🚀👀 Hold the Line, Apes! FFIE’s Low-Key Stock Pile! 💎🙌 READ So, here’s the scoop on FFIE: we’ve got big-time institutions playing a sly game by keeping the stock price in the gutter. They’re not just chilling there—they’re planning to stack up loads of shares while the price is dirt cheap. Why? Because they know something we don’t, or they’re betting big on future gains.
Now, think about the short squeeze as just the opening act. These savvy players want us regular Joes to lose patience and sell off, clearing the way for them to dominate the share registry. As we throw in the towel and the stock looks weak, these institutions load up quietly, building a massive position at basement prices.
When the good news finally hits—maybe it’s production kicking off or a killer new partnership—FFIE could skyrocket. That’s when the institutions that have been hoarding shares make a killing, as their massive stockpile becomes worth a fortune almost overnight. They planned this from the start, betting that we wouldn’t hold the line. But if we stick together, hold tight, and ride out the storm, we might just catch the wave right along with them. So, fellow apes, the question is: got diamond hands? Because this isn’t just a squeeze; it’s a full-blown battle for control, and we’re right in the thick of it! 💎🙌🚀
let’s take a deeper dive into the jungle of dark pool trading and see what’s brewing with FFIE. So, you’re noticing that there’s a ton of volume going down in the dark pools, right? This is where the big suits like to play away from the public eye. Here’s the lowdown on why this suggests the big institutional holders are actually bullish on FFIE and are sneakily loading up.

1. Dark Pool Action: Dark pools are where the big players execute massive trades without moving the market too much. When we see heavy action here, it’s a sign that someone big is either dumping or scooping up shares in secret. For FFIE, a lot of this activity being buying action suggests that the big boys are accumulating shares.
2. Why the Stealth Mode?: They’re doing it on the DL (down low) because they don’t want us—yes, the regular investing public—to catch on and drive up the price before they’ve filled their boots. By keeping it quiet, they get to buy massive amounts of stock at low prices without sparking a buying frenzy that shoots the price up.
3. Bullish Signs: If these institutional giants are loading up on FFIE in the dark pools, it’s a pretty strong signal that they see a bright future ahead for the company. They’re betting big money that the stock is going to pop off soon, and they want to be fully loaded when it does.
4. Cheap Prices, Big Stakes: By accumulating at these low prices, institutions are setting themselves up to profit big time if and when the stock price takes off. They’re playing the long game, betting that whatever is keeping FFIE undervalued right now won’t last forever. Alright, apes, here’s the grand finale on FFIE’s dark pool saga—it’s not just about a short squeeze; we’re looking at something legendary brewing beneath the surface. The massive volumes of dark pool trading suggest that the big institutional players are not just dabbling but going all in on FFIE, and they’re doing it while the prices are in the basement.

This isn’t your everyday pump-and-dump or a simple squeeze play; it’s a strategic accumulation by those with deep pockets and even deeper intel, signaling a bullish outlook that’s hard to ignore. They’re betting on FFIE’s future being bright, way brighter than most can see right now, and they’re positioning themselves to reap massive rewards when the true value of these moves comes to light.
For us, the play is clear: recognize the scale and implication of what’s unfolding. This isn’t just about catching a quick spike from a squeeze. Its a lot more than that. It’s about understanding that there’s a potential overhaul in the stock’s valuation on the horizon, driven by those who move markets. We’re witnessing what could be a seismic shift in FFIE’s market standing, and if we stick together, hold our positions, and stay alert, we could ride this wave to unprecedented gains beyond what would’ve been possible with just a short squeeze alone. This is truly a special opportunity.
apes, just a quick heads up: everything we’re chatting about here is just for kicks and info. This is my personal opinion. This isn’t professional investment advice. Markets are wild, so do your own research, consult with real experts if you need to, and always trade responsibly. We’re here to share ideas and get pumped, but remember, investing is serious business and comes with risks. Stay savvy, stay safe. 📈📉🙌💎

So, my theory is that the humans of the Matrix series were able to successfully colonize space. Followed by those points:

1. Human technological advance: The Second Renaissance occurs between the years 2090 and 2139, in which the machines are built and then banned/destroyed. This means that in such a long time in the future we humans have currently developed several technologies capable of sustaining those Megacities that are showed in the short animation. Those technologies would include nuclear fusion, advanced biometric and probably cured most of the known diseases. Plus we would probably use genetically modified aliments.
   
2. Human exploration: Given the right technologies and necessity for the elites to always find a higher place to live in the social pyramid, the human race would already have started if not completed the construction of a self-sufficient lunar base and, moreover, lunar launchpad.
   
3. Human preservation: During the first part of the war, lasting from 2139 to Operation Dark Storm, a large part of the Earth as the America's were untouched by the Machines (Source in basing this on: The Matrix: The Machine War - Every Year, from Eric von Schweetz). With two continents being relatively untouched by the Machines, the humans would probably direct resources to the space program and the colonization of the Moon, founding domes on the Moon surface and constructing whatever necessity for life to... Well, live.
   
4. Human Exodus. Before the beginning of Operation Dark Storm most of the top scientists, researchers, biologists and engineers, along with heads of states and the wealthiest, would departure to establish a constant presence on the Moon, probably transporting weapons of mass destruction and part of the so vast employed nanites.
   
5. Human settlements: Once the first colony is set the humans would probably keep exploring the space, colonizing it.
   

Now here's how would the humans live on the Moon Settlement: Nuclear fusion reactors would be deployed to grant illimitate, secure and clean energy, this is already a big step for self-sufficiency. Domes made for crops and animals would be built with the help of genetic manipulation. About the water I'm thinking about using the asteroids full of it, with rockets capable of redirect the trajectory to crash on the Moon surface importing water and materials. Speaking about rockets, the low gravity of the satellite combined with reusable rockets would be an enormous advantage for colonization efforts and logistics. The last remaining problem is the impact it would have on the human mind. But I have the solution: We have to stop thinking as we are. Let's make an example, a human of the modern times is completely different by the human of the Victorian Era, and the more the time advance the less the similarities between the humans of different Era's are. With the implement of virtual reality and bioengineering probably the future human mind wouldn't be impacted as it would be for the current one.
So probably during the events of The Matrix the humans on outer space would live in a state similar to the one from Starfield, if not even more united by the fact that the humans weren't extradited from Earth thanks to a natural disaster, but thanks to the entities, The Machines. This means that probably, during the events of the Matrix, the humans could be, after centuries, preparing themselves to take back the planet.
How the invasion would work isn't on my interests, but it would be a more equal war thinking that since the end of the Human-Machine war The Machines stopped transforming.
So this was all, feel free to prove I'm right or wrong, I'm curious to hear your opinion.
P.S.: Sorry for the bad grammar, English isn't my native-language.

NOTE: I drafted this before reddit slashed its allowable post size and decided it was unpublishable at that point. A friend strongly recommended I post whatever reddit will allow and if people wanted to see more, I could post more of it. So here's the first segment of it.
Therapeutic memory reconsolidation has a dark side. It's not something typically discussed outside of the coffee rooms of the lab-rat and clinical-practices sets, where the tedium of the current work occasionally gives rise to darkly humorous dystopian speculations.
This dark side is not simply the stuff of mad-science speculation and dark fantasy. In fact, its existence predates even the discovery of the MR process itself. And it has already resulted in mild-to-catastrophic negative consequences for hundreds of thousands of people. (Depending on your perspective, it's conceivable that the current victim count could be in the tens or even hundreds of millions ... we're notorious for undercounting casualties of previously-unrecognized catastrophes. Fair disclosure: I'm one of those casualties.) It's an aspect of MR that I believe is worth knowing about for anyone seeking to exploit MR in therapy either as a practitioner or as a client.
For almost as long as the transformation (i.e. MR) phenomenon has been recognized, there have been tales of sordid applications of this effect. Religious sects, particularly the charismatic ones, have been exploiting the MR phenomenon for thousands of years, typically labeling it as either divine healing or proof of faith. Not that the results aren't beneficial for the individual. In most cases they are. But reconsolidation is only a part of the whole process of restoring health to old psychic wounds. The inducement of therapeutic MR in an individual not ready for the experience can be among the most brutal tortures imaginable, but most of the harm that comes from misapplication of the MR phenomenon can be traced to opportunistic exploitation of the setup for, and aftermath of, the transformational experience, and it's my belief that most of this harm is done by individuals and/or groups with little or no sense of the risks involved in
Keith Raniere's NXIVM organization is probably the most widely-known example of a cult founded largely on a MR-consistent methodology bent to less-than-humane ends. It made national news for years in Canada based on allegations of financial wrongdoing and sexual scandals, its leader was indicted in the US in 2018 and was sentenced to 120 years, and in 2020, not one but *two* major exposé miniseries/docuseries aired on streaming services.
"The Vow" (Mark Vicente's story)
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Vow_(TV_series))
Vicente's series orients around his involvement in the growth and promotion of NXIVM, and isn't afraid to get into the weeds around how Raniere strategized and developed the organization's techniques and tactics.
"Seduced: Inside the NXIVM Cult" (India Oxenberg's story)
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Seduced:_Inside_the_NXIVM_Cult
This series centers more around IO's personal journey with the cult, and the people who were caught up in its darkest aspects.
"The Vow", first to be released, was not a fun watch for me. Thirty years prior to this, I had been ensnared by another cult, closely affiliated with the Unity Church of Today in Warren, MI at that time. Both of these cults exploited phenomena surrounding therapeutic memory consolidation as their primary lures years before we even knew that MR had a scientific footing.
The two organizations had shockingly similar modi operandi. So similar, in fact, that I still suspect that NXIVM's founder might have gotten much of his basic training from CoT's Pavillon resort in Quebec, whose month-long "therapeutic retreat" programs were a clever and completely unabashed cult indoctrination program. Ok ... well ... nearly completely unabashed ... during the month that I attended, we were only told that we were being groomed for the cult on the third-to-last day, by which time they surely knew who was ripe for the picking and who wouldn't be swayed, and were pretty confident of no open objection to such an announcement.
I want to make clear that this is not a word of exaggeration. The head of the "clinic" literally told us that if it felt to any of us like we were being recruited for a cult, he assured us that yes, we were. Nobody gasped, nobody even giggled. And as if to prove that this wasn't just dark humor, the director assured us that it was all fair play on their part since his was "the only cult that matters". That is exactly how confident Pavillon were of their methods. (Or at least they were in mid-1989 ... Pavillon appears to have vanished in the mists of history. Not every great cult idea grows up to make it to the big leagues.)
Neither "Seduced" or "The Vow" actually get under the hood and explain the psychology underlying the cult's success, let alone in context of therapeutic memory reconsolidation. In fact, I'm pretty sure that MR was never mentioned in either series. But right from the introductory/demo sessions presented in the first episode of "The Vow", most readers of this sub will instantly recognize that NXIVM leveraged the benefits and relative simplicity of MR-consistent transformational therapies to capture the attention, loyalty, and ultimately the wealth of prospective cult members.
But that's not nearly enough to lead us to a real understanding of how this happens. If either of these series' had been able to achieve that, this post could effctively end here. It's my belief that those of us who are consumers of MR-consistent services, or who work with consumers, do need this understanding. When the mechanics of the seduction are understood, it doesn't just help us to identify how malignant influences were brought to bear on potential victims, or provide us with a degree of immunity from those influences. It can also help us to better identify and relate to individuals who may be particularly vulnerable to these influences, and not just in therapy cults, but in all cult-like cultural groups, and get a better sense of how we can best communicate with people living under less-than-virtuous influence.
Fortunately, it doesn't appear to be all that difficult to acquire this understanding. Simply knowing basic MR theory and therapeutic application takes you halfway to mastery in a world still largely ignorant of how transformative change works. And the successes of Pavillon and NXIVM, coming as they did well before the general public even knew that MR was a "thing", pretty much proves it. But solving the remainder of the problem appears to involve first understanding how the application of MR-consistent methods could lead to cult exploitation in the first place.
MR-consistent transformational phenomena were relatively common knowledge back as far as the early 1980s in new-age/psychotherapy circles, and were even well-understood by certain inner-circle dwellers. And it was clear at least a decade earlier that certain disciplines practiced in a certain way were capable of producing remarkable therapeutic effects, even if no one could quite explain how or why. All Raniere and Pavillon needed to do was to refine techniques already known to be highly effective and they could reproduce those results. Which is exactly what happened, and this gave these two groups a powerful enticement, or a free sample product if you prefer, for people interested in living better, happier lives. Whatever else they did that we would likely view as objectionable or even evil, they both figured out how to get people to transformational moments in ways which were a lot easier than Erhard Seminars Training (EST), more efficient than religious or mystical practices (Transcendental Meditation, kundalini yoga, visionquesting, etc.), and less exclusive/expensive than a stay at Esalen or a year or two of the "talking cure".
So whatever we may think/feel about their methods, credit where due: they knew a good thing when they saw it and they got the transformational part right. So how did techniques which we rely upon to free us from exploitation by our own nervous systems become tools for THEIR exploitation? On the surface it seems like using MR to coerce and enslave people makes about as silly as trying to poison someone with multivitamins. But there's a clever logic to it, and to understand this we need to look beyond the bounds of MR and the transformational phenomenon, and at how the entire transformation process is managed. (And there's the operative word: managed, not facilitated.
We know MR as the process that underlies transformation. But transformation isn't healing, but only a subprocess within a greater restoration process. Healing doesn't usually even end the process, either. Following transformation, stress must be managed until the subject's next full sleep cycle or treatment efficacy is substantially impaired. Even beyond that, the structure of post-traumatic adaptation leaves the individual vulnerable to retraumatization in the wake of treatment, meaning that in perhaps a majority of cases, the triggers which activate PTS symptoms need to be kept to a

Maybe I’m too deep in the rabbit hole. Maybe I’m reaching. Maybe I’m drunk. My big thing right now tho is 6:16 in la.
“The industry’s cooked as I pick the carcass apart
Yeah somebody’s lying I can see the vibe on ak
Even he looking compromised let’s peel the layers back”
EP comes out, gives mfs till monday to retract the stolen claims. Akademiks (and assuming drake seeing as he fed the stolen rumour to ak in the first place) double down on the stolen claims. BOOM. Dog video sent to ak. Lawsuit against ak. Was he the warning?
I said on a thread this Thursday when EP was posting again, “he gonna drop his info at 6:16 in la” he dropped that CA tweet this Thursday at 6:15.
EVEN THE
“Find the jewels like cash dog
That’s not even the leak” Is there more we don’t know about? We know EP’s thing is wanting to sell those diamonds in an auction. How deeper past EP does this hole go??
maybe I’m to deep in the rabbit hole but I think we need to properly focus on 6:16 more instead of euphoria and not like us
More I could bring up but let’s keep it surface for now

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.

Let me begin this post from a small excerpt from my essay because it exemplifies my feelings toward Invaders, as an anime, and as a series;

So what makes it special?
Well, you see. This anime is a lot more interesting than you might think. Not only from within the anime, but in real life as well. This is a story of overzealous ambition, unresolved injustice, and quiet resilience. A story penned by a talented writer who never got the spotlight...

Now, that's a bold statement I made for an anime aired a decade ago. An anime that barely anyone here have ever heard of. An anime that have been washed away from the sands of time. So, I know what you're thinking. Why?
What did I see in Invaders that the majority here didn't?
To answer that, let me start at its creation, from a subsidiary of a conglomerate, from a man in his late 20s, hailing from Chiba Prefecture, who have recently dipping into the world of light novel.
It's 2009. You have established yourself as a capable ​visual novelist, with works such as From Here and Beyond, Killer Queen and Tsukihime doujin works. You also had just debut your first novel, Ano Hibi Wo Mouichido two years ago, and you are ready to release another one under the same publisher of your previous book, HJ Bunko.
On March 1st 2009, the first volume of Invaders of the Rokujouma ( Rokujouma no Shinryakusha?!) was published. Unbeknownst to him, this series would unexpectedly change his trajectory forever. And ever since then, 47 VOLUMES, including two side stories, has been published continuously for 15 years! Yes, you heard me right, 15 years going! And no, it still hasn't been cancelled, nor gone into hiatus yet!
There is a part of me that still boggled for how long it still going for a light novel series, much lest in today's light novel climate. But I guess it made sense why HJ kept the book going as Invaders have sold 1.5 million copies in Japan alone as of April 2022. Not an impressive numbers compared to other, more established works, but it isn't an obscure LN that on one even heard of. Invaders is one of HJ Bunko's biggest seller in their library. Even more impressive when taken into account that it is made in-house (ie. not acquired from another source).
Hell, even the website promoting the anime is still up to this day!
So, why am I bringing this up? Well, it is about the same reason as to why I chose the word "adored" specifically. Because Invaders is special to me, not for its character-driven story or its cast of colorful characters, but for what it represent. This series dared to defy convention set by a genre devoid of such, and set out to do its own things, not necessarily to redefine it, but to tell a good story regardless of. And it suffered consequences as a result, but it makes itself stands out above the rest. A quiet resilience, so to speak.
Now, I am reserving the full retrospective review of the anime in-depth, and the stories behind the author, and the crew in my essay. But instead, here I will talk about the difficulties of recommending this anime to any first-time watchers. Partly due to being a harem anime (and the stigma that follows it), but also because I think it is suitable for subsequent rewatch to appreciate the slow-paced, two-parter story arc of each main girls, the character development, and the general vibe it gave, crafted by the hands of Shin Oonuma. The first-time watcher don't have that commitment and dedication like I do to see other than the surface level, even if you keep this post in mind. It's hard to discern if you will like or dislike it because the first episode will influence your perception of the series, even if you keep an open mind. I can't change that, nor forced you to watch from my perspective.
Lest I'll have to deal with people like him who misunderstood Invaders as nothing more than a fodder (and an excuse for their laziness). Oh, I am reserving my vitriol for that review specifically in my essay, and I'm not gonna hold back. In other words, Invaders is NOT your typical harem anime. It never tries to, it wants to march at its own pace, with its own feet. And I commend them for it. And to those that says otherwise, opinions be opinions and I have no control over it, but states it with facts, not bullshit.
I don't know what to do for its 10th anniversary, July 12th. Maybe a rewatch thread to expose more people to this anime that I cherished? Or releasing the essay on time, even though I have restarted it four times now? Hell, I'm still weary of posting this in the first place but this post here, that gave me a spark to write this. And a courage to do it. Heh, appropriate, isn't it?
~"~"~"~
I'm Ghost, and I proclaimed myself as a superfan of Invaders. I have watched this anime multiple times, dissecting every nook and cranny throughout its 12-episodes run. And it have opened my eyes to other animes that I would never gave a glance to. It teaches me to be appreciative for what it is, both the good and the bad, and to see it eyes to eyes without prejudice, without expectations. It isn't a masterpiece by any metric, but nor it is being a trainwreck. It has its strength, and it has its flaws. And it want to be seen for what it is, instead of what it isn't.
This is a story of strangers from all walks of life learn to open themselves, and relied upon each other.
This is a story that values appreciation of self, companionship and the media we love.
This is a story of Room 106 of Corona Apartment, and how a high school boy lives together with a ghost, a magical girl, an underground people, and an alien princess inside the small rokujouma.

This is Why I Adored Invaders of the Rokujouma!

In the heart of Chicago, where the skyline pierced the heavens and the streets pulsed with life, there lived a man named Victor Kane. At 26 years old and a startling 6'3" in stature, Victor commanded attention effortlessly. His piercing gaze seemed to see through the very fabric of one's soul, and his knowing, flirtatious smirk hinted at secrets that few could ever fathom. Victor was a man of many faces, each one carefully crafted and expertly worn to blend into any situation, like a chameleon adapting to its surroundings. Each interaction with another human was as if it were another painting to be hung in the Art Institute of Chicago, a masterpiece of social maneuvering and charm.
To most, he appeared unremarkable, perhaps even a bit dim, an illusion he maintained with meticulous precision. Yet beneath this facade lay a mind as sharp as a dagger, honed by years of strategic thinking, manipulation, and the art of emotional deceit. Victor had learned from the best. His father, a man deeply entrenched in the shadowy world of organized crime, had mastered the art of bending reality to his will. A master chess player, he treated people like pieces on a grand chessboard, moving them at his whim, always six steps ahead. Victor had absorbed these lessons like a sponge, his young mind eagerly soaking up every tactic, every subtle nuance of control.
Battles with his father have left their scars, trailing off Victor like a snake's entrails as they slither through crowded streets, scanning for their next meal. They probe the aura of each passerby, tasting their energy, yet to their disappointment, they find no juicy, dirt-filled sponge of pain and suffering. They taste desires, yet nothing hits just right. Empty husks, devoid of the essence they crave. Living memories enshroud him in a cloud of black smoke, a spectral fog visible only to a witch. A demon, masquerading as a homeless man and muttering incoherent whispers, feels the snake's embrace tighten around him. He halts abruptly, turning to Victor with a knowing gaze. 'I see you,' he murmurs, 'Such discipline and composure may deceive the others, yet it's only a matter of time before they find you.' The homeless man continues his walk, pulling a black suitcase along, his tattered white shirt contrasting sharply with his black suit, and no tie to complete the ensemble.
Victor makes no comment, his mind a labyrinth of dark intentions and calculated moves. He viewed the world as a malleable entity, something he could shape and twist to suit his needs. The streets, the people, the very air he breathed; they were all part of a grand, intricate game where he alone held the key. He had no qualms about using others to achieve his goals, seeing them as mere tools in his grand design. It was a dangerous philosophy, one which required constant vigilance and adaptability. As he moved through the throngs of oblivious souls, he could almost hear the whispers of their deepest fears and hidden sins. The scars trailed behind him, living entities of their own, reaching out hungrily, desperate for a morsel of genuine suffering. Yet the city, with all its noise and chaos, offered little more than hollow echoes and fleeting shadows. Traces of happiness. Lost children in the never ending void of their own desperation. Victor's eyes flickered with a cold, calculating light. He was a master of this urban jungle, a predator in search of worthy prey. The demon’s warning lingered in his mind, yet it only fueled a burning hunger. He thrived in the shadows, where power and control were his for the taking. Each step he took was a step closer to his ultimate end goal, a twisted vision of dominance, only he could see.
In the distance, the city’s lights shimmered like false promises, yet Victor knew better. Beneath the surface, in hidden corners and forgotten alleys, darkness mirrored his own. In this abyss, he felt certain he would find what he sought: the true essence of his own hunger, the raw, unfiltered energy he could devour. Victor thrived on the underestimation of others, reveling when people perceived him as lesser. Such perceptions made his manipulations appear as innocent mistakes, acts of ignorance and oblivion. His favorite targets: those with inflated egos, individuals convinced of their invincibility.
"A person with a big ego is like an orgasm," he often mused, speaking as if to his shadow. "It's just so easy. Their first mistake: telling me we're not equals. Afterward, they reveal all the buttons and levers in their psyche. They hand me their own weapon on a silver platter, asking, 'Victor, please send me to meet Anpu. Please show me the gates of my own demise.' Their insanity begs to be freed from this curse of societal norms. Always the first mistake, then the rest follow." Laughter echoed from the snakes twining around Victor. As he whispered these musings, the words ensnared a group of Venezuelans nearby, inciting them into a frenzy of violence without understanding the spark. Victor watched, casually tossing a silver dollar their way as if to say, "Welcome to the sanctuary," his smirk a shadow under the flickering streetlights. He calls to the boys, 'there now before you boys get into trouble remember this, you're only seeing the lions teeth, yet you haven't seen what triggered it.' They stared at Victor, startled, as he bid them farewell with a two-finger salute from his left temple and continued wandering down the street.
A drone sliced through the air, its camera lens capturing the serpentine twists of the Chicago River below. Victor, watching its flight, was transported to his youth, to days spent cobbling together a demonic owl from discarded household trinkets and an owl decoy. He would pilot this macabre creation through his neighborhood, a spectral puppeteer orchestrating nocturnal ballets which both delighted and unnerved his unsuspecting audience. A sinister grin unfurled across his lips, a shadow's whisper, as memories of those simple machines mingled with the sophisticated arsenal he commanded today. In the digital age, Victor had become a maestro of manipulation, his tools refined yet no less mischievous. Social media platforms were his stage, targeted advertisements and spoofed numbers his actors, each one playing their part in his grand, deceptive symphony. With the deftest touch, he planted seeds of doubt, spun webs of misinformation, transforming allies into adversaries, stitching chaos into the fabric of daily lives with mere whispers masquerading as shouts. His schemes were crafted with such subtlety, woven so seamlessly into the warp and weft of reality, that his victims believed themselves architects of their own undoing.
The crowning jewel of his current machinations was a prototype drone, a whimsical homage to the contraptions of his youth yet imbued with the precision of modern technology. This drone, engineered to navigate from the chilly confines of his refrigerator to the steamy oasis of his rooftop hot tub, was a testament to his technical acumen. Crafted to be mended with mere baubles from any corner hardware store, it stood as a symbol of practical genius, a playful yet potent emblem of his enduring craft.
Victor glimpsed a universe of possibilities within this project, each drone a seed from which new opportunities might bloom. "Perhaps I could craft a model for a dive shop in Australia," he mused. "A sentinel to monitor the slow dance of decay among the coral reefs." Such a gift could forge pathways, perhaps even secure an internship, an opportunity to wield his 417 subclass visa before its flame flickered out. The prospect of traversing Australia's vast landscapes, of weaving his influence through uncharted territories and minds, sparked a thrill within him. Beyond the realm of circuitry and code, Victor possessed a profound mastery over the human psyche. He had the uncanny ability to read individuals, to delve into the murky depths of their insecurities and desires. With the finesse of a sculptor, he could mold a woman’s perception, convincing her of a soul-deep connection, crafting mirages of perfect compatibility. Yet, for all his prowess in the art of deception, Victor adhered to his own strict code. He eschewed physical violence, never staining his hands with assault; his dominion was the mind, his influence woven through the delicate fabric of psychology.
In Chicago's suffocating underbelly, Victor's father regarded him not with paternal concern, rather with venomous animosity. Their relationship was a battleground, devoid of affection or empathy, cloaked threats masquerading as concern. "Victor, if you don't see a psychiatrist, I'm cutting you off," he declared, his voice a cold hiss, a deeper wish for Victor's demise lurking beneath. Victor's laugh, hollow, echoing through the night, a sound devoid of warmth, knew well the true nature of the psychiatrist and the deeper machinations of his father's cruel intentions. His father viewed him not as a son, yet as a nemesis, a presence he wished to erase from existence. Surrounded by the oppressive cityscape, Victor stood alone atop his building, the L line screeching past, the lights below mere distant, watchful eyes. "Tomorrow, I bend reality once more," he whispered into the void, his voice merging with the cold wind sweeping the rooftops.
The relentless pursuit of his father's malice shadowed him into the darkest city corners where shadows moved with intent, whispering of ancient, sinister forces. Here, in the corner of his eyes an oozing of black liquid drenched an alley, a tar monster, a grotesque manifestation of the city’s darkest secrets, its gnarled face and gleaming teeth mirroring the twisted relationship endured. Against a backdrop of a city thrumming with malevolent energy, Victor pondered the fragile line between delusion and reality. "It's only delusional till it works, so is it really delusional?" he mused aloud, his words dissipating into the night where the distinction between madness and genius blurred by darkness.
Retreating from the alley, his figure melded into the shadows, each step deliberate, burdened with the weight of a cursed legacy. He was acutely aware of his dual role, both manipulator and pawn in a grander, more malevolent game, a game orchestrated by forces predating the city itself. Every movement influenced by the sinister energy pervading Chicago, a legacy of corruption and darkness intertwined with his own existence. Victor understood his every action overseen by the ancient entity had taken interest in him, an entity finding delight in his struggle, offering protection at a dreadful cost.
Emerging from the shadows back into the flickering city lights, Victor found no solace in the illumination yet his smile stretched reaching his eyes showing his gleaming razor sharp teeth. These lights did not offer hope only humor; they were beacons of a foreboding reality. He resolved to continue bending reality, wielding the cursed power both protecting, ensnaring him, and pointing out the irony of his situation. Day after day, he would play this dark game, a master of deceit entwined with an ancient force more profound and sinister than any could fathom.
With one final, lingering look at the alley where darkness reigned supreme, Victor Kane laughed, a hollow echo fading as he stepped into the nearby pub. Inside, the warm glow contrasted starkly with the night's chilling embrace, yet the shadows seemed merely to lurk at the edges, waiting. At their usual spot by the worn bar, he found Billy Smith, his old high school Basketball teammate, with two pints of beer ready. They clinked glasses, the sound slicing through the hum of conversations around them. "To the unexpected," Victor intoned, his voice laced with a hint of irony. As they settled into the rhythm of their catch-up, the conversation inevitably turned toward the unfolding news, the war in Ukraine, an event that had caught the world off guard.
"No one ever saw it coming," Billy remarked, his tone a mix of wonder and concern.
Victor's eyes flickered with a dark amusement, and raising his glass again, he offered a toast, this time in Latin, a language that carried the weight of history and secrets. "Ad profundis malorum," he declared, which translated to 'To the depths of evils.'
Billy paused, the words hanging between them like a veil being slowly drawn back to reveal a hidden scene. The toast was enigmatic, resonant with Victor’s acknowledgment of the chaos brewing both near and far, a chaos that, perhaps, only he could navigate.
As the night deepened within the grimy confines of the pub, where every corner whispered of misdeeds and the air hung heavy with the scent of stale beer and lost hopes, the laughter and chatter provided a deceptive cover for the profound game silently playing in Victor’s mind. His cryptic toast, "Ad profundis malorum," echoed a darker undertone amidst the jovial noise.
Across the bar, a woman with long jet black hair and piercing grey eyes watched Victor. Clad in a striking red full-grain leather trench coat, her presence was undeniably conspicuous, yet paradoxically, she remained unnoticed. Despite her short stature, she was fit, her features sharply defined, an attractiveness seemingly almost otherworldly amidst the grime of the pub. Curiously, not even the barkeep spared her a glance, as if she existed in a separate realm, visible only to those she chose to confront. As Billy excitedly shared his plans to open a dive shop with a taco bar on the roof, the woman’s lips moved in a whisper, her voice a soft, clear bell in the din, carrying a dire warning. "I know what you are. We found you." At that moment, a flashback surged through Victor’s mind, a haunting image of a colonial girl he once saw in the Fraser Experimental Forest. His girlfriend at the time had turned to him, her voice tinged with unease. "Victor, do you see what I see? The girl? Yeah, the girl. I can feel something following us. As if it knows what we are yet won't approach, yet I can feel it." This vivid recollection now seemed a prelude to the current moment, a chilling reminder the forces he had glimpsed back then were the same now declaring their presence.
The evening wound down with plans made and stories shared, yet the woman’s prophetic words and the ghostly memory of the girl hung unseen in the air, portending looming confrontations between the light she embodied and the shadow following Victor Kane. As the patrons began to drift away, the shadows reclaiming their territory within the pub, the mysterious woman’s figure faded into the background, her message delivered, her purpose yet unclear but undoubtedly intertwined with Victor’s fate.
The end.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wiNMeab-W2I
Back in 2012/2013 a song surfaced online called "My Space" and was said to be an unreleased song by Sky Ferreira but turns out the song is NOT by Sky Ferreira as Sky doesn't sing the same way as the singer in this song. There's two theories about what the songs purpose was, it's rumored that the song might've been a writers demo for Sky Ferreira back in the early 2010s since she was doing pop music then but this is might not even be right because she doesn't have a song called My Space according to her, but maybe her label never let her hear it. Or the song might be an unreleased song by Awkward Marina who has a similar voice to the singer in the song. This song has been one of my favorite pieces of lost media for a while and I've attempted to get the world on it but nobody cared!! Please help me anyone

Human Maid café
Prologue
Memory transcription subject: Luna mar
Date standardized human time March 20, 2160
“So spit it out,” Ethan Marciano said, the most perceptive and kindest of our group who always seemed to know what was happening in our heads no matter what, it wasn’t a surprise that he discovered my altered emotional state the first.
“What do you mean by that?” I decided to say, clearly not wanting to say right now what I truly had to say.
“We mean that since the start of this new anime marathon you’ve been pouting at the screen rather than being ecstatic at having a whole day dedicated to rest rather than work, plus you always have the same frown when you want to hide something” This time Fleur Larose said, the most extroverted and decisive of our group, clearly exasperated by my lack of communication.
“I mean it can wait for tomorrow…” preoccupation tainting my speech.
“Nuh, huh you are going to tell right now” Michael Baton said as passively as a customer asking for a cup of water, always the one willing to get things through the end no matter what.
“Guys, if she doesn't want to say it, we shouldn't pressure her” Juiz d’arc surprisingly said, always being the most passive of our group, to hear her so decisively was certainly a surprise, but a welcome one!
“No, no it's okay, I should explain it to you anyway, it concerns all of us”
“So, after the whole affair with Gress I decided to go to the surface to breathe a little bit of fresh air, whilst I was there I met some smigli named Slickel Nikel and we started talking, one thing led to another and I told him our dream to one day open an honest to god French bakery, as to honor our French lineage, so he proposed me to lend us some money to set a bakery on Avor, but to do that I need you guys, so what do you say?” I finished saying, taking some breath after my enormous Monologue.
“I mean sure why not, the caverns were becoming a little bit boring anyways” Fleur said
“It's probably the best way to accomplish our dream,” Michael said.
“Sure, the great french culture must be expanded, even to aliens” Ethan added its two cents
“I mean if everyone is okay…” Juiz added
“Perfect, now we are just a call away to our destiny!”I said full of vigor.

Has anyone else tried Steve's salves? He has a group on Facebook call morgellons support protocol or something like that. I purchased triiazole which is one of four salves he sells. It can be taken internally or topically. It seems to pull the debris right to the surface but it's only part of his protocol called the F.I.R.M protocol. And it also includes reishi mushroom iodine and magnesium. I have also received mixed reviews for the products from former clients. What do you think?

Background: I have a group of high school friends that I've been close with for nearly 15 years. We are a core group of girls (5 of us), and we also have a best guy friend as part of our larger group (let's call him Joe). Over the years we've all made a good effort to see one another - including a ski trip over covid times - even though we all live across the country. We all lead busy lives, but it's "pick up where we left off" vibes whenever we reconnect.
Joe got engaged about 2 years ago and it's one of the first weddings of our group. Us girls have all been thrilled about it. Joe and I were complete besties in high school and I'd say for the past 10 years (post college) Joe and I have had a relationship of celebrating birthdays & chatting every few months/ seeing one another when we can. He's even stayed with me a few times while in town. Though we've distanced a bit since high school days, I've always considered him a life long friend.
The past few months chats with my girlfriends have gotten very quiet re: Joes wedding. I'd casually ask if anyone had gotten more info or save the dates and every time the girls would deflect. I caught wind of a joint bachelo bachelorette party (which at first didn't bother me) until I realized all my girlfriends were going. And of course, a bach party usually means wedding plans are in full motion.
The other week I point blank asked my friend if wedding invites had gone out. She said yes and that she's been very confused/ uncomfortable about everything esp. because Joe recently stayed with her and said it would be "eye opening" for me when I realized I wasn't invited to the wedding.
I was completely BAFFLED to hear this. My immediate thought was "what did I do?!"
I decide to call Joe. We chat for a FULL hour catching up, laughing, I even mention his wedding and how it's all going...and nothing. Right as he's about to hang up I realize that he has no intention of telling me! So I point blank bring up. Now or never.
Joe proceeds to tell me that he has no intention of inviting me to the wedding because he sees me as a "surface level friend". He said that he wouldn't be sure if he even sent me an invite and RSVP'd "Yes" that I would show up. And that over recent years there have been times I didn't show up IRL. He specifically mentioned his fiances grad party from 3 years ago that I wasn't able to make it to.
I can own that in recent years I've been very career driven and ambitious, but to me our relationship has always been stable and good. He told me he's been harboring resentment over the years and just tallying up all the times he's felt I've dropped the ball - I even found out he'd call my other girlfriends to vent about it.
Ever since our call he's seeking repair and feels validated that I do (and have the entire time!) cared about our relationship...but tbh I've just felt horrible. To not only discover I'm excluded from the wedding but been left in the dark all these years about how someone really feels about me HURTS. Not to mention knowing my closest girlfriends never brought anything up? It's basically making me question everything, even some of my friendships with my girlfriends. I value honesty in ALL my relationships and this feels shady/ crosses a boundary on how I conduct friendships. It feels...so high school...
AITA for not showing up or dropping the ball in a friendship?? Is this worth repair?

I decided to go for it, and ordered myself a Travel Buddy this week. u/katie-kaboom already posted a thorough review of the regular Buddy here, but here’s the mobile version ! I’ve taken some pictures with my Lendrum DT for comparison.
Why get another folding wheel when I already have one? Well, as much as I love it, the Lendrum is bigger than is easy to sling on my back and head out on my bike. The Travel Buddy is smaller (although about the same weight), and comes with its own backpack; I never got a “real” bag for the Lendrum and have been using a comically large Timbuk2 messenger bag for years, but that is just not really comfortable.
I was leery of Irish tension since I got soured on it quite some time ago — ironically enough on a Louët which I decided was my sworn enemy — but I thought the description of Dutch tension sounded like maybe they’d successfully dialed back the difficulty, and anyways I’m a much better spinner now than I was back then, so it’d probably be fine. And worst case scenario, if I still hated Irish tension, I could just sell the wheel on. So, I decided to give it a shot while the intro price was still so low.
Prep and assembly: I bought the Lojan branded beeswax finish and put three coats on the pieces, waiting about 12h between coats, before assembly. Once that was done, I found it straightforward and easy to put together. I’m currently a little slow-paced because I caught myself a fine case of covid a few days ago, but even so, it took me a little over an hour (less than two episodes of Stargate SG-1 anyways!), and roughly half for the wheel and half for the bobbins.
Speaking of which, the bobbins are huge! 200g capacity apparently. All the sources I find say the Lendrum standard bobbins have a 6oz capacity, but that sounds high to me; I was guessing 4. If 6oz is right, the capacity is almost the same between the two.
Once I had it assembled, I started out with some combed Icelandic top from my breed sampler stash — nothing too persnickety. And predictably, the take-up was way stronger than I expected. I had to hang on hard to keep it from yanking out of my hand, even with the brake basically off, and I did think, “oh no, I have just made a very expensive mistake.” But I remembered to try cross-lacing and see if I could get it dialed in better.
Attempt 1: The flyer has two sliding plastic guides on each arm, so first I crossed over the arms from side to side. That helped, but because the guides go down in the direction of the bobbin rather than out like hooks usually do, it dragged the singles across the surface of the bobbin, which caused friction I didn’t like.
Attempt 2: next I popped the plastic guides off the flyer, and switched two of them outwards rather than inwards. That didn’t actually increase the distance enough to prevent dragging the singles across the surface of the spooled singles when I cross-laced, so no go.
Attempt 3 - almost there! I thought about what the physics of cross-lacing is, and realized that all I really need is more weight-bearing support to increase the friction and cause drag. So I tried feeding the singles straight through the two guides on one side; with one reversed, it created a slightly zigzaggy path which still accomplished the same increased-resistance effect, and made a big difference in reducing the take-up without dragging singles across singles.
But, it still wasn’t enough for me, because I strongly prefer a chilled out, lazy long draw, and I’m used to getting pretty fine singles with it on my Lendrum, so having to settle for short forward draw was just going to annoy me in the long run. So…
Attempt 3: loop the singles around the reversed guide. And this is a winner! It reduced the take-up so much I had to start easing the brake back up. I basically pulled a loop over the top of the flyer, over the reversed (sticking out instead of in) guide, pulled it back under and hooked it on the underside of that guide, in kind of an M shape. This let me push the ratio up and easily get to 40 wpi with zero stress drafting.
With the M-lacing, I did try out a little long draw, and this test spin is with a merino-silk combed top, but I still kept my left hand in action to control twist and just generally be careful with it since I’m not 100% confident yet. I’ve barely spent more than an hour spinning so far, the Icelandic singles, plus chain-plying two other breed sampler singles, and finally the merino-silk singles test run. But overall I’m pretty satisfied that I conquered my fear of Irish tension, and have a wheel I can spin my way on — rather than a wheel that’s going to make me spin its way. And I’m looking forward to biking to an upcoming spin-in with my aptly named little Buddy!

TLDR: I'm a college student who when home for breaks comes back to my family's mice-infested house. My parents are seemingly doing nothing about it and because of it, my room is filled with a horrible piss smell. I have done a few things to try to stop the mice from getting in my room and plan on getting snap traps to kill the mice that keep getting in however I am tired of the piss smell. I have cleaned my room to get rid of the smell but that only gets rid of it for a few days. I am unable to take more preventative and effective measures for getting rid of mice seeing as this is my parent's house and not mine and am looking to see if there is anything I can do to get them out and keep them out of just my room so I don't have to deal with the overbearing smell anymore.
I'm a college student who lives at home during breaks and my family's house has a mouse issue. Last time I was home I was told by my parents that they were gonna work on fixing the mouse issue since I brought it up to them that the clothes I was leaving at home were getting eaten by the mice while I was away. I had also a few months ago bought a live trap to keep in my room but I only have it sitting out when I'm home since I don't want mice to get trapped and not get found for months since no one goes in my room while I'm away so while it has caught a few mice the few times I've been home over the past few months, for the most part, it hasn't been too effective. Now I'm home for the summer and not only does it seem like my parents haven't done anything about the mice but it also seems like they only live in my room. My room is in the dead center of my house and while I'm away I don't leave any sort of food in it so I'm not sure how it is that the mice would only be living in my room without being noticed in other places of the house however I have noticed that there is a horrible pee smell from the mice being in my room that isn't noticeable in the rest of the house. Right after getting home for the summer, I cleaned my entire room and used a multi-surface citrus-scented cleaner on everything, even my floors and it got rid of the smell for a few days, but it is now back and seems to be as strong as it was before despite me constantly having either a candle or incense burning. But like I said before, the smell is nowhere else in my house. And I'm positive it is from the mice pee because when I would move my things along my walls such as my dresser or bookshelf to find and clean the mice droppings and insulation they brought out of the walls, the smell would get stronger (also there's no other way a piss smell would be getting into my room). I now have the previously mentioned live trap out as well as when I cleaned I also taped up any holes they must be using to get into my room with multiple layers of flashing tape my parents have but neither of those things seem to be helping to solve the problem seeing as the smell (and droppings) quickly came back. Since this is my parents' place I can't do the more effective things such as doing things to the exterior of the house to prevent mice from getting in from the outside or having pest control come. I do however plan on getting some of the traditional mouse snap traps to keep in the corners that the mice seem the most active in but I'm wondering if there is anything more I can do as the smell is so overbearing and I want the mice gone as quickly as possible so I can officially get rid of the smell.

Have you ever heard of a magnetic screen door? If not, you're in for a treat!
We will explore what a magnetic screen door is and how it works. We will also discuss the numerous benefits of using one, such as easy entry and exit, keeping bugs out, and saving energy.
We will delve into the different types of magnetic screen doors, how to install them, tips for maintenance, common issues to watch out for, and more.
So, sit back, relax, and let's dive into the world of magnetic screen doors!

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Key Takeaways:

• Easy to install and use, magnetic screen doors provide a convenient solution for keeping bugs out and allowing for natural ventilation.
• With various types available, including retractable, hanging, and sliding, there is a magnetic screen door for every doorway.
• Regular cleaning and proper maintenance can help prevent common issues with magnetic screen doors, such as weakening magnet strength or wear and tear.

What Is a Magnetic Screen Door?

A magnetic screen door is a convenient and versatile solution for keeping insects out while allowing a refreshing breeze to flow through your living space. Typically made of PVC coated polyester mesh, these doors feature velcro strips and magnets for easy installation and use.
These screen doors are designed to fit most standard door sizes, and some models are customizable, allowing you to choose the perfect fit for your specific doorway.
The variety of colors available ensures that you can find a magnetic screen door that complements the aesthetics of your home.
Privacy screens are an essential feature of many magnetic screen doors, providing not only protection from insects but also a shield from prying eyes in busy outdoor settings.

How Does a Magnetic Screen Door Work?

A magnetic screen door operates through the use of strategically placed magnets along the edges that ensure a secure closure after entry or exit. This mechanism effectively prevents bugs and insects from entering the living space while allowing a continuous flow of fresh air through the PVC mesh material.
These magnets act as a powerful force, promptly pulling the screen closed behind anyone passing through. The PVC mesh screen acts as a dual-action feature, filtering out dust and providing excellent ventilation without compromising on security. This combination ensures that homes remain pest-free, while still enjoying the benefits of a constant breeze flowing through the room. The seamless blend of magnetic closures and durable mesh makes these screen doors an innovative solution to keep indoor spaces bug-free and airy.

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What Are the Benefits of Using a Magnetic Screen Door?

Utilizing a magnetic screen door offers numerous advantages, including easy access for entry and exit, protection against bugs and insects, natural ventilation that brings in a refreshing breeze, and energy efficiency by reducing the need for artificial cooling systems.
These doors play a crucial role in enhancing the connection between indoor and outdoor spaces. They create a seamless transition, making it easier to move between the two areas without any barriers. This not only promotes a sense of openness but also allows for better air circulation, improving the overall air quality within the living space.
With the installation of magnetic screen doors, you can enjoy the beauty of the outdoors while maintaining a level of privacy, especially when compared to traditional outdoor curtains. These doors contribute to energy savings by allowing natural light to enter the home, reducing the reliance on artificial lighting during the day.

Allows for Easy Entry and Exit

One of the primary benefits of a magnetic screen door is its seamless installation process that enables convenient entry and exit from your living space without the need for complex mechanisms or tools.
These innovative screen doors only require basic household tools to set up, making it a hassle-free addition to your home. By following the straightforward instructions provided, you can easily attach the magnetic strips to your door frame in a matter of minutes.
Once installed, the magnetic screen door effortlessly opens and closes, allowing for a smooth transition between your indoor and outdoor spaces. Its user-friendly design is ideal for those who value simplicity and functionality in their home improvement projects.

Keeps Bugs and Insects Out

The PVC mesh material of a magnetic screen door acts as a barrier against insects and bugs, ensuring a pest-free environment within your living space. Regular cleaning with appropriate agents helps maintain its effectiveness.
By incorporating PVC mesh in the construction of the screen door, homeowners create a strong line of defense against unwanted critters while still allowing fresh air to circulate. The mesh structure effectively blocks out mosquitoes, flies, and other pests without obstructing the view or airflow.
To ensure continued protection, it is crucial to conduct routine cleanings using gentle agents that preserve the integrity of the material. This not only helps in removing any trapped debris or dust but also safeguards the door's durability against wear and tear due to dirt accumulation.

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Provides Natural Ventilation

By allowing a refreshing breeze to pass through, a magnetic screen door provides natural ventilation that enhances indoor air quality and creates a comfortable environment. Privacy screens can be integrated for added security.
One of the key advantages of incorporating magnetic screen doors is their ability to facilitate the circulation of fresh air throughout your living space. This not only helps in reducing stuffiness but also contributes to maintaining a healthier indoor atmosphere by minimizing the build-up of pollutants and odors.
The option to include privacy screens further enhances the functionality of these doors. The privacy screens provide an additional layer of security, preventing unwanted intrusions while still allowing airflow to pass through effortlessly.

Saves Energy

The use of a magnetic screen door promotes energy efficiency by reducing the reliance on artificial cooling systems, leading to potential cost savings. Combining it with outdoor curtains can further enhance insulation.
When these two elements are paired together, the magnetic screen door acts as a barrier against insects and allows fresh air to flow into the space, reducing the need for constant air conditioning usage. This results in lower electricity bills and decreased energy consumption, aligning with sustainable living practices.
Incorporating outdoor curtains alongside the magnetic screen door creates an additional layer of protection from heat gain or loss, effectively maintaining indoor temperatures during different seasons. Properly sealed windows and doorways play a crucial role in preventing energy wastage, promoting a comfortable living environment without the need for excessive heating or cooling."

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What Are the Different Types of Magnetic Screen Doors?

There are various types of magnetic screen doors available, including retractable, hanging, and sliding options, each offering unique features and installation methods to suit different door configurations and preferences.
Retractable magnetic screen doors are popular for their sleek and space-saving design, ideal for single entry doors or French doors that need easy access.
Hanging magnetic screen doors, on the other hand, provide a cost-effective solution for temporary use or renters, with easy setup and removal.
Sliding magnetic screen doors are perfect for patio or sliding doors, offering seamless operation without obstructing the view.

Retractable Magnetic Screen Doors

Retractable magnetic screen doors feature a roll-up mechanism that allows for easy installation and operation, making them an ideal choice for doorways with limited space or aesthetic preferences.
These innovative doors offer a practical solution for keeping insects out while maintaining airflow and natural light indoors. The unique design ensures that the screen neatly rolls away when not in use, maximizing space efficiency.
Due to their versatility, they can be installed on various entryways, including French doors, sliding patio doors, and single doors. The user-friendly installation process makes it convenient for homeowners to set them up without the need for professional assistance.

Hanging Magnetic Screen Doors

Hanging magnetic screen doors are suspended from a top rail and provide effective insect protection while offering easy passage for humans and pets through the center opening.
These innovative doors are designed to keep pesky bugs like flies, mosquitoes, and gnats out of your home while allowing fresh air to flow freely. The strong magnets strategically placed along the edges ensure that the door snaps shut behind you, preventing any unwanted invaders from sneaking inside. The convenience of simply walking through the magnetic closure without using your hands makes them ideal for busy households with children and pets.

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Their sleek and unobtrusive design adds a modern touch to any doorway.

Sliding Magnetic Screen Doors

Sliding magnetic screen doors glide along tracks to open and close, ensuring a snug fit that keeps insects out while providing a smooth operation for users. Proper installation is crucial to maximize their effectiveness.
Regarding the features of sliding magnetic screen doors, their design allows them to effortlessly slide along the designated tracks, offering a user-friendly experience that blends functionality and convenience. One of the standout qualities is their ability to be customized to fit various door sizes and types, catering to different home setups and preferences. This customization factor ensures that the door snugly fits in place, leaving no gaps for pesky insects to sneak through.
Installing these doors requires attention to detail and precision. Fit accuracy is paramount to prevent any gaps that could compromise the insect protection they provide. An improperly installed screen door may not only let insects in but also hinder the smooth operation of the door itself. Ensuring a precise installation is key to enjoying the full benefits of a sliding magnetic screen door.

How to Install a Magnetic Screen Door?

Installing a magnetic screen door is a straightforward process that begins with measuring your door frame accurately, followed by preparing the components and securing the screen door in place using the provided instructions.
Once you have measured the width and height of your door frame, ensure to double-check the accuracy to avoid any fitting issues later on. Accurate measurements are crucial for a seamless installation process.
Next, clear the door frame area of any debris or obstructions that may hinder the installation. This step will create a clean surface for attaching the magnetic screen door.
Before beginning the installation, carefully unpack all the components that come with the screen door kit and familiarize yourself with the different parts. Each component plays a vital role in ensuring the door functions properly.

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Measure Your Door Frame

Before installing a magnetic screen door, ensure precise measurements of your door frame to facilitate custom sizing and a secure fit, enhancing the door's overall effectiveness.
Accurate measurements play a crucial role in ensuring that the magnetic screen door aligns perfectly with the door frame. Custom sizing allows for a tailored fit, eliminating gaps that could let bugs in and maintaining the aesthetic appeal of your doorway. An ill-fitted screen door may not only compromise its functionality but also lead to potential damage or wear and tear. By taking the time to measure your door frame correctly, you set the foundation for a smooth installation process and long-term satisfaction with the performance of your magnetic screen door.

Prepare the Magnetic Screen Door

Preparing the magnetic screen door involves familiarizing yourself with the components, ensuring all parts are included, and verifying the integrity of the PVC coated polyester mesh before proceeding with the installation process.
Inspect all the elements of the magnetic screen door kit, including the frame, magnets, and fastening strips, to guarantee nothing is missing or damaged.
Check the PVC coated polyester mesh for any tears, holes, or weak spots that could compromise its effectiveness in keeping bugs out while allowing fresh air to flow through.
Address any issues with the mesh promptly by either repairing small damages with a patch or contacting the manufacturer for a replacement if necessary.

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Install the Screen Door

The final step in installing a magnetic screen door is to follow the manufacturer's instructions to securely attach the screen door to the door frame, ensuring proper alignment of magnets for effective closure and insect protection.
Ensure that the magnetic strips on both sides of the door are aligned correctly to allow for a strong magnetic closure.

• Start by positioning the door at the top of the frame and lining up the magnets on the screen with the corresponding magnets on the frame.
• Check for any gaps or misalignments, adjusting the positioning if necessary to guarantee a snug fit.

Following the guidelines meticulously will help in achieving a seamless installation and optimal performance of your magnetic screen door.

What Are Some Tips for Maintaining a Magnetic Screen Door?

To ensure the longevity and efficiency of your magnetic screen door, it is essential to clean it regularly using gentle cleaning agents that do not damage the PVC mesh. Avoid harsh chemicals that may compromise the door's integrity.
Regular cleaning not only helps in maintaining the overall appearance of the magnetic screen door but also ensures proper functioning by preventing clogs and blockages caused by dirt and debris. Insects, such as mosquitoes and flies, are common nuisances that can get trapped in the mesh, affecting the door's performance. By using appropriate cleaning agents, you can effectively eliminate these unwanted visitors while preserving the durability of the PVC mesh. It's crucial to keep in mind that harsh chemicals can deteriorate the materials over time, leading to tears and damage that may affect the door's effectiveness.

Clean Regularly

Regular cleaning of the PVC mesh on your magnetic screen door, using mild soapy water and a soft brush, helps remove dirt, dust, and debris that may impede the door's functionality. For vinyl magnet screen doors, gentle wiping is recommended.
When cleaning PVC mesh screens, start by removing the screen from the door frame, if possible, to clean it more thoroughly. Fill a bucket with warm water and a small amount of mild detergent to create a cleaning solution. Gently scrub the mesh with a soft brush or sponge to loosen any stubborn dirt or stains. Rinse the screen with clean water and allow it to air dry completely before reinstalling.
For vinyl magnet screen doors, use a damp cloth or sponge to wipe down the surface. Avoid using harsh chemicals or abrasive cleaners that can damage the vinyl material. Regular wiping will help maintain the appearance and longevity of the magnetic screen door.

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Avoid Harsh Chemicals

When cleaning your magnetic screen door, refrain from using harsh chemicals or abrasive cleaners that can cause damage to the PVC mesh material. Opt for mild cleaning agents to preserve the door's structural integrity.
This is crucial as harsh chemicals can lead to discoloration or weakening of the PVC mesh, which could compromise the overall effectiveness of the door in keeping bugs out while allowing fresh air to flow through.
By selecting gentle cleaning solutions, you not only maintain the aesthetic appeal of your magnetic screen door but also extend its lifespan, ensuring that it continues to function seamlessly for years to come.

Store Properly During Winter Months

During the winter months, it is advisable to store your magnetic screen door properly to prevent damage from harsh weather conditions. Consider removing and storing privacy screens and outdoor curtains for added protection.
Proper storage of your magnetic screen door involves more than just taking it down and leaving it in the garage. To ensure its longevity, protecting it from the snow, ice, and winds is crucial. Opt for a clean and dry storage space, away from moisture and extreme temperatures. If possible, store it in its original packaging or cover it with a sturdy material to prevent dust accumulation.
For those who have privacy screens or outdoor curtains attached, make sure to remove and store them properly as well. Clean them before storing to avoid mold growth during the months they are not in use.

What Are Some Common Issues with Magnetic Screen Doors?

While magnetic screen doors offer numerous benefits, common issues may arise such as magnet strength variations, fit and installation challenges, and wear and tear over time that can impact their performance and durability.

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One potential problem associated with magnetic screen doors is the inconsistent magnet strength. Due to variations in manufacturing or environmental factors, the magnetic attraction may not always be uniform, leading to gaps or ineffective closure.
Another common challenge lies in fit adjustments, as the screens may require precise installation to ensure a tight seal. Improper fit can result in insects sneaking through or the door not closing securely.
Long-term durability concerns come into play as the constant opening and closing of the door, exposure to elements, and normal wear and tear can degrade the quality over time, compromising its functionality.

Magnet Strength

One of the issues that users may encounter with magnetic screen doors is inconsistent magnet strength, leading to gaps in closure and reduced insect protection. Ensuring optimal magnet alignment can help address this challenge.
Proper magnet alignment is crucial in ensuring a secure and tight seal when the screen door is closed, preventing insects from entering the house. The strength of the magnets plays a key role in maintaining the integrity of the seal. Strong magnets help keep the door closed securely, maximizing its effectiveness in keeping bugs out. To enhance magnet strength, users can consider options like upgrading to higher-grade magnets or adding supplementary magnets along the door frame to improve closure reliability.

Fit and Installation

Proper fit and installation are crucial for the optimal performance of magnetic screen doors. Issues with fit and installation can result in gaps that compromise insect protection and airflow control, necessitating adjustments for a secure seal.
Ensuring that the magnetic screen door fits correctly is essential to prevent bugs and insects from entering your home while allowing fresh air to flow through. A common challenge during installation is getting the measurements right to avoid gaps that can undermine the door's effectiveness.
When facing fit issues, consider adjusting the tension of the screen or checking the alignment of the frame. Improper installation can lead to the door not closing properly or tearing prematurely. It's crucial to follow the manufacturer's instructions meticulously to ensure a snug fit and proper functioning.

Wear and Tear

Over time, magnetic screen doors may experience wear and tear due to frequent use and exposure to elements.
Regular upkeep is essential for ensuring that these doors function smoothly and efficiently. Dust, dirt, and debris can accumulate on the magnetic strips and mesh, causing them to deteriorate over time.
It is recommended to clean the door regularly using a gentle soap and water solution. Checking for loose screws, damaged components, and tears in the screen is crucial. Addressing these issues promptly through maintenance and timely repairs can significantly prolong the life of the door.

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Conclusion

In conclusion, magnetic screen doors offer a practical and efficient solution for enhancing indoor-outdoor connectivity, protecting against insects, and promoting natural ventilation. Coupled with the option to include privacy screens or outdoor curtains, these doors contribute to a comfortable and energy-efficient living environment.
These innovative doors not only keep bugs at bay but also allow for uninterrupted airflow, creating a refreshing ambiance inside the house. With the added feature of privacy screens, magnetic screen doors offer the flexibility to control visibility and enhance security without compromising on the aesthetic appeal. The incorporation of outdoor curtains provides an extra layer of insulation, helping maintain a stable indoor temperature throughout the seasons. Whether for a cozy reading nook or a lively patio, these doors cater to various preferences and seamlessly blend functionality with style.

Frequently Asked Questions

1. What is a magnetic screen door?

A magnetic screen door is a type of screen door that is designed to easily open and close using magnets instead of traditional hinge mechanisms. It is often used as a temporary solution for keeping insects out while allowing for easy access through the door.

2. How does a magnetic screen door work?

A magnetic screen door works by using a series of magnets that are sewn into the edges of the screen. When the door is opened, the magnets automatically align and close the screen behind the person walking through. As the person exits, the magnets separate and the screen opens again.

3. What are the benefits of using a magnetic screen door?

There are several benefits to using a magnetic screen door, including allowing for easy entry and exit without the need to constantly open and close a traditional door. It also helps keep insects and pests out while still allowing for fresh air and natural light to enter the space.

4. Can a magnetic screen door be used on any type of door?

Generally, magnetic screen doors can be used on most types of doors, including single and double doors, sliding doors, and even RV doors. However, it is important to check the dimensions and compatibility of the screen door with your specific door before purchasing.

5. How do you install a magnetic screen door?

Magnetic screen doors are typically easy to install and require no tools or drilling. Most models come with a velcro strip or adhesive tape that allows the screen to be attached to the door frame. It is important to follow the manufacturer's instructions for proper installation.

6. Are there any downsides to using a magnetic screen door?

While magnetic screen doors have many benefits, there are also a few potential downsides to consider. They may not be as durable as traditional screen doors and may not hold up well in extreme weather conditions. Some models may also not provide as much protection from strong winds or heavy rain.

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