelling seen in contemporary Light Magic, spell-breaking oftentimes requires a user to concentrate a disproportionately larger amount of mana in order to properly break a spell. It is thus highly inefficient, and as a result becomes rapidly impractical upon encountering spellcrafts of sufficiently advanced tiers. This demonstration will be aptly limited to a simple barrier-spell for the likes of the reciprocator, so as to not overburden the initiator with this simple task.”
The apprentice quickly passed on the torch to Sorecar, who quickly took center stage with a few steps.
“Now, as this is not a traditional duel for dominance, nor is it a sporting duel for the purposes of victory, I will explain the narrow context by which this duel will be held.” Sorecar continued, his hands clapping together, generating an empty and resonant CLANG in the process. “To our right, is our initiator, who will be demonstrating the principles of spell-breaking in an active capacity. To our left, is our reciprocator, who will be taking on the role of demonstrative spellcaster, casting only barrier spells for the duration of this short demonstration. Remember, there is to be no additional spells cast or demonstrated outside of these parameters. Is that clear?” Sorecar paused, making sure to meet both of the opponents’ gazes with his empty helm.
“Yes, professor!” Both parties shouted simultaneously, barely containing their frustrations beneath a veneer of calm and restrained fury.
“Then we shall begin on the count of three.” The apprentice continued, taking the reins over from Sorecar, as she stood just a few steps away from the stage’s combat-lines. “One.” She began, as Auris began moving into position, practically grinding his booted hooves into the stage, and taking on the posture of some unknown martial art. “Two.” Thalmin reciprocated by taking a more aggressive posture, as if positioning himself to leap towards the bull in a ravenous rage at the drop of a hat.
“Three.”
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 225% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 350% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
Nothing seemed to happen.
At least, not to my eyes.
Within a matter of seconds, all I witnessed were two mana radiation warnings timelogged as only a few seconds apart from one another.
No physical effects were evident to me. Nothing, except for the flinching of a few muscles, and the waving of arms. As if they were conjuring make-believe magic spells, without the added special effects that came with it.
Ironically, this was how I was expecting most Nexians to react to the reveal of laser weaponry. Silent, invisible, but otherwise omnipresent and deadly threats.
Though despite the lack of any physical effects I could discern, there were certainly more than enough context-clues to go by when it came to exactly what had just occurred.
Auris’ features had more or less swelled up into a fury. His nostrils flared just short of snorting out fumes, and his teeth were bared clearly holding back a few choice words for the now-grinning Thalmin.
“Again.” He demanded, and barely a second after a nod of approval from the apprentice, came two more mana radiation warnings.
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 300% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 425% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
Once again, no noticeable physical effects had manifested. Though judging from the bewildered and shocked expressions of the crowd, something was definitely happening within the invisible world that was accessible through mana-vision.
“Again!” Ping announced, barely garnering approval from the apprentice this time, as things took a sudden enough turn that even I could notice them.
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 400% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
It started with that ‘barrier’ again.
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 500% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
Followed by Thalmin overpowering it.
However, instead of letting things go, Ping instead pushed towards a frenzied series of attacks.
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 375% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
As one—
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 400% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
—after another—
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 400% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
—after another—
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 400% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
—after another ‘barrier’ spell seemed to actually be causing Thalmin some pushback now. His movements now resembled someone attempting to dodge invisible projectiles, yet Auris made no moves to actually fling anything at him, only maintaining his prior stance.
Though of course, this came with the same expected response.
As Thalmin retaliated with his own attacks. Or rather, one, very large attack that truly outclassed what Auris could currently muster in his furious state.
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 550% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
This spell that mildly shook the room seemed to be enough to ‘break’ the sudden incursion, prompting both Ping and Thalmin to turn towards the apprentice — the former blasting steam from his snout and the latter slashing his tail in the air — for yet another round of fighting, only to have Sorecar step in, placing a hand on both of the duelists who were barely a foot away from each other now.
“Wonderful! Excellent! Put your hands together for our introductory duelists, everyone!” The professor quickly coerced both of the parties to face the class, actively grabbing them by the small of their back, and thus effectively entrapping them with his iron grip — forcing them to face the class who cheered on with a series of applauses.
Not a second later, the pair of them bowed, though it was unclear how much of this was Sorecar’s doing, and how much of this was done out of their own will.
“In any case, seeing as both of our aspiring duelists have gone above and beyond in their demonstration, and seeing that this is merely a demonstration, and not a challenge—” Sorecar emphasized that last point, forcing the pair to sweat in his over-shoulder grip. “—I believe it would be prudent to award them each a fair share of this duel’s fifty points.”
“Given the enthusiasm shown, I am inclined to agree, Professor Pliska.” The apprentice quickly nodded, prompting the armorer to quickly push both of them off-stage, and back towards the staggered raised steps of the lecture hall.
“Twenty-five points for both of our duelist’s groups.” Larial reiterated, and with a final round of reluctant applause, barely overpowering the incoming band marking the end of class… the apprentice made her final statement. “This concludes this week’s first lesson. Considering the house choosing ceremony coming up this weekend, along with the Elaseer school supply shopping trip to town… I am inclined to grant this class some clemency. No homework will be required. So please, enjoy the rest of the day, and prepare yourselves for what could be the most decisive day in your academic career here in Transgracia. Class dismissed!”
No sooner were those words uttered did my eyes quickly turn towards my HUD, and a flash of commands came through without a second of delay.
INFIL-DRONE01a ACTIVE, STATUS: NOMINAL. OBJECTIVE: PRIORITY TRACKING AND RECONNAISSANCE OF SUBJECT A109. MISSION PARAMETERS: TRACK, OBSERVE, MAP, AND RETURN-TO-BASE WITHIN PREDETERMINED PARAMETERS. CONFIRM COMMAND Y/N?
“Command confirmed.” I replied vocally, prompting the newly-printed replacement drone to pop out of its docking bay, before charting a course parallel to that of the apprentice.
The drone’s signal was lost just as the apprentice left the room through that dark threshold behind the lectern, at which point, the entire class began shuffling out to the tune of the encroaching band.
Only time would tell what would come of this mission.
But hopefully, we'll get our answers sometime later this evening.
However, instead of blending right into the crowd, or more specifically… being ignored by said crowd, quite a few eyes managed to find their way onto our group. Moreover, the chatter seemed way too interesting to ignore.
“You were right, Cynthis… perhaps there is something about this mercenary prince after all.” A female voice spoke from an all-girl group, eliciting a series of giggles, which were promptly silenced by a privacy screen the moment Thalmin craned his head around.
“Lord Auris Ping has yet again demonstrated his integrity. Let us ensure his pure-hearted determination is lauded this evening, lads! The fearsome strikers shall band together with the most pious of intent!” A tortle-like-turtle jeered, moving strategically to position themselves around Auris Ping’s group, as the expected schmoozing began in full.
“Newrealmer.” Ilunor began, generating a privacy screen in the process.
“Yes, Ilunor?”
“How long do you expect your insect to take in its dastardly escapades?”
“Last time it took a good few hours. So, given this probably isn’t a one-and-done deal, I’d say… maybe three to four hours at the least this time around?” I offered.
“Well then. Splendid. I shall be off, and return within that time frame.”
“Wait wait wait wait. Hold up. Where do you think you’re going?” I inquired firmly.
“I have my own life to lead, newrealmer. Now please, I shall return to our group’s escapades in due time.”
“Where, Ilunor?” I reiterated.
To which the Vunerian could only sigh in response. “The student lounge. Top floor today, if I am to be interrogated for every ounce of information…”
“Then let’s go. Together.” I proclaimed, garnering a few looks of surprise from both Thacea and Thalmin. “Perhaps it’s time we start getting a feel for the lay of the land. We’ve been cooped up in our own little world for far too long, maybe, just maybe, we should all expand our horizons just by a little bit.”
First Previous Next
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(Author’s Note: The much anticipated round two between Thalmin and Auris has concluded! And following its conclusion, we also get quite a few reactions to Thalmin as a result of his daring display of magical prowess! We also get a pretty hands on demonstration of Light Magic this time around! This is perhaps one of the more hands on class, and indeed one of the more straightforward classes so far! Moreover, the end of classes marks not only the beginning of the little spy drone adventure, but also a little peak into exactly what Ilunor has been up to! I hope you guys enjoy! :D The next Two Chapters are already up on Patreon if you guys are interested in getting early access to future chapters!)
[If you guys want to help support me and these stories, here's my ko-fi ! And my Patreon for early chapter releases (Chapter 81 and Chapter 82 of this story is already out on there!)]
submitted by Jcb112 to HFY [link] [comments]

2024.05.19 19:02 YourInnerFlamingo I recovered from MTD - I want to share my experience

Preface: I'm not a doctor, I'm not a speech therapist, and this is not medical advice. This is just what I've done to overcome my MTD and my opinions.
MTD is a name given to a large number of conditions. The architecture of our vocal instrument is very complex though, and "muscle tension" is not only a very uninformative diagnosis, but even a misdirecting one. I say this because:
I got my MTD after a single singing session in which I screamed in complete disregard of the vocal hygiene principles that I learned over two years of studies. The day after I had all the typical MTD symptoms, but I thought it was just a temporary loss of voice, like it happened before. Then one week went by. Then another. Then I tried with absolute silence, then I tried with lozenges, herbs, ibuprofen. Then I went to and ENT doctor and got a laryngoscopy, which came out clean, and got referred to a speech therapist.
The speech therapist gave me exercises and tips, she told me to talk with a confidential voice, she instructed me to keep a correct posture, she instructed me to always use abdominal breathing. She was meaning well, but all this had the effect of adding tension to my tension.
Months went by with no progress. I could speak, but not more than one day at a time. If I spoke one day, my voice would feel destroyed the day after. Speaking would become painful and effortful. Several days of silence would get my voice back almost to a normal state, but a single day of speaking would ruin all the work I'd done.
I was fortunate enough however, that all this happened after I left my job to focus on music (the irony), and so at some point I decided to find a way myself, focus entirely on my voice and get rid of this problem once for all.
My MTD lasted about 6 months. After I practiced what I'm describing in this post it subsided over the span of about 3 weeks.
I want to share my findings with you, but keep in mind that
  1. I am not a doctor, I'm only sharing my experience. What you do with this is only your responsibility. If you have any doubts please consult with your doctor first.
2. MTD is actually many things, what worked for me doesn't necessarily work for you, and it may even be deetrimental.
First, some general principles I followed 1. Don't interfere with your voice outside of your exercises. Don't try to speak the right way. Leave that voice alone. 2. Only unintentional progress is real progress. I don't care about progress that is actually a result of breaking the first rule. So you can finally stop worrying about your voice when you are not exercising. 3. Progress comes after sleep, not while you practice
When you practice things will get frustrating. Your brain registers that frustration and builds new connections while you sleep. Frustration and lack of progress while you practice are a good thing, it means that you are successfully building the input that will be processed while you sleep. Give it two nights of sleep, and results will come.
Ok, so here's what I've done. It's a simple three phases plan where we keep adding stuff:
1. Fix your breathing:
This is the basis. You've heard that before, but if I ask you to do abdominal breathing I'd be asking you to do something intentionally, which breaks principle 1. The other component of the basis is a relaxed attitude, which is a difficult thing to have when you feel betrayed by your body. We need to kill these two birds with a single massive stone.
What follows is a slightly modified version of the zazen meditation technique. I'm aware it can sound boring, but this is really important and I think it's necessary to practice this every day until recovery, without exceptions. Really.
Set a timer for 25 minutes, sit comfortably, close your eyes, and let your body breathe. While you breathe, identify the point at the centre of your body, about 4 inches below your navel. I want you to notice the sensation of breathing in that point. Don't try to change your breath, just notice any sensations there. If there aren't any, just stay vigilant, 'cause there will be.
Keep paying attention to that point, and start counting the breaths 1 to 10. When you get to 10 restart from one. If you lose the count, just restart from one. If you start thinking about dinner and lose contact with the centre of your body, just bring it back into your attention field. Every time you lose attention and bring it back, your mind relaxes a bit. The more you do it, the more your attention naturally settles on the sensation of breathing at the centre of your body.
Don't try to force your attention to stay there. Let it be and bring it back only if you notice it wanders. Also, don't focus super hard, that wouldn't be relaxing at all! Chill and let your attention rest there.
Thoughts will occur. That's ok, in fact, thoughts are part of the process. Let them happen, but keep the sensations at the centre of your body in your field of attention. When you notice that you lost attention, the thought stream will naturally interrupt and your attention will go back to your centre. There is no need for you to forcefully interrupt your thought stream. It'll happen by itself when you remember about your centre.
You may feel deeply relaxed, which is great, just try not to fall asleep.
If you do this consistently, you'll be breathing diaphragmatically without even noticing, which we agreed counts as real progress.
2. Rewiring
After about one week practicing the previous step (which you must keep doing), I started humming whenever I felt tension building up around my neck, which was normally just after I spoke two sentences. I know it's counterintuitive, but it made sense for me. What we are trying to do here is breaking the association voice emission -> tension, and create a new one voice emission -> relaxation. After all, we all know that our vocal chords are perfectly fine, and those sweet vibrations have a relaxing effect on our muscles. They have it even if you experience MTD, we just don't notice it because the tension created by our condition is greater than that relaxing stimulus.
So now when you feel that tension building up do the following:
If some relaxation comes, great, if it doesn't, that's still fine! Don't get frustrated, remember that progress comes after sleep anyway.
3. Trigger relaxation. After about a week practicing the previous step (which you must keep doing) I started working actively on muscle relaxation. The basic idea here is to trigger a chain reaction. All our muscles are connected. As we all learned, unfortunately, one muscle becoming tense leads to all the muscles around becoming tense too. Well, the opposite is also true.
Because we can interact with our tongue much more easily than with other internal muscles, we'll use that to trigger the chain reaction. Follow the instructions on this video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OorqNloxITM do it al least twice a day (in the morning and before you go to sleep) and every time you feel you need it. Pay especial attention to step where you let the tongue relax while pulling it.
From now on, stop trying to control your voice or to speak confidentially, or whatever you are doing in fear of hurting yourself. Now it's the time to let all the work express some results, so don't interfere. Do whatever comes naturally. If you naturally want to speak softly do that, if not, don't.
Keep practicing all the three steps for a few weeks and only then check whether this is working for you or not. Unless you feel you are getting hurt by this, abstain from judgement until then, otherwise you'll pay too much attention to your voice and interfere with the process.
I really hope this works for you as well as it did for me. Once again, I'm nobody, I'm not a doctor, I'm not a speech therapist, I just wanted to share this in case it's helpful to somebody, but what you do with your voice is your responsibility.
submitted by YourInnerFlamingo to singing [link] [comments]

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