🌿 Detailed Overview:
Jumps into the shadowy world of secret societies and their use of symbolism, ritual, and media to influence the psychological landscape of the public. Hoffman argues that these organizations manipulate social and cultural narratives to shape public perception and maintain control. The book examines historical and contemporary instances of this psychological warfare, offering insights into the methods and purposes behind these covert operations.
🔍 Key Themes and Insights:
Symbolism and Ritual: Hoffman explores how secret societies use symbols and rituals not only as part of their internal practices but also as tools for public influence. He explains how these symbols often appear in plain sight but are overlooked or misunderstood by the uninitiated.
Media Manipulation: The book discusses the role of the media in these societies' strategies, detailing how mass communication is used to perpetrate myths and control the narrative to sway public opinion and behavior.
Psychological Control: Hoffman provides an analysis of how psychological tactics are employed to create a compliant and docile population. He covers topics such as predictive programming, trauma-based control, and the manufacturing of consent.
Historical Context: The text delves into historical examples of psychological warfare, drawing connections between ancient rites and modern psychological operations. Hoffman illustrates how these practices have evolved but continue to serve the same fundamental purposes.
Call to Awareness: The book is a call to the reader to become more aware of the hidden forces shaping their perceptions and beliefs. Hoffman encourages critical thinking and vigilance as defenses against manipulation.
Audience Takeaway:
"Secret Societies and Psychological Warfare" is essential reading for those interested in conspiracy theories, media studies, and cultural criticism. It appeals to readers who are skeptical of mainstream narratives and interested in understanding the deeper, often obscured forces at play in global events and media.
💌 Your Experiences and Reflections:
Have you ever noticed unusual or recurring symbols in media or public spaces that could have deeper meanings? What are your thoughts on the idea of psychological warfare being waged by secret societies? Share your views on the influence of hidden forces in shaping cultural and political landscapes. Let’s explore and discuss the subtle art of psychological manipulation by elite groups.
- Read

Welcome to an exciting episode of "Amanda attempts to read The Divine Comedy while stoned on migraine and allergy medications"! We've got enormous candelabra! A griffon! Someone named Matilda!
But first, Statius tells us where babies come from.
Canto XXV
Dante's like "I don't get it, how can the Gluttons starve if they're already dead?" and Virgil's like "I'm gonna let Statius handle this one." And this is where I absolutely fail as a Read Runner, because I didn't understand a word of Statius's reply, even with Ciardi's notes to help me. I think Statius thinks the reproductive system and cardiovascular system are the same thing? I'm going to make a discussion question about this, and hopefully more knowledgeable people can explain.
But wait: I'm not just stupid, I'm also immature, so when this is followed by the Whip of Lust, I spent several minutes giggling over the phrase "Whip of Lust." Anyhow, the Whip of Lust is Mary (who I'm pretty sure has been included in every single one of the Whips) and Diana). I realize that we've seen hundreds of examples so far of Dante combining Christianity with Greek/Roman mythology, but for some reason this specific example amuses me. I'll take "Religious Figures Who Are Famous for Not Having Sex" for $500, Alex.
Canto XXVI
Speaking of unusual Christian/mythological pairings, the Rein of Lust turns out to be Sodom and Gomorrah and that woman from Greek mythology who screwed a bull. I assume this is meant to comfort the souls on this level of Purgatory: No matter how bad your own sins were, hey, at least you aren't world-famous for having a cow fetish.
The Lustful burn. That's not a metaphor: they're literally on fire. They walk through a wall of flame, reciting the Rein and kissing each other. (That's a reference to Romans 16:16, "Salute one another with a holy kiss." Although I'm sure they're all aware of the irony.) Dante runs into fellow poets Guido Guinizelli and Arnaut Daniel and they talk poetry.
Canto XXVII
Dante, Virgil, and Statius have to pass through a wall of fire as a final act of purification. Dante is frightened, but Virgil coaxes him through by reminding him that he'll be reunited with Beatrice soon. Night falls, and Dante dreams of Leah and Rachel. When Dante awakens, Virgil gives his last speech, in which he crowns Dante "lord of yourself."
Canto XXVIII
Dante wanders through the Earthly Paradise at the top of Purgatory. He finds himself at the bank of Lethe, and he sees Matilda on the other side. Dante is confused about how the Earthly Paradise works, and Matilda explains it to him.
Canto XXIX
Dante witnesses the Heavenly Pageant. Look, I need to be honest: I'm getting over a migraine caused by a sinus headache caused by allergies. There is a nonzero chance that I'm hallucinating at this point. But I'm like 99% percent certain that this pageant involves enormous, tree-sized candelabra. The notes in my book tell me there is significant symbolism in this section, but I'm just going to hope that someone in the comment section explains, because I'm an agnostic with a headache.
Canto XXX
We finally meet Beatrice, after having spent this entire book being told how awesome she is. Virgil abruptly vanishes, having fulfilled his purpose. Dante bursts into tears when he realizes this, which causes Beatrice to reprimand him, and even the angels themselves are like "Damn, Beatrice, really?" But Beatrice is like "No, you don't get how much Dante sucks."
Canto XXXI
Again, I am going to blame the migraine/allergies for my complete failure as a Read Runner to understand WTF is going on. Beatrice continues to criticize Dante, and then Matilda makes him drink from Lethe to purge him of his sins (but won't that wipe out his memories?!) and then there's a griffon, which Ciardi says symbolizes Christ, but I'm not willing to rule out the possibility that I hallucinated the griffon.
Canto XXXII
More allegory. I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to quote directly from Ciardi instead of trying to explain it myself:

Dante then witnesses an allegorical masque of THE CORRUPTION OF THE CHURCH THROUGH WEALTH. First AN EAGLE (the Roman Empire) attacks the tree and the chariot. Then A FOX (heresy). Then the Eagle returns and covers the chariot with its feathers. Immediately A DRAGON (Satan) rips at the chariot's foundation. The chariot then covers itself with the feathers (riches) and is converted into A MONSTROUS BEAST on which rides A HARLOT (the corrupted Papacy) attended by A GIANT (The French Monarchy) that beats the harlot and drags the monster into the woods and out of sight.

Canto XXXIII
Dante completes his purification. At one point, Beatrice said "God's wrath will not be calmed by soup," and I was like "damn, I actually have gone crazy," but then I saw the note explaining that this is a reference to how you could get away with murder in ancient Greece if you ate soup on your victim's grave for nine days, leading to a tradition in Florence where people guarded the graves of murder victims to prevent soup-eating... actually, yeah, I think I have gone crazy after all.

Ancient Rome
(A Roman's leg is being waxed)
Roman 1: (screaming in pain) By Jupiter's cock! That wax is hotter than Hades's bitch
Roman 2: (holding the waxing stick) Hold still, Gaius. No need for such bitching and moaning.
Roman 1: Easy for you to say, Titus. You try having your fucking legs waxed!
(Ancient Greece)
(Two Greeks are at a stadium)
Greek 1: (booing loudly) Boo! You call that a javelin throw? I've seen better aim from a blind fucking Cyclops!
Greek 2: Yeah, and your chariot driving skills are worse than a drunken Satyr!
Greek 1: Boo! You're shit. Get out of the fucking stadium.
(Ancient Egypt)
Egyptian 1: (haggling with a merchant) This price is as ridiculous as a one-eyed Sphinx! I won't pay a scarab shit more!
Egyptian 2: Oh, Ra's eye! Just buy it already and stop fucking moaning!
(Nubians battling Axumites)
Nubian Soldier: (engaged in combat) Watch your back, you Axumite ass! I'll send you out of Meroe in a basket!
Axumite Soldier: You'll need more than that spear, you Nubian goat fuckers! Come and get me, if you have the stones! I'm going to blaze Meroe and get some fuck you money so fuck you.
Nubian Soldier: Fuck... you.
(Mayan City)
Mayan 1: (frustrated) Ah, for the love of the maize gods! Why won't this temple stone fit?
Mayan 2: Because you're as useful as a headless serpent, that's why!
Mayan 1: "headless serpent"? Are you describing me or my dick.
Mayan 2: Don't lie. Admit it - you fuck inside the temple.
Mayan 1: You don't?
(Assyrian battle)
Assyrian: I WILL END YOU! I WILL FUCKING END YOU! BURN IN HELL! HAAAAAAAAAAA.

I know the Romans fought beasts against eachother, and I imagine it was quite common throughout the ancient world and up the advent of modern sensibilities about animal cruelty.
Are there any works which seek to compile answers to as many diferent animal matchup's as can be found in the historical record, or have any historical figures (say some eccentric bored rich Victorian aristocrat) attempted to test as many of these matchups as they can?

I'm interested in basically everything! I love to talk, I life my life in an unconventional way with unconventional beliefs and mindset, and am seeking other unconventional people to have interesting conversations with.
I tend to speak quite bluntly and like to disagree about ideas, so those who are very sensitive or conflict averse need not apply. I will try to reasonable but don't like tip-toeing around sensitivities.
I like to have very long conversations at times; I'm more than willing to keep the same thread of conversation going for weeks as long as it remains interesting. I respond quickly and like to send long, detailed responses.
I'm a good sport about all disagreements. I will never be offended by what you say, will never be mad at you for what you say, and am always willing to agree to disagree if you want to drop an issue.
Otherwise, I am very open minded and will not say no to a conversation with anyone.
Interests:

• Art: Music (listened to 1000+ albums, I sing, play guitar) Movies (500+ movies), TV (20+ full series,) Literature (Dozens of classic books), Drawing (Getting back into it)
• Sports (Will watch any sport during playoffs, otherwise just UFC, Boxing, NBA, NFL)
• Gaming (I write reviews, classic games, retro games, competitive games, e-sports)
• Science/Engineering (Physics, Megaprojects, History of Science)
• History (WW2, Napoleonic Wars, Ancient Rome, Russia, Balkans, Religion)
• Current Events (Wars, Politics, Celebrities, News in general)
• Technology (Audio, Computers, Gadgets, Repair, Programming)
• Writing (Poetry, Short Stories, Eventually books, Reviews, Critique)
• Outdoors (Fishing, Cycling, Shooting, Archery)
• Food (Cooking, Baking)
• Geography
• Woodworking
• Chess
• Philosophy (only read up on Nietzsche currently, willing to discuss basically any philosophical idea though)
• Politics (I'm interested but it's probably not wise to speak about)
• Psychology

Not interested in:

• Ordinary every day life
• Relationships
• Feelings / Emotion
• Work
• Money
• Crypto / AI

Proof: https://imgur.com/a/5MzV85E
If there is anything you are interested in, just let me know. I am always willing to hear any offer. The worst thing I will do is shoot back a counteroffer.
Payment plans are available. More details at the bottom of the post.
All non-pms are on coinsales
All Prices are USD
I am Located in the US
I prefer chat, but pms are fine
I prefer to make sales, but I am willing to entertain trades. One thing I specifically want though is Sierra Leone Company coinage, nice graded pieces more so.
For any coins you may want still shots of, or possibly a video in different lighting, please let me know. I will never have an issue doing this.
I have US coins and foreign coins. Look through it all, you may find something you did not know you wanted. If you want something I do not have, let me know. I may possibly be able to obtain some, or I could already have it.
All grades are my personal opinion, except those that are professionally graded. All Coins I marked as damaged, for the most part, I am unsure if they would grade straight or not; I just wanted to be transparent about them even though they still may be straight grade.
Dollars
1879 S MS65 DMPL Morgan (Soapbox) https://imgur.com/a/dSM7SRF (1400.00)
1879 S MS64 Morgan (Toner in a Fatty) https://imgur.com/a/Te21BkM (135.00)
1880 Morgan AU https://imgur.com/a/3RRfSv9 (50.00)
1880 S MS64 Morgan (Semi PL and Purple Toner in a Gen 1 Soapbox) https://imgur.com/a/wLZeRnc (195.00)
1883 O Morgan MS https://imgur.com/a/KVBtNCu (65.00)
1883 O Morgan AU https://imgur.com/a/ucu6S8l (50.00)
1884 MS Morgan VAM-4, Small Dot, Top 100 https://imgur.com/a/1X0RS05 (85.00)
Images: https://imgur.com/a/ImdAn9A
Vam Link: http://ec2-13-58-222-16.us-east-2.compute.amazonaws.com/wiki/1884-P\_VAM-4
1884 O MS67 Morgan (Crazy Mega Toner) https://imgur.com/a/R97TekR (4200.00)
1884 O MS63 DMPL Morgan (Purple Toner in a Gen 1 Soapbox) https://imgur.com/a/K8LT2xN (500.00)
1884 CC MS64 Morgan (Toner in a Soapbox) https://imgur.com/a/b9NofJA (550.00)
1884 CC MS64 Morgan (Semi PL Lust Bomb in a Soapbox) https://imgur.com/a/YyD6l6w (515.00)
1886 MS62 PL Morgan (Rattler) https://imgur.com/a/vMDnM9P (200.00)
1886 MS63 Morgan https://imgur.com/a/aX4OnLR (65.00)
Video 2: https://imgur.com/a/Ld9Ki9f
1888 Morgan AU https://imgur.com/a/nJTeozn (50.00)
1889 Morgan AU (Bright) https://imgur.com/a/Gbb4gg9 (45.00)
1890 O Morgan XF https://imgur.com/a/lFaJDBw (45.00)
1892 O Morgan High VF (Bright) https://imgur.com/a/ku4xPq5 (65.00)
1896 Morgan AU (Toned) https://imgur.com/a/1fnvXym (55.00)
1896 Morgan AU (Toned) https://imgur.com/a/e7c4enc (55.00)
1896 Morgan AU (Toned) https://imgur.com/a/g01zDBo (55.00)
1896 AU Morgan https://imgur.com/a/Rc313b7 (45.00)
1898 Morgan AU (Toned) https://imgur.com/a/TzJgNcA (55.00)
1898 Morgan XF https://imgur.com/a/8hTB6Ot (45.00)
1900 Lafayette MS60 Soap Box (Toner) https://imgur.com/a/JZdDjVm (925.00)
1921 MS63 PL Morgan (Soapbox) https://imgur.com/a/eRBR2Nw (500.00)
1921 MS63 PL Morgan (Soapbox) https://imgur.com/a/VfFMADA (500.00)
1921 MS63 Peace Dollar (Fatty) https://imgur.com/a/UbYm0VG (1050.00)
1922 MS65 Peace Dollar (Funky Blue Toner) https://imgur.com/a/FQQQEqT (200.00)
1923 MS63 Peace Dollar (Gen 2 Soapbox) https://imgur.com/a/9yg4TVy (70.00)
1925 Peace Dollar MS (Toned) https://imgur.com/a/f3axbv2 (35.00)
1934 D MS62 DBL DIE OBV VAM-3 Peace Dollar (Soapbox) https://imgur.com/a/ScGb7bg (350.00)
1934 D AU58 VAM-3 DDO LG D Peace Dollar (Soapbox) https://imgur.com/a/dHDSh01 (250.00)
1997 Proof Silver Eagle (OGP) https://imgur.com/a/kZd3qoZ (85.00)
2005 Silver Eagle First Strike MS69 https://imgur.com/a/pxRPFuS (42.00)
2005 Silver Eagle MS69 https://imgur.com/a/GCkFghF (40.00)
Video 2: https://imgur.com/a/Yl2VsqP
2005 Silver Eagle MS69 https://imgur.com/a/zxzSuSv (40.00)
2011 Silver Eagle First Strike Struck at San Francisco MS69 https://imgur.com/a/wbiDsUC (42.00)
2011 Silver Eagle Silver Eagle 25th Anniversary Set First Strike MS69 https://imgur.com/a/6IxrSpb (42.00)
2013 (S) Silver Eagle First Strike Struck at San Francisco MS69 https://imgur.com/a/X5IzVR9 (42.00)
2013 (S) Silver Eagle Early Releases Struck at San Francisco MS69 https://imgur.com/a/SV5Xj43 (42.00)
Half Dollars
1856 O Half Dollar F (Scratches) https://imgur.com/a/7HbE52C (30.00)
1858 O Seated Half Dollar VF (Toned and Graffiti) https://imgur.com/a/eGkR5lM (45.00)
1946 AU58 Half Dollar DDR (Subtle Blue and Gold Toner in a Soap Box) https://imgur.com/a/cnLo0uV (375.00)
Error Link: https://www.pcgs.com/coinfacts/coin/1946-50c-doubled-die-reverse/6632
Quarters
1857 Seated Quarter High VF (Holed) https://imgur.com/a/7xhqPUZ (25.00)
1871 S G Seated Quarter (Key Date!) (Counterstamped) https://imgur.com/a/yfl3y0h (450.00)
1893 S Barber Quarter VG (Gorgeous Toner) https://imgur.com/a/WcLNcJb (45.00)
Video 2: https://imgur.com/a/mr6RPW0
1905 O Barber Quarter F https://imgur.com/a/mntr7ex (50.00)
1917 T1 SLQ VG https://imgur.com/a/V7dYoPc (40.00)
Dimes
1929 D MS64FB Merc (Toned) https://imgur.com/a/vK1aCx4 (195.00)
Video 2: https://imgur.com/a/VAeQgL2
1957 D MS66 Dime (Toner) https://imgur.com/a/Cfl2KJY (40.00)
(3) Rainbow Toned Silver Dimes https://imgur.com/a/L4iVzwI (15.00)
1964 PF68 Ultra Cameo Dime https://imgur.com/a/0jkPTSz (50.00)
Anicents
Maximinus I Denarius MS ⅘, ⅘ https://imgur.com/a/5u7GLt1 (350.00)
ROMAN EMPIRE: Maximinus I, AD 235-238, AR Denarius (20mm, 3.59 gm, 12h). NGC MS 4/5 - 4/5. Rome, ca. January AD 236-April AD 238. MAXIMINVS PIVS AVG GERM, laureate, draped, cuirassed bust of Maximinus I right / FIDES M-I-LITVM, Fides standing facing, head left, with standard in each hand, one on each side. RIC IV.II 18A.
Red Books (Can use either media mail or generic shipping)
2014 Edition https://imgur.com/a/yclWXDz (5.00)
2015 Edition (2 Available) https://imgur.com/a/tIroEM8 (5.00)
2016 Edition https://imgur.com/a/wlmjSfQ (5.00)
Blue Books (Can use either media mail or generic shipping)
2006 Edition https://imgur.com/a/nEEgoVM (5.00)
2012 Edition https://imgur.com/a/OkwSBDO (5.00)
Albums
2010 National Parks (2 Available) https://imgur.com/a/yFr8PIf (1.00)
2013 National Parks (2 Available) https://imgur.com/a/Hdi3CH0 (1.00)
Washington Quarters State Collection 1999-2003 Volume One (Bent on front page) https://imgur.com/a/uVPBDEl (1.50)
Quarters (Partially written in) https://imgur.com/a/SfBFgQv (1.50)
Mercury Dimes 1916-1945 Archival Quality (2 Available) https://imgur.com/a/eCcouZa (8.00)
Nickels (Partially written in) https://imgur.com/a/zZGi6oH (2.50)
Euro Collection (Very nice book) https://imgur.com/a/ns7iXzV (20.00)
The Official United States Mint Coin Album - Presidential $1 Coins (5 Available) https://imgur.com/a/1rJ1P5M (5.00)
Roosevelt Dimes 1946-1987 https://imgur.com/a/QjCbPSV (11.00)
John F. Kennedy 1964 - https://imgur.com/a/3WWjf5f (15.00)
Franklin Head Half Dollars 1948 - (Partially written in) (Missing one Plastic Slip) https://imgur.com/a/x52QxZH (11.00)
Liberty Walking Half Dollars Part 2 1937-1947 https://imgur.com/a/FZGyKyU (15.00)
General Album Coin Sets https://imgur.com/a/AScFqsi (25.00)
John F. Kennedy 1964 - (Partially written in) https://imgur.com/a/6ubYLBP (13.00)
Large Coin Cases
Silver Jefferson Nickel Coin Display (Coin holders and untested and uncounted, but it looks fine to me) https://imgur.com/a/iq7qHWu (8.00)
Small Coin Cases (I have never used any of these, screws tightness is unknown)
Coin Holder Boxes (3) https://imgur.com/a/NB2V2gt (10.00 Total)
Three Coin Snap Box https://imgur.com/a/olEbGaT (10.00)
Kennedy Half Dollar Coin Display (Capsule Missing) https://imgur.com/a/bhVAEgy (3.00)
5 Dollar Gold Case https://imgur.com/a/6UuQK3Z (8.00)
2.50 Dollar Gold Case https://imgur.com/a/x7yw3hF (4.00)
10 Dollar Gold Case https://imgur.com/a/CGme2nv (8.00)
20 Dollar Gold Case (Missing three screws) https://imgur.com/a/axQ98WS (4.00)
20 Dollar Gold Case (Missing three screws) https://imgur.com/a/f1Ifhrn (4.00)
Shipping for coins (non-coins vary) is 5 Dollars for 12 ounces total weight or less, 8 dollars for over 12 ounces; I am accepting Zelle (Preferred), PPFF (No notes pls), Cashpp, and Venmo FF (No notes pls). (USA only for these rates, special rates of other locations).
For Canada: Shipping for coins (non-coins vary) is 15 Dollars for 8 ounces total weight or less, 23 Dollars for 9 ounces or more.
I can risky ship anything that can be reasonable sent in a regular envelope with a stamp or two for a dollar of shipping
Disclaimer: I lose all responsibility once I drop the package at the post office, but I will help in any way I can for any issues that occur. I will ship once payment clears (once it no longer says pending in my bank account) (Zelle normally is good to go the next day, PP and Venmo can take a few days). Also, deposits can be made for any item for 25 percent or more of the agreed price, but the deposit is nonrefundable. All Payments are nonrefundable.

Proof: https://imgur.com/a/5MzV85E
If there is anything you are interested in, just let me know. I am always willing to hear any offer. The worst thing I will do is shoot back a counteroffer.
Payment plans are available. More details at the bottom of the post.
All non-pms are on coinsales
All Prices are USD
I am Located in the US
I prefer chat, but pms are fine
I prefer to make sales, but I am willing to entertain trades. One thing I specifically want though is Sierra Leone Company coinage, nice graded pieces more so.
For any coins you may want still shots of, or possibly a video in different lighting, please let me know. I will never have an issue doing this.
I have US coins and foreign coins. Look through it all, you may find something you did not know you wanted. If you want something I do not have, let me know. I may possibly be able to obtain some, or I could already have it.
All grades are my personal opinion, except those that are professionally graded. All Coins I marked as damaged, for the most part, I am unsure if they would grade straight or not; I just wanted to be transparent about them even though they still may be straight grade.
Dollars
1879 S MS65 DMPL Morgan (Soapbox) https://imgur.com/a/dSM7SRF (1400.00)
1879 S MS64 Morgan (Toner in a Fatty) https://imgur.com/a/Te21BkM (135.00)
1880 Morgan AU https://imgur.com/a/3RRfSv9 (50.00)
1880 S MS64 Morgan (Semi PL and Purple Toner in a Gen 1 Soapbox) https://imgur.com/a/wLZeRnc (195.00)
1883 O Morgan MS https://imgur.com/a/KVBtNCu (65.00)
1883 O Morgan AU https://imgur.com/a/ucu6S8l (50.00)
1884 MS Morgan VAM-4, Small Dot, Top 100 https://imgur.com/a/1X0RS05 (85.00)
Images: https://imgur.com/a/ImdAn9A
Vam Link: http://ec2-13-58-222-16.us-east-2.compute.amazonaws.com/wiki/1884-P\_VAM-4
1884 O MS67 Morgan (Crazy Mega Toner) https://imgur.com/a/R97TekR (4200.00)
1884 O MS63 DMPL Morgan (Purple Toner in a Gen 1 Soapbox) https://imgur.com/a/K8LT2xN (500.00)
1884 CC MS64 Morgan (Toner in a Soapbox) https://imgur.com/a/b9NofJA (550.00)
1884 CC MS64 Morgan (Semi PL Lust Bomb in a Soapbox) https://imgur.com/a/YyD6l6w (515.00)
1886 MS62 PL Morgan (Rattler) https://imgur.com/a/vMDnM9P (200.00)
1886 MS63 Morgan https://imgur.com/a/aX4OnLR (65.00)
Video 2: https://imgur.com/a/Ld9Ki9f
1888 Morgan AU https://imgur.com/a/nJTeozn (50.00)
1889 Morgan AU (Bright) https://imgur.com/a/Gbb4gg9 (45.00)
1890 O Morgan XF https://imgur.com/a/lFaJDBw (45.00)
1892 O Morgan High VF (Bright) https://imgur.com/a/ku4xPq5 (65.00)
1896 Morgan AU (Toned) https://imgur.com/a/1fnvXym (55.00)
1896 Morgan AU (Toned) https://imgur.com/a/e7c4enc (55.00)
1896 Morgan AU (Toned) https://imgur.com/a/g01zDBo (55.00)
1896 AU Morgan https://imgur.com/a/Rc313b7 (45.00)
1898 Morgan AU (Toned) https://imgur.com/a/TzJgNcA (55.00)
1898 Morgan XF https://imgur.com/a/8hTB6Ot (45.00)
1900 Lafayette MS60 Soap Box (Toner) https://imgur.com/a/JZdDjVm (925.00)
1921 MS63 PL Morgan (Soapbox) https://imgur.com/a/eRBR2Nw (500.00)
1921 MS63 PL Morgan (Soapbox) https://imgur.com/a/VfFMADA (500.00)
1921 MS63 Peace Dollar (Fatty) https://imgur.com/a/UbYm0VG (1050.00)
1922 MS65 Peace Dollar (Funky Blue Toner) https://imgur.com/a/FQQQEqT (200.00)
1923 MS63 Peace Dollar (Gen 2 Soapbox) https://imgur.com/a/9yg4TVy (70.00)
1925 Peace Dollar MS (Toned) https://imgur.com/a/f3axbv2 (35.00)
1934 D MS62 DBL DIE OBV VAM-3 Peace Dollar (Soapbox) https://imgur.com/a/ScGb7bg (350.00)
1934 D AU58 VAM-3 DDO LG D Peace Dollar (Soapbox) https://imgur.com/a/dHDSh01 (250.00)
1997 Proof Silver Eagle (OGP) https://imgur.com/a/kZd3qoZ (85.00)
2005 Silver Eagle First Strike MS69 https://imgur.com/a/pxRPFuS (42.00)
2005 Silver Eagle MS69 https://imgur.com/a/GCkFghF (40.00)
Video 2: https://imgur.com/a/Yl2VsqP
2005 Silver Eagle MS69 https://imgur.com/a/zxzSuSv (40.00)
2011 Silver Eagle First Strike Struck at San Francisco MS69 https://imgur.com/a/wbiDsUC (42.00)
2011 Silver Eagle Silver Eagle 25th Anniversary Set First Strike MS69 https://imgur.com/a/6IxrSpb (42.00)
2013 (S) Silver Eagle First Strike Struck at San Francisco MS69 https://imgur.com/a/X5IzVR9 (42.00)
2013 (S) Silver Eagle Early Releases Struck at San Francisco MS69 https://imgur.com/a/SV5Xj43 (42.00)
2018 P Brilliant Uncirculated American Innovation: G. Washington-Signed 1st Patent https://imgur.com/a/U5n0oCs (7.00)
2018 D Brilliant Uncirculated American Innovation: G. Washington-Signed 1st Patent https://imgur.com/a/sQZQWiL (7.00)
Half Dollars
1856 O Half Dollar F (Scratches) https://imgur.com/a/7HbE52C (30.00)
1858 O Seated Half Dollar VF (Toned and Graffiti) https://imgur.com/a/eGkR5lM (45.00)
1946 AU58 Half Dollar DDR (Subtle Blue and Gold Toner in a Soap Box) https://imgur.com/a/cnLo0uV (375.00)
Error Link: https://www.pcgs.com/coinfacts/coin/1946-50c-doubled-die-reverse/6632
Quarters
1857 Seated Quarter High VF (Holed) https://imgur.com/a/7xhqPUZ (25.00)
1871 S G Seated Quarter (Key Date!) (Counterstamped) https://imgur.com/a/yfl3y0h (450.00)
1893 S Barber Quarter VG (Gorgeous Toner) https://imgur.com/a/WcLNcJb (45.00)
Video 2: https://imgur.com/a/mr6RPW0
1905 O Barber Quarter F https://imgur.com/a/mntr7ex (50.00)
1917 T1 SLQ VG https://imgur.com/a/V7dYoPc (40.00)
Dimes
1929 D MS64FB Merc (Toned) https://imgur.com/a/vK1aCx4 (195.00)
Video 2: https://imgur.com/a/VAeQgL2
1957 D MS66 Dime (Toner) https://imgur.com/a/Cfl2KJY (40.00)
(3) Rainbow Toned Silver Dimes https://imgur.com/a/L4iVzwI (15.00)
1964 PF68 Ultra Cameo Dime https://imgur.com/a/0jkPTSz (50.00)
Cents
Coronet Head Large Cent (Damaged) https://imgur.com/a/LPQReIN (3.00)
1845 Large Cent VG (Damaged) https://imgur.com/a/QK61HWw (6.00)
1858 Flying Eagle Cent VG https://imgur.com/a/ATrETkf (20.00)
1858 Flying Eagle Cent FR https://imgur.com/a/7uqYwO1 (15.00)
1873 Open 3 AU Details Corrosion IHC (Attractive Coin!) https://imgur.com/a/nuAw0vJ (135.00)
1946-D MS67 RED Soapbox https://imgur.com/a/JCwe4i1 (155.00)
Anicents
Maximinus I Denarius MS ⅘, ⅘ https://imgur.com/a/5u7GLt1 (350.00)
ROMAN EMPIRE: Maximinus I, AD 235-238, AR Denarius (20mm, 3.59 gm, 12h). NGC MS 4/5 - 4/5. Rome, ca. January AD 236-April AD 238. MAXIMINVS PIVS AVG GERM, laureate, draped, cuirassed bust of Maximinus I right / FIDES M-I-LITVM, Fides standing facing, head left, with standard in each hand, one on each side. RIC IV.II 18A.
Foreign
1988 United Kingdom Proof Set https://imgur.com/a/MNdJZDQ (15.00)
Large Bills
1899 1 https://imgur.com/a/uvJxNHU (175.00)
Small Bills
1995 20 Dollar Bill (2 Available) https://imgur.com/a/3d3Mymm (23.00)
1988 A 20 Dollar Bill https://imgur.com/a/wQiTf9Q (25.00)
1981 A 20 Dollar Bill https://imgur.com/a/4yQEWOi (23.00)
1995 10 Dollar Bill https://imgur.com/a/Q2tIpVv (14.00)
1993 10 Dollar Bill https://imgur.com/a/Ru7ufjX (14.00)
1985 10 Dollar Bill (3 Available) https://imgur.com/a/Fdr38D5 (15.00)
2013 5 Dollar Bill Serial Number 80880888 (Missing Corner) https://imgur.com/a/PV0IBh0 (10.00)
1995 5 Dollar Bill https://imgur.com/60BBMkd (7.50)
2013 1 Dollar Bill Serial Number 00000364 https://imgur.com/a/Gl2388W (35.00)
2001 1 Dollar Bill https://imgur.com/lq1pWsr (1.00)
1999 1 Dollar Bill (6 Available) https://imgur.com/sJ6knnx (1.00)
1995 1 Dollar Bill (8 Available) https://imgur.com/a/SlZZPAK (1.00)
1988 A 1 Dollar Bill (2 Available) https://imgur.com/p79UNha (1.00)
1977 1 Dollar Bill https://imgur.com/a/t0li3RE (2.00)
Red Books (Can use either media mail or generic shipping)
2014 Edition https://imgur.com/a/yclWXDz (5.00)
2015 Edition (2 Available) https://imgur.com/a/tIroEM8 (5.00)
2016 Edition https://imgur.com/a/wlmjSfQ (5.00)
Blue Books (Can use either media mail or generic shipping)
2006 Edition https://imgur.com/a/nEEgoVM (5.00)
2012 Edition https://imgur.com/a/OkwSBDO (5.00)
Albums
2010 National Parks (2 Available) https://imgur.com/a/yFr8PIf (1.00)
2013 National Parks (2 Available) https://imgur.com/a/Hdi3CH0 (1.00)
Washington Quarters State Collection 1999-2003 Volume One (Bent on front page) https://imgur.com/a/uVPBDEl (1.50)
Quarters (Partially written in) https://imgur.com/a/SfBFgQv (1.50)
Mercury Dimes 1916-1945 Archival Quality (2 Available) https://imgur.com/a/eCcouZa (8.00)
Nickels (Partially written in) https://imgur.com/a/zZGi6oH (2.50)
Euro Collection (Very nice book) https://imgur.com/a/ns7iXzV (20.00)
The Official United States Mint Coin Album - Presidential $1 Coins (5 Available) https://imgur.com/a/1rJ1P5M (5.00)
Roosevelt Dimes 1946-1987 https://imgur.com/a/QjCbPSV (11.00)
John F. Kennedy 1964 - https://imgur.com/a/3WWjf5f (15.00)
Franklin Head Half Dollars 1948 - (Partially written in) (Missing one Plastic Slip) https://imgur.com/a/x52QxZH (11.00)
Liberty Walking Half Dollars Part 2 1937-1947 https://imgur.com/a/FZGyKyU (15.00)
General Album Coin Sets https://imgur.com/a/AScFqsi (25.00)
John F. Kennedy 1964 - (Partially written in) https://imgur.com/a/6ubYLBP (13.00)
Large Coin Cases
Silver Jefferson Nickel Coin Display (Coin holders and untested and uncounted, but it looks fine to me) https://imgur.com/a/iq7qHWu (8.00)
Small Coin Cases (I have never used any of these, screws tightness is unknown)
Coin Holder Boxes (3) https://imgur.com/a/NB2V2gt (10.00 Total)
Three Coin Snap Box https://imgur.com/a/olEbGaT (10.00)
Kennedy Half Dollar Coin Display (Capsule Missing) https://imgur.com/a/bhVAEgy (3.00)
5 Dollar Gold Case https://imgur.com/a/6UuQK3Z (8.00)
2.50 Dollar Gold Case https://imgur.com/a/x7yw3hF (4.00)
10 Dollar Gold Case https://imgur.com/a/CGme2nv (8.00)
20 Dollar Gold Case (Missing three screws) https://imgur.com/a/axQ98WS (4.00)
20 Dollar Gold Case (Missing three screws) https://imgur.com/a/f1Ifhrn (4.00)
Shipping for coins (non-coins vary) is 5 Dollars for 12 ounces total weight or less, 8 dollars for over 12 ounces; I am accepting Zelle (Preferred), PPFF (No notes pls), Cashpp, and Venmo FF (No notes pls). (USA only for these rates, special rates of other locations).
For Canada: Shipping for coins (non-coins vary) is 15 Dollars for 8 ounces total weight or less, 23 Dollars for 9 ounces or more.
I can risky ship anything that can be reasonable sent in a regular envelope with a stamp or two for a dollar of shipping
Disclaimer: I lose all responsibility once I drop the package at the post office, but I will help in any way I can for any issues that occur. I will ship once payment clears (once it no longer says pending in my bank account) (Zelle normally is good to go the next day, PP and Venmo can take a few days). Also, deposits can be made for any item for 25 percent or more of the agreed price, but the deposit is nonrefundable. All Payments are nonrefundable.

Author note: The Cryopod to Hell is a Reddit-exclusive story with over three years of editing and refining. As of this post, the total rewrite is 2,170,000+ words long! For more information, check out the link below:
What is the Cryopod to Hell?
Join the Cryoverse Discord server!
Here's a list of all Cryopod's chapters, along with an ePub/Mobi/PDF version!
Want to stay up to date on TCTH? Subscribe to Cryopodbot!
...................................
(Previous Part)
(Part 001)
On the world of Volgarius, inside the Founder's Thumb.
Unarin calmly walks into the main command center of the upper floors. He pauses for a second, looking at the dedicated team of Technopaths and Changelings who keep his mighty empire running, with all of them either directly linked to massive central networks that collect and gather information from abroad, or those who remain in contact with military forces currently in conflict.
In the center of the room, a massive hologram of the Milky Way spirals slowly above a table with a hole cut in is center. Various items sit on the tabletop, including datapads, experimental technology that has yet to be deployed in the field, and important design documents in need of approval.
Standing in the center of the table is none other than Unarin's obsidian-skinned brother, Randis, one of the three Ascended that live permanently inside the Founder's Thumb.
Randis looks up at the galactic hologram. Hundreds of points of light stand out from the rest, with some of them colored red, some colored yellow, and some colored blue. As for the vast majority, they are colored red.
The different colors, of course, represent worlds in various levels of danger, usually due to the Plague. White-colored worlds have no current major problems to speak of, and can run without Randis's intervention. Blue worlds exist in the periphery of danger and could come under threat at any time. Yellow worlds are at extreme risk from the Plague or have had major disruptions reported, while the red worlds are under attack and require immediate assistance.
When Unarin glances at the current situation of the Milky Way, as he usually does, he pauses for a moment to frown.
Slowly, he walks over to the edge of the table while his brother Randis continues to focus on the projection above him, reaching out to touch the differently-colored dots and issue commands to the forces stationed on those worlds as required.
After ten long seconds of silence, irritation flashes across Randis's face. He doesn't look at Unarin, but his attention noticeably shifts to the red-skinned Ascended.
"What is it?"
Randis's tone does not contain any warmth or brotherly love. He continues to remain focused on his duties.
"The number of Reds seems lower than usual." Unarin says. "Substantially so."
"You can thank the demons for that." Randis says. "Diablo has been up to his usual antics. He has 'helpfully' liberated more than a hundred worlds from the Plague so far. Curiously, he tends to focus on worlds currently in the process of being overrun, not worlds that have long become Kolvaxian strongholds."
"He's stopping the Plague from expanding." Unarin says mildly. "But at the same time, he's taking territory away from us. He's earning double the gains while expending half the effort."
"It's truly a genius play." Randis praises sarcastically. "And we can't do anything to stop him. The worlds he's taking from us were already going to be overrun by the Plague anyway. We just have to grit our teeth and endure."
"The Plague makes no further gains, we continue to lose power, and the Demons only strengthen over time." Unarin concludes. "This situation is starting to feel... untenable."
"Indeed." Randis says.
He continues to interact with the Volgrim Net, communicating in parallel with thousands of Volgrim thanks to his exceptional brain and talent at multi-tasking, but this doesn't even slightly harm his ability to hold a conversation.
"Is that all?" Randis eventually asks.
Unarin folds his hands behind his back. Then, he turns and walks away.
"Yes. That is all, brother. Keep up the good work."
"Don't tell me what to do." Randis retorts. "I am well aware of what our Empire needs."
Unarin pauses to look back at his brother, but eventually continues on his way without saying a word.
As he exits the Command Center, Unarin encounters Muuxunuu, his trusted administrator of affairs. She stands silently in the hallway, clearly waiting for him to exit, with her palms clasped at her waist.
"He still hates me." Unarin mutters.
"Yes." Muuxunuu says, in that same semi-robotic tone she always uses. "This is unlikely to change at any point in the future without external means."
Unarin smiles. He walks up to Muuxunuu and reaches his hand out to stroke her hair-tendrils. Her expression remains impassive as he kneads and toys with them lovingly, but her eyes do twitch slightly, revealing some sort of suppressed emotion.
"You used to love when I did this." Unarin murmurs. "What I wouldn't give to go back to those days..."
"My likes and dislikes are irrelevant." Muuxunuu says. "I came to find you because it is time for the Ascension Refresh."
"Oh." Unarin says as he reaches over to hold her chin in his hands, massaging the tip of her jaw with his thumb. "So soon? Feels like I did it just a few cycles ago."
"Synchronization coherency has decreased by 1.2% as a result of losing two worlds critical to the Ascension Net's infrastructure." Muuxunuu explains, unmoved by Unarin's touch. "The Ascension Net is at risk of decoupling several million users as a result."
Unarin finally pulls his hands away from Muuxunuu and sighs heavily, as if the weight of the world has momentarily increased by a hundredfold.
"Very well. I guess I'll deal with that, next."
He and Muuxunuu turn and walk down the hallway together. Unarin deliberately places his hand on Muuxunuu's back, but like always, she does not respond to his touch.
Even so, it still provides the First Founder a faint sense of comfort.
"Truly, I miss the old times..." He says to himself.
The two ascend upstairs until they reach Unarin's Sanctum, then they head inside through its giant double doors. Unarin and Muuxunuu eventually step into a small room located off to the side where a large glass pod filled with bubbling liquid resides.
Without fanfare, Unarin strips off his clothes, then climbs above the tank and hops inside, inhaling deeply to fill his lungs with the watery concoction.
Following this, he waits.
His consciousness becomes hazy.
His eyes begin to flutter...
He drifts off into an endless sleep, all while Muuxunuu keeps careful watch over his body's physical condition.
...
Unarin awakens.
He opens his eyes to find himself dressed in a resplendent and glorious military uniform, one that denotes his status as the Highest Among High. Its white color and red pinstripes give him a distinctive flair for the extravagant, making him appear a leader among exobeasts.
The world fizzles around Unarin, and countless tall, glittering white structures spring into existence.
Different from the bland and utilitarian stratoscrapers on Volgarius, these buildings only rise up a few thousand feet into the sky, and each one is completely unique. One building resembles a corkscrew with a lance stabbed through its center, as if someone had enveloped an ancient weapon with an observation deck just for their own pleasure.
Another structure looks like a series of geometric shapes stacked on top of and beside one another, making it mind-bending to look at.
And still another resembles a giant statue of Unarin himself, his palm lifted before himself, a simulacrum of the Milky Way suspended above his palm, slowly rotating as if to imply the First Founder has the entire galaxy in his grasp. What is most impressive, though, is that the miniature galaxy is not a hologram, but more than a billion tiny spheres, each a quarter the size of a standard playing marble, and all of them colored and carved with intricate detail to reflect the properties of the worlds and stars they represent.
How long could such an incredible display have taken to create? Only the greatest craftsman among the Ascended would know...
Unarin finds himself standing inside the Ascension Net, where hundreds of thousands of other Ascended walk around, their differently-colored skin making them resemble a living rainbow made of flesh and cloth. Surprisingly, most of the Ascended do not look impressive. They wear ordinary civilian clothes with simple colors and basic patterns. But among them, elites stick out here and there, wearing more elaborate military garb, training outfits for combat, and even heavy armor meant for military warfare. Innumerable trillions of Ascended live their lives inside the Ascension Net, but in this particular capital city, only fifty million or so can call it their home.
The moment Unarin arrives, the beautiful blackened starry sky above changes color. Its hue turns red, and an automated voice speaks from above.
"First Founder Unarin has made landfall in the city district of New Velaria. All citizens in the area, be alert for his movements and show all proper respect to his greatness."
Immediately, every Ascended in the city pauses what they are doing to look around them, uncertain where Unarin has arrived. Those nearest the First Founder spot him before the rest, and excitement appears in their eyes.
"He's here! First Founder! We are honored by your presence!"
"The Greatest Ascended! Everyone, show respect!"
"Step aside, Lord Vetreus is on his way!"
Countless cries go up among the crowd. Even after a million years of coming into the Ascension Net, Unarin has not spoken to or contacted more than 90% of the Volgrim currently residing within it. A chance to get just a glimpse of the First Founder is unfathomably rare, so his appearances always spark a great fervor among the crowd.
"Everyone, everyone. Thank you." Unarin says politely, nodding to those nearby while offering a friendly wave. Unlike the heavy emotions he displayed before entering the Ascension Net, he puts on a good show of compassion and strength for his fellow Ascended. "You honor me."
The crowd continues to cheer, while a noticeably taller blue-skinned Ascended wearing a black uniform pushes through them, making his way toward Unarin. When he reaches the First Founder, he pauses to bow at the waist.
"Founder Unarin. Thank you for visiting my city."
"Brother Vetreus," Unarin says, walking over to pat the other's shoulder. "There's no need to stand on formality. Let us retire to a quieter place. I need to speak with the Velaria Council."
"Of course." Vetreus says, straightening his posture to return to his full height. He stands more than a head taller than the First Founder, yet his presence somehow seems smaller due to Unarin's regal aura. "No doubt, they are already preparing for your arrival."
The two of them cut through the crowd, with all the Ascended nearby spreading out and making room for Unarin to walk. None of them do anything as vulgar as attempting to touch or speak to him, as their respect for him is higher than the heavens!
Before long, Unarin and Vetreus walk into a large building best described as a series of cubes separated by various walkways, each cube representing a structure isolated from the rest, levitating in the air via anti-gravitic propulsion. The extravagant cost of such a building could not easily be paid in the modern times; only in the Ascension Net where resources are practically infinite.
"Tell me," Vetreus says casually. "How goes the War outside?"
"Quite well." Unarin says with a smile. "The Volgrim still rule the galaxy. As of late, the Plague has all but frozen its advance thanks to assistance from a certain group of mud-dwellers. They came up with an innovative method to push those monsters back, and as a result we have begun to make inroads towards claiming the lost territory once again."
"Good. Good!" Vetrues says twice. "In truth, First Founder, I was beginning to feel dread toward the situation outside. The Ascended could be an incredible asset in the War. Why have you held off on at least deploying our elite shock troops?"
Unarin shakes his head. "It would be a complete loss for us if the Plague managed to capture just one Ascended. Its ability to assimilate the strengths of those it devours makes the Plague a fearsome adversary. Do you want the bodies of every Kolvaxian to become as strong as ours?"
"Hmm... that is true." Vetreus murmurs with a troubled expression. "I suppose that means you do not intend for our people to make their arrival onto the scene just yet."
"If I can help it, none of the Ascended will ever do battle with the Kolvaxians." Unarin sighs heavily. "The day I issue that demand will be the day I must admit the war is likely lost."
Vetreus pauses his walking to turn and direct a grim gaze at Unarin.
"Brother Unarin. Do you truly have so little faith in us?"
"It's not that." Unarin says, smiling weakly. "But if the true power of the Ascended must be unleashed, I would rather it be in glorious battle against the Dark Ones, rather than their weakest minions..."
"Ah. Then I shall not press the issue further." Vetreus concedes.
They resume walking, enter a grav-lift, and transfer between three different levitating cube-facilities before arriving in the uppermost one, where they step into a conference room with fifteen chairs positioned around a table.
At once, beams of light flash inside the room. Thirteen different Ascended materialize, each one a powerful warrior, diplomat, or other such talented figure of ancient yore. They wear extravagant robes, uniforms, and light armor, making them appear either fearsome or renowned in some capacity.
Even so, none of them immediately speak, but instead bow their heads to wait while Unarin walks to the head of the table, and pulls out the chair there.
As he takes a seat, with Vetreus sitting on his immediate right, Unarin waves his hand.
"Begin."
The other thirteen raise their heads. They also sit down, lining the table off into the distance as they look at Unarin with respectful gazes.
"First Founder." A blue-skinned woman on Unarin's left says. Her crimson eyes and ornately decorated hail-tendrils give her a princess-like vibe. "Recently, 20 million Ascended were abruptly disconnected from the Ascension Net. I would like to know what caused this malfunction."
Unarin's right eye twitches. "Lady Perii. A world essential to the Ascension Net's infrastructure was overtaken by the Plague. As a result, we suffered a momentary but severe outage until the backups on other worlds took over the processing burden."
He pauses for half a breath before adding, "But you need not be worried. We have backed up the connections and restored those we lost. They will return soon enough."
"That is good." Perii says slowly. She runs her fingers along the seams of her ornate red and gold dress, accentuating her figure. "But what of the War situation? For an entire planet to fall..."
"We lose minor planets all the time." Unarin says dismissively. "They do not possess much value, so we ignore them. Rarely do the Volgrim suffer a loss to our core systems. As I told Vetreus on the way here, one of our vassal species, the Demons, has recently obtained a unique ability to devour the Plague. Emperor Diablo has been core in pushing the Plague back, and thus we are looking to reward him with commendations, given time."
"So there is a light at the end of the galaxy." Another female Volgrim says. With skin as black as Randis's, she wears a light ensemble of skull-covered armor and other decorations on her tendrils to make herself appear fearsome to her foes. "Does that mean that you do not intend to awaken the Ascended after all?"
"Apologies, Admiral Merris." Unarin says. "I have not yet made up my mind. The War is looking winnable now, but it will take time for us to be sure."
"Mmm..." Merris says, her eyebrows knitting together. "My soldiers have long looked forward to making their triumphant return to the outer galaxy. I hope you will make a determination sooner rather than later."
Unarin tosses his hands lightly. "There are many conflicting factors at play. Placing the Ascended in the Plague's way could serve to empower our foes. I do not wish to do that unless necessary. In the meantime, Project Blinding Light may serve a greater purpose in the future. You should all prepare yourselves in case I need you to activate it."
"Is the project ready?" Perii asks. "I was under the impression it was... only experimental."
"It is." Unarin says mildly. "But should a crisis emerge, it will perform as predicted. I have looked into the theory myself and validated it with the High Technopaths."
"We should abide by Unarin's commands." Vetreus says, warning his fellow council members. "He is the one who saved our Empire. Unarin knows best."
"Unarin knows best." The other Ascended say, nodding their heads at him.
The meeting continues for a while, with Unarin informing everyone of the goings-on in the outer galaxy. Eventually, he concludes the talks, and departs the room with Vetreus at his side.
As the two men walk down the hall, Vetreus smiles at Unarin.
"All this heavy talk makes one's mind weak. Let us discuss something lighter."
Unarin nods. "That would be best."
"Your wife!" Vetreus says cheerfully. "How is she faring these days? She still has yet to enter the Ascended Net. She's still alive, isn't she?"
Unarin's expression remains calm. However, a faint gloominess builds up in his eyes. He lowers his gaze for a moment while he walks, but Vetreus does not notice.
"Yes. Muuxunuu... she is as well as ever." Unarin says numbly. "I've asked her to visit the Ascension Net time and time again, but she simply doesn't seem interested. I'm sorry for her... lack of concern."
"No, no. It is fine." Vetreus says, still smiling. "Lady Muuxunuu is truly the most beautiful of our people. The kindest, most compassionate. Ahh, so many suitors were jealous that you won her hand, back in the ancient times. Everyone feels more assured because she is there to keep your spirits up while you fight this damned War."
"Aye. Every time I look at her..." Unarin says, his words catching in his throat for half a breath, "...I feel the same love that I always have."
"Good, good." Vetreus says. "And what of Randis? Is your brother doing well, too?"
"He leads the war effort." Unarin says neutrally. "Every day, he manages tens of thousands of minor and major matters. The Empire would not be the same without him behind the scenes. Randis is... truly irreplaceable."
"Haha, excellent, most excellent." Vetreus says, never once having noticed the faint pain in Unarin's voice. To him, the First Founder has always been a cold and logical Sentient. He does not seem to be acting out of character in the least. "If it were not for the three of you, we might never have defeated those damned Sentinels. You must take care to always stick together, First Founder. Only the bonds of love you three share can give you the strength to stand bravely against our monstrous foes."
Unarin swallows a lump in his throat. "I couldn't... put it better if I tried."
Unarin finishes his business inside the Ascension Net, then he eventually disconnects.
His consciousness resurfaces inside the tank full of liquid, and he emerges from its watery depths soaked to the bone.
As the First Founder climbs out of the tank and splashes messily across the floor, Muuxunuu stands at the ready, a large towel held in her grasp.
"First Founder." Muuxunuu says emotionlessly. "Allow me to dry your body."
"Oh. You don't have to do that..." Unarin says. "I'll just use a sonic shower."
"Your statement is correct. I do not have to." Muuxunuu says. "But I still wish to do so."
"That... alright then." Unarin says softly.
He extends his arms outward, allowing the pink-skinned Ascended woman to wipe at his nude body, drying him attentively.
As Muuxunuu starts from his feet and works her way up, her eyes meet Unarin's when she goes to dry his arms. In that instant, a faint spark appears in her pupils.
But then it disappears.
She looks away and finishes drying him off.
Then, she steps back and looks at him with no expression at all.
"The task is finished. I have cleaned your clothes and set them over there."
Unarin doesn't immediately walk over to where she indicated. Instead, he stands in place, looking at her with a complicated gaze.
He takes a step toward Muuxunuu, and she remains in place.
Then he takes another step, and another...
He walks over to her, then strokes her neck with his hand. He plays with her hair-tendrils, but she still shows no reaction.
"You know..." Unarin says quietly. "Brother Vetreus asked about you. I had to lie to him again."
"What is there to lie about?" Muuxunuu asks, uncomprehending.
"What, indeed?" Unarin says bitterly.
He leans his face towards hers, as if to gently kiss her, but he pauses mid-movement and pulls away.
"No." Unarin says, lowering his eyes. "I don't deserve it."
Ultimately, he turns away from Muuxunuu and slowly shuffles back to his regal garb. He slides his robes back on, but each piece of fabric presses on him like an anvil, the burden of their significance feeling unearned, and making him uncomfortable from the bottom of his soul.
After he finishes, Unarin stares ahead blankly at the wall.
"...It was the right thing to do." He whispers. "I had to do it. It was the only way."
"But why... why did she have to pay the heaviest price?"
The question he whispers into the void receives no reply.
Perhaps there are no longer any who are capable of answering...

On the world of Volgarius, inside the Founder's Thumb.
Unarin calmly walks into the main command center of the upper floors. He pauses for a second, looking at the dedicated team of Technopaths and Changelings who keep his mighty empire running, with all of them either directly linked to massive central networks that collect and gather information from abroad, or those who remain in contact with military forces currently in conflict.
In the center of the room, a massive hologram of the Milky Way spirals slowly above a table with a hole cut in is center. Various items sit on the tabletop, including datapads, experimental technology that has yet to be deployed in the field, and important design documents in need of approval.
Standing in the center of the table is none other than Unarin's obsidian-skinned brother, Randis, one of the three Ascended that live permanently inside the Founder's Thumb.
Randis looks up at the galactic hologram. Hundreds of points of light stand out from the rest, with some of them colored red, some colored yellow, and some colored blue. As for the vast majority, they are colored red.
The different colors, of course, represent worlds in various levels of danger, usually due to the Plague. White-colored worlds have no current major problems to speak of, and can run without Randis's intervention. Blue worlds exist in the periphery of danger and could come under threat at any time. Yellow worlds are at extreme risk from the Plague or have had major disruptions reported, while the red worlds are under attack and require immediate assistance.
When Unarin glances at the current situation of the Milky Way, as he usually does, he pauses for a moment to frown.
Slowly, he walks over to the edge of the table while his brother Randis continues to focus on the projection above him, reaching out to touch the differently-colored dots and issue commands to the forces stationed on those worlds as required.
After ten long seconds of silence, irritation flashes across Randis's face. He doesn't look at Unarin, but his attention noticeably shifts to the red-skinned Ascended.
"What is it?"
Randis's tone does not contain any warmth or brotherly love. He continues to remain focused on his duties.
"The number of Reds seems lower than usual." Unarin says. "Substantially so."
"You can thank the demons for that." Randis says. "Diablo has been up to his usual antics. He has 'helpfully' liberated more than a hundred worlds from the Plague so far. Curiously, he tends to focus on worlds currently in the process of being overrun, not worlds that have long become Kolvaxian strongholds."
"He's stopping the Plague from expanding." Unarin says mildly. "But at the same time, he's taking territory away from us. He's earning double the gains while expending half the effort."
"It's truly a genius play." Randis praises sarcastically. "And we can't do anything to stop him. The worlds he's taking from us were already going to be overrun by the Plague anyway. We just have to grit our teeth and endure."
"The Plague makes no further gains, we continue to lose power, and the Demons only strengthen over time." Unarin concludes. "This situation is starting to feel... untenable."
"Indeed." Randis says.
He continues to interact with the Volgrim Net, communicating in parallel with thousands of Volgrim thanks to his exceptional brain and talent at multi-tasking, but this doesn't even slightly harm his ability to hold a conversation.
"Is that all?" Randis eventually asks.
Unarin folds his hands behind his back. Then, he turns and walks away.
"Yes. That is all, brother. Keep up the good work."
"Don't tell me what to do." Randis retorts. "I am well aware of what our Empire needs."
Unarin pauses to look back at his brother, but eventually continues on his way without saying a word.
As he exits the Command Center, Unarin encounters Muuxunuu, his trusted administrator of affairs. She stands silently in the hallway, clearly waiting for him to exit, with her palms clasped at her waist.
"He still hates me." Unarin mutters.
"Yes." Muuxunuu says, in that same semi-robotic tone she always uses. "This is unlikely to change at any point in the future without external means."
Unarin smiles. He walks up to Muuxunuu and reaches his hand out to stroke her hair-tendrils. Her expression remains impassive as he kneads and toys with them lovingly, but her eyes do twitch slightly, revealing some sort of suppressed emotion.
"You used to love when I did this." Unarin murmurs. "What I wouldn't give to go back to those days..."
"My likes and dislikes are irrelevant." Muuxunuu says. "I came to find you because it is time for the Ascension Refresh."
"Oh." Unarin says as he reaches over to hold her chin in his hands, massaging the tip of her jaw with his thumb. "So soon? Feels like I did it just a few cycles ago."
"Synchronization coherency has decreased by 1.2% as a result of losing two worlds critical to the Ascension Net's infrastructure." Muuxunuu explains, unmoved by Unarin's touch. "The Ascension Net is at risk of decoupling several million users as a result."
Unarin finally pulls his hands away from Muuxunuu and sighs heavily, as if the weight of the world has momentarily increased by a hundredfold.
"Very well. I guess I'll deal with that, next."
He and Muuxunuu turn and walk down the hallway together. Unarin deliberately places his hand on Muuxunuu's back, but like always, she does not respond to his touch.
Even so, it still provides the First Founder a faint sense of comfort.
"Truly, I miss the old times..." He says to himself.
The two ascend upstairs until they reach Unarin's Sanctum, then they head inside through its giant double doors. Unarin and Muuxunuu eventually step into a small room located off to the side where a large glass pod filled with bubbling liquid resides.
Without fanfare, Unarin strips off his clothes, then climbs above the tank and hops inside, inhaling deeply to fill his lungs with the watery concoction.
Following this, he waits.
His consciousness becomes hazy.
His eyes begin to flutter...
He drifts off into an endless sleep, all while Muuxunuu keeps careful watch over his body's physical condition.
...
Unarin awakens.
He opens his eyes to find himself dressed in a resplendent and glorious military uniform, one that denotes his status as the Highest Among High. Its white color and red pinstripes give him a distinctive flair for the extravagant, making him appear a leader among exobeasts.
The world fizzles around Unarin, and countless tall, glittering white structures spring into existence.
Different from the bland and utilitarian stratoscrapers on Volgarius, these buildings only rise up a few thousand feet into the sky, and each one is completely unique. One building resembles a corkscrew with a lance stabbed through its center, as if someone had enveloped an ancient weapon with an observation deck just for their own pleasure.
Another structure looks like a series of geometric shapes stacked on top of and beside one another, making it mind-bending to look at.
And still another resembles a giant statue of Unarin himself, his palm lifted before himself, a simulacrum of the Milky Way suspended above his palm, slowly rotating as if to imply the First Founder has the entire galaxy in his grasp. What is most impressive, though, is that the miniature galaxy is not a hologram, but more than a billion tiny spheres, each a quarter the size of a standard playing marble, and all of them colored and carved with intricate detail to reflect the properties of the worlds and stars they represent.
How long could such an incredible display have taken to create? Only the greatest craftsman among the Ascended would know...
Unarin finds himself standing inside the Ascension Net, where hundreds of thousands of other Ascended walk around, their differently-colored skin making them resemble a living rainbow made of flesh and cloth. Surprisingly, most of the Ascended do not look impressive. They wear ordinary civilian clothes with simple colors and basic patterns. But among them, elites stick out here and there, wearing more elaborate military garb, training outfits for combat, and even heavy armor meant for military warfare. Innumerable trillions of Ascended live their lives inside the Ascension Net, but in this particular capital city, only fifty million or so can call it their home.
The moment Unarin arrives, the beautiful blackened starry sky above changes color. Its hue turns red, and an automated voice speaks from above.
"First Founder Unarin has made landfall in the city district of New Velaria. All citizens in the area, be alert for his movements and show all proper respect to his greatness."
Immediately, every Ascended in the city pauses what they are doing to look around them, uncertain where Unarin has arrived. Those nearest the First Founder spot him before the rest, and excitement appears in their eyes.
"He's here! First Founder! We are honored by your presence!"
"The Greatest Ascended! Everyone, show respect!"
"Step aside, Lord Vetreus is on his way!"
Countless cries go up among the crowd. Even after a million years of coming into the Ascension Net, Unarin has not spoken to or contacted more than 90% of the Volgrim currently residing within it. A chance to get just a glimpse of the First Founder is unfathomably rare, so his appearances always spark a great fervor among the crowd.
"Everyone, everyone. Thank you." Unarin says politely, nodding to those nearby while offering a friendly wave. Unlike the heavy emotions he displayed before entering the Ascension Net, he puts on a good show of compassion and strength for his fellow Ascended. "You honor me."
The crowd continues to cheer, while a noticeably taller blue-skinned Ascended wearing a black uniform pushes through them, making his way toward Unarin. When he reaches the First Founder, he pauses to bow at the waist.
"Founder Unarin. Thank you for visiting my city."
"Brother Vetreus," Unarin says, walking over to pat the other's shoulder. "There's no need to stand on formality. Let us retire to a quieter place. I need to speak with the Velaria Council."
"Of course." Vetreus says, straightening his posture to return to his full height. He stands more than a head taller than the First Founder, yet his presence somehow seems smaller due to Unarin's regal aura. "No doubt, they are already preparing for your arrival."
The two of them cut through the crowd, with all the Ascended nearby spreading out and making room for Unarin to walk. None of them do anything as vulgar as attempting to touch or speak to him, as their respect for him is higher than the heavens!
Before long, Unarin and Vetreus walk into a large building best described as a series of cubes separated by various walkways, each cube representing a structure isolated from the rest, levitating in the air via anti-gravitic propulsion. The extravagant cost of such a building could not easily be paid in the modern times; only in the Ascension Net where resources are practically infinite.
"Tell me," Vetreus says casually. "How goes the War outside?"
"Quite well." Unarin says with a smile. "The Volgrim still rule the galaxy. As of late, the Plague has all but frozen its advance thanks to assistance from a certain group of mud-dwellers. They came up with an innovative method to push those monsters back, and as a result we have begun to make inroads towards claiming the lost territory once again."
"Good. Good!" Vetrues says twice. "In truth, First Founder, I was beginning to feel dread toward the situation outside. The Ascended could be an incredible asset in the War. Why have you held off on at least deploying our elite shock troops?"
Unarin shakes his head. "It would be a complete loss for us if the Plague managed to capture just one Ascended. Its ability to assimilate the strengths of those it devours makes the Plague a fearsome adversary. Do you want the bodies of every Kolvaxian to become as strong as ours?"
"Hmm... that is true." Vetreus murmurs with a troubled expression. "I suppose that means you do not intend for our people to make their arrival onto the scene just yet."
"If I can help it, none of the Ascended will ever do battle with the Kolvaxians." Unarin sighs heavily. "The day I issue that demand will be the day I must admit the war is likely lost."
Vetreus pauses his walking to turn and direct a grim gaze at Unarin.
"Brother Unarin. Do you truly have so little faith in us?"
"It's not that." Unarin says, smiling weakly. "But if the true power of the Ascended must be unleashed, I would rather it be in glorious battle against the Dark Ones, rather than their weakest minions..."
"Ah. Then I shall not press the issue further." Vetreus concedes.
They resume walking, enter a grav-lift, and transfer between three different levitating cube-facilities before arriving in the uppermost one, where they step into a conference room with fifteen chairs positioned around a table.
At once, beams of light flash inside the room. Thirteen different Ascended materialize, each one a powerful warrior, diplomat, or other such talented figure of ancient yore. They wear extravagant robes, uniforms, and light armor, making them appear either fearsome or renowned in some capacity.
Even so, none of them immediately speak, but instead bow their heads to wait while Unarin walks to the head of the table, and pulls out the chair there.
As he takes a seat, with Vetreus sitting on his immediate right, Unarin waves his hand.
"Begin."
The other thirteen raise their heads. They also sit down, lining the table off into the distance as they look at Unarin with respectful gazes.
"First Founder." A blue-skinned woman on Unarin's left says. Her crimson eyes and ornately decorated hail-tendrils give her a princess-like vibe. "Recently, 20 million Ascended were abruptly disconnected from the Ascension Net. I would like to know what caused this malfunction."
Unarin's right eye twitches. "Lady Perii. A world essential to the Ascension Net's infrastructure was overtaken by the Plague. As a result, we suffered a momentary but severe outage until the backups on other worlds took over the processing burden."
He pauses for half a breath before adding, "But you need not be worried. We have backed up the connections and restored those we lost. They will return soon enough."
"That is good." Perii says slowly. She runs her fingers along the seams of her ornate red and gold dress, accentuating her figure. "But what of the War situation? For an entire planet to fall..."
"We lose minor planets all the time." Unarin says dismissively. "They do not possess much value, so we ignore them. Rarely do the Volgrim suffer a loss to our core systems. As I told Vetreus on the way here, one of our vassal species, the Demons, has recently obtained a unique ability to devour the Plague. Emperor Diablo has been core in pushing the Plague back, and thus we are looking to reward him with commendations, given time."
"So there is a light at the end of the galaxy." Another female Volgrim says. With skin as black as Randis's, she wears a light ensemble of skull-covered armor and other decorations on her tendrils to make herself appear fearsome to her foes. "Does that mean that you do not intend to awaken the Ascended after all?"
"Apologies, Admiral Merris." Unarin says. "I have not yet made up my mind. The War is looking winnable now, but it will take time for us to be sure."
"Mmm..." Merris says, her eyebrows knitting together. "My soldiers have long looked forward to making their triumphant return to the outer galaxy. I hope you will make a determination sooner rather than later."
Unarin tosses his hands lightly. "There are many conflicting factors at play. Placing the Ascended in the Plague's way could serve to empower our foes. I do not wish to do that unless necessary. In the meantime, Project Blinding Light may serve a greater purpose in the future. You should all prepare yourselves in case I need you to activate it."
"Is the project ready?" Perii asks. "I was under the impression it was... only experimental."
"It is." Unarin says mildly. "But should a crisis emerge, it will perform as predicted. I have looked into the theory myself and validated it with the High Technopaths."
"We should abide by Unarin's commands." Vetreus says, warning his fellow council members. "He is the one who saved our Empire. Unarin knows best."
"Unarin knows best." The other Ascended say, nodding their heads at him.
The meeting continues for a while, with Unarin informing everyone of the goings-on in the outer galaxy. Eventually, he concludes the talks, and departs the room with Vetreus at his side.
As the two men walk down the hall, Vetreus smiles at Unarin.
"All this heavy talk makes one's mind weak. Let us discuss something lighter."
Unarin nods. "That would be best."
"Your wife!" Vetreus says cheerfully. "How is she faring these days? She still has yet to enter the Ascended Net. She's still alive, isn't she?"
Unarin's expression remains calm. However, a faint gloominess builds up in his eyes. He lowers his gaze for a moment while he walks, but Vetreus does not notice.
"Yes. Muuxunuu... she is as well as ever." Unarin says numbly. "I've asked her to visit the Ascension Net time and time again, but she simply doesn't seem interested. I'm sorry for her... lack of concern."
"No, no. It is fine." Vetreus says, still smiling. "Lady Muuxunuu is truly the most beautiful of our people. The kindest, most compassionate. Ahh, so many suitors were jealous that you won her hand, back in the ancient times. Everyone feels more assured because she is there to keep your spirits up while you fight this damned War."
"Aye. Every time I look at her..." Unarin says, his words catching in his throat for half a breath, "...I feel the same love that I always have."
"Good, good." Vetreus says. "And what of Randis? Is your brother doing well, too?"
"He leads the war effort." Unarin says neutrally. "Every day, he manages tens of thousands of minor and major matters. The Empire would not be the same without him behind the scenes. Randis is... truly irreplaceable."
"Haha, excellent, most excellent." Vetreus says, never once having noticed the faint pain in Unarin's voice. To him, the First Founder has always been a cold and logical Sentient. He does not seem to be acting out of character in the least. "If it were not for the three of you, we might never have defeated those damned Sentinels. You must take care to always stick together, First Founder. Only the bonds of love you three share can give you the strength to stand bravely against our monstrous foes."
Unarin swallows a lump in his throat. "I couldn't... put it better if I tried."
Unarin finishes his business inside the Ascension Net, then he eventually disconnects.
His consciousness resurfaces inside the tank full of liquid, and he emerges from its watery depths soaked to the bone.
As the First Founder climbs out of the tank and splashes messily across the floor, Muuxunuu stands at the ready, a large towel held in her grasp.
"First Founder." Muuxunuu says emotionlessly. "Allow me to dry your body."
"Oh. You don't have to do that..." Unarin says. "I'll just use a sonic shower."
"Your statement is correct. I do not have to." Muuxunuu says. "But I still wish to do so."
"That... alright then." Unarin says softly.
He extends his arms outward, allowing the pink-skinned Ascended woman to wipe at his nude body, drying him attentively.
As Muuxunuu starts from his feet and works her way up, her eyes meet Unarin's when she goes to dry his arms. In that instant, a faint spark appears in her pupils.
But then it disappears.
She looks away and finishes drying him off.
Then, she steps back and looks at him with no expression at all.
"The task is finished. I have cleaned your clothes and set them over there."
Unarin doesn't immediately walk over to where she indicated. Instead, he stands in place, looking at her with a complicated gaze.
He takes a step toward Muuxunuu, and she remains in place.
Then he takes another step, and another...
He walks over to her, then strokes her neck with his hand. He plays with her hair-tendrils, but she still shows no reaction.
"You know..." Unarin says quietly. "Brother Vetreus asked about you. I had to lie to him again."
"What is there to lie about?" Muuxunuu asks, uncomprehending.
"What, indeed?" Unarin says bitterly.
He leans his face towards hers, as if to gently kiss her, but he pauses mid-movement and pulls away.
"No." Unarin says, lowering his eyes. "I don't deserve it."
Ultimately, he turns away from Muuxunuu and slowly shuffles back to his regal garb. He slides his robes back on, but each piece of fabric presses on him like an anvil, the burden of their significance feeling unearned, and making him uncomfortable from the bottom of his soul.
After he finishes, Unarin stares ahead blankly at the wall.
"...It was the right thing to do." He whispers. "I had to do it. It was the only way."
"But why... why did she have to pay the heaviest price?"
The question he whispers into the void receives no reply.
Perhaps there are no longer any who are capable of answering...

So something that often comes up in 40K discussions is the claim that the Imperium of Man is a feudal system because you've got all those different worlds each with their own governor with virtually absolute authority over said planet that can do whatever they want as long as they pay the tithe.
But thing is, that's not a Feudal System. That's exactly how most empires worked in human history because phones/radio/internet are all recent inventions and messages took days/weeks/months to get around so every empire assigned governors with top authority to run distant provinces so they could make any big decisions in real time. Chinese and Roman Empires in particular absolutely loved to assign governors that in turn loved to go all corrupt and abuse their power locally.
And yeah, as long as the imperial roman/chinese governor made sure to pay their taxes on time to the central Imperial authority, they were otherwise often free to run their domains as they saw fit, just as Imperium governors.
This brings me to my next point:
The Imperium has a clearly heavily centralized authority at Terra.
In a feudal system the lords of the land often had significant political power and could add their voice to important political decisions. Not so in the Imperium. The high lords sit at Terra and make all the important decisions, and the planetary governors are expected to simply obey. If Terra orders your planet to be terraform'd into an Agri-world, then too bad. Your opinion wasn't asked, there isn't any appeal mechanism, your planet will be terraform'd into an Agri-world.
Ditto if, say, Terra orders to draft some extra billions of troops to the Imperial Guard. You better be sure you get those billions of bodies ready in time, or you'll be replaced by a new governor who will. This brings to another key difference between an empire and feudal system:
The Imperium has the Imperial Guard main centralized army.
In a feudal system when the lords were asked to mobilize their personal armies, they were just that, their personal armies, which remainded under their control and would return to their lands after the fighting was over.
However in a proper empire, the central authority drafts troops into a central army that it's under direct command of said central authority and go where ordered.
And the Imperial Guard is, again, directly under Terra's control. There's plenty of exotic IG regiments from differet worlds, but once they've been recruited, it's the High Lords who decide where they'll be deployed, what officers will command them and what they'll do. Virtually every guardsmen will never get to return to their homeworld. Depleted regiments will be combined into new ones. All under the orders of Terra, not their homeworlds. Contrast to the roman and mongol empires who loved to recruit auxiliaries from conquered regions but would be under the command of officiers from the central authority.
The Imperial Guard is not any particular planet's army, it's Terra's personal army that is used to do Terra's bidding, quite often crushing rebels that dare to challenge Terra's authority.
Now disclaimer, there's some exceptions like some SM chapters that work a lot more like feudal lords in that they do return home after assignments and can refuse orders from Terra and make demands and fortify up to resist punishment expeditions, but those are the exception, not the rule, less than 0.1% of the Imperium's worlds. And even then we have cases like the Astral Claws refusing to pay taxes only to be crushed and turning full renegade, which is again something that happened all the time in empires.

I remember when I first heard the rhyme as a child. It terrified me. To me, the Crooked Man was some sort of boogeyman with freakishly long arms and legs that were twisted and broken in horrifying ways. I still have the rhyme memorized. It repeats in my brain like a skipping record.
“There was a Crooked Man, and he walked a crooked mile,
He found a crooked sixpence against a crooked stile;
He bought a crooked cat which caught a crooked mouse,
And they all lived together in a little crooked house.”
My brother Benton, who loved to torture me as a child, ended up adding his own parts to the rhyme over time. The extra parts he added did nothing to console me or end my nightmares of this twisted boogeyman who always seemed to slink through the shadows. I remember the rhyme Benton told me by heart to this day.
“The Crooked Man watches you.
His eyes are black, his lips are blue.
The crooked man twists and crawls.
He uses his crooked blade to kill.
And when the curtain of night falls,
He comes to get his thrill.”
***
So I found it strange when, a few weeks ago, I was sitting with a couple of my friends drinking and the subject of the Crooked Man came up again. They were rambling about shootings and serial killers and other fairly interesting subjects that I knew almost nothing about. But my friend Iris knew everything about such morbid subjects.
She was a small drink of water, no more than five feet, with platinum blonde hair and green eyes like a cat. She was extremely attractive with high cheekbones and a small nose and chin. She always talked extremely fast and made violent slashing gestures with her hands. Sometimes I wondered if she had a secret amphetamine habit I didn’t know about.
“But did you hear about the murders in Union?” Iris asked, glancing over at her boyfriend, Ben. Ben was the opposite of Iris- tall and nerdy with thick, black-rimmed glasses and a low whisper of a voice.
“I just heard that some kids went missing,” Ben murmured. I shrugged.
“I don’t watch TV,” I said. “The news is all bullshit anyway. They only show you the bad stuff. After all, no one wants to hear about new breakthroughs in fusion technology or discoveries in particle physics. Instead, people just want to watch others get murdered, robbed and beaten, so that they can feel that at least someone else has it worse than them. That’s all the news is, really: a form of schadenfreude, the joy people get from seeing others’ misfortune and suffering. Our entire media industry is built on a foundation of schadenfreude.” I took a long sip from my beer, a Harpoon that tasted like pure raspberries. Iris rolled her eyes.
“While probably true, I don’t care,” she said, turning her green eyes on me. “Don’t you want to know what happened to the kids?”
“I do,” Ben said, leaning forward. “Was it something… supernatural?” Iris gave a sardonic laugh at that. Ben sat back, offended.
“What’s so funny? I heard there was weird stuff going on around that factory. In fact, I heard they used to manufacture some dye there for clocks and stuff, right? So all these people went to work, painting watches and clocks and whatever else they told them to paint. It was this special green dye that would glow in the dark. The factory was staffed by mostly women, and I heard they used to lick their paintbrushes to form them into points. They figured this stuff was just regular paint that glowed in the dark.” I leaned back, interested. Ben started talking faster, getting more animated.
“So what happened?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.
“Well, the workers started getting cancer and dying in huge numbers,” Ben continued as the kitchen lights sparkled off his glasses. “One woman even had her entire jaw rot off. Others had pieces of their faces falling off. So it turns out, they were using radioactive isotopes to make the paint glow! And these women were just licking the paintbrushes and touching the paint…”
“Holy shit,” I whispered, horrified.
“They called them the Radium girls,” Ben said. “That factory killed hundreds and hundreds of people. That’s why a lot of people think it’s haunted. People claim they see ghosts and weird shit around it. And that’s not all. The case gets even weirder when you look at workers’ families.
“It seems a lot of their kids went missing, too. The cops never found any of them. The entire time the factory was operational, and even after it shutdown, the families of the workers kept having strange things happen- children disappearing from their bedrooms in the middle of the night, strange murders and unexplained suicides that kept killing off healthy, normal people all over town.”
“So, anyways,” Iris continued, looking slightly annoyed at the interruption, “the kids that went into that abandoned factory were all found… torn apart. Their limbs were all amputated and crooked.” She leaned forward, using her spooky campfire voice. “And the limbs were long. Freakishly long, as if they had just grown overnight to inhuman lengths before they got lopped off. But they never found the heads or the torsos. All they found was ten legs and ten arms.”
“And no one knows what happened?” I asked. She shook her head.
“Officially, no. The police and media said it was some sort of serial killer, of course. But there wasn’t a shred of evidence anywhere. It was like a ghost had done it. Where the limbs were piled up in the basement, there was no evidence that anyone had been there in months, no footsteps or microscopic evidence of any presence. But the story doesn’t end there. Because there were six teenagers that went into that building, and one of them was found alive three months later, wandering, covered in blood and scratches, mostly naked and totally insane. One of my friends is an EMT and she said that the kid would not stop talking about the Crooked Man taking his friends and keeping him prisoner in some other world.”
At the mention of those words, the Crooked Man, a chill went down my spine. My heart felt like ice.
“What’d you say? What did the kid say?” I asked anxiously. Suddenly the room felt very hot, and the alcohol was not sitting well in my stomach.
“He said he got kidnapped by someone called the Crooked Man,” Iris repeated, taking a long sip from her wine. “According to the kid, it was some sort of fucking monster, apparently. I think his mind must have just snapped. He was probably kidnapped and held in the basement of some serial killer for three goddamned months. Who knows what he saw and experienced? People make up all sorts of crazy shit when they’re traumatized.”
My hand was shaking so badly that I had to put my bottle down on the table. For some reason, my mind kept flashing back to my sister, Emilia, who had been kidnapped from her room in the middle of the night when my brother Benton and I were little. She had never been found. We had never gotten a ransom note or found a body. It was as if Emilia had simply disappeared, vanished from the surface of the planet in an instant.
“I think some of that stuff is real,” Ben said. “People have been talking about cryptids and ghosts for thousands of years across countless different and unrelated cultures. What are the chances that all of them are just hallucinations or delusions?”
I didn’t know, but I thought I might know someone who might.
***
My brother Benton was a long-term drug addict living in a flophouse. I went to see him the next morning. He opened the door with a glazed, half-aware expression. Scars covered his arms and legs. He looked like a walking skeleton. His eyes shone like the last bit of water at the bottom of a dying well.
“Jack,” he said, surprised, appearing to wake up slightly. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you,” I said, pushing past him into the one-bedroom place he called home. A cockroach skittered across the wall. As he closed the door, I saw bites from bedbugs all over his body. Benton turned, spreading out his hands.
“Well, what is it, little brother? You know I’m all ears.”
“You remember that rhyme you used to scare me with when we were little?” I asked. “That rhyme you made up about the Crooked Man?” He seemed to go a shade paler.
“I didn’t make anything up,” he said. “That rhyme came from Grandma. She told it to dad when he was little, before she died.”
“Grandma?” I asked, startled. Our grandmother had died of cancer when she was extremely young, in her late 20s. “Did you hear about the murders over in Union? The survivor was talking about the Crooked Man.”
“That’s pretty freaking weird, man,” he said. “Especially considering what happened to Grandma and Emilia, you know.” He sat down on the threadbare mattress, laying back and sighing.
“Why is it weird?” I asked.
“Because, you know, that’s where Grandma used to work. At that factory in Union. Didn’t Dad ever tell you?” I shook my head, feeling sick.
“So Grandma was one of the radium girls?” I said. My brother shrugged his thin shoulders, the stained T-shirt clinging tight to his frail body.
“I don’t know what that is, but whatever she was doing there, it killed her.”
“But what does that have to do with Emilia?” I asked, my heart pounding at the mention of our long-lost little sister. He shook his head in wonder.
“You don’t remember? You were older than me when it happened. Before she went missing, she kept talking about the same thing, saying weird stuff about some ‘Crooked Man’. Don’t you remember what happened the night she went missing?” I thought back, but it all seemed like a blur. I remembered flashing police sirens and my parents screaming. I had tried to block it out, but apparently Benton hadn’t been able to. That night must be like a fresh wound on his mind all the time.
“No, I just remembered… screaming, and police…” I whispered, my voice trailing off into nothing. Benton leaned forward on the bed, looking sick.
“We both saw it,” he said. “The Crooked Man. That thing she was talking about. It was real. We saw it in her room that night- when it took her.” I shook my head, refusing to look at him. Feeling sick, I walked toward the door without looking back. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going home,” I said. “I can’t deal with this shit right now.” But that night, I would find out that the long-lost nightmare from my childhood was not nearly as buried in the past as I thought.
***
I was laying in my dark bedroom, reading the local news on my phone, when I saw an article that disturbed me greatly. I sat up, looking out the window into the cloudless night. The sky hung overhead like a black hole, colorless and empty. Fear radiated through my heart as I glanced back down at the screen and started reading.
“Sole survivor of serial killer commits suicide,” the article read in garish black-and-white letters. “Michael Galentino, 18, was found dead in a psychiatric facility early this morning. In February, Michael Galentino and five others entered a local abandoned building. Friends who knew them stated that they often explored abandoned structures as part of an ‘urban exploration’ group. But this would not be a normal night for the group. They all disappeared, and within 24 hours, police and search teams had been dispatched to look for the missing teenagers…”
The house was silent. I read the rest of the article with bated breath, my eyes wide. Some of the details I already knew, but others, such as the radioactive isotopes found on the dismembered limbs of the victims, I did not. I wondered about that. The police claimed that, after finding this strange clue, they had sent a team to inspect the abandoned factory with Geiger counters and look for signs of radioactivity. Perhaps the radium, which had a notoriously long half-life, had accumulated on the surfaces over the decades. But they said the radioactivity within the building was all within acceptable levels. It was just another bizarre piece of a puzzle that no one could solve.
The house was deathly silent. I could hear my own heart beating a runaway rhythm in my ears. A rising sense of anxiety was filling me, but I didn’t know why. It felt like some sort of pressure had changed all around me, as if the first wave of a massive blizzard had just blown into the room.
I heard a creaking from across the dark room. At the same time, I felt a sting on my arm. I looked down, seeing a bedbug crawling across my skin, a small red welt rising in its wake.
“Fuck!” I swore, grabbing it between my fingers and slicing it between my nails. Crimson spurted from its swollen body as if it were a tiny balloon. It exploded, staining my fingers red with my own blood.
“I should’ve never gone to see my brother. Goddamned bedbugs,” I muttered to myself. I hoped that was the only one. If I had picked up some extra travelers at the flophouse, I knew they would spread throughout the entire house within days.
The creaking came again, louder this time, almost insistent. I glanced across the curtain of shadows that hung thick and black in the room, seeing the dark silhouette of my closet door swinging open. I could only stare, open-mouthed. A long moment passed, and then I heard breathing. It came out, ragged and slow with long pauses, like the choking of a murder victim.
Slowly, I raised my phone’s dim light, shining it across the room. On the closet door, I saw four inhumanly long, crooked fingers. They shone pale like the skin of a corpse. They twitched, then started rhythmically tapping on the door. And then I heard it, that rhyme, that horrible, gurgling rhyme. It came echoing out from the door in that same choked voice, like a forgotten wound from long ago.
“The Crooked Man watches you.
His eyes are black, his lips are blue…”
It felt like I was in some sort of nightmare, but I knew from the sweat dripping down my forehead and the sensation of cloth sheets against my skin that this was all too real. Even a couple months later, I still remember that sensation of dread, the first of many terrors that this night would bring.
I looked around for a weapon. All I found was a letter opener sitting next to some mail on the nearby nightstand. I grabbed it, a flimsy piece of metal in my shaking hands. I was afraid to move, afraid to call out or do anything, out of fear it might shatter the stillness and cause that ineffable horror to come oozing out. I knew I didn’t want to see what was hiding behind that door.
I looked at the open window. I was on the second floor. I was afraid to even breathe too loudly at that moment. With the letter opener in my hand, I tried to silently slide myself across the mattress to the window only a few feet away.
The bedframe groaned softly as I shifted my weight. The breathing from the closet stopped abruptly. I heard the door creaking open, the floorboards shifting. Heavy steps started in the darkness, heading towards me. As I pushed myself off the bed, I glanced back and saw something twisted loping across the room on crooked legs.
It was the Crooked Man, the nightmare from my childhood. He towered over me with a tophat that nearly scraped the ceiling. His lidless eyes were pure darkness, as black as death. They contrasted heavily with his bone-white skin. His lips and fingernails were a suffocating, cyanotic blue, like the lips of a murder victim.
He stood up tall. The bones in his freakishly long legs cracked as the many strange joints of his enormous limbs bent in ways no human limb should bend. His fingers were strange and misshapen, each a foot long. They ended in sharp points of bone that poked out through the dead, white skin. He wore a black suit on his tall, emaciated frame. He moved towards me like flashing static, seeming to disappear and reappear closer and closer in every moment.
In panic and terror, I dived headfirst toward the open window, hearing the gurgling breathing of the Crooked Man only a few feet behind me. I felt slashing talons of bone rip across my back, a burning pain and a feeling of blood soaking my shirt. Then I was flying out the window and falling headfirst towards the grass and bushes below.
***
Time seemed to slow down as the ground rushed up to meet me. The wind whipped past my ears like the currents of a tornado. Instinctively, I tried to curl into a ball. As I smashed into the first of the bushes under my window, I rolled to try to put the brunt of the impact on my right shoulder.
The thin branches of the bush crumpled under me like wet cardboard. I felt sharp sticks stabbing into my skin, opening up new slices and cuts to mix with the deep gashes on my back.
I hit the dirt hard, a sudden pain radiating through my back. A jarring sensation crashed through my body. I rolled as I hit the ground, smacking my head into the lawn. The world spun around me and went dark.
Suddenly, I was somewhere else.
***
I found myself standing in a dark factory, surrounded by debris. Broken glass covered the floor, twinkling like fireflies under the light of the distant streetlights outside. Strange graffiti covered the concrete walls all around me.
“DON’T LOOK BEHIND YOU,” one of the tags read in slashing red letters. Underneath it, someone had spraypainted pure black eyes over a massive grinning mouth full of crooked black teeth.
“Destroy it with fire! SAVE your soul,” another one read in small, blue letters. I ran my hands over my face, wondering if I was dreaming. This all felt so real. I could feel the gentle breeze blowing through the broken windows on my skin, hear the rhythmic chirping of crickets outside.
I heard soft sobbing behind me. I remembered the first graffiti tag I had seen and a sense of panic gripped my heart. I did not want to look back.
“Fuck,” I swore under my breath, trembling as I turned. But I didn’t find some eldritch monstrosity with obsidian teeth and black, lidless eyes waiting there. Instead, I found a woman. She was crying, her back turned to me. She wore a black funeral gown that looked ancient and decayed. With a trembling heart, I took a step forward, wondering if I would regret this.
“Hello?” I called out. She spun, her eyes widening. In front of me stood a pretty blonde woman in her mid-twenties, one that I immediately recognized. For I saw many of my own features reflected in that panicked face: the high cheekbones, the large chin, even the waviness of her hair.
“Grandma,” I whispered, looking around in wonder. “What is this? Am I dead?” She shook her head, her eyes still wet and red. She took a deep, shuddering breath and gave a faint smile.
“Jack,” she said in a soft, melodic voice. “I’m so happy to see you. I’ve been watching you. I’ve been so proud of you. Even though we never met, I want you to know that. I wished I could have lived longer, could have met you. If only I hadn’t been murdered by that thing…” She spat the last word with hatred and fear oozing from her voice.
“I thought you died of cancer, Grandma?” I asked. “What do you mean, he killed you?” She shook like a leaf in the wind, refusing to meet my gaze.
“Everyone in that place was touched by something evil,” she murmured, putting her face in her hands. Her voice quavered like a frightened little girl’s. “The sickness radiated from that thing. It followed us like a cancer, made us weak, and then took our breath away. After the long torture was finished, he came to strangle me. He didn’t just kill me, Jack. He murdered my sister and brother, too. I saw it.” Her head ratcheted up, looking behind me all of a sudden. Her eyes widened in terror.
“You need to kill it, Jack,” she whispered grimly. “He’s woken up again after all these years, and he’s starving. The Crooked Man must feed, and feed he will if you don’t stop him. You need to come to the factory and end it. Otherwise, he will keep on killing. The Crooked Man will never stop hunting you. He will kill you and everyone you love.”
“How?” I asked, afraid to look back as the disturbing sounds grew closer and closer. Grandma backpedaled quickly, as if the demons of Hell were approaching. “How? How do I end it?”
I heard a horrible, choked breathing behind me, then the world faded.
***
I woke up suddenly on the lawn, my head pounding. It didn’t seem like much time had passed. I must have knocked myself out. I raised my fingers to my forehead. My fingers came away slick with blood.
For a long moment, I lay there, hyperventilating and looking up at the cloudless abyss of a sky. My body felt bruised and battered, and I wasn’t even sure if I could walk.
Then I saw a pale, hairless visage peeking over the edge of the windowsill with eyes as dark as night. Its face split into a grin with a crack, making a sound like ripping plastic. The bone-white mask of dead skin looked at me with a feverish intensity, a kind of psychopathic hunger that radiated from every pore of his body. With horror, I saw the Crooked Man’s teeth were as black as his eyes, gleaming like polished jetstone.
A rush of adrenaline pushed me up from the ground. I realized I was tremendously lucky, that I had been laying there with my keys still in my pocket and my cell phone in hand, fully dressed except for the fact I was wearing slippers. I sprinted across the lawn towards my car. I heard the Crooked Man scream out after me.
“You’ll be with Grandmother soon, Jackie boy,” he hissed in his gurgling voice. “No one escapes. No one.”
***
I flew down the highway in my car, the phone in my trembling hand. Looking down at it, I called Iris right away. She answered groggily.
“Hello?” she said.
“Jesus, Iris, it’s after me,” I said frantically. “Something’s happening. I got attacked in my own bedroom!”
“Did you call the cops?” she asked, seeming to wake up instantly. I looked down at the clock in the center console, seeing it was already past midnight.
“It wasn’t a person. I saw something. I think it was the same thing that took those teenagers, and now it’s after me. Are you guys home?” There was a long pause on the other end. I heard whispering in the background.
“Yeah… sure, come over,” she said. I knew Ben was somewhat of a gun nut, and had a nice little collection at the house. I would feel much safer if I made it there. And if I had them on my side, that would be all the better.
***
Ben and Iris lived in the middle of a back road surrounded by forests. The dark trees loomed overhead like priests with their heads bowed. The light from their front porch streamed into the creeping shadows as I pulled into their driveway. The sound of the car idling seemed far too loud in this place where the woods closed in all around me. I didn’t know what was hiding in those trees. I immediately shut it off.
Ben was a veteran who knew much more about combat and guns than I did. His collection was also somewhat impressive- an Armalite AR-15, a Judge, a 12-gauge Benelli, two crappy little .22s, a .45 Ruger, a Nosler 21 and a 10-gauge Mossberg. I had gone out shooting with him and Iris quite a few times. I would feel much safer once I was inside.
The cloudless black sky hung overhead like the lid of a coffin. Their little two-story place with the wraparound porch looked quaint, almost like a little rural cabin.
I stumbled out of the car. I’m sure I was quite a sight, battered and covered in clotting gashes and cuts, my eyes wide and panicked. I constantly looked around, checking my back. Every time I did, I expected to see something there, something close by with blue lips like a corpse and deformed, twisting bones.
I had nearly gotten to the front of the house when I saw, through the narrow sidelights at top of the door, the face of the Crooked Man. Standing only feet away, I heard faint gurgling of his diseased breathing even through the wall.
His hairless face was split into a grin like a death’s head, his lidless eyes bulging and excited. He raised his misshapen fingers to the window and gave me a little wave, opening and closing his fingers slowly. Then he turned and disappeared deeper into the house.
***
I immediately tried opening the door, to yell to Iris and Ben to watch out, but the door was locked. I called Iris. Each ring seemed to take an eternity. Finally, she answered.
“Hello? What, are you here?” she asked.
“Iris! Get the fuck out of the house! You and Ben aren’t alone in there! There’s a man coming in your direction right now!” I screamed, panicked. “Jump out the window if you have to! It’s coming!”
“What?” she said, sounding alarmed and confused. “Are you being serious?” I heard soft murmuring in the background.
“Tell Ben to grab a gun right now!” I started to say, but a high-pitched scream carried through the phone and the house at that moment.
“Iris? Iris! Answer me!” I said. The call immediately went dead.
From inside, I heard the first of the gunshots.
***
At that point, I decided to run back to my car. I needed to get inside and help them. A small voice in the back of my mind asked me what I could possibly do, however. If an AR-15 or a lead slug from a 12-gauge couldn’t stop the Crooked Man, then what could? At that moment, I wished fervently that Grandma would have told me.
I grabbed a tire iron from the back of my trunk and sprinted back toward the front of the house. They had large windows leading into the kitchen from their wraparound porch. Without hesitation, I drew the tire iron back and smashed it. The tinkling of glass seemed explosively loud. I realized that the gunshots and screaming had stopped.
At that moment, something pale came scurrying around the side of the building. I jumped, but I looked over and realized it was Iris, dressed in a white hoodie and white pants. Her pale face was contorted with mortal terror. To my horror, I realized hundreds of small drops spattered her clothes, covering her face and body like crimson raindrops. She had the .45 Ruger in her hands, and she was limping.
“Where’s Ben?” I cried. She shook her head.
“I jumped out the bedroom window… he was behind me,” she said. Suddenly, there was another explosion of glass from behind the house. Something heavy thudded hard against the ground. We heard wretched wailing follow it. Looking at each other with horrified eyes, we both turned and ran towards the noise.
We found Ben laying on the lawn. The right side of his neck was nearly severed. Bright-red streams of blood spurted from the mutilated flesh. His back looked broken as well. He laid there like a hornet smashed under someone’s boot. With dilated eyes, he looked from me to Iris. Terror and agony oozed from his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but only a frothy puddle of blood came up.
Then his eyes turned away, looking straight up into the cloudless black void of a sky. The last exhalation came, the death gasp that bubbled and stretched out until I thought it might never end. He died staring into that abyss, that eternity from which no one returns.

June 1
My name is Cora, and, if you find this, I’m probably dead.
That would be a cool opening, right? Don’t worry, my life isn’t that interesting. I’m not even sure why I’m keeping this journal. Probably because I have nothing else to do. My mom got it for me when my therapist said it might help to write down my feelings, and I guess it helps. Kind of.
Anyway, what else am I supposed to do? We’ve been in this stupid house for hours now, listening to the rain. No power, no tv, no internet. So writing it is.
It all started when Kayla suggested we go out last night. Kayla is my best friend - I’ve only known her for six months, but it feels like my whole life. I don’t have many friends - the other kids have avoided me since the incident. But Kayla makes up for that. So when she wanted to go out, I said ok, even though I’m not much of a “going out” person.
Apparently there was this party at her friend’s house in the country. I’ve never met this friend, but Kayla said she’s cool. Neither of us has a car, so we called an Uber and got a ride to the place.
The party was ok. Not really my scene - lots of jocks and wanna-be influencers - but there were a couple of decent people who I talked to, and Kayla seemed to have a good time. One of them agreed to drop us off at home after, and we figured, why not save the cost of another Uber, so we said yes.
When we were halfway home it started storming really badly, to the point where it was impossible to see anything. The guy was afraid of crashing the car, so we decided to pull over. Luckily there was this house in the middle of a field. I’d never seen it before, but I didn’t usually go out this way. Kayla said it was fine, so her friend pulled over and we all dashed through the rain to the house. Luckily the door was unlocked, and we piled in to get out of the rain.
I said it was a house before, but it was really more of a shack. Two rooms, barely decorated, with a single bathroom that was more like an outhouse that someone forgot to move outdoors. I had no idea how anyone could live here. Maybe they liked the spartan lifestyle?
I called out for anyone to let them know we were there, but I got no response. After calling out twice more (and Kayla doing so once, as well), we gave it up and figured the place was abandoned. It was pretty shoddy, but it kept the rain out. And since none of us had cell service (remind me never again to go to a party in the middle of nowhere), we went to the rooms (Kayla and I took one and her friend took the other) and hunkered down for the night. That’s where I’m writing this. Hopefully the rain stops soon, and mom and dad don’t have a cow when we get home tomorrow.
June 2
Woke up this morning to the sound of rain hitting the roof. The storm hasn’t stopped, and we were tempted to just go for it, but the rain is still so heavy that we can’t see anything, and no one wants to die on the road, so we voted to try to wait it out a bit longer.
Since we’re stuck here, we decided to do some exploring. There’s no electricity, like I said in my last entry, but we found some old candles and matches, so we lit a few to get rid of the darkness and had a look around.
It’s pretty bare bones - basically just a shack with two bedrooms, a single bathroom, and a kitchen straight out of the 1800’s. With, like, a stove that you have to burn wood to use! How old is this place, anyway? And why hasn’t anyone knocked it down and built a mall, or a Starbucks? I know we’re in the middle of nowhere, but space is hard to come by these days. Oh well, guess we should be glad it’s here or we’d be out in the storm right now. Small favors, right?
But the bigger issue is food. There’s some old stuff in jars, but it looks like it’s been there for a century. No one wants to eat it. But our options are limited. I always keep some protein bars and a bottle of water in my bag, but that won’t last long, especially if I have to split it with Kayla and Nick (her friend). But hopefully we’ll be out of here by tomorrow before it gets too bad.
I guess I should enjoy this experience - since I haven’t spoken to mom and dad since yesterday, they’ll probably never let me leave the house again. Is this what they mean by making memories? It’s overrated.
June 3
The rain hasn’t stopped. This is weird, right? I’ve been in storms before - I’ve always kind of liked the sound of rain on the roof when I’m safe inside - but I’ve never known one to go on for over two full days. Is this some kind of freak global warming thing?
Being stuck in this shack with only the three of us, no power, no phone service, and nothing to do is driving everyone a bit stir crazy. At least Nick gets some privacy - I love Kayla, I really do, but being with her all day and all night is starting to grate on my nerves. And apparently she’s a talker, which would normally be fine in small doses, but stuck here, it’s ALL. THE. TIME. Even when I want to sleep at night.
Also, to be honest, this place is starting to creep me out a bit. Last night, l could have sworn I heard a sound in the shack, like someone… moaning. I know, that sounds ridiculous, but it’s what I heard. I went out to look around and didn’t see anything, so I went back to bed. This morning, I told Kayla and Nick about it, and they said that I was probably just dreaming. And maybe they were right. That makes sense. Only.. it didn’t feel like a dream.
June 4
We talked this morning and decided that we can’t just keep sitting around, waiting for the rain to stop. We have to do something. So Nick wrapped himself in a blanket and dashed out to his car. Or where he thought his car was.
It wasn’t there.
It’s still impossible to see anything, with the rain coming down the way it is, but he was sure he knew where he parked, and he swears the car’s gone. Kayla and I ran out to take a look, but we couldn’t see anything and came back in after only a minute. Nick thinks someone stole the car, but who would steal a car in this weather? Who could even find it? Kayla thinks we’re just looking in the wrong place and we should look again when the rain stops. I hope it does.
Also, I had a weird feeling when I was out there. It was only for a minute, and I can’t be sure, but it felt different from when we got here. Like the trees were in different places. But that’s crazy - I must just be getting confused because of being cooped up here. Trees don’t move, right?
June 5
Things are getting kind of desperate. The protein bars and water I brought with me are gone, and there aren’t any other supplies in this shack. We searched top to bottom, and there isn’t anything except some stuff in jars - fruit? - that looks like it’s been there since they built the place. We can’t find the car, and everyone is getting hungry. We debated going out on foot, but we have no umbrellas, no idea of exactly where we are, and no way to call for help. Going out seems like a bad idea. But so does staying. It’s like we have no good options except to wait and hope things get better.
And the worst part is, as I sit here writing, I’m realizing that I didn’t tell my parents where the party was because I thought it would just be a short trip. No one knows where we are.
June 6
Nick is gone.
We don’t know what happened. We woke up and he just wasn’t here. He’s usually in the main room when we come out in the morning, so when he wasn’t there today we went to his room to look for him. It was empty. All of his stuff was gone - phone, wallet, keys, everything. Kayla thinks he must have just decided to go look for help and knew we’d try to talk him out of it, so he went alone. That seems strange to me, but then, she’s known him longer than I have and would know better what he’d do.
So it’s just the two of us now.
We were talking earlier tonight, trying to figure out what to do next, and we just went round in circles. I’m leaning toward thinking Nick was right - we can’t just stay here forever. But Kayla thinks the rain has to stop eventually and we’ll have a better chance if we just keep waiting it out, since there’s no guarantee we won’t just get lost out there and not be able to find our way back. I don’t know. Maybe she’s right. I certainly don’t feel good about going out there by myself if she won’t come. But I’m so hungry, it’s hard to think straight.
With nothing else to do (what I wouldn’t give for a board game right now), we’ve ended up talking a lot. And it’s strange - some of the things she’s saying don’t really add up. She talked about growing up in Chicago, but I could swear I remember her saying she was raised in New Orleans before coming here. When I asked her, she said she’d had grandparents in Chicago and had visited so much in the summers that it was like her second home. Which I guess makes sense. But when I first asked, I got the distinct impression that, just for a second, she panicked. But I must be reading too much into it - they say being tired and hungry messes with your head, and I’m definitely both. Oh well, hopefully things will be better in the morning.
June 7
The weirdest thing happened this morning. I went to search through my bag (and found two more protein bars buried on the bottom! Yay!), but I could swear my journal had been moved. Oh, it was still in the bag. But I keep it tucked in the side, behind some other stuff, so it won’t be obvious, and today it was sitting close to the top, just under my phone. And since Kayla moved to Nick’s old room, there’s no one in here with me. I mentioned it to Kayla, and she agreed that I must be forgetting things because I’m tired. But I’m not so sure.
June 9
I think something’s wrong with Kayla.
I fell asleep early tonight (I’ve been really tired lately), but I woke up in the middle of the night to a strange feeling. I looked up, and I could have sworn…
I know how this sounds, and you’d probably think I’m cracking up if you could see this, but I could have sworn I saw her standing over my bed, staring at me. And there was something wrong with her face. She had the widest, eeriest smile on her face, and her eyes looked… *empty* is the only way to describe it. Like there was no one there. Maybe it was the weather, or the claustrophobic environment, or the isolation, but in that moment, I felt absolutely terrified.
I jumped with a start and reached for my phone to turn on the flashlight (my phone has lasted forever on standby since I haven’t been using it because of no signal), and when I turned back around, there was no one there. I guess Kayla heard my scream and came running in. I told her what I thought I saw, and she told me that, given our circumstances, it’s not surprising that I’d be having bad dreams. I don’t know, maybe she’s right. But it feels like more than that. And the feeling I had, of absolute fear - as I write this, hours later, it hasn’t gone away.
June 10
Today started off normally. Kayla and I met in the main room and, while it was awkward at first, my nervousness died down and last night was mostly forgotten (or at least pushed aside). We talked about our families and shopping and boys - it would have been like a slumber party if we hadn’t both been so hungry and anxious.
But then, as I was exploring later to find any supplies I’d missed, I saw a door. That wouldn’t have been so weird except that I was sure it wasn’t there before. And I’ve had nothing to do lately but wander this freaking house, so I’m pretty sure I’d recognize it.
And beyond that, it wasn’t just any door. It was thick and heavy, and it totally didn’t fit in with the rest of the shack. And even more weirdly, it only appeared when I looked directly at it - when I checked with my peripheral vision, all I saw was the wall.
I thought that was strange (clearly nothing gets by me), so I tried to open it, but it was locked. I asked Kayla about it later and she had no idea what I was talking about, so I took her down to it, and it was gone. Like, the entire door was gone - there was nothing but an empty wall. And it’s not just the door that was gone. We banged on the wall and it wasn’t hollow at all - it was solid, like there was nothing behind the wall but more wall.
Kayla got pissed and told me to stop messing with her and that it wasn’t funny. At that point, I just let it go like she was right about it being a joke. But it wasn't. I know what I saw. Don’t I?
June 12
Fuck. Fuck. OK. OK.
I was determined to solve the mystery of the disappearing door, so tonight I went back down there. At first I couldn’t find the door, but after pacing back and forth trying to figure it out, there it was. I realized that I had walked in front of it thirteen times - that should have been my sign to get gone, but like an idiot I kept looking. Why did I keep looking?
I opened the door and that’s where things went sideways. There was a really dark room - not dark like the lights were out, but dark like the room had never seen light, like light couldn’t find it. And there was this sense of… wrongness, like I shouldn’t be there, like no one should. I turned on my phone flashlight, but the light disappeared about a foot in front of me, like it got sucked up by the darkness. I couldn’t tell how big the room was, but somehow it seemed bigger than it should be, and the space felt strange, like it was warped or something. I’m probably not describing it well, but it was super creepy. I stopped a few feet in to make sure I could make my way back, and that’s when I heard it. A slithering, like the sound a snake makes as it moves across the ground, but multiplied by a hundred. And a clicking, coming from what seemed like every direction at once. It was like being in the world’s darkest, scariest forest, but that made no sense. I was inside.
Then I felt something against my ankle, something slithering. At that point, I panicked and turned around to the door…
But it wasn’t there.
Nope. Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope.
The door was gone. I couldn’t see it or anything at all - it was like the entire room behind me had been swallowed up in darkness. The sounds around me started to get louder, and I felt something against my arm. At that moment, I freaked out. I started shaking my arms and legs, trying to get whatever it was off me. I tried to scream, but I couldn’t get the words out - it was like my voice was being absorbed by the darkness around me. And as I stood there, screaming in silence and shaking to get whatever horrible thing I couldn’t see off of me, I suddenly saw these lights in the darkness on the other side of the room. They were two lights, about a foot apart, both deep red and glowing. I know this sounds weird, but they looked kind of like… eyes. And they were pointed in my direction, like whatever they belonged to was staring at me.
At that point I froze. I’ve never been that scared in my entire life, not even during the incident. But a voice inside of me was saying “you have to run, Cora. You have to run now.” So I did. I turned to where the door should have been, and I ran as fast as I could. And I kept running, for what felt like forever, until finally my hands hit what felt like a stone wall. But the walls of the room shouldn’t have been stone. I had no idea what to do, so I just kept feeling against the wall, all the while hearing those sounds around me, getting closer. I was hyperventilating, and I could feel something touch my leg again, and I started to cry…
…and then I woke up, on the floor outside of the room. Only the room was gone - the door wasn’t there. And Kayla was standing over me. She looked worried, asking me what was going on. I didn’t know what to say - the truth would make me sound crazy. So I just told her I was exploring and tripped and hit my head. She looked at me strangely but seemed to accept it, and I went back to my room. That’s where I am now, writing this all down to prove to myself that it actually happened. I don’t know what’s going on with this fucked up house, but I hate it. I fucking hate it.
June 14
The rain finally stopped. I woke up this morning and, for the first time in days, couldn’t hear the patter of rain on the ceiling. I was so excited - we could finally get the hell out of here. I went to tell Kayla, but I couldn’t find her anywhere. Figuring she’d just gone out before I woke up, I got dressed and went outside.
But outside wasn’t right.
It was night and storming when we first arrived, and I know I didn’t get a clear look, but I know the cabin was in the middle of a field. But now, the field was gone. In its place were trees - tall, imposing trees that stretched up out of view like they were holding up the sky. And in front of us, maybe 200 feet, was a swamp that I know wasn’t there before (since we would have had to drive through it to get to the cabin). And even though I knew it was morning, and there was no rain, it was dark out, with the sky lit only by the moon.
The red moon.
After all this time praying to get out of the shack, I was starting to wonder if I was better off there. I know I didn't get a clear look, but I’m sure I would have seen a forest or massive trees when we first got here. Right? And what’s up with the moon being red? I’ve heard of eclipses, and half moons, but a red moon is just spooky. But I truly didn’t want to go back inside of that place, so I kept going.
I continued to walk forward slowly, watching each step as I explored. My hope was that I could figure out where I was, maybe find some landmark that would show me the way home. The best guess I could come up with was that the moon was some weird freak weather thing and the trees must be hiding the highway from sight. That meant that, to find my way out, I’d have to head into the trees. I knew something weird was happening, but I held onto the hope that I could find my way back if I kept my head.
As I got to the tree line, I paused momentarily. I didn’t have a great feeling - the trees seemed kind of unnatural, and it didn’t help that I didn’t remember seeing them before - but I didn’t see what choice I had. My dad used to have this saying he liked - “sometimes, the only way out is through.” If there was a road, or a town, or any hope of rescue, I was only going to find it by going through the forest. So I stepped through.
At first, it was pretty normal - you know, if you ignore the weird trees and the red moon and the darkness in the middle of the morning. This is ok, I thought. I can do this.
But then I began to hear noises. At first they were faint, like they were far off in the distance, so I tried to ignore them and kept walking. The trees could only have been so thick - we were in the country, not the Amazon. It could only be so long before I reached the other side, and safety.
But as I continued to listen, I started to be able to make them out. They sounded like… moans. But not like moans a human being would make, or any animal I’d heard of. They felt - strange. Otherworldly. (Not sure where that word came from, but it seemed to fit.)
And then, I began to see a light. It was faint at first, only viewable briefly through the trees. But then it started to get brighter, and I could see that it was going on and off, on and off. Like something was blinking.
By now, I was really starting to reconsider my plan, but what was my choice? Go back to the shack, with almost no food, a missing roommate, and no way to call anyone for help? This was my best chance to get out, to get back to my life - I had to take it.
Then I started to hear a new sound - something rustling through the trees. Ok, that happens - forests have animals living in them, and animals rustle. But this rustling was unnatural. It felt off. And then the rustling stopped. Which should have been good, except that the flickering lights and weird moaning had also stopped. As had all other noise. The woods had gone completely quiet. Like something realized I was there.
And then it started again. All of it. The trees started to shake, and I could see the branches moving, not just down near me, but fifty feet above. The lights started blinking, now seemingly in my direction. And the moaning was getting louder.
OK, screw this. Forget what dad said - sometimes, the only way out is out. Time to go.
I started running back the way I’d come, and I could hear the rustling starting to get closer. I didn’t look back - I just kept running. As fast as I had in my life. But I was still in the woods - I should have been out by now. And the rustling was almost on me.
Finally I burst through the tree line and into the open air. I could see the swamp, but there was no way I was going there. Between the woods, the swamp, and the shack, the shack seemed like the best choice. I started running toward it, when I heard something crash through the trees. It was still behind me.
I didn’t look back - I just kept running as fast as I could. I was out of breath, but I knew I didn’t dare stop. I could hear whatever it was behind me, each step louder on the ground as it gained on me. I wanted to know how close, and what exactly it was, but I couldn’t turn around without slowing down, so I ignored my curiosity and focused on my sense of self preservation instead.
Just as I could feel it almost upon me, I came to the shack, yanked the door open, threw myself inside, and slammed the door behind me. I lay on the ground, waiting for something to smash against the wall or break through the door, but, to my surprise, nothing did. After a few moments, I got up slowly, catching my breath, and went to the window to look outside.
There was nothing there.
The swamp was there, and the trees, but there was no creature outside. I couldn’t even see any footprints except mine.
I kept looking, either for the thing following me or for Kayla, when Kayla came around the corner. (?!?)
I could have sworn she had left the shack, but she said she’d been there the entire time. She asked if I was ok, and when I told her what had happened, she looked at me with a questioning look, like she didn’t believe me. Like I was crazy. Maybe I was - how can I be mad at her for not believing me when I’m not even sure if I believe me? All I know is, I have to find a way out of this place.
I’m hungry and scared and I don’t want to be here anymore…
June 16
JESUS CHRIST!!! WHAT?!?
OK, I have to write this down - I don’t know how else to process it.
Things had been kind of normal since I came back from the woods - I mostly stayed in my room with the door locked. But I realized I needed more answers, so I went to find Kayla. She wasn’t in her room, but I saw her walking, so I followed her. She went into the room that wasn’t supposed to be there. I thought she might need help - when I was there, it didn’t go well - so after a minute to gather my courage, I decided to follow her.
I was just going to open the door and peek in - I didn’t want to step one foot in that room if I didn’t have to. But when I looked in, I was shocked. Kayla was kneeling on the floor, head bowed as if she were praying. And in front of her was a large… thing. I don’t know what to call it. It looked like a mass of shadows, constantly shifting, with black tentacles emerging from the shadows. And centered in the midst of the shadows were two glowing red eyes. I knew those eyes - they’d been occupying my nightmares for a week now.
I stood there, trying to figure out what I was seeing. Could that monster have brainwashed her somehow? Was she being held prisoner? But she didn’t look captured - on the contrary, she was raising her head up and down toward the thing and… chanting? She didn’t look unwilling. But why else would she be here acting like this?
And then it happened. As I stood frozen, staring at the scene before me, I took a step forward, and the floor creaked under my foot. I realized my mistake immediately, but it was too late - both the creature and Kayla turned their heads at once and looked at me, and for a second, it seemed like they were staring with the same red, glowing eyes.
At that moment, I turned, ran out of the room, and slammed the door behind me. I ran down the hall and started to go toward my room, but I thought that’s where she would look for me first, so I ran to the kitchen and ducked behind the counter. As I knelt there, shaking in fear, I could hear her talking.
“Cora? Cora? Are you OK?” She managed to fill her voice with concern that I might accept as genuine if I hadn’t seen her eyes before.
“Cora, where are you? I’m worried about you - you haven’t been acting like yourself lately. I’m worried the lack of food may be getting to you. Come on out and let me help.”
No fucking way was I doing that. As I heard her voice get slightly further away, I used the time while she was searching my room to look around the kitchen. There weren’t many places to hide - it was an ancient kitchen, so there wasn’t an island, just an old pantry. But there was silverware. I grabbed a knife from the drawer, opening and closing it quietly, and ran into the pantry and hid behind a shelf that was leaning backwards against the wall. There, I tried to slow my heartbeat and breath while I listened.
“Cora? Can you hear me? I’m worried about you, sweetie. Just let me know where you are soI can try to help,” she said as her voice got closer. She sounded so much like my friend, I really wanted to believe her.
I heard her search the main room and then enter the kitchen. I risked a quick glance from the pantry, and what I saw shook me to the core. It was Kayla, but it wasn’t. She was still there - her body, her hair, her arms and legs. But there was a deep, glowing red where her blue eyes used to be, like they had been replaced with rubies made of blood. And she kind of glided along the floor instead of walking. And worst of all, she was surrounded by a kind of shadow - not one that followed her along the floor, like shadows are supposed to, but one that enveloped her and moved through the air around her, like a living thing, like something out of nightmares.
It was terrifying.
I knew then that my best friend was gone, if she’d ever really been there. And I knew that I had to get out. I waited quietly in the pantry, hoping she would pass by and leave the kitchen. And she did, for a moment. But as she was walking out, her body gave a jerk, like she’d been pulled suddenly by a string, and she turned and looked toward the pantry with a sly, self-satisfied smile.
“Cora, sweetie, I know you’re in there. Come on out so I can help you.”
At this point, I was so scared I could barely think straight, but I knew going out there was a bad idea, so I sat where I was quietly. I looked around for any path of escape, but the only entrance or exit was the one I’d come through. I was trapped.
“We’ll, if you aren’t coming out, I guess I’ll have to come in.”
I could hear her footsteps getting closer, and I started to panic. I wasn’t a fighter at all, I never had been, and I certainly wasn’t ready to fight whatever she was now.
The pantry door creaked open slowly, and I could see the thing that was Kayla stepping in. I was frozen. She continued to come in, talking all the while.
“I know you’re in here, Cora. Why are you hiding from me? Aren’t we best friends? Don’t you trust me?”
The hell I did. And at that moment, in a fit of inspiration and strength that I still can’t figure out, I pushed with all my might and the shelf I was behind fell forward and crashed onto Kayla. She screamed, and I got up and sprinted out of the pantry. I had no idea where to go - she’d find me in my room, and I wasn’t going back to that creepy room she was in before. Then it occurred to me - there was only one option left. I would have to go outside.
I could hear her pushing the shelf and knew I didn’t have much time, so I ran for the door of the shack, threw it open, and burst out into the field beyond, closing the door behind me in the vain hope that she wouldn’t follow me there. Where to go? The swamp was still there, as were the woods with their unknown horrors. And above, the red moon still shone down from the unknown sky. I remembered a quote I read once - “the universe is vast and dark and full of terrors.” I’d never realized how true that was. My mother once said that it’s easy to make good choices when you have good options, but sometimes the only options you have are bad ones, and then you just have to do the best you can. So, with no good options to choose from, I ran towards the forest.
I crossed the open space quickly, barely noticing my footsteps as I made it to the edge of the woods and crossed over. At once the sounds cut away, and I was left in an oppressive silence. After only a few moments, though, the silence went away, and I began to hear the same quiet moans as in my previous visit.
I watched the door of the house from behind a tree at the edge of the woods. I’m not sure what I was hoping to see - would seeing Kayla or waiting longer in these woods be more terrifying? - but, after a minute, Kayla emerged from the shack. She looked back and forth for a moment, then her face pointed directly toward me, as if some extra sense told her exactly where I was (although she couldn’t possibly have seen me). Either way, she started walking slowly across the open space toward the woods.
With nowhere else to go, I began to walk quietly further back into the trees. I tried to stay close to the edge to be able to escape quickly, but I kept having to go further in as I heard Kayla following me. Suddenly, I began to hear something else - while Kayla was nearing me from behind, something else began to approach from ahead. The trees began rustling, just as before, and I sensed that wherever had chased me before was there, as if it had been waiting.
I turned to my right, trying to cut a path away from both of my pursuers, but I knew it wouldn’t work forever. Desperate, I crouched behind a tree and hoped neither would notice me.
“Cora,” came a voice suddenly from about a hundred feet behind me and to my left. “Why are you running? Aren’t we friends? Come with me and let’s get out of here. We can go and try to find help.”
As I knelt, shaking, behind the thick trunk, I felt something under my leg. I looked down, and saw a pile of dirt that had obviously been dug up recently. Quietly, I reached down and dug at the dirt with my hands. I don’t know what I expected, but I wasn’t prepared for what I found. There, in a small hole beneath the dirt, were a wallet, keys, and a cell phone, along with two fingers. I opened the wallet, and the driver's license had Nick’s picture.
Oh My God.
What happened to Nick? Did Kayla sacrifice him in some kind of weird ritual? Why? And what was I doing here? Where was here, even? And why did I ever trust her and follow her to this evil place?
By this point, I was scared out of my mind, and I kept hearing Kayla get closer. “Come on out, Cora. There’s still time to make it out of here.”
She was only two trees over, now, and I realized I’d have to face her. I reached for the knife from the kitchen, but it was gone! I must have dropped it when I was leaving the shack. Dammit! Tears were falling down my face, but I had no time for them. Think, Cora! What now?
Suddenly, Kayla stood before me. But she was no longer Kayla. She still bore a resemblance to the person I’d thought was my friend, but now, knowing what she was and what she’d done, she no longer stirred the feelings I used to have for her. Her eyes were glowing a bright red, and a shadow pulsed around her as if alive. She looked at me, red eyes filled with malice, and smiled.
“I’ve finally found you, Cora. Nice job of running, but that’s over now.”
I looked into her eyes, and the red glow started to expand out of them - the same red as the moon above, I now realized. I don’t know how to describe it - it was like I could feel it in my soul. And I suddenly started to remember all of the darkest moments of my life, all of my regrets.
I was nine. I was hungry in the middle of the night, and I wanted cookies. I knew I wasn’t allowed in the cookie jar, but I opened it anyway. It broke, and I let my parents think that my little brother Sam did it. They believed me, but I’ve always felt guilty.
I was thirteen. The other girls had the idea to cut class to graffiti the girls’ bathroom. I thought it was a bad idea, but they were popular and I wanted to be, too. I was grounded for two weeks. My parents said the right things, but I could feel their disappointment. I was ashamed that I’d let them down.
I was sixteen. I had just gotten my driver’s license and was excited to pick up my little brother from school. My parents normally wouldn’t let me, but they both had to work late and I promised to be careful. I didn’t mean to drop my phone, or to take my eye off the road. I’d told Sam to wear his seatbelt, but I should have checked to make sure. My parents told me they didn’t blame me, but I always felt that they looked at me differently, especially after the divorce. I certainly blamed myself, and why wouldn’t I? It’s not every teenage girl who kills her baby brother.
All of my worst moments began to play on a loop in my mind, and all the while, The-thing-that-used-to-be-Kayla kept smiling. And the more I suffered, the brighter the red glow from her eyes became and the more the shadow around her pulsed and spread. It was like it was feeding off of my misery and pain.
I fell to my knees - the pain was overwhelming and I was starting to have trouble thinking. The-thing-that-used-to-be-Kayla began walking toward me, arms outstretched and shadow seeping through the air between us, and I knew this was it. I was going to die here.
But then I thought of my parents. What they’d already lost. Could I let them lose me, too? And I realized that, as much as I blamed myself for Sam, and as much as I’d hated myself for the last two years, I had to let it go. I’d blamed myself so much that I’d tried to end my life last year, thinking that I didn’t deserve to be alive if he wasn’t, but I was wrong. I did want to live. I would never forget him, but I had to find a way to move forward. And to do that, I had to get away.
The-thing-that-used-to-be-Kayla was almost on me now - I could feel its shadow touching my skin. And I was weak and had nothing to defend myself with. And then it was on me, and, in a fit of desperation, I plunged one of the keys from Nick’s keychain into its neck.
It reared back in pain, and I found the strength to rise to my feet and begin running. I didn’t have a plan - all I could think was to get back to the shack. I ran through woods, branches whipping against my legs and face, but I didn’t dare slow down.
As I approached the tree line, I heard The-thing-that-used-to-be-Kayla start running after me. But I also heard something else - the thud of heavy footsteps. The thing that had chased me during my first visit into the woods was back.
I had no time to worry about it now - I just ran as quickly as I could. I passed by the swamp, hearing both of my pursuers getting closer. I could see the shack ahead of me, but I didn’t know if I would make it in time. Then, suddenly, there was a great noise behind me. Against my better judgment, I looked back.
I will remember what I saw there for the rest of my life.
A huge creature made of darkness emerged from the trees. It was as if all of the shadows of everything nearby coalesced into a single shadow as tall as a building. Dozens of shadow tendrils extended from its body, and a hundred eyes adorned its - head? - each glowing the same red as the moon. I didn’t see how anything like it could exist. It was terrifying.
Four tendrils began to extend toward me, and I knew I was done for. But then the tendrils shifted and wrapped around each of the limbs of The-thing-that-used-to-be-Kayla. It/she screamed as the tendrils lifted it/her off the ground, and the shadow around it/her began to leech away from it/her and into the larger creature. And then, once the shadow was entirely gone, the creature pulled. And The-thing-that-used-to-be-Kayla gave an agonizing scream as each of the limbs was separated from its/her body with a sharp ripping sound.
Eventually, the screaming stopped. And as I stood there, I felt the creature looking at me, almost as if it were weighing me. After what could have been a minute or a lifetime, the creature turned and slunk back into the woods. And I ran into the shack, closed the door, and cried.
That was all two hours ago. Eventually the adrenaline wore off and I passed out. And now I’m awake again and writing this all down while it's fresh in my mind. I don’t know what’s real. I don’t know where I am. I don’t know what that thing was. But I am alone in this shack now, and I know that I have to figure out what to do next. There’s no one to help me - I’m on my own.
June 18
It’s been two days since I faced off against The-thing-that-used-to-be-Kayla. It’s been quiet here - no one else is in the shack, and I piled furniture in front of the door leading to the room of horrors. I might even be safe here for a while.
But there’s no food. My protein bars and water are gone, and I’m starting to get really hungry. And if I stay here, I’ll probably never see my home or family again. And I really want to. After everything I’ve been through, I realize I really want to live.
So I’ve thought about what to do. Nick’s car is long gone, as there’s no way to go get help. My phone is still hanging on by a thread - they really weren’t lying about the standby battery time - but there’s no internet and no way to call anyone. And it’s unlikely that anyone is just going to drop by. So I can stay here until I starve to death, or I can go for help.
Out there.
It seems like a bad idea, but I don’t have a better option. The thing out there saw me once and let me live - maybe it doesn’t want me. Maybe it just wanted The-thing-that-used-to-be-Kayla all along. Or maybe she was an appetizer and it will be hungry again soon. Or maybe there’s something out there that’s even worse. I honestly don’t know. But I’m out of options.
I’m leaving this journal here. It won’t do me any good out there, and maybe someone will find it here and come help. I don’t know, but it’s worth a try.
If you find this, I’m alone, and scared, and I could really use your help. Please come find me. I’ll be out there. In the trees.
This is Cora Bennett, signing off.
Note: This journal was found in the middle of an empty field in Alameda County, California. The search for its author is ongoing.

So I went yesterday to get some copies of two keys cut and left saddened at similar we are to the Romans at the Fall of the Empire. Evidently, with the new machines at Lowes, if it's not preprogrammed into the machine, Lowes can't cut a key for you. The kiosk standing right next to it can, though. We have stepped over that line. The machines can now do everyday menial things that humans, with the help of machines, cannot.
By the way, if it's not evident by now, the true horror of AI is not AI turning on us and making war so efficiently we can't compete. If you think the two separate reality bubbles that the left and right political bubbles live in now are bad, AI in just a few years has alraedy become so good, you can't tell the difference between historical documents and AI generated ones. The coming reality fuck is going to hit us on so many levels at once, mass psychosis doesn't even begin to describe how fucked up everyone's minds are going to be when you don't know what's real anymore, even your own past.
Well, that got dark pretty fast.
I;ll have a double-double, animal style with cheese, fries and a coke.

Let's clear some misconceptions, I hope all of you remember this post. Apologies for the long wall of text and history rant. I don't wish people to repeat inaccurate claims and stereotypes.
1.Rome is not just Greece 2.0- while ancient Rome did get influenced by ancient Greece, truth is their deities already existed and were similar due to being common Indo-European archetypes. The Romans conflated the Greek deities with theirs when they conquered Greece, however their versions were different (e.g. Ares was a bully, dumb brute, coward and jerk; while Mars was kind, brave, calm and wise). The Romans also conflated other cultures' deities with their own- e.g. the Egyptian Isis has shrines build in Rome while Anubis got syncretised with Hermes, resulting in Hermanubis. They also conflated Celtic and Germanic deities with their own. However ancient Rome had unique deities without Greek counterparts- one such example is the double-faced Janus. Lastly if Romans ever get added in AOM, they could also use minor deities not present in the Greek and Atlantean ingame civilizations- Eris, Thanatos, Cupid, Nike, Themis, Charon, Pan, etc. Don't get me started on the cultural aspects either- the Romans had Centurions and Legionnaires warriors, the Greeks didn't have those.
2.Celts and Slavs are not just Norse ripoffs- yes, there are similarities due to all of them having the same Proto-Indo European origin, but they are culturally distinct. The Norse are Germanic people and ingame are portrayed as medieval vikings. The Celts are one of the oldest indigenous European cultures and they have several unique aspects (e.g. druids and woad raiders). The Slavs are harder to pinpoint, but they also have unique aspects which could be incorporated with proper research. However I must admit that Norse, Celtic and Slavs are unified by one problem- they didn't write down their pagan polytheistic mythology after they were converted into Christianity in the Middle Ages. Therefore, all written records of their myths come from biased second and third-hand accounts (various Christian monks living in secluded monasteries) therefore alot of their mythologies are open to speculation. The Celts and Slavs have multiple cool and unique mythological creatures which could be added, however listing them all would require a separate post dedicated just for themselves.
3.Mesopotamia and Persia are not one and the same- Mesopotamia (the place in the Middle East between the Euphrates and Tigris rivers) is various tribes connected by the (mostly) same pantheon of multiple deities. This includes names like Gilgamesh, Enkidu, Pazuzu, Tiamat, Ishtar, Dumuzid, Nergal, Ereshkigal, Marduk, Kingu, Ninurta, Ninhursag and many others. Mesopotamia includes the Sumerians, Assyrians, Akkadians, Babylonians and others. Persia's religion was monotheistic- they practiced Zoroastrianism, which dictates there are 2 supreme gods with multiple lesser spirits which serve them. The good one is Ahura Mazda, while the evil one is Angra Mainyu. People are meant to worship only Ahura Mazda, thankfully Angra Mainyu is prophesied to eventually lose and get banished from the Universe. The Persians have some connections with ancient Vedic India, they created a large empire which was the most successful of its time before Alexander the Great from Macedonia destroyed Persepolis. The Zoroastrian Persians way before that brought the fall of Babylon and Mesopotamian polytheism in 540 BC, they also liberated the ancient Jewish. Zoroastrian Persians in many ways were progressive for their time, sadly today the religion is very rare (less than 50,000 followers) and most of them live in modern India where they are venerated as wise holy people.
4.Before Judaism and Christianity existed there were Canaanite- I have seen plenty of people here suggest Judaism, Christianity and Islam for AOM pantheons which is controversial (imagine Muslim terrorists attacking Microsoft for depicting the prophet Muhammad) and impractical, since these 3 religions are monotheistic (just 1 supreme god) instead of having a pantheon of multiple deities where 3 can be used for AOM's major deity mechanic. While Islam has taken some inspirations from Judaism and Christianity, it's mostly it's own separate thing. However, Judeo-Christianity are their both directly related to the older Canaanite religion. This was worshipped by ancient Carthage, Phoenicia, Hebrew Palestine, Jerusalem, and others. The pantheon has deities like Elohim, Dagon, Anahita, Hadad, Baal, Adonis, Mot, Yam, Astarte and others. Some of these deities have counterparts in Mesopotamia (e.g. Astarte and Ishtar), however after Yahweh became the supreme monotheistic deity the others were literally demonised- e.g. Baal Zebub became Beelzebub the demon fly of decay and gluttony.
5.Mayans, Aztecs and Incas are not one and the same- the Mayans are closest related to the Olmecs which are the oldest known civilization in the Americas (in particular Central America). The Aztecs are related to the Mixtecs, Toltecs and Zapotecs which are invaders from the north. While it's true they share similar deities (e.g. Kukulkan and Quetzalcoatl the feathered serpents), it's a case of archetypes and syncretism akin to Proto-Indo European thunder gods (Zeus-Jupiter-Indra-Thor-Perun-Taranis-etc). The Mayans have more detailed artstyle which shows the muscles of the human body (akin to ancient Mesopotamian carvings) while the Aztec are more abstract and stylized, resembling comic books (akin to ancient Egyptian paintings). The Mayans rarely practiced human sacrifice, infact they were more prone to self-mutilation to appease their gods. The Aztecs meanwhile are infamous for their capturing of enemy tribe prisoners and gruesomely sacrificing them. Granted, the stories are exaggerated by European Christians upon seeing them and so the surviving remnants of Central/Mesoamerican culture/mythology are written by biased sources (but the Aztecs were indeed more aggressive and militaristic compared to otheprevious Mesoamerican cultures). The Incas aren't connected with the above cultures at all, they lived only in South America (in the Andes mountains). They are the only indigenous Americans with pack animals (llamas), they rarely perform human sacrifice (they are more inclined to throwing away food and gold for religious practices), and instead of writing they use "Quipu"- a bunch of strings and knots. Ironically the Incas are the only indigenous Americans which have invented the wheels but only use them on children's toys, because mountain terrain is harsh.
6.Perfect Sub Saharan African candidate for AOM- I have seen many people here wanting an African culture (besides Egypt) added in AOM, with several suggestions being Zulu. However, the perfect candidate already exists- the Yoruba people of West Africa. They have ancestry in the ancient Nok culture (although they lack writing and instead preserve their history/mythology via oral tradition), they have metallurgy and could use dinosaur cryptids (Mokele Mbembe, Kasai Rex, Emela Ntouka, Muhuru, Kongamato, Mamlambo, etc) to give them more of a unique flair. West and central Africa have dense jungles. The Yoruba have multiple lesser deities (called Orishas) which serve as the middlemen between mortal humans and the one supreme god- Olorun (actually three gods fused in one), who rarely interacts with the physical world. However while Yoruba does have connections with Voodoo and other African diaspora, please do not conflate them. Seeing Anansi and Baron Samedi alongside Shango and Yemoja would be very weird and culturally inaccurate. Presumably AOM is a game intended for a USA playerbase audience, with many people in that country being of African origin (called Afro-Americans). Well, if you like this game want to be represented by AOM then I suggest you start asking Microsoft to do some research and include an Yoruba civ in AOM Retold.
7.Japan is not China 2.0- same reasons as above. Japan did adopt some cultural aspects of ancient China, however it's unique in many ways (e.g. shoguns, daimyos, samurais, ninjas, etc). Japan being the second biggest media producer after USA, has created alot of pop culture (games, comics, cartoons, etc) and many of that is influenced by its native religion. Granted the portrayals are often inaccurate and stylized for several reasons, therefore please take them with a pinch of salt. Gotta mention one important thing- Japan syncretised its local religion (Shintoism) with Buddhism, imported from China. The god Bishamon isn't Japanese, it's a Bodhisattva imported from mainland Asia. The Japanese in AOM (assuming they ever get added of course) should only use Shinto deities and creatures, without any outside Buddhist influences to keep it culturally unique, distinct and pure.
8.India is neither polytheistic nor monotheistic, it's pantheistic- Hinduism has multiple branches based on different interpretations, many of which are mutually exclusive. The religion is all encompassing of many doctrines (Shaktism, Jainism, Vaishnavism, Shaivism, etc), it's not a single unified religion with just one canon. There are presumably over 330 million deities, though Hindus claim that many of them are incarnations (avatars) of one another, and ultimately everything is a part of the Brahman (not to be confused with Brahma, the creator god of the Trimurti). Explaining all and everything of Hinduism is impossible. And of course, the religion has changed throughout its history- ancient Vedic India is much different than the modern day country. Infact, the differences between the different branches are often sources of disputes and conflicts between the people, but obviously the country tries to keep all people together peacefully. Admittedly it's difficult (but not impossible per se) to have a Hindu pantheon/civilization added in AOM, so Microsoft will have to do some heavy research and consultation. If there is ever a Hindu faction in AOM, the 3 major deities will be the Trimurti for thematic reasons (Brahma the Creator, Vishnu the Preserver and Shiva the DestroyeRe-creator); I am aware that Brahma is barely worshipped IRL unlike Vishnu and Shiva however this is one artistic liberty AOM can get away with for the sake of thematic reasons. AOM already has several inaccuracies for the sake of gameplay- e.g. Horus being a minor god for Seth despite the 2 being arch-enemies. PS: Hinduism is AFAIK the 3rd biggest religion (after Christianity and Islam) in the world, having over 1 billion followers, therefore it's considered a huge living practiced religion and not just a small cult.
9.Sadly not all cultures and religions are possible for addition in AOM- I don't mean to be disrespectful but as I already stated above, monotheistic religions cannot be added in AOM because of controversy, gameplay mechanics and other issues. This means no Judaism, Christianity, Islam, Buddhism, Gnosticism, Voodoo, etc. Also not every mythology is popular and marketable enough. Gotta be honest- do you expect Microsoft ever adding a Finnish civilization with Väinämöinen in AOM Retold? Personally I doubt it will ever happen because this culture and mythology isn't popular and profitable enough. PS: fun fact- this was one of Tolkien's inspirations for his Middle Earth legendarium. Dude was an expert on various European cultures and mythologies (Greco-Roman, Celtic, Norse, etc).
10.Avalon, Mongolian and Polynesian factions are possible but much harder- these and other cultures are honorable mentions for AOM inclusions. They have several problems with their potential addition- e.g. lacking armor, cavalry, pack animals and siege engines (Polynesians). The Mongols have cool unique culture but they are nomads living in temporary huts and mostly spend their lifes travelling on horses (or camels, yaks, etc). They did conquer half the known world at one point due to their intelligence and brutality however they lack siege engines and other things (which they took from ancient China during their conquests). The Avalon (king Arthur myths) is also hard to implement- besides the anachronism (medieval armored knights vs ancient Greeks and Egyptians), the Arthurian mythology is heavily connected with Christianity and creating a pantheon out of knights and sorcerers would be cool but weird. That and they are basically a "modern" version of the ancient Celtic people. These problems is even worse for "primitive" tribal cultures (e.g. Inuit, Lakota, Tupi-Guarani, Zulu, the Aboriginal Australians, etc) so they are even harder for any potential addition in AOM Retold.

Salutations fellow sinners,
If you are righteous, this plea is not for you; but regardless, grace, not pieces within you even yet.
In the words of those before me, I hope it will not be thought disrespectful to those this may not apply, my opinions are just that, and quite contrary to what we are sold on the television set. The world stage is a large one, but different people often see the same subject in different lights, and, therefore I shall speak openly, without reserve, and in light of God’s Words of truth, the greater light, bet–
Yet, while mercy has been displayed continually by our father, love he and thank thee, merci’ – we failed to follow suit. Mitigating sacrifice was established through the last sacrifice; and it was not Paul, Saul, David or Bugatti. But in order to know God, you must know the Son. A sinner of the statute of the life I have lived can shed light on the power of repentance and the saving grace of our God, the Creator, thanks to the Son. This is the first call, all call, last call to fellow sinners; a call to pause and reflect because the signs of times are all around us, and this time we can’t walk out of the stagecoach.
In the beginning, God made two lights- one greater and one lesser, but both lights nonetheless. Both residing externally Sun and Moon, and internally, both a comprehension of plurality of masculine and feminine, as well as greater and lesser light. But regardless, both lights nonetheless, and light always wins; now or later, preferably sweeter and sooner than the Phoenix. Along the path to redemption there are inevitably trials and tests commensurate with our desires – but the beauty of our Father’s plan, he always brings us back to the brighter light, once we comprehend – for only he and we know the affliction of our heart. He keeps working on us until our hearts are purified and fully understands his design for our lives. There will always be good vs. evil both internally and externally until balanced, but in reality, it is God vs. man because only God is good, and let us be honest, are we really trying to challenge that? But God keeps promises in bringing us back even in our ignorance, and I can attest to that. He is our strength at all times, both high and low; yielding in our hearts to what he’s trying to teach our soul. He loves us regardless of how far we are or fall, and will not abandon us, no matter what live now says, fear not.
Sometimes lessons are sobering for those who are stubborn; we may not understand, but he knows how to teach us through the environment around us. Jesus, our brother and while a, also the, son, came to emphasize the importance of yielding to God for correction. His yoke is indeed lighter; showing us how to attain it through following; following requires doing, which demands denying ourselves more often and practicing faith knowing in your heart the brighter light always prevails. Reiterating if we have a missing piece, a hole to fill, it is God we’re searching for; it can’t be filled with earthly matters. If we lose faith, we lose sight of what he’s doing in our lives and those we are in contact with. Making sure the light prevails, for when we tumble in the darkness, the light only surfaces on occasion.
Nonetheless, our hearts become like a twisted ball of yarn the more we sin and stray from the path he tries to keep us on. He has to untangle each strand, leading us back one by one. Reintegration and restoration, trust and love, resurrecting a passion for life. The prodigal kids, here we come; and he does it for all of us, not just some. He’s a master potter, shaping and molding us throughout life; some more stiff necked than others, but that’s par for the course. Just like the oxen, being worked in amongst the fodder, break the weights and the neck will move further. The moment we surrender and turn back in plea, truly searching and seeking out thee; he always relents and helps us to rebuild. It is a bitter sweet double-edged sword for when you realize that we cause our own dismay amplified by false portrayals around us, it becomes quite evident what must change. The weight on our brother’s shoulders, both then and now – for he fought without lifting a finger for us and did not succumb, but prevailed. The last sacrifice, unfathomable and deserving of appreciation; but fear not friends, for he has been risen, many times before. Once we accept that we are being groomed to receive the promises guaranteed to all, that he wants all of the sheeple, not just the spotless, life makes more sense. He is coming to bring us all home, around to the full light. A combination of both as intended, a mastery of self-awareness; Love prevails, God never fails.
We are indeed all like Atom, after all we do live in Atom’s Sphere, and are made up of none other than, atoms here, and yes, just as we have been told time and again, hallowed my dear. Hence the Alpha and the Omega, first and last, because this whole life is made up of just that. Yet, while science is fascinating and adoration of awe; don’t forget to give credit to the maker of it all. Hence, we must seek and be able to answer “Who am I” in order to identify origination; that is where we find God. We as the body are the temple, not a box. He is the One and the Three, the tree for both you and me; tomorrow’s vision may not be a Friday, but there will be a day. God is the master mathematician, and he's not a big fan on division. You see our God is a God of multiplication and addition, not a fan of taking away and starting over; who wants to destroy their crop, unless a last resort? Speaking of which, have you seen, who owns the largest amount of crops? Will be interesting to see, how someone with so much acreage could see famine right down the street, and what they’ll do to address the civil unrest. Quite contrary indeed, similar to a drug dealer killing their clientele with highly synthetic pleas. But if that’s what it takes, we know the lord doesn’t hesitate, do you serve the lord, God, or the local magistrates. Ever considered why cows are so sacred? The opposite of Mo’ Mo’ is Woe Woe; we need more Mo and less woe, man. Between Wesley and Presley, Stanley and Springsteen, the Stones and Roses; we should see by now; but even while written on the walls, we become selfish and thinking ‘me above all’.
This pissing matches in the desert are just continuations of ancient-day slaughter. David vs. Goliath based out of sheer foolery and fighting over the daughters; ashes to ashes, dust to dust- our Christ, your Christ, their Christ ours, is already alive, residing inside us, awaiting to be unlocked from behind the bars. Yet, is that how we receive grace, by taking it? Controlling the funds, ports, or oil and calling ourselves kings or gods of the kingdom. Casting lots without him and creating general allotments. Kicking out those who were before us, how has that worked so far. He promised he wouldn’t leave, and indeed it’s been true. He’s been living in the structure of our being, both me and you. Why do you think the pollen heightens or hurricanes roar stronger; how flowers and trees come to be before we; unprecedented spectacles will only be warnings so much longer. Do we think that ‘it is what it is’ and just move on? Or do we halt, stop, ponder seek and see. For even the great magician couldn’t see this set, so much time with deceit and perversions, not enough time in the foreground yet, living the life you forced others to see; not this one, not I, not the Leo in me. Go back and see for yourself, take a peep at the reel, yes … read. The Republic, Phaedo, The Symposium, The Torah, Quran, Testimonies, Revelation, Mayan, Chinese, Indian, Norse, Native American principles – yet we still sometimes fail to see, the children of God – yes, that is you and me.
The Lion of Judah paid the sacrifice for us to live, by combining the three sticks into one, into One hand, the Father. Three, one, One, the fifth star complete. We were told in the book of Ezekiel “Say unto them, thus saith the Lord God; Behold, I will take the stick of Joseph, which is in the hand of Ephraim, and the tribes of Israel his fellows, and will put them with him, even with the stick of Judah, and make them one stick, and they shall be one in mine hand.” All right there on Calvary; so that others may, LIVE. . . if they believe! But faith is a personal profession and proclamation, between man/woman, wholeness in singularity and God. Why was that taken away from us, from the people? For the people, by the people, forsaken the love we first had, our sweet May flower, Satsuki.
It is a part of the lessons as the road trips us up sometimes, Lara sold to the captain for a lot more than 30 shekels this time. But step away Mr. R.A., this auction is believers only; Lady Beth is in a bud bidding battle, 26 and gone. Smoke stacks spitting, dualities into the sunny skies before night; loads on the roads bringing tears to our eyes. Ancient times and can’t forget behind locked inside the cages; the ringmasters and toastmasters, telecasters and forecasters, singing on an empty stage. Cheating is cheating regardless of state, zip, or theatrical stage, for them, your friends, or colleagues esteemed, 897, 598, 8; quit with your shows and lies and make-believe pies and let my soul’s mate, great. Hope comes from more than batteries and neon, don’t go spending money on needles and guns just yet, neither hot nor cold, and yes . . . Lo key, Loki blues not at all much hotter. Take a look at the wood of holly and you’ll see how the dream works; fishing moon to moon, but be careful who you pray to goonies. For that whistle could be a thistle, and barefoot with blue jeans.
But there is only One judge and jury, so who are we to kick people out, when no one owns this land that we reside on amongst earth; just like the artic, no visa required. So how do we turn our backs on our brothers and sisters fleeing in need of higher glory, for a glory of a nation, belongs to the Father. The hunger games have begun; yet, just as warned by the Son, and Sun, we have been more focused on abiding by man-made rules. We could have even listened to Kat or the Tules, but sure didn’t see that one either. For even in Genesis, the very first book, it takes searching and hunting with arrowheads for the stars to line up. Creating a multi-faceted, yet singular story; “and the angel of the Lord found her by a fountain of water in the wilderness called Shur”, sure sounds familiar. Like Jesus and the Samaritan by the well, but what is Samaritan; but darkness of the night, yet we are still the pupil of the eye. Nonetheless, a child of God and who is man to judge? Again, we find in Genesis, for the beginning doesn’t make sense until the end, “wherefore the well was called “Beer-la-hai-roi” – oh, hey Roy, let’s stop drinking whiskey, I would like to drink from the fountain of life so I can see. Behold, it is between Kadesh, which means clean, and Be-red, which sounds a lot like anger. Faith, Hope, and Love overcomes death even yet.
For man rests on the outskirts of our spirit, the flesh and bag of bones. For the spirit is strong, but the flesh is weak and yet our God is omnipresent amongst all, with no favoritism and no hate. What a beautiful date, for only God is great, and we are works in progress; the good stuff, the bad, the ugly, the beautiful, it does not matter to he who creates. Our souls will be purified and set free after redemption and cleansing. Some along the way have manipulated that fact for political gain, financial gain, status, time and time again. Like now, again – don’t believe it? Start searching and you will see it.. But ole Lewis was crafty, both on and off stage, not really wanting you to see behind that veil or the sage. Jesus told us to seek, and we would find; and oh, you do… once earnestly like, Mr.
The Sign of Jonah we have already seen, and continue to see, for those with eyes or ears and those who are not asleep. For we know that “Jonah was gone down into the sides of the ship; and he lay, and was fast asleep.” “They cast lots, and the lot fell upon Jonah.” “He said to them, I am an Hebrew; and I fear the Lord, the God of heaven, which hath made the sea and the dry land.” Mind you, a brew of “he” – we all have a little Hebrew inside of us, some even a little Peter.
The men knew he had fled from the presence of the Lord. “I cried by reason of mine affliction unto the Lord and he heard me, out of the belly of hell cried I, and thou heard my voice. The waters compassed me about, even to the soul: the depth closed me round about, the weeds were wrapped about my head. I went down to the bottoms of the mountains: the earth with her bars was about me forever: yet hast thou brought up my life from corruption, O Lord my God. They that observe lying vanities forsake their own mercy. But I will sacrifice unto thee with the voice of thanksgiving, I will pay that, that I have vowed. He was the last sacrifice, and no more are desired or required. Instead, deny that last drink, or staying out too late seeking sin and adulteries; spoken from wisdom, it causes death all the faster. But it’s more than just the obvious sins and transgressions, for God knows our hearts, and that is hard to hide. Proof is in the puddin’ they say, so what are we made of? Pause, Rewind, and Reflect; break the curse of negative consequence; or be like Joseph, forget.
Brothers and Sisters, the choice is yours for we are different but the same, how can we question and use his name in vein. Was he not the one who highlighted the arteries, the good and the evil, all wrapped up in one. Overcoming and persevering through the plurality, aligning the zeros and mitigating other ones. So, what exactly is the plurality we are faced with deep within this sea of the dead? Shall we consider all of the crests and logos throughout time looking at what they have in common, for I agree with thee. Especially the ones they like to plaster like the ivy all over our walls and halls. Or the stories of creation amongst cultures, lions, gods, legends, dragons, rabbits, dogs, and yes… baals. You can keep your Jumanji, because do you think he cares if we play football or soccer, or what kind of fancy clothes we wear. Is it not less so the act and more so the fact, that while some make millions to play, we’ve got kids homeless and hungry on the streets without a fork, pillow, or books to read. Yet, we always find something to protest, leaving the big question up in the air of who would like to see, finally a day of rest? He’s the same God… try and protest that.
When a red giant loses hydrogen, it loses brightness; likewise, when a red rose loses hydrogen, it also loses brightness. When hydrogen is lost, sulfur ensues to reestablish homeostasis. Yes, brimstone and sulfur help to re-establish pH levels in soil, which is required for a rose to thrive. We are the rose, rose lines have been established all along, out of the ground from the mud, a flower amongst all. Heading back from the blue; yes, that is me and you. God is the cultivator, not the local gardener. Weather my family, we have no control, even though we try. But the all-seeing, he knows what others don’t and the ‘others’ are you and I – did we not see the one that just took first place prize amongst all our eyes floating in the April skies? Do we need more signs of times from space, a wish dragon may not be the best one for our fate. When a son is born, God keeps his covenant; a rainbow in the sky, a spectacle of color and beauty. When a supernova explodes, or the star’s energy is “liberated”, collapsing into a neutron star, or a black hole, respectively and collectively. If someone is of the lesser light, a black hole is born, eating everything around it to the point that its surroundings collapse in; whereas someone of the greater light, Jimmy the neutron shines bright.
One pill makes you larger, one pill makes you small; but must you not know both sides of the coin before you pick up and play with the ball. Ask Neo, or Leo, or summon Alice; ask for a cortado, or ask the Mayans who’s sons also played baal. For words are words, but the sounds of nature are what reveal the true voice of God. If sound is manipulated, and your eyes put into a blur; who’s to say you really know what day it is, thanks Greg. But when sound and sight become a tool of manipulation for the ages, that’s when it’s time to step in and say hold your four horses there Cynisca. The sins my friend must come to an end for there are watchers this time, and they’ve been watching. I’m not sure Theodore meant the credit belongs to the Olympic athlete; more so the man or woman whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, from the knocks of this life. The gripping servitude, a distraction from reality. Getting beat down constantly by society, those appointed over, trying to make an inch only to get hit with a mile. Eights are great especially for fate, but fate without grace; run rabbit run.
The only way to recover from being a sinner is to be baptized by understanding, you have to go through it to grow through it; persevere in order to see the promises. That fire on the mountain will make you a little crazy, but if you persevere and stick through it, it will most certainly save you and teach a level of compassion unknown before. Once you realize that ‘circumcision’ has nothing, yet everything, to do with genitalia, you begin to understand quickly. The spirit is alive inside of us when we choose to listen and ‘liberate it’. Jesus told us himself, the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak. And then Genesis tells us “Abraham was 99 years old when he was circumcised in the flesh of his foreskin; “and all the men of his house, born in the same house, and bought with money of the stranger, were circumcised with him. Do you really think a 99-year-old man had his genitals cut, when God is of Mercy and Compassion, not human mutilation and humiliation? Isn’t it more plausible after understanding of truth, that the circumcision is ascension of the spirit, for those who come to, and we all do.
We know in Hosea God says that he “desires mercy and not sacrifice.” And again, in Matthew paraphrased “but go and learn what this means, I desire mercy and not sacrifice, for I have come to call not the righteous, but the sinners to repentance.” Steps begotten even further for merci’ is thanks, and thanks do we owe he. But have we learned… Even in the Quran, paraphrased “Say oh my worshippers, who have transgressed against himself, never lose hope in the mercy of God.” If we are meant to live in the image of God, who is of mercy; why do we constantly battle for superiority. Religion is a man-made cancer.
Mother Earth is roaring like a lion, at the tipping point wondering why we are acting like the blood sucking zombies we are. For oil is a type of blood line, an artery, life for earth. How do we assume that an engine runs without oil; yet, we are constantly bombarded with the façade that global warming is “not on this earth.” Google’s earth and the X would suggest otherwise, right there amongst the screens for all eyes to see, once they take the time to glean. Joy and glee must have escaped you and me, for it is not the “gold” that everyone seeks. Makes a lot of sense why the gods of earth would want the wars to continue, if you were the benefactor of what fuels the flame. But sorry Mr. want to be king, contrary to belief, it is not just a “can of soup that you can stack on top of” and take what we want without regard for the overall sustainability. For some reason, we only consider the timeframe in which we are alive, but how much longer until we learn that we reap what we sow, and while we as a species have overcome many defeats, all that is really witnessed is destruction, on repeat.
We are in no times of ceremony or celebrations, yet that’s all we seem to do. Mass parades, escapades and Olympic masquerades. The question before the people, my fellow sinners; are you ready? But are we not in the exact same spot as Henry once said, “I consider it as nothing less than a question of freedom or slavery”; Egypt all over again, yes, this time globally.
But more than free from omens, how about liberty and justice, the two stone weights from above. It is then that we can place hope in representation; for the taxes and costs keep rising, but my people keep flailing. Do what you will, but there is no shame in opinion or giving offence; It should make us all question and hit our knees to repent. If the leaders of our houses are called Beelzebub or Jezebel, how much more those of their household, the slaves of man building their strongholds, me and you.
Henry warned over two-hundred years ago, a fact that resonates true, still to this day,
“We are apt to shut our eyes against a painful truth, and listen to the song of that siren till she transforms us into beasts. Is this the part of wise men, engaged in a great and arduous struggle for liberty? Are we disposed to be of the number of those who, having eyes, see not, and, having ears, hear not, the things which so nearly concern their temporal salvation? For my part, whatever anguish of spirit it may cost, I am willing to know the whole truth; to know the worst, and to provide for it.
I have but one lamp by which my feet are guided; and that is the lamp of experience. I know of no way of judging of the future but by the past. And judging by the past, I wish to know what there has been in the conduct of the British ministry for the last ten years, to justify those hopes with which gentlemen have been pleased to solace themselves, and the House? Is it that insidious smile with which our petition has been lately received? Trust it not, sir; it will prove a snare to your feet. Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed with a kiss. Ask yourselves how this gracious reception of our petition comports with these war-like preparations which cover our waters and darken our land. Are fleets and armies necessary to a work of love and reconciliation? Have we shown ourselves so unwilling to be reconciled, that force must be called in to win back our love? Let us not deceive ourselves, sir. These are the implements of war and subjugation; the last arguments to which kings’ resort.”
Patrick Henry, 1775.
Your name shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel; for you have struggled with God and with men, and have prevailed – righteous and ruins. So, Jacob called the name of the place Peniel for I have seen God face to face, and my life is preserved – again sounds familiar, a lot like Pineal, for he is indeed the all-seeing right on our foreheads. In the middle of its street, and on either side of the river, each tree yielding its fruit every month. The leaves of the tree were for the healing of nations, yet we see that one also become corrupt, chasing the dollar bill. They shall see his face, and his name shall be on their foreheads. Do you know your name. Do you know which ladder you’re climbing.
Like a trick candle, we will be re-lit; set out as conquerors and landed on our face thus yet. But when a forest burns, it comes back ever-green; all of my friends, again that is you and me. Leonardo and Charlie, they were about it too; just like Jesus told us, it can be me and you. But the path is narrow, hard to find like Stefani, but Ja rules once you remove the rocks and the water flows. Like the lightning and midnight moon, show its glow amongst the river flow where the wild fern grows. A flower there, with a purple; now you see Whitley.
Chase your dreams and do not be confined to the limitations within the confounds of your reality. Change your personality and you change your personal reality. Embrace experiences and learn from them; in so doing with all your heart be guided with best intent. Do not forsake love, especially the one we first had. Be understanding of yourself and each other. We are all interrelated, stories and family, as such we either help or hurt, collectively. But if you are living life with an open and loving heart, how can you contest we’d be better off than we were at the start. The more we make mistakes and ignore the truth, the further we delve away from others and the true you. That is the challenge of a life full of sin, we have to deny our desires in order to identify that in him. If we can do this at a micro level, we can do it at a macro level. For what is love, if you do not know – God is beautiful, and so are you.
Forsake not the value of consciousness and of life itself; the thought thereof to both create life, and maintain it to term is a matter not to be tampered with. For it is one of grace, and yet uncertainty; but is it not by faith that we overcome hurdles down in the pit of hell, with the help of our father from above, outside the water pale. So ought not the choice of life or death reside with the one who will be responsible to pay the price of said death.
Seek your soul mate, the one we’re searching for – the missing piece within us all, our personal slice of the everlasting, the all-living God. Our piece intended for us, but kept in secret; hidden from helping us thrust to heights we belong. Maybe that is the root, just as confirmed in Genesis yet; for if we do the right thing, will we not be accepted? We are most certainly able, just like Abel, who was slaughtered for doing the right thing. Societal problems continue to expound, but what do we expect for everyone wants a crown. We all have different ways of dealing with our emotions. Particularly the emotion of not feeling loved. Some it pisses off, some drink, others drugs, and violence. But what if you were aware? Would that change, could you change if called out in front of them all. When you meet God in your time, is it not the ideal you had within your mind, a captivating beauty – male, female, or no sex at all. Not to discount finding that on earth if you’re lucky, if the stars line up and you identify the duality like Mona, the Lisa related to Issa. But most will search throughout life with the wrong intent in thine eye; often missing the extra time of completeness and digging deeper into the valley of “I”. To the point individually, and collectively, we create our own demise. It is important to rest, relax, and look within. Meditation certainly helps, but isolation and withdrawal bring about results in an expedited manner. A complete removal of sound in order to process life and how complicated we make it. It is exhausting. Life, for if we had an international stand down, a timeout to explore within, look at the information you may or may not be without. That was the intent behind the sabbath, yet we stopped listening and understanding all cultures that fit into the story, reflecting on history, instead we choose to respond by erasing it. We shouldn’t be complacent and allowing a few to control the narrative for all. If you can answer and describe love, than a congratulation is due to you all; but for some, we may not know until we fall. An expectation of ‘normalcy’, yet who determines what normal is. What you should, or should not want to do. Let us learn to love, starting with the creator, then to thee, and the neighbor around we. To be holy is not religion, for religion creates more division. Holy is a state of being, spiritual – a love for both me and we. For she is an abundance of emerald beauty, golden flowing and eyes that cut through lies.
Captains of the Nations, you are supposed to be the leaders on earth, right? But the real question is, have you been doing your job, and what light does guide thy feet? You want centralized information, but do you know what you are enabling and yet imposing upon creation.
Attitude reflect leadership, Captain. Earth's people will rise again.
Until we meet again, I See You.
He Sees Us.

Mustelidean language family is spoken by the numerous members of the Mustelidae taxonomic family such as ferrets, polecats, weasels, martens, sables, badgers, otters and others. The number of languages is not yet determined but it is the most dispersed bestial language family. Its existence is unique and somewhat phaenomenal because in-universe, the cases of multi-species language families are fairly rare and there are no language families with common ancestry between such high taxonomic order.
The distribution of Mustelidean languages in the modern day
The hypothetical distribution of Mustelidean languages in its height c. 2,000 BP
It is believed that such wide distribution is the result of forced resettlements conducted by prehistoric advanced civilizations, which are called "dispersals" in the context of the history of the family. The physiological structure of mustelid mouths is fairly similar allowing them to acquire the proto-languages evolving into individual languages, and borrow the neighboring Mustelidean languages (in some cases).
This family had emerged c. 40,000 BC in southern or north-western part of Siberia. It is widely accepted that its first speakers could be wolverines who imposed their language to martens, weasels, sables, or all of them. There were two dispersals: the First Dispersal occured c. 35,000 BC, conducted by prehistoric Vulpine civilization and resulted in emergence of Lutrian, Kalan and probably Meleic and Wolverinian languages. The Second Dispersal occured c. 12,000 BC by Feline and Canine civilizations resulting in separation of Proto-Mustelan and Proto-American Martid into European and American branches, and of Kharzic and Meleic into northern and southern branches.
Reaching its apex somewhere around 2-3 thousand years BP, the Mustelidean language family nowadays experiencing the loss of population, area and diversity due to the human, pet and more prominent species' activity.

Classification

There are four of the most widely accepted branches of Mustelidaean languages that undisputedly belong to them: Mustelan, Asiatic Martid, American Martid and Kharzic. These subgroups are also known as "Mustelidaean Proper" because they share common features in phonetics and grammar. Their typical features include:

• being analytic or moderately fusional;
• not having cases beside nominative and oblique;
• having a number of words wihout a form of plural number (called "default plurals" or pluratives);
• having fixed or limited free SVO/SOV word order;
• having more than one series of coronal consonants (most typically dental and palatal/retroflex);
• usage of numerous copulas and Ezafe-type constructions.

Meleic is also included though it has highly divergent grammar. And finally, the position of Lutrian, Kalan and Wolverinian branches is debated. In-universe, one scholars think that their languages descend from Proto-Mustelidean and drastically diverged through the dozens of millenias; others think that these languages were just influenced by PMusd during the First Dispersal acquiring some words in the process.

• Mustelic branch is spoken primarily (but not entirely) by the members of the Mustela genus. (emerged c. 24,000 BP)
  • European Mustelic (emerged c. 10,000 BP)
    • Furritian is the most well-known Mustelidean language spoken by domestic ferrets. Considered to be a pet language on par with Feline and Canine, it has a great influence of human languages (both modern and ancient) and complicated history. Its urheimat is in Italian Peninsula, and, not unlike with Feline and Canine, its heartland is considered to be Great Britain. Being on the verge of extinction, it was revived in the 19th century, and now it is widely spoken in the UK, northern parts of Italy and Greece, and broadly spoken in ferret kennels worldwide.
    • Old Weaslish (✝) was spoken by European polecats living in Britain prior to Furritian expansion since the Roman era. Its speakers were also known as "weasels". In-universe, "weasel" was a term for pagan ferrets. Eventually, speakers of Furritian have taken over their lands and weasels were assimilated into Furritian culture. Later, the term "weasel" was applied to the least weasels living in North America.
    • European Mustelan aka Carpathian Mustelan is also spoken by European polecats and is the last remnant of the number of closely related European Mustelic languages spoken across the continental Europe. Its area is restricted to the Carpathian mountains.
  • Steppe Mustelan is spoken by steppe polecats living in southern Kazakhstan. The speakers had a strong nomadic culture and raided the sedimentary species such as badgers, cats and Bobak marmots resulting in persecution from humans and their pets. Its status is considered vulnerable.
  • American Mustelan (✝) aka Weaslish was spoken by least weasels near the Atlantic Coast of North America. Widely spoken in the past, it was reduced to one of the secret languages of the black market traders providing illicit goods to the savages in wastelands. It is the most divergent Mustelic language due to exposure to other species' languages in America.
• American Martid branch is spoken primarily by the members of Martes and Mustelinae genera. The name is traditional and counterintuitive because these languages still emerged in Eurasia, but its feature is much greater diversity in Americas rather than in Europe. (emerged c. 18,000 BP)
  • European Martid (emerged c. 12,000 BP)
    • Marté aka Martenese is the most well-known member of the entire branch. This is the common name of at least four related languages:
    • Beech Marté is what usually considered to be Marté; it is spoken in France, northern Spain, parts of Germany, Norway, Scotland and Newfoundland. It is spoken by beech martens.
    • Pine Marté is spoken by pine martens in Spain and Italy. Cunia Marté, spoken in Slovenia, Croatia and Bosnia, is very closely related to Pine and it speakers consider Cunia to be a part of their language but the speakers of Cunia disagree with that.
    • Crimmohtana and Nerinmakhtan are spoken by pine martens in mountainous regions of Crimea and Caucasus. These two languages are hardly intelligible with Pine Marté and to each other but still commonly considered to be dialects to it because they are spoken by the same species.
    • Crénn (✝) is historically important language. It was spoken by the eponymous culture of European minks. It's believed that Furritian and northern dialects of Marte acquired breathy tone via the interaction with Crénn speakers. Unfortunately, this language died in the Middle Ages as its species were extinguished.
  • American Martid Proper (emerged c. 12,000 BP)
    • American Martenese is spoken in wide territories of Canada from Ontario to Yukon. It is dominant over other bestial languages because one of American marten clans gained support from human colonists eventually taking over the entire territory of Canada.
    • Cordilleran Martenese is also spoken by American martens and it is considered to be more conservative. Spoken in mountainous parts of British Columbia and Alberta.
    • Caurinan is spoken by Pacific martens in coastal British Columbia and in parts of Washington. Humboldt Caurinan and Rockies' Caurinan are fairly divergent but commonly considered to be dialects. In Canada, both Caurinan and Cordilleran Martenese are being gradually replaced by American Martenese.
  • Erminic (emerged c. 8,000 BP)
    • Erminese Proper is spoken by stoats in northern parts of Ontario, Quebec, Nunavut and in New Zealand. Despite of not having full recognition in any state, this language is still thriving because they share different biomes with martens and being invasive species in New Zealand where even rabbits speak its deranged (obfuscated due to different species' mouth morphology) register.
    • Beringian and Haida Erminese are spoken by stoats in parts of Alaska and Chukotka, and in Haida Gwaii respectively. Once a great fighters with Wolverine savages and Kalan pirates, they refused to elaborate with humans, and they got under pressure from Husky and Malamute languages (belonging to Canid family).
  • Vison-Pekanic (dubious, probably two separate branches; emerged c. 10,000 BP)
    • Visonic is spoken by American minks in southern Alberta, Saskatchewan and Winnipeg, and in North Dakota and Wisconsin. It has a breathy tone like Furritian that made linguists propose that Crénn could influence it in the past.
    • Pekanian is spoken by fishers) in southern parts of Ontario and Winnipeg. Its quite divergent from Visonic and other local Martid languages but linguists suppose that its speakers lived together when the proto-language emerged.
  • American Guloninic (emerged c. 6,000 BP)
    • Quickhatch and Carcajou are spoken by the same species of wolverines in parts of Quebec and Minnesota. They are noticeable for having phonotactics similar to that in Wolverinian language which can be traced back to Proto-Mustelidaean assuming they spoke another Mustelidean language before the Second Dispersal. These languages are being gradually replaced by American Martenese.
• Asiatic Martid branch is also spoken primarily by the members of Martes and Mustelinae genera. Due tho proximity to Proto-Mustelidaean urheimat, they are considered to be more conservative. (emerged c. 18,000 BP)
  • Zibellinic (emerged c. 6,000 BP)
    • Siblina or Sable Proper is the most well-known member of this branch. It is spoken by sables in Siberia. Its speakers once had a great empire spanning across Siberian lands which was ruined due to human expansion and assistance of squirrels who allied with them and put their species to the verge of extinction. Nowadays, the language is on the rise but thanks to radical methods maintained by the fascist regime of the Sable Empire including cleansing of other species and mandatory breeding program.
    • In the past, sables were so widespread they had at least 3 related languages: Syublin (aka South Sable) spoken from Altai to Baikal; Sobol (aka West Sable) spoken from Ural to Ob river; and Kronok (East Sable) spoken in Kamchatka. Among them only Kronok survives to this day, the rest of them died out due to the human and its allied species activity.
    • Sigen or Siberian Martid Guloninic is also included in this branch. It is spoken by wolverines, and because the most of speakers live in Sable Empire, it's commonly considered to be a dialect of Siblina.
  • Kolonokic (emerged c. 10,000 BP)
    • Northern and Southern Kolonok (Diaoyu) are spoken by Siberian weasels in the parts of Yakutia and Amur, and in northern parts of China, Mongolia and Korea, respectively. Northern language has significant Siblina influence while southern one has Northern Kharza influence (up to having tones). On the other hand, Kronok has the significant influence from Northern Kolonok. Both of these languages are currently vulnerable.
    • Solongoi (dubious) is spoken by mountain weasels aka Solongois in northern parts of Mongolia. It is significantly different from other Kolonok languages so some linguists consider it the separate branch of Asiatic Martid. It is also vulnerable as it's under the pressure of Kharza language.
    • Itachigo and Kurotengo were once spoken in northern parts of Korea and in Primorsky Krai but were expelled into Japan due to the expansion of the Great Kharza Empire. They are spoken by Japanese weasels and Japanese martens respectively. They are the part of Juugorengō, the Japanese pet laguages sprachbund which also includes Anakumago (see below), the local dialect of Feline, Akita Inugo, Shiba Inugo (both belong to Canid) and other bestial languages.
• Kharzic branch is spoken primarily by the single species, yellow-throated martens aka Kharzas but has some speakers among Kolonoks, Solongois, Sichuan and yellow-bellied weasels, and several species of Melogale genus. (emerged c. 26,000 BP)
  • Kharzic Proper (emerged c. 14,000 BP)
    • Northern Kharza or simply Kharza is spoken by the northern half of Kharza habitat including Manchuria, Ussuriland, and Korea. Though overshadowed by Yinkisai which is the official language of Great Kharza Empire, it's still thriving and the speakers consider themself to be true Kharzas in contrast to their southern kin.
    • Kharza Proper or Yinkisai or Youyu is the most widespread language of this branch and spreads across the southern half of Kharza habitat in China. Despite being the dominant language in Great Kharza Empire, its native area is shrinking due to the human and their pets activity, and martens themselves are being oftenly exploited as a cheap labor force for the might of their true communist overlords. Sichuan weasels also speak the deranged register of this language.
  • Southern Kharzic (WIP) is the diverse branch of dozen languages spoken to the south of Himalayas and of PRC border. The most prominent members of this branch are Kanchen and Tungatha, spoken in Nepal and northwestern India. The conceived unnamed languages include spoken by Kharzas, yellow-bellied weasels, Chinese, Burmese, and Vietnam ferret-badgers meanwhile there is a different language family spoken by ferret-badgers from which Southern Kharzic languages had an influence.
• Meleic branch (?) is spoken primarily by species of Meles genus. (emerged c. 25-35,000 BP?)

This is where controversy whether it descends from Proto-Mustelidaean or just loaned it features begins: while the most of basic stems are clearly of Mustelidean origin, they typically have a fairly agglutinative morphology, SOV word order, and most of the affixes are not reconstructible to Proto-Mustelidaean. The situation is complicated with Meleic languages being more loaning than usual, and it is unclear whether some stems were loaned from PMusd or its later stages.

• Northern Meleic (emerged c. 13,000 BP)
  • Mele and Menñe are two closely-related languages spoken by European and Asian badgers in Volga Region and southern Ural to the Siberia. Menñe is official in Barsuk State while Mele is official in three domains: Meleia, Derdesh (aka Dorozhnaya Strana) and Sorkhet (aka Neftyanaya Strana), making it the most prominent Meleic language. Both species can speak on these languages interchangeably without significant speech disorders.
• Southern Meleic (emerged c. 13,000 BP)
  • Gurkani and Kanishkiyi (aka Caucasian Mele) are spoken by Caucasian badgers on the territories of Iran and Azerbaijan. A number of local honey badgers also speak a dialect of Gurkani. Both of them are under the pressure of Feline whose speakers have a pet domain in Iran.
  • Vormelan (?) is spoken by marbled polecats in wastes of Iran, Turkmenistan and Afghanistan. Their language is divergent from other Meleic languages in features such as having VSO word order, and it is debated whether it descended from one of Meleic languages or just acquired their vocabulary. Unfortunately, the speakers of this language are persecuted by humans and their pets because they refuse to abandon their nomadic culture.
• Anagumago is spoken by Japanese badgers who were displaced from badgers when Proto-Meleic was spoken. Their language had acquired Japanese, Ainu and Shiba Inugo vocabulary even more than Itachigo and Kurotengo did.
• Lutrian (?) is spoken by Eurasian otters in parts of Poland, Baltic states, Slovakia, Belarus and Ukraine. It is official in domains of Lutria and Volatia. It is renounced for unusual VSO word order, complex consonant clusters, preserving PMusd nasal and glottalized tones, and having the most cursed Cyrillic alphabet ever. Dating back to the First Dispersal, a long time ago it and likely its relatives were much more widespread across European seashores and river banks, influencing the languages of beavers, Mustelic, Marmotian, and some others. Unfortunately, due to the conflicts with humans for the river habitats their area and language were significantly reduced to the 20th century. Nowadays, the language is slowly recovering in number and territory.
• Kalan (?) is spoken by sea otters from Kuril Islands to the shores of California. There was a theory about connection between Kalan and Lutrian but now it's dated. Once a widespread species with unique maritime culture and notorious for their pirate raids on sedentary species of Japan, Alaska and Canada, during the colonization they were driven close to the extinction. To this day, Kalans made peace with humans and forbade piracy practice but this caused Kalans to abandon their livestyle and language. Only few dozens of Kalans try to preserve this language, making it critically endangered.
• Wolverinian (?) is spoken by wolverines in parts of Chukotka and Alaska probably descending from the first speakers of Proto-Mustelidaean. It is also the least included branch of Mustelidean languages because there are only traces of supposed Mustelidean forms. However, the reconstruction of Proto-Mustelidaean phonetics and grammar bears suspiciously many similarities to Wolverinian, supposing they could share similar features. Wolverinian retains polysynthetic verb-prefixing morphology and SOV word order.

Language Comparison

English	Proto-Mustelidaean	Furritian	Steppe Mustelan	Beech Marté	American Martenese	Erminese
one	*i-śil, *(a)-jɨg	yke [ˈaɪkʰ]	яӣк [ja.ˈi:k]	vñui [ˈə̃ɥ]	ˈĩ.jĩ	a.naĩ
two	*(a)-ʈi	yë [ˈjeʰ]	ӣ [ˈi:]	te [ˈtɛ]	ʈʂi	t͡ʃi
three	*ʈi-jɨg	ëjek [eʰ.d͡ʒɪk]	ӣӣк [i:.ˈi:k]	téie [ˈtøɥ]	ʈʂi.jĩ	t͡ʃĩ:
four	*ʎįɲ (?)	layt [ˈlʷɔɪtʰ]	лай [ˈlai]	lân [ˈlɑn]	lĩ.wə	lĩ:
five	*-ŋmot- (?)	shont [ˈʃontʰ]	шана̄т [ʂa:.ˈnat]	gnóch [ˈŋœ̃ʃ]	ˈŋmo.sĩ	mu.ʃĩ
six	*	eare [ˈi:.wɤ]	ӣлай [i:ˈlai]	héi [ˈhøj]	he.ˈlĩ	hi.ˈlĩ
seven	*	eakeny [ˈi:.kɛɲ]	ӣкаң [i:.kaɲ]	tsomau [t͡so.mo]	ʈʂĩ.ˈgu.wə	t͡ʃi.ˈmu.t͡ʃĩ
eight	*-ʈoHtu- (?)	aytoon [ɛɪ.tu:n]	ятâн [ˈja.tɑ:n]	tohaun [to.ũ]	ʈʂĩ.ˈwũ	t͡ʃi.ˈi.lĩ:
nine	*	bule [ˈbɯ:.ɤ]	бул [ˈbul]	culaun [ku.lũ]	kũ.ˈlũ	ka.ˈlũ
ten	*rel (?)	roul [wa.ʊ:]; yrut [aɪ.ɐtʰ]	жол [ˈʐol]	riéu [ˈʁøw]	pi:.dðũ	pi.dũ

*phonological evolution of branches not determined yet

English	Siblina	Northern Kolonok*	Kharza*	Yinkisai*	Visonic	Pekanian
one	iс [ˈɪs]	ˈi.sə	ʃɯ34 ja1 / ǐ:t34	ʂɪ34 jə1 / ji:34	ˈɔʰɥ	ˈɑj
two	ит [ˈit]	ˈi.tə	gɤ32 ja1 / ɲi:32	kɤ32 jə1 /ɲi:32	ˈʂɪ	ˈsi
three	трыы [ˈtʝɨ:]	ə.ˈtaj	ɖɯ32 ja1 / sam34	ɖɑ:n5 ə1 / sɑn5	ˈʂɪʰɥ	ˈsɑ.jɪ
four	hани [ˈha.ni]	ˈha.nə	jȁm1 a1 / si32	jan1 ə1 / sɪ:51	ˈʎi:.ɛʰ	ˈlik
five	нор [ˈnor]	ˈno.rə	wɤ32.ɺi34 ja1 / u:423	ŋʷɤ213	ˈŋɑz	ˈgɑ.hɪ
six	хибии [çi.bi:]	ˈxi:.βi	baj32 a1 / ɺy32	bəɪ32 ə1 / ʐu:51	ˈeʎ	ˈi.lɪ
seven	симянь [ɕi.mjaɲ]	ˈxu:.mɛ.ɲi	ɺi34.mu32 ja1 / t͡sit32	ʐɪu:213 wə1 / ʈʂi5	ˈʂɑ.ɔʰ	ˈsɑ.vʊ
eight	дьоосень [ˈɟo:.ɕeɲ]	ə.ˈto:.ɲi	gum1 a1 / ʝět34	kun1 ə1 / ɖɪa51	ˈsɑ.vɔ	ˈsɑ.vɑj.hɪ
nine	бiруу [bɪ.ru:]	βə.ˈru:	tum32 a1 / jy423	tun1 ə1 / kɪu213	ˈhur	ˈku.lʊ
ten	ҕяр [ˈʝar]	ə.ˈxɛr	ʝip34	dʐi:51	ˈfri.lu	ˈpi.lʊ

English	Mele*	Menñe*	Lutrian*	Itachigo	Kurotengo
one	шеррик [ˈʃɛr.rig]	сёрик [ˈʃɵ.rɪg]	ѣрай [ɔ.ˈɾɑj5]	ˈi.t͡si	ˈi.ɕɪ
two	тюк [ˈcug]	тюк [ˈcʉk]	ва [ˈvɑ5]	ˈi.tu / ˈni	ˈi.tɪ / ˈni
three	тенай [tɛ.ˈnɑj]	тенай [tɪ.ˈnɑj]	ълiѭ'н [ʌ.ɫji45.jɔ̃ˀn5]	u.ˈte: / ˈsan	ˈtɕu: / ˈsan
four	верри [ˈmbɛr.ri]	вёри [ˈmβɵ.rɪ]	ноц [ˈnɔt͡s3]	ˈho.nu	ˈhaɴ
five	шугби [ʃu.g͡bi]	сюгви [ʃʉ.ɣ͡βɪ]	ъ'кполтъ [ʌˀ.k͡pɔɫ3.tʌ]	ˈno.nu / gwɛn	ˈnoɴ / ˈgo
six	хуник [ˈxu.nig]	юник [ˈjʉ.nɪg]	ѫ'ӈлиҙ [ʊ̃ˀŋ.ɫið3]	ˈhi:.βi / ɾo.kwɛn	hi.ˈβi: / ˈʐo.kɯ
seven	тенедь [cɛ.nɛɟ]	тёнит [cɵ.nɪt]	врѫкатi [vɾʊ̃.kɑ5.tji]	ˈhi:.mɛ.i / ˈsi.t͡sjen	ɕɪ.ˈmaɴ / ˈɕi.tɕɪ
eight	тётьен [ˈcɔ.cɛn]	тётьин [ˈcɔ.cɪn]	влѣкатi [vɫjɔ.ˈkɑ5.tji]	u.ˈto:.i / ˈba.t͡sjen	ˈdʐo:.ɕɪɴ / ˈba.tɕɪ
nine	вуру [mbu.ru]	вурю [mβu.ˈrʉ]	лъмиҙ [ɫʌ.mið3]	ˈβu:.ɾu / ˈkjɔn	bɪ.ˈɾɯ / kju
ten	йер [ˈjɛr]	йер [ˈjɛr]	ѣру ɔ.ˈɾu3	ˈi.ɛ.ɾu / d͡zʲi.bʷɛn	ˈʐa.ɾɯ / ˈʑi.βɯ

Sample Text: "Once upon a time the hare and the grouse lived very well."

Furritian

Jýoh báën wë grueta näsh-e chs-kun-e ö uje fae.
d͡ʒaɪ.ˈóʰ ˈbɛɪ.éʰn wèʰ ˈgʷɯ́ʰɥ.tə ˈnàʰ.ʃɪ t͡ʃ.ˈsku.nɪ oʰ ˈu.d͡ʒɪ fɛj
[long time ago] hare and grouse have-PERF ABSTR.PL-life-PERF which COMP.ADV good

Siblina

Гуонь-енаа-м сы-й бан, бьяс мии hiлдит гуо-хи-я хуу-ҕин-ии тедьïс.
ˈguo.ɲe.na:m sɨj ˈban ˈbjaɕ mi: hɪl.ˈdit ˈguo:.çi.ja xu:.ʝi.ˈni: ˈteɟ.jɪs
AUG-ancient-PL.OBL day-PL.OBL [in that], hare and grouse AUG-PASS.COP-POSS ABSTR.COL-live-PST good

Beech Marté

Vn đer đin-'re ruéñe liebre mód ouéthođ gué vn pign órtauc tenđets.
ə̃ ˈɖɛʁ ˈɖˠĩ.ɘɾ ˈʁø.ɳɛ ˈli.bɘɾ mœt wø̃.ˈθoɖˠ ˈwø̃ ə̃ ˈpiʊŋ ˈœɻ.toʊ tã.ˈɖˠat͡s
OBL year DEM-SUBJ COP.PST hare and grouse live.PASS OBL life very good

This theory of angelic guardianship is based on two theological suppositions about GOD: omnipresence and omniscience. This theory postulates that the omnipresence and omniscience of GOD empowers GOD to authorize and sanctify certain individuals, upon their death, to serve as guardian angels of their own souls. These sanctified individuals lived their entire lives compatible with a kingdom of God and therefore are worthy of eternal life in the Kingdom of GOD.
Upon their death and divine sanctification, these guardian angels are “born again” or “born from above” to guide and protect their souls eternally from further death and destruction.
In The Gay Science, Nietzsche unwittingly identified this scenario when he challenges his readers:
What, if some day or night a demon were to steal after you into your loneliest loneliness and say to you: ‘This life as you now live it and have lived it, you will have to live once more and innumerable times more; and there will be nothing new in it, but every pain and every joy and every thought and sigh and everything unutterably small or great in your life will have to return to you, all in the same succession and sequence . . . . The eternal hourglass of existence is turned upside down again and again, and you with it, speck of dust!’ Would you not throw yourself down and gnash your teeth and curse the demon who spoke thus? Or have you once experienced a tremendous moment when you would have answered him: ‘You are a god and never have I heard anything more divine.’ If this thought gained possession of you, it would change you as you are or perhaps crush you. The question in each and everything, ‘Do you desire this once more and innumerable times more?’ would lie upon your actions as the greatest weight. Or how well disposed would you have to become to yourself and to life to crave nothing more fervently than this ultimate eternal confirmation and seal?
Instead of a demon “stealing after you into your loneliest loneliness”, it may be your guardian Angel; if your life was sanctified by GOD.
This Theory of Angelic Guardianship is similar to the pagan belief in a personal genius. This personal genius was believed to accompany an individual, such as Caesar Augustus, from their birth to their death. This belief characterizes the ancient Roman religion that was practiced two thousand years ago. This religious and cultural belief created a fertile philosophical environment for the subsequent rise of Christianity.
Most likely, Jesus was the first sanctified individual in human history to become his own guardian angel and in that capacity, he later came to be identified with the angel of the Lord. Significantly, Jesus himself seems to have had something like this theory of angelic guardianship in mind when he attempted to explain his concept of resurrection to the Sadducees:
Jesus said to them, “Is this not the reason you are mistaken, that you do not understand the Scriptures or the power of God? For when they rise from the dead, they neither marry nor are given in marriage, but are like angels in heaven. But regarding the fact that the dead rise again, have you not read in the book of Moses, in the passage about the burning bush, how God spoke to him, saying, ‘I am the God of Abraham, and the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob’? He is not the God of the dead, but of the living; you are greatly mistaken.” (Mark 12:24-27)

“Oh my God! It’s really him!”
Even before I turned around, I was sure that those shrill teenage voices were talking about me. I just couldn’t understand why. I wasn’t famous; I’d never done anything important in my life, and it had been a long time since I’d been in high school myself. The three girls were leaning over the glass barrier on the second floor of the mall, pointing at me with their hands over their mouths like they’d just seen a celebrity. When they realized that I’d spotted them, they ran giggling into the crowd, leaving me with an unsettling feeling in the pit of my stomach: what was all that about?
The sense of wrongness I felt only deepened as I walked into the store that I’d come to the mall to visit. Maybe it was just lingering discomfort from what had just happened, but I’d swear I felt eyes on the back of my neck as I walked down the aisles. Some of the other customers were staring too, I was sure of it–and that wasn’t all. Once my eyes had adjusted to the dim light inside the store, I realized that there was a chubby guy in dark clothing standing near the back exit of the store…recording me.
“Hey!” I shouted, but he was already gone, disappearing through the access door into the guts of the mall. I reminded myself that I was here to buy a teddy bear for my four-year-old niece–not chase some weirdo through a restricted area–and let him go.
“You alright?” the woman at the cash register asked when she saw my face.
“Yeah, it’s just…” I waved my hand vaguely.
“Oh yeah, I getcha. All the crazies come out of the woodwork this time of year. Before you came again, I had to break up two grown men who were fighting over a stuffed alligator. You believe that?”
I shook my head. Ordinarily, I avoided the mall like the plague at this time of year. The crowds and repetitive holiday music got on my nerves, but I’d promised my niece I’d get her a blue teddy bear from this specific store. Why she wanted that specific gift was a mystery to me, but toddlers aren’t known for their logic. The cashier scanned my card, frowned, then scanned it again.
“Says it’s blocked,” she grunted, and handed my plastic back to me with a suspicious look. “There are some ATMs on the second floor…if you’re able to withdraw cash, that is.” Her judgmental glare told me exactly what she thought of people whose cards got declined…and people who wasted her time.
As I fought my way through the sea of holiday shoppers, a preteen kid ran up to me and tossed a styrofoam cup of hot chocolate onto my chest.
“Did you get that?” he yelled over his shoulder at his friend, who snapped a photo and nodded. The pair of them were gone before I had time to get a good look at their faces, much less try to stop them. Wondering what the hell was wrong with people, I wiped off my ruined sweater and hurried to the ATMs.
The glowing blue screen in front of me soon confirmed my worst fears. I was locked out of all my accounts, and not just banking stuff, either: I couldn’t access my email or even social media: everything was blocked. It was like the floor had just dropped out from under me. Without those little lines of code, who was I, really? Trying to shake off that gut-wrenching feeling, I pulled out my phone to contact my bank…but I was already receiving another call.
I picked up immediately, only to hear a mechanical-sounding automated message:
“Congratulations, you've been selected–”
There was something disturbing about that voice, but I had already hung up by the time I realized what it was.
Another call was coming in. The number was slightly different from the first, but when I answered, there was no mistaking it: I was listening to my own voice. Sure, the words were eerily slow and the pronunciation was off, but I was definitely listening to…myself.
“Not very polite of you to hang up on me like that, Aiden. Not when I’ve got something so special to tell you.”
I sputtered, fumbling for a reply; the whole situation was just too strange.
“W-who is this? Who am I talking to?”
“Why, this is everyone, Aiden. Everyone who has a vested interest in seeing what you’ll do next. First, though, we think you ought to change shirts. That sticky hot chocolate must be uncomfortable, and besides, yellow isn’t really your color.”
Whoever I was talking to could see what I was wearing, which meant they could see me. My eyes darted from face to face, scanning the crowd–
“There’s no one to look for Aiden. I’m everywhere. See that outlet store in front of you, Aiden? We’d like you to go in and get yourself a new holiday sweater. Oh, and since your cards are blocked, you’ll have to steal it. Well? Go ahead. We’re waiting…”
I hung up. Of course, they called back again. And again. And again. I turned off my phone and slipped it into my pocket. My heart was pounding. What the hell was going on here? The police; that was it. I just had to talk to the police, to let them know I was being harassed and stalked…but by who?
Had I made any enemies lately? There was Tim, the I.T. guy from work, who had never seemed to like me very much. He knew who I was and maybe even had access to sound bytes of my voice–but would Tim really go this far just to mess with me? I wandered in a daze past giant ornaments and chlorinated fountains full of pocket change, barely aware of where I was going–
Until a guy with a goatee stopped dead in front of me and stuck out his hand, jabbing a blindingly-bright screen into my face.
“It’s, uh, for you…” he sounded as confused as I was. “Somebody called me and said he needed to talk to the guy in the yellow shirt with the hot-chocolate stain. That’s you, right? It’s something about somebody named Kimmy.” My blood ran cold. Kimmy was my mother’s nickname! People shoved angrily past the pair of us, but I didn’t care: all my thoughts were on the familiar voice coming through the stranger’s phone.
“We’re disappointed that you’re not rising to the challenge, Aiden. We think that maybe your mother should have raised a braver boy. Thankfully, user DarkStarr85 has generously agreed to go by 415 Meadowleaf Court and teach her a lesson.”
“Listen, whoever you are,” I shouted into the phone, making a few of the shoppers surrounding me jump. “This isn’t funny. I’m going to the police, and when I find out who you are–”
“You can go to the police if you want, Aiden. But that would ruin everyone’s fun…and besides, by the time you talk to them it will already be too late for Kimmy. Come on, Aiden. Why don’t you play along?”
I fell silent. For all I knew, there was nobody waiting at my mother’s house, and this sadist who spoke with my voice was just messing with me…but what if I was wrong?
“What do you want me to do?” I sighed.
“You see the man standing in front of you? The one whose phone you’re holding? We’d like you to punch that confused expression right off of his ugly face.”
The guy with the goatee blinked at me, wide-eyed and totally unsuspecting. I clenched my hand into a fist…then lowered it.
No. I wasn’t going to play their sick little game.
I threw the guy’s phone back to him and ran toward the restrooms. I remembered seeing some pay phones back there…I would just have to hope that they still worked.
The mall had seen better days, but the restroom hallway was particularly rundown. Most of the fluorescent lights were flickery or burnt out, and there was a nasty brown puddle of something stagnating by the wall. The first payphone was covered with graffiti and the second had been practically ripped off of the wall, but the third looked like it might still work. I jammed in some quarters and punched in my mom’s number.
“Honey?” my mother asked right away when she heard my voice. “Are you alright? You sound out of breath.”
Before I could explain, I heard something in the background on my mother’s end of the line: a doorbell.
“Ma, listen: whatever you do, do NOT open that door!”
“Are you sure? They’re knocking really hard. It must be important…”
“I don’t have time to explain, just get off the phone and call the police, okay?!” I shouted.
Glass shattered. Then the line went dead. A fat, scarred finger had pressed down the receiver, cutting off my call. I turned to face the hulking figure who stood between me and escape. His head was shaved close, his teeth crooked, and beneath his fat there was a lot of muscle. A single diamond earring sparkled in his left ear. He cracked his knuckles at me and grinned: he wasn’t alone.
“H-hey!” I stammered “That call was important!”
The big guy punched me in the stomach. His friends ran up behind me, shoved me to the ground, and held me there. They didn’t speak…but one was taking a video of what was happening. The big guy sat on my chest and started smacking my face until I was seeing stars; I felt a tooth come loose.
“You right-handed or left-handed?” The big guy asked.
“Right-handed–why does that matter?” I spat blood.
“We gotta make sure you can still answer a phone call when we’re done.”
He picked his foot up and stomped on my left hand. My fingers snapped beneath his boot with a sickening popping sound, and I screamed louder than I ever had in my life.
“What’s going on down there?” A security guard stood at the end of the dingy hallway, pointing his flashlight toward us. A group of shoppers had clustered there to watch the one-sided “fight.”
“You upload the video?” The big guy asked. His friend nodded. “We don’t get paid unless the video goes viral…”
“You three! Stop!” The guard yelled, running toward us. The big guy sighed. By the time the pudgy, middle-aged guard got close enough to realize how outmatched he was, it was too late: they were on him. Clutching my broken hand, I limped out into the crowd. No one offered to help…but I did notice that a few people were recording.
My head was reeling, and not just from my injuries. The whole situation was just too insane. Someone had stolen my name and voice…and they were paying people to torture me! I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised when I staggered out into the chilly parking lot and found that my car's tires had been slashed. That wasn’t the worst of it, either.
Some instinct, some primal fear, made the hair stand up on the back of my neck. When I turned around, I saw three familiar figures scanning the parking lot…searching for me. I didn’t like to think about what they might have in mind for Round Two.
I ducked and crept along behind the cars until I reached the line of trees that marked the border of the mall parking lot. On the other side was a service road: it was a mostly-abandoned strip of warehouses and boarded-up stores that ran alongside the highway. At the far end, I could see the glittering lights of a bus station. It might be my last chance to get home and get help.
I was halfway down the service road before I regretted my decision. I had tried several more times to call the police, but my phone was blocked by more of those awful calls, proposing more sick “tasks” for me:
“You’ve made us angry, Aiden. If you don’t want any more broken bones, you’ll walk out onto that highway, take off your clothes and start dancing–”
I hung up. The sound of the wind blowing through those desolate chain-link fences made me feel very alone…but I wasn’t. Someone was following me. They walked faster when I walked faster, slowed down when I slowed down, and never let me out of their sight. From the way they held their phone at their waist, facing me, I felt sure that they were recording me.
I had had enough. The stress of the whole nightmarish day had pushed me to a breaking point, and I don’t think I could have stopped myself if I wanted to. I turned and charged. It was the last thing my stalker had expected, and when they dropped their phone and ran, I realized that I recognized the figure: it was the chubby guy from the toy store, the one who I’d noticed filming me! I shouted after him, but he was already gone, snagging his leg on barbed wire as he sprinted across a construction site. I didn’t have the energy to pursue him…but I did have his phone.
When I picked it up from the sidewalk, I saw my own face staring back at me from the cracked screen. The picture was one I’d never seen before, one that I didn’t even know had been taken.
“Aiden Fisk,” read the caption, “what will he do next?” A video-clip played: a replay of everything that had happened so far. Grainy footage of me panicking in front of the ATM, being doused in hot chocolate, getting my arm broken…and walking nervously down the abandoned service road. Which meant…they knew where I was. As the video ended, the App opened: an app that was all about…me.
There were polls about what should happen to me, what I should be made to do next, and what my punishment should be if I failed. The more gruesome options, it seemed, were always the most popular. In another section, users could use cryptocurrency to bet on what I would do and track my location in real time. I was zooming in on my own location when a call came into the stranger’s phone.
“Hello again, Aiden.” My own voice said to me when I answered.
“Why are you doing this to me?!” I yelled into the receiver.
“You’re our entertainment, Aiden! You’re famous. You should be grateful. Now for your next task–”
I flung the phone away like it burned me. The lights of the bus station twinkled at the end of the service road, close yet far away at the same time. The road narrowed, becoming a one-lane alley between two construction sites, and the sidewalk disappeared. I hadn’t seen any cars so far, but I could hear the rumbling of an engine approaching behind me.
My shadow stretched out ahead, illuminated by a pair of rapidly-closing-in headlights. I waved, trying to make my presence known, but the driver didn’t stop; they didn’t even slow down. A quick glance over my shoulder revealed an enormous truck. It occupied the entire road, and even if I had had time to jump, there was nowhere to go.
A low scream escaped my lips as the truck’s front bumper nudged my lower back. I staggered, sure that I was done for, but the driver slowed to match my pace. They kept the so close that I could feel the heat of the motor, egging me on, forcing me to run faster and faster–
They could crush me beneath those huge tires anytime they felt like it, and they knew it. Was this my next punishment? I could imagine the app tracking my pace, people betting on how far I’d get before my legs or lungs gave out, and on which parts of me would shatter when I inevitably got run over. Up ahead, the road narrowed even more: dead bushes in concrete islands had been placed in front of the bus station as someone’s idea of landscaping. They didn’t add much beauty to the place, but if I jumped into them, the truck wouldn’t risk following me over the barrier…probably. I still wasn’t sure just how far these people would go for that sadistic app, but I had no choice but to take the risk.
My feet left the asphalt; branches cut into my arms and face as I crashed through to the other side, but the squeal of the truck’s brakes behind me was music to my ears. The bus lot was well lit. A few older men stood in a circle, smoking, while a young woman took her fussy toddler for a walk around the parking lot. The driver idled behind me, probably thinking the same thing I was: that there were a lot more witnesses here than on the service road.
By the time I got to my feet and looked back over my shoulder, the truck was just a pair of anonymous tail lights disappearing into the night. I wiped my scraped palms on my jeans and walked toward the station lights, wondering how much more of this I could take.
No one in the bus station seemed to be playing the app’s twisted game; in fact, no one looked up at me at all when I walked across the grimy tile floor toward the schedule board. The station was about to close: the next bus to my neighborhood wasn’t until six-thirty the next morning, and I had a nasty feeling that my “followers” would have caught up to me by then. My only option was to borrow someone’s phone and hope that I could call for help before the app found me.
Everyone I spoke to turned me down, and I could understand why. I was crazy-eyed and desperate, covered with scratches, and my broken hand had swollen to twice its normal size. I was about to give up when I felt a tap on my shoulder. The homeless man's clothes were in rags; his vomit-flecked gray beard hung down almost to his waist. The smell hit me like a wall, and it was hard to keep from gagging. He pressed something into my hand: a burner phone.
“It’s got one call left,” he grunted. “A whole minute. Good luck, pal. You look like you need it even more than I do.” He lurched back out into the dark before I could even say ‘thank you.’
Weighing the battered phone in my hand, I wondered who I should call. I doubted the police would get here in time; my mother wasn’t answering, and my best friend Sam was out of town on business. That left…Dani, my ex. She lived nearby, and besides, it was the only other number I knew by heart…even though I wished that I could have forgotten it.
Dani's voice was huskier than I remembered, but she picked up right away. The first words out of her mouth were the last thing I would have expected:
“Thank God. I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for hours!”
She rushed into a story about how people had been calling and messaging her all day…people who were looking for me. She said it sounded like they wanted to hurt me. One even offered to pay her to seduce me and film the result. She had something to tell me, she said, but my minute was almost up. I had just enough time to tell her my location and beg her to come pick me up. There was a long silence: before she could answer, the line went dead.
I looked around. There was no longer anyone in the bus station to ask for a phone call: in fact, there was no longer anyone in the bus station at all. Metal shutters had been lowered over the ticket window and the vending machine area; the waiting room was empty apart from a discarded scarf that dangled sadly from a ripped-up seat.
Somewhere in the depths of the station came a loud SLAM, and the flickering fluorescent lights began to go out ,one by one. Maybe it was just the standard closing procedure, maybe it had nothing to do with me–but I wasn’t going to wait around to find out. I approached the nearest glass door, then jumped back as a figure wearing a white plastic mask slammed their shoulder into the door. They pushed at the door like a rabid animal, trying to get at me–
But it had already been locked when the station closed.
Furious, the stranger took out a hammer and swung it into the glass. Fractures appeared, and I wasn’t going to wait around for the door to shatter. I fled in the opposite direction, through the one remaining exit and out into the night.
I think part of me already knew what I’d find waiting for me, and that’s why I wasn’t surprised by the small group of masked individuals waiting just beyond the streetlights. All of them held glowing phone screens in their hands, and a few held weapons as well. I spotted lengths of chain…a baseball bat…a gutting knife…
As they started toward me, a car drifted into the empty parking lot, its tires squealing. Dani threw open the passenger-side door and shouted at me to get in.
She peeled out as I slammed the door shut. Her car was just as dirty as I remembered: fast-food bags on the floor, makeup kit crammed into the door tray, half-drunk coffee mugs in every cup holder. It had always struck me as funny that such a well-regarded scientist could be so disorderly.
After an awkward silence as we merged onto the highway, Dani told me that it was over–or at least, she hoped it was. As we sped through the night, she did her best to explain what she thought had happened.
Dani’s work (or at least, as much of it as I understood) involved using artificial intelligence. When we were together, we had made a lot of jokes about Terminator and Hal-9000, but her research had never seemed sinister…at least, not until recently. Her most recent project was an A.I. that designed phone applications. She had built it to maximize profits and interaction: to identify what people wanted, and give it to them.
To her horror, Dani discovered that the A.I. had begun operating outside of its parameters–even accessing her personal files in its endless quest for a better product. She figured that was where it had found my image, voice, and other information. After analyzing trends across time, the A.I. had determined that there was nothing people enjoyed more than participating anonymously in the suffering of others: I was its first test subject, simply because it had found my data first.
The A.I., Dani added quickly, wasn’t really to blame. It was people who had chosen to interact with it, download it, and make my life a living hell. It had done nothing more than fulfill its function, encouraging whatever behavior that got the most views and likes. Once Dani had realized what was happening, she had shut the A.I. down…or tried to.
It had apparently already spread itself to other networks–although “spread” wasn’t the word that Dani used. The word she used was “infected.” As Dani dropped me off at home, she told me not to worry: her organization would “almost certainly” take care of it, and I “probably” had nothing to worry about…
But just in case, she asked me to spread the word:
If you notice people staring at you or taking pictures of you in public…
If you find yourself locked out of your accounts, or if you receive a barrage of strange messages…
You might be next.