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.

I Accepted a Job to Film on the Dark Web
Man, I am pumped to tell you chronically online content addicts my story. Wait is that too mean of an intro? Will this get taken down for harassment since I painted too accurate a picture of the people on this site? Sorry, everyone, I’m sure you all smell like an expensive bakery and have touched grass this morning. Anyway, I promise I have something interesting. It even involves the dark web you uncreative writers cream yourselves over! I mean, totally real people speaking about their strangely similar experiences. Okay, fine I’ll stop bullying you through the screen before you click off.
This all started when I was seven years old and my parents were killed in front of me in an anti-indigenous hate crime, but let's be real you don’t care. I’m just some annoying Cherokee kid with dead parents so I’ll skip to the good parts. I spent years in an orphanage, gradually becoming more interested in death and violence. As bad as it is, I went out of my way to expose myself to that content in the hopes of desensitizing myself. Which ended up working too well, since now I’m obsessed with causing and viewing pain, though I don’t find any joy in hurting myself.
I got adopted at twelve and after a few months of staying at my new family’s home on the reservation, I went with them to a state sweatier than the average Reddit user, California. Long story short, both of my caretakers, whom I referred to as Uncle and Auntie because they could never be my parents, died. Leaving me in the care of their older son, who I call cousin. I’m not stupid enough to give up any real names, so I’ll call him Brick, cause he’s as dumb as one. He was in his early 20s when he was tasked with taking care of me and is the world’s worst excuse for a babysitter.
I’m almost always alone at the apartment, with him only coming by to drop off supplies and stay for a few hours so the neighbors don’t get too worried. Unless I get in trouble at school, then he’d suddenly give a shit. It's useful because he doesn't about the gory stuff I look at, but some display of interest would be nice. Oh well, ninety percent of the population sucks so he’s just part of the majority. Now, with that said, you’ll be able to understand the perfect storm that led me here. During my time on the deep web, I found a particular website that caught my eye. They had new footage relatively consistently and they were the easiest for me to access since I didn't go too far into the dark web, especially with all the honey pots lying around.
I even bought a couple of files for myself to study and admire. One thing irritated me though, the cameraman. He was always sobbing, breathing, shaking, or some combination of those. It seriously killed the vibe of the killings. Something I commented on under many videos, often saying I would do a better job filming. A choice that in hindsight was me asking to end up in one of those recordings. I didn't think anything of it at the time. I was mostly the only one who commented but I was sure they wouldn't care. I was embarrassingly wrong.
I was staying up like usual, but it was past one AM on a school night, and back then that was a lot so I tried to sleep. Closing my eyes, tossing and turning, the works. I had just started drifting off when I heard the front door open. I remained calm but immediately found it weird since Brick never showed up this late. The thuds of the individual's feet grew louder as they got closer to my bedroom. I tried to convince myself it wasn't a stranger, especially since they got in with ease, but I knew that was wishful thinking.
They hummed as they opened my door. My dumbass had left it unlocked. I remained on my side, trying to look like I was asleep. They turned on the flashlight of their phone, shining it in my face. It was hard but I stayed still while they traced it over my features. I could tell they were smiling as they clicked their tongue.
“Heh, I knew it was a brat,” they whispered to themselves, pulling tangles out of my hair. Something I struggled not to groan from. They pulled up the hair over my ear and got so close spit got on my ear lobe.
“I know you’re awake kid,” they murmured, putting a blade to my neck. I let them grab my shoulder and move me onto my back, I knew how to fight but I wasn't about to take that big a risk with the position they had me in.
“You think you’re so cool saying you can do better than our guy.” they snickered, kneeling, their flashlight still shining in my face.
“Do you seriously believe that?” they questioned, moving the light away.
“Yeah, I do.” I stood my ground, they might have been intimidating but I wasn't gonna let that stop me from being honest.
“I wouldn't sound like I’m gonna piss myself every time it gets gory. I’m confident I could get better footage too, getting up close is something I’ve fantasized about.”
They clicked their tongue again and ran their finger over the bridge of my nose.
”Well, I know you’re a big fan of what we do, and you’re confidence makes me think you got something to back those claims up, so how’d you like a deal?”
I was surprised by how civil they were being aside from the touching and weapon against my throat.
“What kind of deal?” I asked, for all I knew this guy wanted me to lick their feet or some weird shit like that. They placed a finger underneath my eye, tracing a half moon with their nail.
“You have till this Friday to film a video of you killing an animal and put it on a flash drive that I’ll pick up here. If it impresses me and the crew we’ll hire ya with a handsome salary.” They began, moving their hand down to my cheek.
“But if you don't show, or it doesn't meet our standards, then I’m fucking up one of the parts of your face.” They warned, pinching my skin harshly.
“And if I say no to this deal?”
They put their hand over my mouth, scratching my lips.
“That’s cute, if you say no I’ll just slit your throat.” they grinned.
“Or rip it open with my teeth if you got a preference,” they smirked, before running their tongue across their sharp teeth.
“Okay, since I have no choice I’ll go with it, but I’m telling you now I can give you something way better than what you likely expect of me.” I prefaced, looking into their sunken eyes. They scratched my scalp, including the side of my head that was shaved.
“Good choice, I’ll be back to pick it up and if you're not here I’ll assume you don’t have the video. I genuinely wish you luck, because you’ll need it.” they removed the blade from my neck and walked away. I sat still for a few minutes in the dark, processing what had happened and wondering how they got into my apartment with such ease. I was confident I could blow their sniveling excuse of a cameraman out of the water, but I was worried about the people I was getting caught up with.
Sure, I had been on a lot of gore sites over the years but I was always just watching and occasionally commenting. Compared to most in the scene I wasn't much of a threat. I could defend myself and have contemplated killing for years but I hadn't murdered anyone or worse. Plus, I am part of way too many targeted groups to not be constantly at risk. Teenage, fem-leaning, two-spirit, indigenous kid with trauma? Yeah, I might as well be walking sign screaming “Hate crime me”.
So yeah, there was a lot to worry about. Regardless, I couldn't let that fear hold me back. I had a job to do and a group of sickos to appease. The next morning was rough, I got no sleep cause I’d spent all night brainstorming. I barely mustered the energy to change and drank straight mouthwash instead of brushing my teeth. Slogging onto the bus with drool on my cheek, I went to the back like usual. No one sat there cause, the seats were extra worn down, and I scared off anyone who attempted to with my active, rabies-infected bitch face. That day was different though.
I blanked on his name and where I knew him from, but I recognized his wavy hair and prominent curved nose. He glanced at each seat on the bus, before somehow settling on my area. He tried to give me space but ultimately seated himself beside me after realizing it was the only spot that didn't look like it would give him cancer. I glared at him as I did with everyone, but it didn't phase him.
“You know you could pick anywhere else right?” I murmured. He stared at the floor, then at me.
“I’m aware, but a few months ago I started a mission to sit on every part of this bus, and this is the last place.” he smiled, his lips softly curving at the sides.
“What’s the point of that?”
His mouth moved into a more neutral position, but his eyes kept smiling.
“I just thought it would be neat to see the same place from a bunch of different perspectives.” he took out his phone and snapped a photo from the point of view where he was sitting. Maybe my sleepiness made my bitch face less effective, cause he hadn't shown a hint of fear, which kind of annoyed me.
“That’s cool I guess, but I wouldn't do that if I were you. I’ve done some back here alone that would make your skin crawl.” in hindsight my attempt at unnerving him just made me sound like a pervert, which is probably why he held back laughter. Trying to hide a chuckle by clearing his throat.
“Hey, it's not my business what you do, no matter how Haram it is. It’s your life so that’s between you and whatever you believe in. Just don’t shake hands with me.” he joked, playfully putting his hands up. Strangely, I remembered his name at that moment.
“Oh shit, you’re Abdul! We have art together.” I sat up, haphazardly slamming my hand down on my leg.
“Uh yeah, I’ve seen some of your paintings, they’re pretty cool. I like the way you texture them, I’m trying to work on that.” he complimented, seeming more weirded out by my sudden energy than my accidental insinuation. I felt a little stupid for yelling his name but decided not to dwell on it.
“Thanks, you’re stuff is nice, and you’re good at shading.”
He stretched his arms while thanking me. We talked for a few more minutes, taking jabs at each other throughout. Turns out he was better at being an asshole than his artsy charismatic appearance made me think. The thing setting our insults apart being that you could tell he was a loving person underneath. It was the nicest conversation I had with anyone in a while. Though he could tell I was tired so he quieted down, letting me sleep, waking me when we got to school. We went our separate ways until the last two periods we shared. All that time, I spent my remaining energy plotting how I was going to handle the video. What I’d kill, record with, and how to dispose of the evidence. It was a lot to consider, but through three classes I devised a plan.
I’d find a stray around my apartment complex and take it out in my room. Record it on a portable camera since I broke the ones on my phone, no, I will not be answering how that happened. Then once I had my footage I’d put the body in a trash bag, throw it in the complex’s garbage, and clean the blood off my floor. It didn't seem like Brick would come by so he wasn't a factor I thought I’d have to consider. The plan was almost too easy, but I decided to believe in Occam’s razor. I got so lost in thought that by the time I reached Art, which was my second-to-last period, I didn't process that we were moving seats.
“She called your name,” Abdul reminded me. Our teacher placed us next to each other at our four-person table. The two girls sitting with us were already friends, so I didn't bother to say anything, but I was interested in talking to him more.
“So, what do you think of this assignment?” He shrugged, taking out his sketchbook.
“I’m not that good at drawing people, but the idea of combining two people’s faces into a portrait seems interesting. Any ideas on who you’ll pick?”
“Probably the members of the music duo Brain Tumor, they’re my favorite artists and they both look weird as hell.”
“Wow way to talk about your favorites, if that’s what you say about them I can‘t imagine what you have to say about me.” he joked, pulling up reference pictures.
“First, it’s not an insult, second I don’t have anything to say about you. Brain and Tumor have features and styles that make them stand out. Sure they’re ugly, but it just adds to their visual charm. Hot people are boring, there’s nothing to pick at.” I explained, unzipping my bag.
“Oh, so you’re saying you think I’m hot.”
His comment wasn’t serious but it kind of got to me.
“Shit, that’s not what I meant, I was trying to say you’re boring. All hot people are boring, but not all boring people are hot, okay?” I explained, flipping to a clean page.
“Alright, but if I’m so bland then why talk to me?”
I hesitated, contemplating how much of a dick I was gonna be.
“Because it means you probably need some spice in your life, which I can provide.”
He began sketching a head on his paper.
“I like spices, but I feel like you’re the kind of person to dump a cabinet’s worth onto me.”
I flicked my pencil over to his side of the desk, putting on a mocking grin.
“Aww, you scared I’m gonna get you into trouble?”
He picked up the pencil and started using it, putting his on my side.
“No, ‘cause I’m good at setting boundaries. I’m more concerned that you’ll get annoyed with how unafraid of you I am.”
I stared at him for a moment, I hadn't expected to hear that.
“Jeez, man you didn't have to read me like that.”
He shrugged, observing the red paint from past projects that lay on my pencil.
“It's not hard to figure out, just this morning you were trying to push me away on the bus. Lucky, or unlucky, for you I want you to have a friend and you seem like a fun person.”
“Wait are you saying I have no friends?” I squinted at him.
“Well, do you?”
I didn't answer.
“If your response is silence I suggest you take up my offer.”
I was stunned, to be honest. No one had offered to be my friend since 6th grade, and that didn't last long. Of course, I accepted it, but for the rest of the period, there was an awkwardness in my mind. As pathetic as it sounds I wasn't used to others genuinely enjoying my company like he did. Which was partly by design cause I get joy out of scaring people away, but still. I forgot how it felt to have conversations about normal things like art. He had such a nice smile too, usually when I see a grin I want to slap it off, but I liked his. His voice was also nice, it’s hard to describe what in particular but it was easy on the ears.
Okay, I’m starting to get off-topic. I’ll skip to the important part. Toward the end of class, he started talking about how he was interested in filmmaking and got a portable video camera as a gift at last year’s Eid. He didn't have it on him, but he showed me a picture.
“Heh, that’s funny, I bought the same one a month ago.” I pointed out.
“Yeah, it's a popular model, I’m still getting the hang of it though cause I’m so used to using my phone.”
“Well, maybe I could bring you over to my place or vice versa after school and I can help you out.” I suggested.
He smiled, putting his phone back in his pocket.
“I thought you said you’ve only had it for a month? You know I can always look up tutorials from trained professionals.” he reminded me with a notable smugness that I'd used with him before.
“Well those guys are stuffy and I’m a fast learner.”
He redirected his attention back to his page, picking his pencil up.
“Alright, I suggest we go somewhere public instead. You’re not exactly the kind of person I want to bring home to my parents right away. Plus they always need to meet my friends and their guardians before I hang out at their home.”
I gave an exaggerated sigh, stretching my back.
“Aw man, looks like we can’t get high in my murder pit during our first hangout.”
He didn't respond for a solid few seconds.
“Wait, you do know I'm joking right?”
He shrugged, the smile in his eyes appearing again.
“I mean, one of those things is a little less believable than the other.” he snickered, and I laughed with him.
We set up a time and a date, which is where I screwed myself. He ended up being busy with projects from his other classes and family which just left us with Friday, the same day I had to submit the video. Now, did I tell him I wouldn't be able to make it? No, of course not, because I decided to be stupid and even more overconfident. I said that I’d one hundred percent be able to hang out with him after school like I didn't have a mutilator who was going to drop by my place at an unknown time.
The rest of the day went over fine but that bad timing led me to feel like a dick later. When I got home I was able to write out my plan, even sketching a few specifics of what I’d do. It was more exciting than when I’d been brainstorming, but this is when the gravity of the situation began to set in. When I said I’d fantasized about killings I meant it. I mean my teddy with twenty-five stab wounds should say enough. Regardless this would be the first time real blood was on my hands.
It made me feel powerful, but a little afraid. I’ve heard stories of people thinking that it would be an awesome experience and then feeling like shit. I doubted I’d be one of those people but still. Plus, I didn't exactly trust the guy who gave me this job. There was a good chance that this whole situation was rigged and they’d kill me no matter how good the video was. Or worse turn me into the feds and expose my collection. Honestly, if that happened I’d probably eat a shot to avoid going to jail. Wait, can I say that on this platform? Okay to the mods, that was a joke, I want to live a long life. Ugh, I’m doing a terrible job of staying on track. The point is there was a lot up in the air despite it being a matter of life or death.
I knew I’d go through with it but it was still a lot less straightforward than it initially seemed. I wracked my brain to remember where most of the cats stayed and tried to come up with a good way to lure one without raising suspicion. This also proved harder than first thought because I didn't think to account for the cat man, an old guy who lived alone and fed all the cats in our dingy complex while also housing a few. Knowing how obsessive he was he’d probably notice if one of them disappeared. Then again not all the cats return consistently or at all. It makes more sense that he’d think one of them was run over rather than slaughtered. It was getting late again so I rested my head for a moment, a bad move cause I ended up falling asleep at my desk. Not even changing out of the clothes I’d worn before, I woke up late and barely caught the bus the next morning.
I went to my usual spot but Abdul had already taken it. He patted the area next to it, which he’d covered in a towel, a smart move knowing how nasty it was. People gave me a few dirty looks as normal, which I smiled at. I stretched, my mind slightly less out of it than the previous morning.
“Uh, you do realize that-”
“Yeah, I know I’m wearing the same clothes.”
Abdul looked me up and down, his eyes remaining soft, but with a mix of concern and judgment. He set his backpack down and took off his sweater handing it to me.
“Dude what are you-”
“Look I don't know what led to you not being able to change but I think you should at least have a fresh top.”
I was surprised he was offering me something to wear but I took it.
“Uh, thanks, I’ll change into it later.”
He nodded as I put it in my backpack.
“You know you didn't have to do that.” I reminded him.
“Well there’s a lot of stuff I don’t have to do, but I do it because I want to, and I wanted to help you out.”
He smiled, his face still warmer than an Arizona summer. I got a strange feeling in my chest at that moment, I still can’t tell if it was good or bad.
“Well, thanks, I'll give it back to you tomorrow.”
We talked a little more and he mentioned something that caught my attention.
“Have you heard about all the animals that have been turning up dead?”
My eyes widened with surprise.
“No, I haven't, when did you hear about that?”
He pulled on his long-sleeve shirt.
“My sister said her friend who works at a shelter noticed a bunch of animals were getting adopted by people around the same time, and since then gore videos with them have been showing up. She found out through her co-worker who was emailed it by some random creep.”
I covered my mouth and looked away to hide the smile growing on my face. He had just given me the perfect cover-up without knowing. Now if I killed an animal people had an entire violent ring to connect it to instead of me! I stayed quiet for a minute because I could tell he’d likely see through any phony sad sounds I made.
“Oh wow, that’s awful, do you think they’ll ever find out the people behind it?”
He sighed, running his hand through his wavy hair.
“I hope so, for now, all we can do is pray that no more animals get hurt.”
I couldn't contain my grin as he said that so sincerely like animals and people didn't die constantly and that taking down one group would somehow stop the issue.
“Is there some joke I don’t get?” he furrowed his brow.
“Uh, no, sorry I smile when nervous.”
His gaze softened again, and he didn't press further.
His bringing up the animal killings ended up being the exact push I needed to get my hands dirty. I’d spent the entire day before planning so it was time to put that plan into action. I stole some cat treats that the cat man had laid out and spread them around my apartment which was on the bottom floor. Waiting for one of them to take the bate outside my window was pretty boring but one of them came after a few minutes. A scraggly brown and black cat with a tuft of fur missing on one side of his head. It's messed up but I felt like a little less of an asshole for taking him in since he looked like he was already struggling. I scooped him up and he didn't attempt to fight back.
“Hey there buddy” I waved, feeding him some more food. His eyes had a lot of crust on them, it was kinda gross but I don’t have the right to say with how often I wash my jeans. After a minute or two he let me pet him. I knew making any kind of attachment was bad but I thought it was the right thing to do so he’d fall into a sense of security. I was just about to take him into my room when the door opened.
“Hey, I’m back with groceries!” my shithead cousin announced with two plastic bags in his hands. He looked down to see me with the cat, his eyebrows raising.
“Aw come on, you know we can’t afford a pet.”
He groaned placing the bags on a table and unloading them.
“I know, but he doesn't look like he’s got a lot of life in him I at least want to help him feel better before he kicks the bucket!”
Brick rolled his eyes, putting the cereal box on top of the fridge
“Jeez, did you even think about what diseases he might have? His eyes look puffy what if he has something that can get you sick?”
He had valid concerns which was surprising since he’s usually stupid, but I was still annoyed with him.
“I’m sure he’s fine, I’ll even try to wash him, just please let me hold onto him for a little.”
He folded his arms looking down at us.
“Have you even named him?”
I froze for a second, before using the first thing that came to mind, which ended up being pretty awful knowing my plans.
“Cash cow.” I blurted, awkwardly patting his head.
“Honestly that’s better than what I was expecting. I was sure you’d pick ‘Hellspawn Mcgee’ or something else corny.”
He meant to make fun of me but honestly, I would have named him that if I had more time.
“Ugh, anyway I got those dumb chips you like.”
He then pulled out a bag of the wrong chips.
“Dude those are the wrong ones, this is the third time you’ve mixed up the flavors.”
He threw them at me, scaring the cat slightly.
“Well, I pay for it so you shouldn't be so picky. Anyway, while I was in line I picked up something you might be into.”
He then tossed me a trashy teen magazine. One of my least favorite sorry excuses for an influencer on the cover.
“This is a joke, right?”
I couldn't believe my own adopted brother gave such little shit in my interests.
“I don't know, you decided to start being a girl for real this time so I thought the makeup tips on page ten would help you out.”
I scrunched my face at his comment.
“Dude I’ve been this way for years, just because I started wearing more makeup and dresses doesn't mean I’m more of a girl than when I didn't. I know you won’t get the two-spirit thing but come on.”
He shrugged, seeing me done with me even though he’d just shown up.
“Yeah well hey I’m trying. Anyway, just so you know a friend of mine is coming here Friday.”
My heart stopped.
“Wait why here? You live elsewhere why can’t you assholes go there or their place!”
He slammed his fist on the table.
“Will you shut the fuck up!”
He screamed with a phrase I’d grown numb to.
“I don't know, to be honest, something about wanting to move into this complex and this being a way to scout it out. I’m just letting you know now so you don’t act like a complete freak.”
“Jokes on you I’ll piss in whatever shitty beer you bring just cause you said that!”
I yelled back raising my voice higher than his. He face-palmed before putting the plastic bags in the drawer under the sink.
“Whatever, you and your ketamine-addict-looking cat have fun,” he told me while seating himself on the couch. I picked up the cat and walked into the bathroom to clean it. I closed the door and placed him in the dry tub. Using a small disposable mouthwash cup I got a little bit of water. I hadn't had a pet before so I wasn't sure how to approach the task. I dipped my fingers in the water and carefully pet it while pouring s small bit down his back. Any other cat would fight back but he just made pissed-off noises without doing anything.
I scrapped my old shampoo bottle and kneaded it into his thin fur. His skin was bumpy and dry beneath the hair so scrubbing it was uncomfortable. I made sure to avoid getting soap in its eyes but I did pull away some of the crust on its lids. His pupils were so clouded I was surprised that he could see at all, making me feel even more sure that he would be on its way out with or without me.
After drying him I set him on a beat-up shirt I wore when modifying clothes. He sunk his claws into it a few times, playing with a loose string. I ignored him for the rest of the night, hopping into the shower and changing for bed. His meows woke me up a few times but I tuned it out after a while, reminding myself that he wouldn’t be my cat for long.
The next day was Thursday and there wasn't a second that passed by where the weight of the murder I’d have to commit didn't weigh on me. I seriously shot myself in the foot by taking care of that scruffy, pubic hair pile. I was supposed to be hyped about killing it, after all, I’d dreamed and seen way worse than what I was going to do. Yet once I got home and started setting up I felt grosser with each step. I decided to record it in my bathroom instead of my bedroom so it would be harder to connect to me. I set down a few fabric scraps and a worn-out beach towel, placing it all inside a tub for easier cleanup later.
“Okay, I guess it's time,” I mumbled to myself. I brought the cat in and placed it down, setting up my camera once it was comfortable. I also wore my most generic clothes in addition to a mask, putting my hair in a bun for sanitation. When I saw the flicker of red showing that the camera was on I felt I was dreaming. I smiled, excited that I’d get to live out my violent desires. Yet, when I looked down at its pathetic frame and confused expression those urges left me.
I rationalized what I was doing, reminding myself how many animals die all the time and that I’d been forced into this, but it didn't help much in the end. I won’t get into it but under the pressure of impressing the group Cash Cow didn't go out as fast as I would have liked for a first task. Getting rid of the evidence was especially rough, the textures were pretty nasty, to put it mildly. It was surreal watching the blood go down the tub drain and gradually drip off my hands as I rinsed them. I couldn't conjure a single thought the entire time I cleaned it up.
Whether I was wringing out the clothes or putting the remains in plastic bags, it didn't matter. All I could focus on was the task at hand, with hints of disgust along the way. I ended up finishing at three AM. My hands were wrinkled and shook once I settled. I won’t deny that during the murder I didn't hate it. Slashing into something was fun and it made me feel strong. Still, it wasn't nearly as fulfilling as I expected it to be. Part of it was guilt, but it was mostly disappointment. I’d built it up for years and it wasn't earth shatteringly good or bad.
Overall, I expected to feel more, but it just left me hollow with an uncomfortable itch. There was no way I’d ever be able to see the tub the same way, hell I don’t think I’ll ever use it again. Luckily I almost always shower anyway so it's not too big of a deal. I watched a few horror game videos, trashed everything, changed and went to bed.
My scalp hurt like a bitch the morning since I kept my hair in that stupid bun. Despite getting less sleep than the past two days I held myself together a bit better in the morning. I brushed my teeth, changed, and had some fried bread before getting on the bus. Regardless I looked like complete shit and struggled to slump into my seat.
“Rough night?” Abdul asked
“Uh, yeah.” I quietly responded looking to the floor.
He frowned, looking at me with concern.
“You can talk about it if you're comfortable,” he assured me. I contemplated giving him a thinly veiled metaphor or vague explanation so he'd comfort me but stopped myself before my mouth could run a muck. He wouldn't be able to do much of anything and I don’t like opening up.
“Uhm, thanks but it's something I have to deal with alone.”
He nodded, respecting my boundaries.
“You know, I understand if you can’t hang out today it seems like you have a lot going on.”
I avoided eye contact with him as he spoke. For once I was feeling hints of guilt toward a person. I wanted to spend time with him, but I knew that I wasn't in the state to do that.
“Yeah, I think it’ll have to wait, I’m-” I cut myself off before apologizing. A fact about me that should surprise no one is that I hate apologizing. Even when I do feel kinda bad the act fills me with embarrassment.
“You what?” he asked, his eyes telling me that he knew what I was going to say.
“I’m emotionally not great.” I spat out in an admittedly poor attempt to get out of saying sorry. As always he remained calm but I could tell he saw through me.
“Okay, like I said I understand, whatever it is I hope you feel better.”
I told him thank you and we didn't speak for the rest of the day. At home I changed into more comfortable clothes and brushed my teeth. Unfortunately, I wasn't bouncing back from killing nearly as much as I expected.
“It wasn't even that bad! That thing was on its last legs anyway.” I grumbled to myself, smacking my forehead. I was feeling worse than when I did it which is weird. I ended up spontaneously decorating a ratty tie from the bottom of an accessory drawer to distract myself. It helped me get my mind off things, for a little. I had zero plan, just wanting to make something needlessly complex. Hours that felt like minutes passed and soon it was covered in patches, frills, and beads. I just tried it on when I heard the front door open.
“Man, that shit was wild!” I heard Brick laugh groggily. I didn't have to see or smell him to know he’d gotten lit. I rolled my eyes, closing my bedroom door.
“Hey, who’s there?” his friend asked, seemingly referring to me.
“Oh, that’s my little sis, don’t mind her she’s just on her emo shit!” he joked, which pissed me off for the petty reason that I didn't even listen or dress emo.
“Hey, that’s alright with me, I went through one of those phases,” they responded, their words less slurred than my cousin’s.
I fucked up and forgot to lock it when I closed it so they were able to swing it open, almost smacking my desk.
“Hey emo girl!” they waved as Brick haphazardly pulled them back.
“Okay, man, seriously I think she wants to be left alone.”
The way his friend looked at me made me uncomfortable. Like they’d snap my neck if I pissed them off. They clicked their tongue while stepping through the door frame.
“Alright, but I gotta say calling her an emo is inaccurate, they look like they watch gore and most emos just say they do.” they flashed a sharp toothy grin. At that moment I began to connect the dots.
“Easy, she’ll get pissy with you dude, now come on.” Brick warned tugging their opened button pushed him away. They looked me dead in the eyes.
“I don’t think she minds, in truth, I feel like we’ll have a lot to discuss later.” they smiled again, finally walking back into the living room. A chill ran up my spine when I saw them. The sharp teeth, New York accent, unsettling gaze, that motherfucker was the person who recruited me! They were able to get into my place so easily cause my dumbass cousin probably gave them a spare key or the opportunity to make one, and now they were a room away from me!
I dug my hands into my pillow as I contemplated what to do, no matter what happened next, I knew it was gonna be a rough visit.

Hey everyone! Random Appalachian here. I just wanted to check back in with you all and provide some updates, as well as some exciting, if personal, news. I have to type this quick, as my work break ends soon, so pardon any typos, grammatical errors, or weirdly structured sentences.
For those of you who don’t know, I’m a park ranger in real life, and work at a wildlife reserve in Ohio. We’ve been having some issues with vandalism in our northern woods for a few months, and despite our best attempts, haven’t been able to find the culprit. It’s been immensely frustrating, especially when more paint has shown up on more trails, ranging from slashes, lines, and crosses, to dots and even letters. Normally we wouldn’t get too bent out of shape over a few trees being painted, but it’s well over 60 at this point, and widespread throughout the forest. None of the official people who help us maintain the trails in that area say they are responsible, and yet many of the markings seem to be blazes for trails. However the markings are at times absurdly close together, or in abstract places that make no logical sense. One “trail” is no more than perhaps 30 yards long and runs right along a massive clearing in a semi-circle, within plain sight of the clearing, and goes to nowhere; it goes into the woods, and pops back out into the clearing only 30-ish yards away. Most of our established trails that have been painted already have well-made trail markings of our own, and the trails are well-blazed. There seems to be no rhyme or reason to why these things are there at all. I don’t think it’s anything sinister, though the painter has left his/her paint cans in the woods before, so at the very least, they’re a litterbug. There is the concern about potential poaching, which can be a problem in our area. Sure, deer and turkey are commonplace in my rural community, but they are only that way because of conservation and game laws that keep populations intact. Local hunters play a big part in conservation, and if someone starts taking more than their fair share through poaching, that means less for everyone else, and upsets the balance of things. The sad thing is, unlike legal hunters who often hunt for meat for their families, (food is expensive nowadays) poachers usually do it for trophies, antlers, or ‘fans’ from the turkey tail-feathers. But our painter has yet to take any game to our knowledge. We’ve found no gut piles, blood, or discarded gear anywhere. So, if he’s not poaching . . . what on earth does he want?
Then a few weeks ago, we did find a camera inside our central perimeter.
To put this into perspective, we have roughly 10,000 acres to our little reserve. Only 1/3 is fenced in, containing our exotic animals for our tours, and our buildings that we use to operate. Offices, mechanical garages, barns, and storage sheds, that sort of thing. Usually if we have trespassing issues, it's in the northern woods, which is open to the public for walking/biking trails. Sometimes in the southern prairie reserve we get some wanderers, but it's pretty open, so people tend to shy away from it. But our interior, the central area, most of which is fenced in, is sacred ground for us. We have a children’s camp in there for kids to learn about nature, we have our animal barns, and even some staff housing. For people to walk around in there would be like a stranger walking through your bedroom at night, while you’re in the shower.
Not cool. Not cool at all.
One of our ecology survey teams found the camera in a lesser-used section a mile or so north of the children’s camp. Naturally, they assumed it was one of ours, until one of the staff innocently asked another ranger why we’d put a camera by that lake. When the ranger told her that we didn’t have any cameras there, it began to sink in.
We either have two trespassers, or the painter has decided to move his game further into our land.
I’m hoping it’s the former, that I’m overthinking things, but after all, the mystery painter had to have seen a few of the trail cameras we put up in the north to catch him. Could he be doing this as a form of tit-for-tat? I don’t know, but it’s got us rangers frustrated, and our ecology team is spooked. It was fun and games in the unpopulated north, but now he’s getting close to our people, our guests, and our animals. This is serious now. We removed the camera, but there’s not really much we can do without more patrols, more cameras, and more rangers. With our budget already restricted, the last part just isn’t possible.
My foray into trail cameras yielded no results as to a culprit. In fact, the day I came in early to pull them out of the field, it seemed nothing went right. Only two came off the tree, as I forgot the keys for the locks for the other two. I couldn’t find the last one at first, and darkness fell before I could locate it, so that I was wandering around in the northern district in the blackness searching for it. Inadvertently this helped me find the camera in the end; I saw the red light flash as it took my picture and was able to retrieve the SD card. It was in my long return trek to the patrol truck that I discovered the marks on a remote trail I hadn’t walked yet. A capital O and a capital N were scrawled in various places, with dots over the letters. I took German in university, so I know they aren’t grammatical marks from that language, known as umlauts (pronounced as “oomlout” for my fellow English speakers; for all my German speakers, if I spelled that wrong, I apologize). I’d left my phone in the truck (stupid rookie move for a seasoned ranger, I know) so I couldn’t take any photos, and didn’t want to follow the trail too far in the pitch dark. I had a flashlight with spare batteries, as well as my gun (I’m not a complete moron after all) but I didn’t have time to do much exploring, since I had other duties in the park that were waiting on me. I had some VIP’s that were coming in late, and had to be escorted, which meant I had to clamber back to my truck, swatting at mosquitos the whole way. Nothing on the cameras showed any definitive proof, though we might have a lead on a guy with a bow case on his back. Could be nothing though; it’s not illegal to wear camo or carry things, and it could very well have been a camera case, a backpack, or an empty bow case.
In any event, we rangers are working on a strategy for changing up our patrol routes and putting more cameras in the field, as well as checking in on the children’s camp frequently throughout the night. So far, this mystery person hasn’t actually hurt anything that we know of, but even if this is just local kids having a prank, it’s not funny anymore.
Anyway, on to the other news. For the aforementioned reasons, as well as others, I’ve been super swamped this past month, and so writing on the third book in the Barron County trilogy has been slow. I wanted to release it at the beginning of June, but at this rate, I’m going to have to push that back to late June, possibly early July. I hate to think I’ve disappointed you all, but it’s just not ready yet. That, and I’ve been busy with something else . . . something big.
I’m getting married next week.
It’s been a long time coming, but my fiancé and I are super excited. We’ve known each other since kindergarten and have been best friends since forever. We’ve both been running like chickens with our heads cut off to get everything ready, and naturally, we’re both exhausted/somewhat nervous. Our honeymoon will require some flying, and since my fiancé has never been on a plane before, that’s a point of nervousness for her. I’m sure she’ll be fine once we’re in the air, but until then, she’s a bundle of nerves.
All that is to say, I am working on the story, it’s just taking a bit. I cannot wait to get back into the swing of things for all of you and thank you again for your supreme patience in this. You guys and gals are great, and entertaining you all is a massive privilege. Stay tuned for the third installment of the Barron County trilogy, and the epic conclusion of Hannah Brun’s journey into the unknown! Until next time.

I'm looking at replacing my 8 year old camera bag and I love everything PeakDesign. I have the Medium camera cube, capture, slide, rain shell...
I do 90% of my photography on a motorbike and it almost always involves a short hike (up to an hour), it would also be for travel photography; airline (carry-on compatibility?) with day trips and short hikes/walking around cities.
Would you recommend the PD Travel backpack for short hikes in the wilderness? I really want to want this bag but I keep coming back to something a bit more rugged.

Hi everyone! I’m currently researching headlamps for an upcoming four-day trek. During one of the days, we’ll start our hike in the middle of the night, and for all four days, we’ll be camping along the route.
I’m on the lookout for a reliable headlamp that can serve dual purposes: hiking and camping. Additionally, it would be great if it could double as a general flashlight during my 15-day trip. Bonus points if it’s suitable for night runs once I’m back home!
I’ve come across various recommendations for hiking headlamps. Some sources suggest a range of 200-400 lumens for backpacking, while others mention 500-600 lumens. Based on my use cases, it seems like something around 300 lumens is enough but please correct me if I'm wrong! I don't expect to use it a ton outside of the odd hike or run after I'm back home, so I suppose a AAA powered option might be best for a long-term investment where I don't have to worry about batteries going bad. However on the trip, rechargeable would be better.
Currently, REI has a sale, and I’ve noticed positive reviews for the Black Diamond Spot and Storm headlights. Their Astro 300 is also significantly discounted, although it hasn’t received as much online attention. Additionally, the NiteCore NU25 has been recommended online. With so many options, I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed!
Requirements:
Price Range: $30-$40 USD (definitely open to lower. Can go a bit higher) Primary Use: Hiking Secondary Use: Navigating the campsite at night Battery Type & Quantity: Open to any type, but rechargeable would be ideal. I already have two rechargeable AAA batteries. Size: Ideally not too bulky for hiking Type: Headlamp

“PRODUCTIVITY is never an accident. It is always the result of a COMMITMENT to excellence, intelligent planning and focused effort.
Happy Sunday Morning 🍄
Today's Headlines from :
Economic Times
📝 Debt, equity holders approve merger of IDFC with IDFC First Bank
📝 Delhivery Q4 net loss narrows to Rs 68 crore
📝 Sundaram Home Finance Q4 results: Net profit at Rs 57 cr; disbursements breach Rs 5,000 cr
📝 Centre to evaluate PM KISAN scheme to assess its impact on farmers
📝 Delhi's peak power demand clocks 6987 MW, highest-ever in the first 18 days of May
📝 Dalmia Bharat begins production at new unit in Tamil Nadu plant
Business Standard
📝 Goswami Infratech sweetens offer to bondholders, in return for more time
📝 India on mission to become leading producer of critical minerals: Agarwal
📝 Nestle India shareholders vote against hiking royalty payment to parent
📝 New govt may liberalise FDI norms for more sectors, says DPIIT Secy
📝 FSSAI asks traders, not to use banned 'calcium carbide' for fruit ripening
Financial Express
📝 DoT disconnects 17 million fraudulent mobile connections so far
📝 Lack of action may impact 40% of spice exports from India, says FISS
📝 OYO withdraws DRHP, to refile IPO post refinancing: Sources
📝 FY23 saw 30 million employment generation: Labour Secretary
Mint
📝 India to contribute 30% of global GDP by 2040, focus on ‘champion states’: Kant
📝 US Fed chair Jerome Powell working from home after testing positive for COVID-19
📝 Oil records weekly gain on bullish US, China macro data; Brent nears $84/bbl
📝 FPIs sell ₹28,242 crore in Indian equities in May
📝 Singapore faces new COVID-19 wave, over 25,900 cases reported in a week
📝 IMD issues red alert for severe heatwave, extreme rainfall in 5 states.

I’m not talking about post trail depression, but anybody deal with depression while on thru hikes? Has it made it better or worse? I’m looking at how beautiful my surroundings are and getting upset about not feeling as happy as I should be. I feel as tho im unable to enjoy where im at a lot of the time. While I love all the people I’ve meet so far, being around people so much is draining me and making things worse. I didn’t expect the social aspect of a thru hike to be this intense. In my everyday life I need time away from my partner, family & friends to recharge. Its hard to have alone time out here. I love hiking & backpacking, so i expected the trail to help my mood but it may be making it worse. I feel like im the only person who feels this way.

Does anyone have good recommendations for compression leggings or socks for heavy exercise? I’m going on a 6 day backpacking trip so looking for something moisture wicking and not too uncomfortable for 15 miles of hiking per day. I’m stage 1 so the swelling is mild but progresses the longer I’m on my feet and causes a pain in my feet and ankles.

Willing to consider specific trade items for partial payment of listings you are interested in :
G&P random upper receivers
Gate Titan advanced mosfet V2 rear wired
Retro Arms V2 gearbox (8mm or 9mm)
WarHead Industries Ronin Brushless Long Shaft Motor
VFC MCX tan
G&P Magpul, Vltor, Noveske AEG Carbine, Gate Titan - $850
https://imgur.com/AP1KYGA
https://imgur.com/T4XAkWt
Externals :
• Mint condition rare G&P VLTOR lower receiver
• Rare G&P VLTOR upper receiver
• Ambi magazine release
• Magpul K2 style motor grip
• Gen 1 Magpul UBR stock with CTR enhanced but pad ( modified to fit 3000 mah titan power battery, not included )
• Ambi G&P charging handle
• Rare discontinued PTS Magpul MBUS sights black
• Replica Trijicon MRO red dot
• Replica Daniel Defence MFR 13.5' M-lok handguard (full trades)
• Madbull Noveske 14.5' bull barrel and gas block matt silver (full trades)
• Replica DBAL with QD mount (visible laser, IR laser and light)
• Surefire Socom 14mm CCW muzzle break (suppressor compatible)
• Magpul M-lok AFG grip with Silicone Carbide grip
• orange SpeedQB edition PTS EPM mag
Internals :
• custom 16:1 gears and bearings
• Gate Titan advanced trigger mosfet
• SHS 14 tooth piston, with upgraded POM piston head
• aluminum nozzle
• upgraded cylinder head with AOE correction applied
• G&P M120 high speed motor
• Adjustable precision trigger
E&C XM177 AEG with Advanced Gate Titan - $700
https://imgur.com/wpTJP1w
https://imgur.com/IfzEQNz
Externals :
• 5 G&G 79 mid cap mags with ranger plates
• Real steel barrel mount picatinny rail
• Replica Surefire M600 with BB shield
• Three prong muzzle break, tri lug for suppressors (suppressor not included)
• Real Ranger Bands
• Real Steel handguard with heat shield modified to fit gun
• Carry handle picatinny adapter
• Trijicon comp m3 replica with kill flash and scope covers
• Enhanced polymer trigger guard
• Silver adjustable trigger
• Real Steel extended charging handle latch
• ASAP sling plate
• Stock modified with epoxy extension and butt-pad for 11.1 Li Ion 3000mah split battery from Titan Power (battery not included)
Internals :
• Gate Titan advanced mosfet
• high torque motor
• Rotary hopup
• Enhanced E&C gearbox with quick change spring feature
G&P Magpul MOE AEG, Gate Titan - $750
https://imgur.com/m5EpN6o
https://imgur.com/OqbWukN
Externals :
• billet ambi MOTS lower
• PTS MOE stock, grip and handguard
• real steel mag release
• Carry handle with Picatinny Adaptor and Replica Steiner red dot on the low mount
• Troy end plate with Ambi QD sockets
• real steel tri rail
• Surefire M600 replica with arisaka mount
• two point padded multicam black sling
Internals :
• custom 16:1 gears and bearings
• Gate Titan advanced trigger mosfet
• SHS 14 tooth piston, with upgraded POM piston head
• aluminum nozzle
• upgraded cylinder head with AOE correction applied
• G&P M120 high speed motor
EMG Falkor AEG, Two Uppers, Gate Titan - $1000 (Sold)
https://imgur.com/TQYLTBR
G&P Demolition VLTOR Custom AEG - $850 (Sold)
https://imgur.com/Pk5g7PL
https://imgur.com/v8xTNR0
KWA TK45 inspired by Titanfall AEG - $800 (Sold)
https://imgur.com/RmjucBP
E&C Rare Vltor MK18 AEG - $700 (SOLD)
https://imgur.com/LdXtxPJ
Russian Zenitco DTK Putnik AK Mock Suppressor - $100
https://imgur.com/ZV3WE3a
https://imgur.com/uMnSuM3
• Dedicated 14mm CCW threads
• three piece design can be foam filled or add tracer (not included)
All Black Oil Filter Mock Suppressor - $75
https://imgur.com/5tOHw14
https://imgur.com/B3sXPNJ
• 14mm CCW thread adapter
Orange and Black COD Oil Filter Mock Suppressor - $75
https://imgur.com/YWb288g
https://imgur.com/s8rM5x8
• 14mm CCW thread adapter
Custom TM Glock 34 GBB - $700
https://imgur.com/gj5bb1b
https://imgur.com/dOte5lc
• Armorer Works polymer 80 lower frame
• Upgraded trigger bearing hammer
• 120 % trigger bar spring
• Custom silicon carbide grip job for frame
• Real steel magwell custom fit to frame
• Guarder enhanced slide release
• 1 KJW CO2 mag with real steel extended base pad
• AA Glock 34 slide ( basically a Zev Glock 34 dragonfly slide, without trades )
• Armorer Works suppressor height sights with fiber optic inserts
• Guarder lightweight Blowback housing and nozzle
• Maple Leaf I Key
• Maple Leaf crazy jet 117mm inner barrel
• Agency Arms 417 compensator full trades
• two stage 150% recoil spring and rod with rubber shim
TM Custom Glock 17 CO2 GBB - $700
https://imgur.com/nWNnOn5
• Rare burnt Bronze Salient Glock 17 slide, full trades
• Taran iron sights
• Gen 3 Glock 17 frame, full Glock trades and custom stippled, accelerator cuts and double undercuts
• Taran competition magwell, full trades
• Extended Guarder slide release
• Agency Arms adjustable trigger
• TLR-1 HL light
• Guarder lightweight blowback housing and nozzle
• Two stage 150% recoil spring and rod with rubber shim
• Trigger spring 120%
Custom AW Glock 34 CO2 GBB - $650
https://imgur.com/h17COVi
https://imgur.com/pZTWGHG
• Armorer Works polymer 80 lower frame
• 120 % trigger bar spring
• Custom silicon carbide grip job for frame
• Real steel magwell custom fit to frame
• Guarder enhanced slide release
• 1 KJW CO2 mag with real steel extended base pad
• AA Glock 34 slide ( basically a Zev Glock 34 dragonfly slide, without trades )
• Armorer Works suppressor height sights with fiber optic inserts
• Guarder lightweight Blowback housing and nozzle
• Maple Leaf crazy jet 117mm length inner barrel
• AW hopup rubber
• two stage 150% recoil spring and rod with rubber shim
• replica inforce APL light
Custom KJW KP-01 CO2 SIG P226 - $550 (Interested Party)
https://imgur.com/gSJHxLO
• Real SIG P226 wood grips, custom cut and re-stained to fit KJW
• 5 CO2 mags with Guarder enhanced feed lips, Guarder gas routers and Guarder magazine springs
• Replica Surefire X300 Ultra with full trades 800 lumens
• Custom mounted lexan bb shield on light
• Belt mounted Multicam Black P226 with X300 Kydex holster
ASG P09 GBB two slide kit - $500 (Pending)
https://imgur.com/rLI9IsF
https://imgur.com/LrQVK27
• Nuprol foam pistol case
• three co2 mags with real steel extended base plates (one mag needs the valve o ring replaced)
• P09 belt holster (can only be used if comp or suppressor is removed
• Frame has a custom silicone carbide job
• Standard slide hand polished to silver / 14mm threaded barrel / M9 hitman compensator modified to threaded barrel
• Spare slide / black / suppressor height sights / extended two piece inner barrel / threaded outer barrel / osprey 9mm suppressor
SRC Beretta M9 A3 CO2 GBB - $400 (Interested Party)
https://imgur.com/6OatFuz
https://imgur.com/JmRxnI8
• foam filled pistol case
• threaded barrel for suppressor
• 6 CO2 magazines
• 1 green gas magazine
KJW P226 E2 CO2 GBB - $350
https://imgur.com/pO01lrz
• 1 CO2 mag
• Guarder enhanced spring kit
• Guarder enhanced recoil/ hammer spring kit
• Guarder steel recoil spring guide
• Guarder steel mag release
• spare mag feed lips and gas routers
• AIP reinforced nozzle
• original KJW pistol box
• foam filled pistol case
• two pistol holsters / one with belt mount / one with molle mount
• spare inner barrel
• spare E1 grip set
ASG P09 GBB - $270
https://imgur.com/tc7A8FD
• one green gas mag
• one CO2 mag
• replica surefire X300 full trades
• belt mounted Kydex holster, fits P09 or glock with an X300
Custom Resident Evil Taurus M9 GBB - $200
https://imgur.com/op9CzcP
• foam filled pistol case
• custom frame mounted hitman compensator
• green gas mag
• racoon police grip panels, fake wood with custom silicon carbide job (spare black original grips)
WE XDM GBB - $120
https://imgur.com/VUgU0JS
• Brand new only fired to confirm it is in working order
• one silver green gas magazine
• inner barrel extension and outer barrel internal threads (compatible with thread adapters for suppressor use)
• Original box and manual
TM Custom TTI Glock 17 CO2 GBB - $750 (SOLD)
https://imgur.com/36CFZR9
Holy Warrior RMR Black - $40
https://imgur.com/5SZeL1s
https://imgur.com/nnaErqi
Assorted OD gear prices below
https://imgur.com/F28J3kt
• two MK3 style front panels $50 each
{one has 4 kydex smg mag inserts, 2 elastic pistol inserts and the half flap with an elastic shotgun bandolier insert}
{second one has 3 kydex m4 mag inserts, 2 elastic pistol inserts and the half flap with an elastic shotgun bandolier insert}
• 2 triple m4 mag elastic pouch inserts, 1 quad 9mm mag elastic inserts, replica Trex arms velcro front pouch $30 total
• 3 molle double m4 mag pouches, and 2 single 45mm SMG mag pouches $40
• 2 replica RONIN tactical belts (one pictured) with cobra buckels, one is small, the second a medium $50 each
• Double kydex glock mag pouch with belt mount, and roll up dump pouch $50
Gear assortment - $350
https://imgur.com/fMZoHQA
https://imgur.com/r6fslYE
https://imgur.com/YQQpCml
https://imgur.com/b5pIW8l
https://imgur.com/6HHRnmZ
DYE I4 mask, tinted lenses for outdoor use can be replaced with a number of purchasable color options (one of the most durable masks and custom painted shark mouth.
• Multicam baseball cap
• Canadian military backpack with built in water bladder and hose (forest digital camo)
• 2 hard shell legs rigs for pistol setups and 1 Glock holster
• tan molle thigh rig for any pouch configuration
• 2 medium size general purpose pouches
• mixed magazine pouches including High Speed Gear rifle and pistol Taco Mag Pouches, blue force gear rifle pouches and more.
• Condor chest rig, has been set up for general rifle and pistol use but with all the additional pouches can be easily re-configured and backpack can be used in tandem with chest rig for additional gear, HPA builds and water.
Tactical Inner / Outer shooting belt rig - $150
https://imgur.com/ElXIJLN
• Multicam reinforced molle shooters belt with black inner belt (small to medium)
• 3 single pistol taco pouches
• 1 single rifle taco pouch
• general purpose pouch
• replica polymer 141 tactical knife with hard sheath
Real steel glock parts - $130
https://imgur.com/2zyy20T
• 6 real steel plus 5 glock mag extensions (compatible with VFC g17 green gas mags)
• real steel universal optics plate, replaces rear iron sight (compatible with VFC glocks)
Real Steel firearm parts
https://imgur.com/I9tCGer
• G36c top rail with iron sights
• 2 Hatsan shotgun carry handles with built in iron sights
• real ar15 clamp shell handguard with heat shield (modified for tight fit with E&C
• real XM177 recoil stock pad
Assorted Handguards - make offer
https://imgur.com/3ZtFVzv
• top right / 1887 mlok handguard
• 13.5 inch Mlok handguard APS
• real G3 military surplus handguard
• 9 inch keymod krytac handguard with QD mount
• 9 inch polymer SLR ION handguard / metal barrel nut / metal QD mounts
• Top left G&P 7 inch Daniel Defense handguard
• Madbull 7 inch Daniel Defense handguard
• 7 inch fortis Mlok handguard
• 9 inch real steel Mlok handguard
Gbb buffer tubes - $30 each
https://imgur.com/rCK5TdX
• Old PTS PRS stock buffer tube
• 2 old PTS UBR buffer tubes
General M4 AEG parts and accessories - Ask more info make offers
https://imgur.com/F6SpwyT
General TM glock parts - Ask more info make offers
https://imgur.com/PPMQeP0

Well… it wasn’t like seein your grandma in a duck costume screaming “someone gets the wrench there is a raccoon in the tomato patch” weird but… at least somethin like it.
Anywho, I wanted to inform everyone of my first hike! It was today and it was quite nice! Except the bees and the teleporting deer and the feds and the bunker but WE WILL GET TO ALL OF THAT YALL I PROMISE I AINT MR. BANE WHO KEEPS THINGS NICE AND CONCISE I LIKE SPEAKIN!
So it all started when I put on my boots, I opted to get some nice dark green ones and paint and lil smiley face on it :) and when I got my gear that was so kindly left in the diner for me I went outside and began walkin to the mountain. It was quite a nice day too! The sun was shinin and the birds were doin their little do-op I even saw Mr. Tom! He don’t like me much though, he threw a bottle at me.
When I got to the mountain I was a little puzzled at how many different ent paths there were. Some where on the map and some weren’t, I could see some green flags in the distance but I watch late night television ain’t no way I’m goin off the beaten path (unless it’s to save my bff Claire) So I looked at the nice map and chose the red path I couldn’t see exactly where it was leadin but it seemed like it was nice and easy. That’s when I heard a buzz… and there on a small tree was a little honey bee nest!
Now… back in Alabama it was pretty rare to find some nice bees but these ones seemed super friendly! I was even able to get up real close to the nest with no issue at all! (Don’t do this at home kids) but then somethin truly odd happened… there was a smell… like a… metallic smell… mixed with like bleach… it started freakin me out a bit so I left them as is and went up the path. I saw some beautiful views and got to use the compass I was gifted! It got me thinkin about this place… how much I love it… but also how much I don’t remember… that’s when I saw the deer.
Now I tell ya… I used to go hunting with my daddy and I’ve seen some bucks but this one… was MASSIVE. and it had little cute white hoofs!!!! It came up to me and gave me a little stare like it was trying to say hi. Or maybe not. Now this is when it gets weird… I swear on my daddy’s life this buck was right in front of me and then when I blinked… it was over 10 feet away from me! I was honestly surprised… I tried to step again but it ran away as soon as I made a sound :(
So I decided to carry on and I made it to the end of the trail! Yay me! I saw a nice pond with some cute frogsssss. I named one teddy and the other Lisa… if you find them, tell them “ribbit” for me!
Now this is when it gets a little intense (Mr. Bane I may need your help) I remember seeing that wonderfully interesting post about that bunker and goddarnit I found it! But it was really far away from me up a cliff. And I don’t know what made me decide to eat my lunch then and there but I did! I sat and unwrapped my pastrami sandwich ich and chowed down. Now folks up until this point I ain’t seen no other human being, so let me tell you when I jumped out of my skin when I heard a voice in the distance yelling “hey!” Aw man I jumped!
I remember having to squint my eyes to block the sun and look up the cliff. And there at the top was a man in a dark suit and sunglasses then another…. Then another… then ANOTHER. 4 FEDS ALL CROWDED AROUND THIS BUNKER. Now if this don’t smell like my dead cat then I don’t know what does! (Fishy)
Now folks get a load of this… I go “hey” FBI “what are you doing?” Me “eatin” FBI “why?” Me “cuz I am hungry… is there a problem sir”FBI “you can’t have pastrami here” Me “what the hell? Why not?” FBI “interference” Me “with what?” FBI “we suggest only eating cheese sandwiches in the woods… ungrilled they must be cold”
And you will NEVER GUESS WHAT HAPPENS NEXT…. THEY THROW 3 CHEESE SANDWICHES HIES AT ME. I got to many questions
Why do they have them? Why are they wrapped? Why are they on multigrain? Why did they give me three?
Wow I really do feel like Mr. Bane.
Anyway after that I lost my appetite and made my way down the mountain and back to my home.
I’m excited to do that again soon though!
Thanks for reading! Kisses SB

I just don’t want to be here. As much as I love my friends and family and I don’t want them to hurt I can’t summon much passion for life. I like backpacking so I’ve been trying to focus on that, but my husband dislikes it because he thinks it isn’t safe. Poor guy doesn’t realize I’m 10x safer while I’m hiking then I am at home.

I visited this beautiful country between May 1 - 11, but was not prepared for the amount of tourism, which I must say ultimately left me a little sour about the experience. We stuck with all the major attractions and sights so I know we shouldn’t be surprised by the crowds, but I’ve still never seen tourism at this level. That said, I may have had a better time if I didn't try to pack everything in as much as I did.
Our itinerary was:
Day 1: Land in Milan
Day 2: Train from Milan to Lake Como
Day 3: Train from Lake Como to Cinque Terre (my favorite part of the trip)
Day 5: Train from Cinque Terre to Florence
Day 8: Train from Florence to Rome
Day 10: Train from Rome back to Milan for our departing flight the next day
Lake Como and Cinque Terre (CT) were my favorite parts that I wish I allotted more time for.
While Lake Como is beautiful and I wish we had more time to explore some spots I had saved, it did feel a little soulless. We stayed in Varenna and took the ferry to Bellagio. Both areas feel like resort towns that exist solely for tourism. Other areas might have a less catering vibe. Also, the number of young women taking shots for the 'gram and giving you dirty looks because you ruined their 20-minute photoshoot is nauseating.
The train that runs between the 5 towns in CT gets packed to the brim with people during peak hours (~10 a.m. - 5 p.m.). On our arrival day I tried to get off the train for our final stop and I literally got stuck between people; I was able to lift my feet off the ground for a few seconds and not get anywhere like a cartoon character.
We visited CT to hike the Blue Path and no regrets there. Absolutely stunning and the only time we didn't feel overwhelmed with people (started hiking around 8 a.m. in Monterosso). But if you're just taking the train between towns you'll do almost as much hiking from the train stations to the main parts of all 5 towns. The only one we didn’t properly visit was Manarola so maybe that town has a short walk from the train station? I think there are vans/buses that take people from some of the train stations into town, but you'll be waiting amongst crowds and nothing is clearly noted.
Florence: we stayed right near the Ponte Vecchio and I do not recommend. Again, the number of people and crowds ruin it. I thought it would be nice/convenient staying near the Uffizi and the bridge, but it wasn't worth it. Unless you’re shopping for jewelry, the bridge can be much more appreciated from a distance. The location also isn't ideal because no matter what I tried we couldn't get a taxi; I downloaded apps, called taxi hubs, tried Uber, but no one would come to our location or offer alternative pick up spots. The city is very walkable, but we came down with food poisoning so by the end I was hoping to grab a taxi to the train station to alleviate some of the dejectedness I was feeling. We visited the Uffizi, Accademia, and the Piazzale Michelangelo, but I was happy to leave Florence. I felt like I couldn't escape the smell of cigarettes the entire time.
Rome: I think by this point were a bit weary from the food poisoning, crowds, and the amount of walking we did with our backpacks. Thankfully though no issues getting taxis/Ubers around Rome. Despite what people say about Trastevere being "overrated" now, stay there. It's easily the nicest part of Rome. My second recommendation would be Prati. We had tickets to visit the Vatican Museum and I wish we made the effort but this was the last leg of the trip and we were just over it so we spent our full day in Rome walking to all the sights: Colosseum, Trevi Fountain, Pantheon, Roman Forum, and Janiculum Hill.
Rome was nice and I enjoyed it more than Florence, but it also felt run down. We had a running joke that ambulances were following us because we could not escape the sirens. I know, it’s all part of history and maybe I’m just not sophisticated enough to appreciate its historical magnitude, but honestly, pass.
Public transit: Getting on ferries and trains felt like a fight each time which added some physical and mental fatigue. I highly recommend sticking to high-speed trains if possible because you can reserve your seat; it doesn’t matter if you book first class or standard, they’re basically the same. Trains where you don’t reserve your, good luck. We stood for 1.5hrs from CT to Florence CRAMMED in. Each time the train stopped more people would squeeze in but eventually we had to stop people from boarding.
The trains were occasionally running a couple minutes late and there was a 24hr strike during our stay but nothing that impacted our trip. Don’t feel like you must show up for your train more than ~10 minutes in advance, your train’s platform number likely won’t be displayed until about 5 – 10 minutes out. You’ll just stand around unnecessarily stressing yourself out otherwise.
Was this a magical trip? No, not really. Would I visit Italy again? Possibly with some time and with plans to stick to the more natural scenery. I did want to visit the Italian Dolomites but they were still snow covered during our visit.
I think another factor that contributed to it not being the “magical” experience you hope for is we had to stick to schedules the entire time and that’s not a typical fun vacation for me; whether it was the trains, museum/attraction entrance times, or dinner reservations, we frequently had somewhere we had to be. This type of trip didn’t allow for spontaneity. E.g. when we visited Scotland we rented a car and were able to visit random castles and museums without prep work or fighting crowds. Perhaps I could’ve had more fun or spontaneity by seeing less (I definitely wouldn’t want a car within Florence or Rome proper but I think the countryside/smaller towns would be okay), but when you only get so much time off for work, you try to squeeze it all in.
Food: Everyone comes for the main attraction which of course is the various pastas, but Italy does so much better than pasta. Yeah, I said it. The chicken I had there on two separate occasions from two different restaurants? Immaculate. I’ll never have more perfectly cooked chicken again. The deli meats? So flavorful. I ordered a yogurt with lemon and honey in CT (where they grow a lot of lemons) and I’ll think of that fondly for years to come. I also had a fantastic affogato in Florence.
As I mentioned, we did get food poisoning which can happen while traveling, but I did notice unless you’re going to a proper sit down restaurant, you might see people handling your food in ways that are unappetizing. In cafes and sandwich shops and quick bite places like that you won’t see food handlers using gloves and you’ll likely have dirty cups/plates/utensils. Not a big deal for some, not for me though.
We avoided the super touristy areas for our real dinners, but while the pasta was done well, the red sauce just wasn’t hitting for either of us.
I apologize if this comes off as a less than idyllic portrayal of Italy. It’s a beautiful country that is worth a visit, but I wanted to share my experience and maybe highlight it’s not for everyone and that’s okay.
Edit: formatting

My partner and I have been dating a year and a half. We live together. We're in a monogamous relationship and talking about getting engaged soon. I love him and he loves me. We are both bisexual.
Most of his friends are women. When we started dating this was a green flag for me. He's a kind person and women feel safe around him.
His best friend is a 30 yo woman who he has been friends with since college. She's also in a monogamous relationship. My partner and this friend have never had a romantic relationship.
He's planning a solo backpacking trip with her for five days, and every time I think about it I want to cry. They've gone camping alone together before and I spent the entire time extremely sad and jealous.
My partner and I spend a lot of time camping and hiking but we've never been backpacking. I've requested we go a few times but my partner would rather do a different outdoor activity so we've never gone. I think this is part of the hurt.
I can't do this trip with them because of my work schedule.
I want to get over how jealous and hurt I feel. I want my partner to be able to enjoy this trip. But the last time they did something solo in the woods I spent the whole week upset. How do I get over this ahead of the trip?

• Alien Blaster Poison Mag
• Alien Blaster Cryo Mag
• Alien Corpse Operating Be
• Alien Disintegrator (x2)
• Alien Disintegrator Automatic Receiver
• Alien Disintegrator High Powered Reeiver
• Alien Disintegrator Poison Receiver (x3)
• Alien Head Lamp (x2)
• Alien Target Practice Poster (x2)
• Alien Tube
• Zenith Alien Blaster Paint
• Human Tube 1 (x2)
• Human Tube 2 (x2)
• Barbed Wire Fences
• Bear Arm (x2)
• Bearm Arm Puncturing Mo
• Deathclaw Gauntlet
• Behemoth Boss Plushie
• Blue Ridge Rug
• Bottle and Cappy Painting Statue
• Cappy Clapper
• Electro Enforcer
• Poisoned Electro Enforcer
• Overcharged Electro Enforcer (x2)
• Plastic Fruit Bowl
• Chally the Moo-Moo Backpack (x2)
• Fur Sleeping Bag
• Gorilla Chair (x2)
• Ghoul Chair
• Honeycomb Paper Green Mothman
• Honeycomb Paper Red Mothman
• Honeycomb Paper Brown Mothman
• Mirror Ball - Blue
• Mirror Ball - Red
• Mirror Ball - Green
• Mirror Ball - Pink
• Suitcase - Black
• Suitcase - Blue
• Tattered Curtains
• Truckbed Trailer with Junk
• Wall Mounted Fan
• Giant Red Dinosaur
• Grocery Cart Grill
• Milkman Outfit
• Ogua Hunter Outfit
• Ogua Plushie (x2)
• Plastiform Candle
• Tunnel of Love Poster
• Fatman
• Kids Truck Bed