New york airplane game

So just got back to sk and see all these new things actually forgot my account but recovered it.
Also I discovered that they now consider my chillyroom account and my playstore account as different accounts despite having the same email.
The problem is i used the code on my chillyroom account but realized it a bit later that it doesnt have my in game purchases which is in my playstore account
So i thought no problem, ill just also complete it with the counterpart account in sk prequel and get the code there but for some dumb reason it says that the code (which i know clearly are very different from each other) is already used.
Also i tried doing it with other account too but idk it also says the code was already used.
Any fix on this?

I'm new to the game yall priced the bos jumpsuit for me yesterday thank you. While looking through a list online of rare apparel I noticed I also have the urban scout armor mask and white powder jumpsuit. Are those as rare as the bos jumpsuit? And what are they worth? Thank you in advance.

My PC after two years of no problems suddenly crashed during normal daily use (nothing new was downloaded or used during that day). After a long reboot I am forced into safe mode. Under Display Adapters in Device Manager my gpu (Nvidia GeForce RTX 3050) reports a (Code 43) problem. I've tried uninstalling my graphics drivers and reinstalling them with GeForce Experience but when restarting I am led back to the same safe mode. What should I do? - any help is appreciated. thanks
Specs:

• Intel i5-12600KF 4.9 GHz 10 Cores 16 Threads
• For Intel 12th Gen – Gigabyte B660I Aorus PRO DDR4
• Water Cooling - Corsair H100i Elite Capellix 240mm
• Crucial Ballistix Gaming 16GB (2x8GB) DDR4 3600MHz
• GPU-PALIT-RTX-3050-DUAL-8G Cooler Master 750W 80+ Gold SFX PSU
• 1 tb ssd

Like, if it's a game, and you just spawn into a new character every time you die and slowly lose your memories of the life before ....
how would you play the game differently?
It would be cool if you could leave clues in this life for the next one, as long as you could make it memorable enough that it would carry over.

Question: Are front-of-car NYS license plates no longer required? I'm seeing more and more cars without a front plate. I asked a driver of one and she said it is now ok to not have a front plate. Many of these cars are new and coming directly from the dealership without a front plate.

We are a duo who like to play every weekday from around 5-6pm GMT and usually on at weekends depending on what we have going on. The both of us would like someone who can be on a decent amount throughout the week not just a couple of hours here and there as we are bored of having to LFG new people everyday.
We have been playing duo for many seasons and often saying to each other "Imagine if we had a third" well here we go its time. We are both very keen to find someone who has the same mindset which is to have a laugh but also the goal to hit mastepred every season.
We have both hit diamond/master 6+ times as a duo and know that we can hit mastepred if we had a third. Ideally we want someone who is currently diamond level on PS so we can talk in party chat. Sometimes one of us won't be on and it would be nice to have someone to duo with until they get on.
We have tried the LFG discord but it is full of people who leave after one bad game and are not interested in building a long term bond. We fully expect us to have bad days where we just can't get the vibes going or we are just playing bad, but we come back again the next day and smash it.
We are not a toxic duo but we do like to point out our mistakes and can own them without any arguments so please don't message if you can't handle constructive criticism or are toxic. If you are thinking of joining us and expected us to roll every lobby and never make mistakes please don't waste everyone's time as we are not pro and never claim to be, we just want to hop on and get better everyday.
Currently I IGL as lifeline and my duo partner plays pathfinder but we are both open to switching it up to suit our third should we need to.
It is a long post but I feel it is important to get exactly what we want from a player so we don't get as many time wasters or people that just don't have the same mentality/time. My username is KIERAN_SPARTAN and my duo HydroConz if you want to check us out.

So I'm new to the Victoria 3 cult, I only have like 18 hours. I've been following the game since release, while the military update definitely helped the game... now playing with it myself I've been frustrated many times with it. Especially with how RNG it feels.
Anyway, I just wanted to start a little discussion on the topic. How do y'all feel on the military system? Or do you want a complete change to something like Victoria 2 or Hearts of Iron 4?
(Also sorry if this is a really common discussion. I'm new here.)

Tried of boring singleplayer, or the current servers you play on are getting dry? Well, look no further, as Swift Network may well be the server for you! We're commited to making the highest experience possible for every player!

Gamemodes
In the Survival server, chill out, relax, build and have a great experience playing with other players. Team up and go on great adventures!
In the Lifesteal server, every kill wins you a heart, wheras every death loses you a heart. If you die, you get BANNED for 24 hours!
Useful Links
Discord: https://discord.gg/sruCK3yF96
Server Trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FiC9Ag6zxmE&t=5s
Server Features

• A balanced economy which makes it easy for new players to get money
• Land claims so you can protect your land from any unwanted griefers
• Player shops where you can buy and sell items from/to other players
• Frequent giveaways to reward the players!
• Friendly staff who are active on the server and help new players

Rules
If you are going to join the server, please make sure you follow these rules to keep yours and others' experience the best it could possibly be!

• No using any addition to the game that could give one an unfair advantage over others
• No NSFW, discrimination, threats, toxicity or vulgar language in chat. Keep it clean!
• No innapropriate skins, usernames or item names
• Follow the staff's instructions - they are there to help!

Please make sure you use common sense and don't do anything that you know is wrong and could get you muted/banned.
How to Join
Interested in joining this amazing community? Well here's how to join!
Copy the server IP below and paste it into your multiplayer server list, then join using your server list.
-> IP: play.swiftnetwork.online <-
Coming Soon
We are always thinking of ways to improve the server, but here are some features that we all know you would love to see!

• A Random Kits server releasing at 100 players!
• A HUGE GIVEAWAY at 50 players!
• Updating our Skills System to make it even better!

Thank you so much for your time, and we really hope to see you sometime in Swift Network! Whether it's just for 5 minutes, or even being an active player, it is greatly appreciated by us :)

I’m sorta new to anxiety, I started getting it for the first time last September with panic attacks and daily constant anxiety.
I used to love flying, I wanted to pursue it as a career, and I loved flying on airplanes and saw them as a cool, safe, rollercoaster ride in the skies.
But now, getting on an airplane is so scary to me. Like, I’m convinced THIS is the plane that will crash despite knowing flying is safer than anything else I could be doing. I can’t even focus on a tv show to distract myself because I’m so scared on planes now.
It’s just very frustrating. I feel like anxiety has just destroyed so many things I used to do or enjoy. I’ve gained 45 lbs, I don’t have the energy to rock climb like I used to, and I have no motivation for anything. Thankfully I still work and I graduated college recently but I don’t know how I will start a career or anything when I feel like this all the time.

I am so sorry for this wall of text, I'm under the influence of one (1) C4 and one (1) redbull and got a lil passionate in a call with my friend. Wanted to see if I share the same sentiment with others when it comes to the campaigns of the reboot trilogy!
---Lets begin---
I fell for it again. I bought the newest installation of the "dying" franchise another year in a row in hopes that they'd just do... *something* right. I'm a huge sucker for campaign content-- whether that means just ignoring other game modes entirely until it's 100% done, or just playing it once and then moving to multiplayer-- I await a good campaign with baited breath, hoping that it itsn't trash. The trailer for this game really drew me in, it felt like they were starting to get back on track with the type of story that the original trilogy offered-- bit of revenge, but this time some "open world" missions?? "Cool! Something a bit fresh and new for CoD, something that hasn't really been done properly before". I buy the $70 game (joke's on me). I load in to the first open world mission. I immediately see... armor plates... loot boxes... parach-- it's Warzone. IT'S WARZONE RESKINNED INTO THE CAMPAIGN. I laughed for a solid minute and decided at that point I wouldn't take the game seriously. I'm glad I did because there was no weight to anything that happens in the entire 14 mission campaign other than Soap getting a new hole in his head and even then that happens for no reason other than to set up a reason to have a fourth game. lmfao.
Let's touch on that problem. In the original trilogy, sure, some character deaths are meant to move the plot forward (Soap, obviously, Kamarov in the same mission, Pvt. Jackson, Roach, Ghost, etc.) but therein lies what made those games memorable-- characters not being untouchable!! We had THREE GAMES before any major protagonist actually died. Alex is a red herring entirely at the end of MW19. He touches off a bomb on a pipeline, and it's revealed he only lost a leg?? No one noteworthy dies in MW2. Debate me on that if you will but I'm confident in saying that if they died and were worth remembering, I would probably remember them. ONE protag dies in MW3 and they have an ash spreading ceremony comparable to that in "The Big Lebowski" over it, and our happy little friends are on their way to another mission where, assumedly, we're gonna get revenge on that ol' rascal Makarov! :O
Compare that to the games they're based off of. You lose 50% of your squad on a cliffhanger moment in MW right after killing Zakhaev, earlier in that game you watch "50,000 men die in the blink of an eye" which sets up a MOTIVE for the antagonist of the next game, and it all loops back to Makarov being THE guy that caused *everything* in the third game-- he's genuinely a despicable despot, guided only by evil and the desire to spread his messages to people that ultimately don't deserve to hear them (his messages are bullets and bombs, we're talking about Makarov here). The devs set up multiple moments throughout the entire original series where characters are near-death, killed, or outright eviscerated. That's what gave it so many memorable moments. The RISK of losing the characters you care about. All it took was one moment to change how you felt about another character. I'm not like a huge fanboy of the original series but I definitely appreciate the cultural impact it had one the time. It felt like it made waves just as Halo did, and I think gaming changed immensely with its introduction to the gene pool. The reboot trilogy just feels disrespectful to share its namesake. They expected it to make waves and retcon/change another story to fit with a more battlepass friendly narrative. Or so it feels.
The reboot trilogy is just... lost? Misguided? Money hungry? It's impossible to pinpoint exactly what made them not wait another year to release the game to fine-tune and perfect something that ended up feeling rushed, empty and bloated all at the same time. I'm just disappointed that I'm still the idiot that keeps buying these games just *hoping* it'll get better, because it never does. It's been like seven years since we got a decent CoD campaign (IW's campaign is GOOD, I will NOT argue about that, we aren't here to discuss multiplayer). When will it all come back, boys? I miss Call of Duty's hayday.
TLDR; MW Reboot Campaigns bad. MW (2007-11) Campaigns good :)

Hi I am playing New Vegas for the first time. It's awesome. Favorite quest so far was getting back at the merc intimidating farmer for the other farmer whilst unraveling a cannibal gang.
I think I'm near the end but I don't know. I've killed Mr House, Brotherhood and Great Khans. Ive done a few quests at the Hoover dam.
I dont have any more side quests available at the moment but I'd like to do as many as possible before finishing the game for the NCR. I've been wandering around looking for places.
Without spoiling anything... can yall recommend some things I might have missed that will get me started on side quest lines? I have seen a few "major characters" on posts here that I have not seen in game.
Thanks in advance!

Hey there. I'm new to modding and I'm wondering. I have a mod in which I can create my own cards. I wanna know if I can import my own card portraits into the game somehow

I think a lot about signals. Signals that show people what groups they belong to. Signals that hide the truth. Everybody uses signals to blend, entice, or trap.
Grandma Pearl died not long after her stroke, and I've been making bad decisions ever since. Maybe my expectations are too high, or I'm just an idiot. Either way, I ran away from the group home to be with people who called themselves my "family." They were the wrong people. They used the words family, brother, sister, and love like lock picks, stealing trust, and taking self-respect.
The only person I remember using the word family correctly was Grandma Pearl. She was a small woman who toured the US as an actress before settling with Granddad above their theatrical rentals shop. I was three when the car accident took Granddad and Mom, so I don't know if they used the word "family" correctly, but I hope they did.
I was never as outgoing as Grandma, but that didn't bother her; she taught me how to watch people. How to see their signals, and how to listen. When she died. I forgot a lot of those lessons for a while.
They called it a "family". The "family" moved product. That product could be goods, drugs, or people.
The uninitiated, like me, were distracted with food and a dry place to sleep, but it didn't take long to see behind the curtain. Things got too intense with the new "family" and I ran.
I ran back to my old neighborhood. The buildings were familiar even if my home was gone. The old theatrical shop had been turned into a microbrewery.
After an appropriate amount of self-pity, thirty minutes, I wandered the alleys, picking up cans or scavenging for bits and pieces that could be recycled, used, or bartered.
I recognized old faces, but I tried to stay out of sight. It was safer that way.
The only place I allowed myself to be seen was the old Lutheran church on the park's far side. Most people who might have known me had aged out of the congregation or died. It was worth the risk because St. Lazarus had a food pantry in the basement and gave out lunches most days, so I wasn't always hungry, which was nice.
I found a dry spot near the library to sleep, which seemed like a stroke of luck until it wasn't.
I had the contentment that came with being in a familiar place. Little bits of comfort let me believe, for a moment, that I wasn't a screw-up and hadn't trusted the wrong people. That moment scurried away when Stick found me.
Stick was a scary asshole. He technically wasn't in charge of the " family," but he made it work. He got things done. I have no idea how old he was. He was all corded muscle and could clock in between twenty and fifty. He looked half-starved and moved like a stalking predator, even with his limp.
His left leg was stiff. The knee didn't bend, and anytime he sat, his left leg would be splayed to the side like a kickstand on a bike. The leg was why he walked with a cane. The cane and how he used it was why we called him Stick.
I don't know why he took the time to track me down. It's not like I was wanted. Maybe it was that I had become property. Property shouldn't just wander off.
Sometimes, you feel a person before you see them. The air is different. When Stick was around, the air felt dead and motionless. I knew I was being watched before I opened my eyes.
Stick was sitting on a milk crate, his bad leg cocked to the side and his forehead resting on his cane. I pushed myself out from beneath the ductwork of the HVAC unit I had been sleeping under and slapped the dirt off my jeans.
"I thought that was you," Stick said as his sharp grin curved up to his unblinking dark eyes.
Stick wanted my discomfort. I'd seen him play the intimidation game too many times. He'd act too friendly, and then when you were good and worried, quick movements, a hand around the back of your neck, and violence would be next. Then he'd act like the whole mind fuck was a big joke, like you were friends, and isn't it great that you can joke around with someone who "really" cared.
It worked, too. If you were the unfortunate focus of Stick's attention, you would be grateful when he smiled and said, "Just a joke, kid. Don't be so sensitive." I'd seen the pattern enough times to know Stick trained people like dogs with his hot and cold game. I didn't like the game, or the fear, so I changed the pattern.
"Hey, Stick, did you come to help pick up cans?" I asked, making sure my smile reached my eyes. I was trying to be pleasant while ignoring the burning nervousness in my gut.
It was still dark out, but I could see Stick's expressions well enough.
Stick tapped his cane on the sidewalk and squinted at me skeptically before answering. "Just checking on my little brother."
We were not related.
Stick liked to call the uninitiated his little brothers or little sisters. He forced intimacy into his language. I didn't argue the point. Interactions went best with Stick when you agreed with everything he said.
"Thanks, man," I complimented, trying to sound genuine and ignorant as I stepped forward and offered him my hand.
Stick didn't move, but I could see that this conversation wasn't going as planned for him, and I forced myself not to react to his confusion. I couldn't break character, or he would know I was playing him.
Stick tapped his cane on the ground twice, grasped my hand, and stood. He watched me. I held his stare, but in an open, naive, guileless way that I had perfected in front of the mirror as grandma gave acting advice while she put her face on.
I once asked Grandma Perl why anyone would practice acting stupid. She pointed her mascara brush at me and, in her ditsiest Minnesota Nice character, said, "It's easier to be forgiven when people think you're a little dumb, don't ya know?" Like with most things, Grandma was right.
Before I understood what had happened, Stick pulled me into his side and slung an arm around my shoulder.
"You don't have a name yet. Everyone gets a name, but they don't get to pick it." He paused and gave me a Cheshire cat grin. "I have a name for you, little brother. You are going to be called Slide." Then he held my chin and forced eye contact." Your name will be Slide because I have never seen anyone slide out of shit faster than you. I can't tell if you do it on purpose or not, and I've been watching. I watch everybody. You do, too. Hell, this might be the first time I've ever heard you talk. So let's celebrate your name, Slide." Stick's smile slipped as he pulled me out of the alley. "We'll go do something special."
I stayed silent, knowing full well what was coming. Being named meant doing something you could never take back. It was public and would put you in prison if the police ever took the time to look for you. It meant severing yourself from your life before and relying entirely on the "family." I had been absent each time naming seemed to be in the cards, but I couldn't duck out this time.
There was only one place to go at this time of night that would have an impact, the Bodega.
The Bodega was a red hole in the wall with a glass door papered over with grocery ads years outdated. Canned salmon two for one seemed to be the dominant theme. Although there were two large windows, one on either side of the door, you could barely see in. The right window was a tapestry of cigarette promotions. The left window displayed the only swath of uncovered glass with a view of the interior. From the outside, the view was of tobacco, lottery scratchers, and Old Lady Imitari.
Old Lady Imitari owned the store. She was a short, dark-haired woman who always wore a long floral tank top. Grandma Pearl loved the old woman but said Imitari looked like an old man's thumb all the years she had known her, and Grandma moved to the neighborhood with Grandad thirty years ago. Imitari was a local legend even then because the Bodega was open twenty hours a day, three hundred sixty-five days a year, and no one else worked in the store. Grandma used to make an extra strong coffee called Barako and chat with Imitari sometimes when work in the shop was slow.
I would sneak out at night and try to catch Imitari sleeping. No matter the time, I never caught her snoozing, and she always saw me peeking at her through the window. I know she saw me because she would uncross her arms and wave her flyswatter at me.
All these memories flicked through my mind as Stick smiled his too-wide smile and pushed me into the Bodega.
Imitari flicked her fly swatter at me in acknowledgment, and her attention returned to the small TV she had nestled beside the cash register, which seemed to be the old woman's only real tether to the world outside her shop.
The inside of the Bodega was just a long hallway with shelves of convenience foods, drinks, home supplies, candy, and cold meds covering every available surface from floor to ceiling. The only break in the tunnel of products was the glass counter at the back corner of the store; Imitari presided over her mini domain by casually ignoring her shoppers. I tried to make eye contact with the old woman again as Stick pushed me to the back of the shop, but after her initial acknowledgment of our entrance, Imitari's eyes stayed focused on her TV.
As casually confident as possible, I walked to the cooler and grabbed an iced tea. "Want a drink," I asked over my shoulder, my voice unusually steady, given the electric current of anxiety flowing through me.
Stick sneered and tapped his cane twice on the ground. His eyes found all the security cameras in the tiny store, a frown creasing his angular features.
I followed his line of sight and finally realized what had bothered him. The cameras were fake. They looked like security cameras, but they weren't. There were no wires or lenses, just rectangles and circles in a security camera shape.
Stick took a deep breath and tapped his cane on the ground again. " There… is … so… much… here… to… see… but… no… one… is… watching," he said with a singsong. Then his sneer turned into a cruel smile.
I knew Stick wanted an audience for what he would force me to do. The fact that the security cameras were fakes meant that whatever was going to happen would now have to be significant. An event that the neighborhood wouldn't be able to ignore. My stomach twisted with the thought.
Stick waggled his eyebrows at me. He had been watching. He had seen my thoughts, and we both knew he had something terrible in mind.
The cane twirled in Stick's hand and then tapped twice on the shop tile.
"I think I want a little bit of this," Stick said, gesturing wildly with his cane, sending a row of soup cans tumbling to the floor. "And a little bit of that," Stick added as another wild gesture sent cups of ramen spinning and knocking glass bottles of hot sauce to the floor.
I stood paralyzed, unable to run. I was trapped with nowhere to duck away to. I didn't want Stick to hurt Old Lady Imitari, and I didn't want Stick to hurt me, either. The truth was, he would hurt both of us no matter what I did. That was just the way Stick was. I'd seen him. I'd seen him show us who he was every day.
Then I realized Imitari hadn't moved. She was watching her TV and chuckling at the sitcom as if nothing had happened.
Stick glanced at me, confused. I almost felt sorry for the sociopath. His night was not going to plan.
Imitari chuckled at her TV again, and a crease formed in the middle of Stick's forehead, letting me know that he was beyond angry. He was calm, dangerous, and vicious. People had been left for dead when Stick got this way.
Stick raised his cane and flipped it so the handle jutted like a pickax. He was going to attack Imitari.
Somehow, I moved. I didn't do much, but when I slid forward and grabbed the back of Stick's shirt, the cane missed Imitari, and the sharp handle punctured the thick glass top of the counter just above a roll of Lotto scratchers.
Old lady Imitari slowly looked up into Stick's eyes and smiled. Her wide, gentle frown was replaced with a look of joy and something else, something primal, something hungry. Her pupils were blown, and I had the uneasy feeling that I was watching someone be served their absolute favorite meal.
Before Stick could pull his cane from the punctured glass, Imitari casually reached forward, grabbed the cane, and pulled the wirey man forward. Small, old, and wrinkled, Imitari stared into Stick's eyes and overpowered him.
Stick fell forward across the counter. He tried to push himself back, but Imitari's hand clamped down on his wrist like a vice.
Bones ground together as Imitari pulled Stick's hand to her mouth, and with a swift, subtle movement, she bit off the tips of Stick's pinky and ring finger like she was sampling a cookie.
I jumped back next to the cooler as a thin spray of blood arched toward me.
Stick screamed and thrashed, but Imitari's small form was static and immovable. Stick was a fly in a trap. No matter how much he struggled, punched, poked, or kicked, he could not break the old woman's hold. Then, slowly, she took another bite.
It was strangely fascinating watching the frail form of this old woman I had known for years take bite after bite out of Stick. This man, whom I thought of as a predator, a hunter, an enforcer, was crying and begging while an old woman, who looked like a wrinkled thumb in a floral top, quietly devoured him.
I was surprised by the lack of blood after the first spray. I'm sure it was Imitari's crushing grip that stanched the flow of blood. The flesh of Stick's arm looked white from the pressure.
Hand over hand, Imitari pulled Stick forward. Bones cracked as she gripped higher on Stick's arm, clamped down with her long leathery fingers, and fed the flesh and bone, one concise bite at a time, into her open smiling maw. It was rhythmical in its simplicity: chomp, crunch, chew, chew, swallow. Over and over, the pattern continued until the begging stopped.
Stick wasn't dead. He gave up. Not struggling, he laid over the glass counter like a rag doll. He watched me glassily as Imitari took bite after bite, and I knew he wasn't there anymore. Whatever made Stick Stick had either curled up and hidden in a dark corner of his mind or had been devoured with his arm.
The old woman seemed displeased that her meal had stopped struggling. She shook him, but he flopped, and his head lulled from side to side. Imitari frowned, let go of Stick's arm, and pushed down on the limp man's back. Blood gushed from the ragged stump, and Imitari lowered her mouth and drank from the wound like she was sipping from a garden hose.
Stick didn't move. He just grew pail, and eventually, his panicked, shallow breaths ended, and the blood stopped flowing.
Then Imitari stood. With a quick tug, she pulled Stick's body over the counter and let it flop to the floor at her feet. Her eyes closed. A contented smile bloomed on her face as the explosive sound of crunching and cracking bones echoed through the small shop.
The deafening sound of crunching stopped, and only the buzzing of the drinks cooler reverberated through the small space. Imitari opened her eyes and watched me, a broad smile still on her lips. At that moment, I realized I could hear the drinks cooler so well because I had crawled into it, wedged between the glass door and the shelves.
Imitari held me with her gaze as cords of pink flesh lowered from the ceiling and efficiently tidied up Stick's mess, lapping up blood and hot sauce, placing cans on shelves, and scooping up cups of ramen with whip-like tendrils. Then, the cords of flesh nudged me forward, and I stood before Old Lady Imitari.
The thing that I had always thought of as a stern old woman handed me Stick's cane. With the same benign smile I remembered from buying red hots from it as a ten-year-old, it waved me away with its flyswatter, and the cords of flesh pushed me out the door onto the sidewalk.

I recently started to feel burnt out playing on higher difficulties; it wasn't fun and it felt kina sweaty. So, I decided to join a lvl 3 game and had a blast. The secret? Bring whatever loadout you want because you don't need anything that hits hard to survive. Also, I started bringing the exo-suit for new players to try out. There was one mission where I dropped the mech for a new player and, in the middle of a desert storm, became swarmed by mobs which he responded by unloading his missiles and minigun on his surroundings. I was in hysterics when he blasted one of our teammates away. It was amazing. I'm gonna stay at this difficulty for now lmao.