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Me (M/55) and my wife (F/51) are about to teeter on separation if not divorce. I need some objective observation / advice / suggestions / whatever you feel comfortable offering. What should I do?
2024.05.28 00:17 Alternative_Fig5148 Me (M/55) and my wife (F/51) are about to teeter on separation if not divorce. I need some objective observation / advice / suggestions / whatever you feel comfortable offering. What should I do?
I wish I could be clearer with the below, but I just found out the timetable has been expedited. This post might seem very polished. That's probably because I began drafting it two weeks ago.
I also wish I could have reviewed more posts to get the "feel," but I don't think I can.
My wife and I have been married for more than thirty years. We have been through an awful lot of horrible things, but have come out the other side. Our history began in the early ’90s when we were in college. The way we met was quite unconventional for the time. She attended a university about 250 miles away from the one I was going to. We were more like electronic pen-pals on the fledgling internet of the day. I was working on a US government-funded research project involving computer networks, which is part of how we were able to keep “connected” that way. I was a senior, and she was a freshman. We fell in love. Hard. We knew we were a solid match even before we met each other face to face six months later. Our first meet-up happened only two weeks before I graduated. We met again the weekend before my commencement. After graduation, I moved more than five hundred miles farther away from her college town. We were able to get together only three or four more times before I proposed to her during the fall semester of her sophomore year. I flew to the city nearest her college and dropped to my knee in the middle of the airport's concourse. We were married the following summer.
Life was awesome. I had my dream girl, the one I’d prayed to find for years. Financially, we were incredibly blessed. We were able to pay off my wife’s student loans, lived frugally, and saved money hand over fist. Because of all that, we were able to move out of our single bedroom ~800 sq. ft. apartment into a newly built 2,200 sq. ft. house before our second anniversary. Gen-Y and Z’ers: Don’t judge. Please. Us X’ers do understand your plight caused by massive inflation. We knew from conversations we’d had before I proposed that two children was our ideal. By our third anniversary, things were still going great, and we decided we were ready to start our family. She surprised me when I got home from work one night when she handed me a pregnancy test showing a positive. I was so happy! Then “Round 1” happened. My wife of barely four years was taking night classes to complete her bachelor’s. She’d earned her associates the year before. She was in class when I received a call from her younger sister, age 13. What she told me was devastating: their father had been killed in a wreck on the highway on his way home from work. Cell phones weren’t exactly affordable back then, so I had to wait until my wife came home two hours later to tell her what had happened. Her father’s injuries were so severe that the funeral had to be closed casket. My wife stayed at her former home for a few weeks to try to help her mom and her three other siblings find some kind of normalcy. Then came “Round 2.” Barely two weeks after my wife returned home, our phone rang in the middle of the night. To this day, I still remember the clock reading 2:03 AM. I answered and heard a voice I didn’t recognize. It was one of my wife’s aunts calling to inform us that my MIL had been found dead in their house with an empty prescription vial of Valium sitting next to her. My wife's siblings had been with other relatives, so at least they hadn’t witnessed her suicide in person. As we drove to her hometown for the second time in a month, my wife decided in no uncertain terms that we were going to bring her siblings home with us. She had not one ounce of trust that anyone else in her extended family would step up to take care of them because most of them were below the poverty line and could barely provide for their own families. The following week, we brought her siblings, aged 13, 8, and 4 back home with us. We’d gone from being carefree young marrieds of less than four years to suddenly being the legal guardians to her siblings while also dealing with the legal hurdles of settling an intestate estate. My wife miscarried at the end of her first trimester. That loss devastated us as much if not more than we’d already endured. We got the kids (and ourselves) into grief and trauma support groups which were certainly beneficial. But we also knew our plans to have our own biological kids had to be canceled, or at least indefinitely delayed. A few years into the new adventure, my wife and I agreed she could quit her job and be a stay-at-home “mom.” Years passed, my eldest SIL graduated high school, and went on to quickly get a certificate in a health-care field. Barely a few months after my SIL moved out, my wife again surprised me with the news she’d tested positive for pregnancy. To abbreviate the history, but not to understate it, our first baby came healthy, graduated with an IB diploma, and is now a junior in college, ready to tackle the world when she graduates. Back to my SIL back then. She was able to find immediate employment in her field, with competitive pay, but within a year, got pregnant. She was unwed, and the father bolted. Over the following seven years, she had two more kids by other men who also bolted, leaving her as a single mother of three with no child support. The state appears to not give a crap because it's done nothing. She’s been unable to hold steady employment and has been on welfare the majority of the time. I can’t remember the number of times we’ve paid her rent to avoid her family being evicted. Granted, it wasn’t a bank-breaking amount because she’s in Section Eight housing, but still. The middle of the other B/SILs began developing mental illness in high school. No one (meaning us, teachers, etc.) recognized it at the time, but it became obvious in hindsight after things which transpired later. He became incredibly rebellious at home, and decided during his senior year to leave our home and live with a friend. Thankfully, he decided to enlist in the military after graduating HS. When he returned from basic training, we saw a changed man. He’d become incredibly respectful to the adults he’d before rebelled against (especially us) and was incredibly disciplined and orderly in the construction job he took after his service ended. Things were looking good for him. Apparently, he also looked good to a girl he’d met in high school. They got married while he was still active and had two kids of their own before she went bat-shit crazy. She served him with divorce papers, and, no surprise, was given primary custody of their children because family courts in most US states are insanely biased to the mothers. Right before the divorce decree was finalized, she went on a rampage in their co-owned house and caused about $40K in damages. Despite all of this, my BIL had the fortitude to earn a bachelor’s degree. He graduated summa cum laude at a major state university and found a fantastic job with one of the most recognizable construction equipment companies in the metro area. If you live in the same area, you’d see their trucks everywhere. That’s how big they are. He reported to the Chief of Operations and was changing the shape of that business in good ways. “Round 3.” He began to spiral into and was clinically diagnosed with bipolar disorder after he went to a shopping center in a seedy part of town, stark naked, waving a pistol around. Thankfully, the responding police officer recognized that his behavior was abnormal and was likely suffering a mental crisis. He and the other responding units were able to get him under control with no lasting harm. My BIL was institutionalized at the VA hospital for almost a month while they titrated his medications. Things were “normal” for about a year until his ex decided to sue him for increased child support and sole custody of their kids. He rightfully fought it, but he went off his meds and began another spiral that cost him his well-paying job. His attorney told him he was going to stop representing him because of how far behind he was on payments (almost $15K). Because we didn’t want him to lose his family, we paid the bill, plus another $10K retainer, knowing we’d not likely ever see the money again (It’s been five years now and we haven’t seen a penny, but it worked. He still has joint custody). Then, he married another woman with three kids of her own who turned out to be just as heartless and crazy as his ex. He started spiraling once again, and instead of helping him, she called the cops on him, took her kids, abandoned his children, and demanded us to come and “deal with his kids.” My wife was dealing with him at his house, alone, because I was in charge of their children at our house. Her youngest brother, then about 25, insisted he go with her to the hospital. Thank GOD, because, on the way there, the older BIL opened the door of the car and tried to exit it on the interstate at 60+ miles per hour. If his younger brother hadn’t been in the back seat, my wife would likely have been the witness to a successful suicide. You can imagine the hysteria in the voice I heard when she called me afterward. The trauma and anxiety of dealing with that drama weighed heavily on all of us, including our children, and still does to this day. “Round 4.” The eldest SIL became pregnant again, but this time, the father didn’t bolt. Their baby came right before Thanksgiving ‘23 but was kept in the hospital until last month because of medical problems. The doctors decided the baby needed a tracheotomy because of a defect in her larynx. My wife attended training classes with her sister which taught them how to change the trach tube, which will have to be done every week for three years. The baby requires constant attention because she can’t audibly cry. Her mom and the father are exhausted, of course, and their own children are also exposed to this and probably feel some abandonment as a result. Fast forward to two weeks ago. The baby had a seizure and stopped breathing. EMTs were called. The mother and father performed CPR for almost a half hour before an ambulance showed up. She was kept in the NICU overnight but was discharged the next morning as they couldn’t find a “root cause” other than a “minor infection.” Last week, CPS showed up at their door. They took the baby back to the hospital and the other siblings to separate foster homes. From what we’ve been told so far, the baby’s urine was collected during the NICU visit and later tested positive for drugs (I don’t know what kind), and they believe one of the parents is to blame. My wife decided that we’d get a foster house check by CPS and take in her sister’s children, including the baby when she’s cleared to leave the hospital. This is a baby that requires 24-hour observation. As fosters, we “might” qualify for a home nurse. Sounds great, but that means we’d have a total stranger basically living in our house in room we don’t have. My SIL’s initial court hearing isn’t for another month. I’m at my wits end. I’ve given the last thirty years of my life basically supporting my wife’s family. My gut knows that I could have otherwise provided more to my own kids if not. My childresn are going to be exposed to the chaos. For a year or two after my wife decided to bring her siblings into our home and delay our own family, I seriously considered a divorce. We didn’t have a lot of community property to split, none of our own children to impact, whatever, but I held to the vows we gave each other. I’ve come to that same point now. I’m only a few years away from retirement. If I agree to my wife’s terms, it’ll possibly lead to resentment just as it did after Round 2. If I don’t agree to my wife’s terms, I know she’ll resent me. I just found out that CPS is coming next week, and we might have SIL’s kids all summer. I don’t know if I can do it again and maintain my sanity. What should I do?
submitted by Alternative_Fig5148 to relationship_advice [link] [comments]
I also wish I could have reviewed more posts to get the "feel," but I don't think I can.
My wife and I have been married for more than thirty years. We have been through an awful lot of horrible things, but have come out the other side. Our history began in the early ’90s when we were in college. The way we met was quite unconventional for the time. She attended a university about 250 miles away from the one I was going to. We were more like electronic pen-pals on the fledgling internet of the day. I was working on a US government-funded research project involving computer networks, which is part of how we were able to keep “connected” that way. I was a senior, and she was a freshman. We fell in love. Hard. We knew we were a solid match even before we met each other face to face six months later. Our first meet-up happened only two weeks before I graduated. We met again the weekend before my commencement. After graduation, I moved more than five hundred miles farther away from her college town. We were able to get together only three or four more times before I proposed to her during the fall semester of her sophomore year. I flew to the city nearest her college and dropped to my knee in the middle of the airport's concourse. We were married the following summer.
Life was awesome. I had my dream girl, the one I’d prayed to find for years. Financially, we were incredibly blessed. We were able to pay off my wife’s student loans, lived frugally, and saved money hand over fist. Because of all that, we were able to move out of our single bedroom ~800 sq. ft. apartment into a newly built 2,200 sq. ft. house before our second anniversary. Gen-Y and Z’ers: Don’t judge. Please. Us X’ers do understand your plight caused by massive inflation. We knew from conversations we’d had before I proposed that two children was our ideal. By our third anniversary, things were still going great, and we decided we were ready to start our family. She surprised me when I got home from work one night when she handed me a pregnancy test showing a positive. I was so happy! Then “Round 1” happened. My wife of barely four years was taking night classes to complete her bachelor’s. She’d earned her associates the year before. She was in class when I received a call from her younger sister, age 13. What she told me was devastating: their father had been killed in a wreck on the highway on his way home from work. Cell phones weren’t exactly affordable back then, so I had to wait until my wife came home two hours later to tell her what had happened. Her father’s injuries were so severe that the funeral had to be closed casket. My wife stayed at her former home for a few weeks to try to help her mom and her three other siblings find some kind of normalcy. Then came “Round 2.” Barely two weeks after my wife returned home, our phone rang in the middle of the night. To this day, I still remember the clock reading 2:03 AM. I answered and heard a voice I didn’t recognize. It was one of my wife’s aunts calling to inform us that my MIL had been found dead in their house with an empty prescription vial of Valium sitting next to her. My wife's siblings had been with other relatives, so at least they hadn’t witnessed her suicide in person. As we drove to her hometown for the second time in a month, my wife decided in no uncertain terms that we were going to bring her siblings home with us. She had not one ounce of trust that anyone else in her extended family would step up to take care of them because most of them were below the poverty line and could barely provide for their own families. The following week, we brought her siblings, aged 13, 8, and 4 back home with us. We’d gone from being carefree young marrieds of less than four years to suddenly being the legal guardians to her siblings while also dealing with the legal hurdles of settling an intestate estate. My wife miscarried at the end of her first trimester. That loss devastated us as much if not more than we’d already endured. We got the kids (and ourselves) into grief and trauma support groups which were certainly beneficial. But we also knew our plans to have our own biological kids had to be canceled, or at least indefinitely delayed. A few years into the new adventure, my wife and I agreed she could quit her job and be a stay-at-home “mom.” Years passed, my eldest SIL graduated high school, and went on to quickly get a certificate in a health-care field. Barely a few months after my SIL moved out, my wife again surprised me with the news she’d tested positive for pregnancy. To abbreviate the history, but not to understate it, our first baby came healthy, graduated with an IB diploma, and is now a junior in college, ready to tackle the world when she graduates. Back to my SIL back then. She was able to find immediate employment in her field, with competitive pay, but within a year, got pregnant. She was unwed, and the father bolted. Over the following seven years, she had two more kids by other men who also bolted, leaving her as a single mother of three with no child support. The state appears to not give a crap because it's done nothing. She’s been unable to hold steady employment and has been on welfare the majority of the time. I can’t remember the number of times we’ve paid her rent to avoid her family being evicted. Granted, it wasn’t a bank-breaking amount because she’s in Section Eight housing, but still. The middle of the other B/SILs began developing mental illness in high school. No one (meaning us, teachers, etc.) recognized it at the time, but it became obvious in hindsight after things which transpired later. He became incredibly rebellious at home, and decided during his senior year to leave our home and live with a friend. Thankfully, he decided to enlist in the military after graduating HS. When he returned from basic training, we saw a changed man. He’d become incredibly respectful to the adults he’d before rebelled against (especially us) and was incredibly disciplined and orderly in the construction job he took after his service ended. Things were looking good for him. Apparently, he also looked good to a girl he’d met in high school. They got married while he was still active and had two kids of their own before she went bat-shit crazy. She served him with divorce papers, and, no surprise, was given primary custody of their children because family courts in most US states are insanely biased to the mothers. Right before the divorce decree was finalized, she went on a rampage in their co-owned house and caused about $40K in damages. Despite all of this, my BIL had the fortitude to earn a bachelor’s degree. He graduated summa cum laude at a major state university and found a fantastic job with one of the most recognizable construction equipment companies in the metro area. If you live in the same area, you’d see their trucks everywhere. That’s how big they are. He reported to the Chief of Operations and was changing the shape of that business in good ways. “Round 3.” He began to spiral into and was clinically diagnosed with bipolar disorder after he went to a shopping center in a seedy part of town, stark naked, waving a pistol around. Thankfully, the responding police officer recognized that his behavior was abnormal and was likely suffering a mental crisis. He and the other responding units were able to get him under control with no lasting harm. My BIL was institutionalized at the VA hospital for almost a month while they titrated his medications. Things were “normal” for about a year until his ex decided to sue him for increased child support and sole custody of their kids. He rightfully fought it, but he went off his meds and began another spiral that cost him his well-paying job. His attorney told him he was going to stop representing him because of how far behind he was on payments (almost $15K). Because we didn’t want him to lose his family, we paid the bill, plus another $10K retainer, knowing we’d not likely ever see the money again (It’s been five years now and we haven’t seen a penny, but it worked. He still has joint custody). Then, he married another woman with three kids of her own who turned out to be just as heartless and crazy as his ex. He started spiraling once again, and instead of helping him, she called the cops on him, took her kids, abandoned his children, and demanded us to come and “deal with his kids.” My wife was dealing with him at his house, alone, because I was in charge of their children at our house. Her youngest brother, then about 25, insisted he go with her to the hospital. Thank GOD, because, on the way there, the older BIL opened the door of the car and tried to exit it on the interstate at 60+ miles per hour. If his younger brother hadn’t been in the back seat, my wife would likely have been the witness to a successful suicide. You can imagine the hysteria in the voice I heard when she called me afterward. The trauma and anxiety of dealing with that drama weighed heavily on all of us, including our children, and still does to this day. “Round 4.” The eldest SIL became pregnant again, but this time, the father didn’t bolt. Their baby came right before Thanksgiving ‘23 but was kept in the hospital until last month because of medical problems. The doctors decided the baby needed a tracheotomy because of a defect in her larynx. My wife attended training classes with her sister which taught them how to change the trach tube, which will have to be done every week for three years. The baby requires constant attention because she can’t audibly cry. Her mom and the father are exhausted, of course, and their own children are also exposed to this and probably feel some abandonment as a result. Fast forward to two weeks ago. The baby had a seizure and stopped breathing. EMTs were called. The mother and father performed CPR for almost a half hour before an ambulance showed up. She was kept in the NICU overnight but was discharged the next morning as they couldn’t find a “root cause” other than a “minor infection.” Last week, CPS showed up at their door. They took the baby back to the hospital and the other siblings to separate foster homes. From what we’ve been told so far, the baby’s urine was collected during the NICU visit and later tested positive for drugs (I don’t know what kind), and they believe one of the parents is to blame. My wife decided that we’d get a foster house check by CPS and take in her sister’s children, including the baby when she’s cleared to leave the hospital. This is a baby that requires 24-hour observation. As fosters, we “might” qualify for a home nurse. Sounds great, but that means we’d have a total stranger basically living in our house in room we don’t have. My SIL’s initial court hearing isn’t for another month. I’m at my wits end. I’ve given the last thirty years of my life basically supporting my wife’s family. My gut knows that I could have otherwise provided more to my own kids if not. My childresn are going to be exposed to the chaos. For a year or two after my wife decided to bring her siblings into our home and delay our own family, I seriously considered a divorce. We didn’t have a lot of community property to split, none of our own children to impact, whatever, but I held to the vows we gave each other. I’ve come to that same point now. I’m only a few years away from retirement. If I agree to my wife’s terms, it’ll possibly lead to resentment just as it did after Round 2. If I don’t agree to my wife’s terms, I know she’ll resent me. I just found out that CPS is coming next week, and we might have SIL’s kids all summer. I don’t know if I can do it again and maintain my sanity. What should I do?
2024.05.27 23:50 maweki Automated Integrity Maintenance - Home Assistant Declarative Toolkit Custom Component
I want to introduce the community to the Home Assistant Declarative Toolkit. The Declarative Toolkit is a Home Assistant integration that extends Home Assistant with some declarative features that enables symbolic AI and automated reasoning.
https://github.com/maweki/ha-decl-tk
Currently implemented is the automated Integrity Maintenance through Answer Set Programming. You give it a Python expression that you want to be true at all times, like states('binary_sensor.it_is_dark') == states('light.light1'), but also more complex invariants.
Why is that useful? In this specific case, this is quite easily achieved using the existing automations that are built on the theory of Event-Condition-Action rules (ECA-rules). We can react to the events “sensor goes on” and “sensor goes off” and the actions are quite clear: “turn light on” or “turn light off”. But in more complex situations we need to react to many events. And it is not always clear which actions to take in order to “repair” our situation, especially if there are multiple possible actions. This devolves into very complex and deeply nested conditionals that are difficult to reason about. Also, for a smart home, that’s not very smart.
We use decades old techniques of symbolic AI to bring some additional smarts to the smart home.
How does it work? You give the integrity maintenance module a Python expression using the states/is_state/has_state functions as you’re used to in your templates. The Python expression is parsed, transformed according to some rules, and then evaluated against Home Assistant’s current state. Each invariant will add a sensor, tracking the value of said invariant. Each invariant will also add a switch that allows us to disable enforcement/maintenance of said invariant. If enforcement is enabled and the sensor shows the invariant in need of maintaining, the transformed Python expression is converted to goal clauses of a logic program, specifically an Answer Set Program. Facts for the states and domains for the used entities are added to the program, as are some general rules about how entity states change depending on called services. We feed the Answer Set Program into clingo and get possible services to call in order to achieve the desired goal of restoring the invariant.
Though I have an academic background and the ideas are very much shaped by my research, this is not just a proof of concept. I plan to use and maintain this extension and hope other people find the declarative semantics useful. Declarative descriptions should be much clearer and much easier to reason about than the alternative.
submitted by maweki to homeassistant [link] [comments]
https://github.com/maweki/ha-decl-tk
Currently implemented is the automated Integrity Maintenance through Answer Set Programming. You give it a Python expression that you want to be true at all times, like states('binary_sensor.it_is_dark') == states('light.light1'), but also more complex invariants.
Why is that useful? In this specific case, this is quite easily achieved using the existing automations that are built on the theory of Event-Condition-Action rules (ECA-rules). We can react to the events “sensor goes on” and “sensor goes off” and the actions are quite clear: “turn light on” or “turn light off”. But in more complex situations we need to react to many events. And it is not always clear which actions to take in order to “repair” our situation, especially if there are multiple possible actions. This devolves into very complex and deeply nested conditionals that are difficult to reason about. Also, for a smart home, that’s not very smart.
We use decades old techniques of symbolic AI to bring some additional smarts to the smart home.
How does it work? You give the integrity maintenance module a Python expression using the states/is_state/has_state functions as you’re used to in your templates. The Python expression is parsed, transformed according to some rules, and then evaluated against Home Assistant’s current state. Each invariant will add a sensor, tracking the value of said invariant. Each invariant will also add a switch that allows us to disable enforcement/maintenance of said invariant. If enforcement is enabled and the sensor shows the invariant in need of maintaining, the transformed Python expression is converted to goal clauses of a logic program, specifically an Answer Set Program. Facts for the states and domains for the used entities are added to the program, as are some general rules about how entity states change depending on called services. We feed the Answer Set Program into clingo and get possible services to call in order to achieve the desired goal of restoring the invariant.
Though I have an academic background and the ideas are very much shaped by my research, this is not just a proof of concept. I plan to use and maintain this extension and hope other people find the declarative semantics useful. Declarative descriptions should be much clearer and much easier to reason about than the alternative.
2024.05.27 23:36 Limp-Combination3074 Insta360 x4 very disappointing
I bought my insta360 and got it last week since then I wasn't able to edit the recorded videos. I get a error message that says that the files are damaged or corrupted. I can't even play the videos on my x4.
I tried to repair the files with the file repair computer Program from insta360 but wasn't able to repair the files.
Costumer service also is very bad cause they take forever to respond.
Iam very disappointed in insta360 because after all the youtube videos about the insta360 that speak positive about the insta360 x4 I really thought this was a good purchase. I really don't think I'll ever buy a product from them again. I’m also going to return the x4 and not recommend people buy it.
submitted by Limp-Combination3074 to Insta360 [link] [comments]
I tried to repair the files with the file repair computer Program from insta360 but wasn't able to repair the files.
Costumer service also is very bad cause they take forever to respond.
Iam very disappointed in insta360 because after all the youtube videos about the insta360 that speak positive about the insta360 x4 I really thought this was a good purchase. I really don't think I'll ever buy a product from them again. I’m also going to return the x4 and not recommend people buy it.
2024.05.27 22:27 Prophet6000 [BSPWM] Whole Lotta Red.
![[BSPWM] Whole Lotta Red.](https://preview.redd.it/y918xw4q213d1.png?width=640&crop=smart&auto=webp&s=5713660aa70d1c2a85dd6809f4f80ab7adeb71ca "[BSPWM] Whole Lotta Red.") | submitted by Prophet6000 to unixporn [link] [comments] |
2024.05.27 22:23 Correct_Albatross_52 r/second half of the story
Under the city, the Know It All is commanding his computerized slave, Brain Drain, to build him a few new mechanical servants to help him to kidnap the mayor.
"Master, I have something to show you. I've built myself a servant to do my bidding. Would you like to use him?" Brain Drain asks.
One of his drones brings in a dead Mike Luis, the seventeen-year-old, Asian teen with his rock-hard abs, and Highland Hills football team letterman jacket. The boy, with his buzz cut, looks like your average American teen from the 50s.
"Why did you bring me a dead body?" The Know It All asks.
"I am Brain Drain. He is not dead. My nano bugs have put him to sleep, so he feels as little pain as possible when we begin our work on him," Brain Drain says.
"What work do you imagine we'll be doing on this young man?" The Know It All asks his computer.
Brain Drain laughs, before removing part of Mike's brain with a laser attached to his computer console. As schematics for a machine-man hybrid appear on his console, Brain Drain straps Mike to an operating table, and begins his work.
As he watches his servant build himself a slave of his own, The Know It All is impressed.
After twenty-seven hours of surgery, The Know It All and Brain Drain have built a new monster with which to attack the city under the cover of darkness.
Their machine-man, a cyborg with spider legs, and the head and body of a human, with crab cracker arms, and one laser eye, is sent out to terrorize the city.
The cyborg, with its entirely metal, lower body, and metal arms, looks around, and demands to know why he can't feel his legs.
"Mike Luis… Is that your name?" The Know It All asks.
"It is. And who might you be?" Mike asks.
"You can call me Master from this point on," he says.
The sad look on Brain Drain's face says it all; his master has just stolen his creation.
As The Know It All looks his way, Brain Drain smiles quickly, hiding his disappointment with his master.
The Know It All tells Mike that his father was working with a superhero when a shockwave hit, and everything went crazy. "We tried to rebuild you as best as we could, but… Well, these were the only parts we had on hand, and all we wanted to do was save you. God, I'm so sorry that this happened to you…" He says crying his crocodile tears, hoping to sway Mike into joining his side.
"I want to see myself," Mike says, unable to cry with the live wires, and electrodes sticking out of his face.
After looking at himself in the mirror, Mike smashes it, and demands to know where his father is.
"He's getting a medal from the mayor. If only there was a way to get to him, and stop him once and for all..." The Know It All says. "By the way, if you're going to be a villain, you'll need a new name. How about Robo Wrecker?"
Mike smiles after hearing his new name, and is about to leave the underground hideout when Brain Drain calls out to him, and asks if he'll need any help with his mission.
"Hell yeah!" Robo Wrecker replies as a swarm of drones fly over his head with guns, and robots attached to them.
***
That night, the Red Rider is meeting with Mayor Billingsley, and Doctor Richard Luis, who stopped the explosion from a superhero named Particle Man. Red Rider is also receiving an award as he and his team defeated a mutant villain named Big Dick Dinosaur: the huge, green T-rex with its colossal penis which shoots ejaculate on command.
Red hid behind a car while Big Dick Dino frosted his team like a cake with his incredible splooge cannon. He came up with a plan to stop the dinosaur, and vibrated until he was moving fast enough to slow down time, and, once time had slowed, Red began to send car after car at the Dino's cock, and underbelly.
After crushing the Dino's junk, and stomach, Red came out of hiding. As the news cameras arrived, he pointed to the crippled Dino, and flexed for the crowd.
The mayor goes on to say that the country of Marwick is lucky to have two such heroes as Doctor Richard Luis, and the Red Rider.
Speaking at a press conference before the award ceremony, the Mayor tells the press how grateful he is for all of the new heroes who have stepped up, and begun patrolling the city in the absence of the League of Heroes.
The rest of the No Siders stand off to the side of the stage, arms crossed, watching as their leader takes all the credit for saving the city.
Red sits in a folding chair along with Doctor Luis, and the two men chat for a bit before the mayor arrives, and begins speaking to the crowd.
Mayor Billingsley talks about the value of every superhero team which is protecting the city, and all the ones who will come after them.
"What about the villains?" Robo Wrecker asks, dropping down from the sky, his spider legs digging into the ground.
The men and women who are gathered around all run in terror as Red Rider orders his team to form ranks, and to follow him.
"We'd like to, but we're on crowd control, so I guess you'll have to take care of this yourself, boss," Power Fist says.
Robo Wrecker picks a woman up with his crab claws, and snaps her in half, her blood and guts spilling onto the ground.
As Red begins to vibrate, he tosses a bolt of lightning at the cyborg.
The machine-man is struck by the lightning, and he begins to malfunction.
As drones come dropping down to the ground, they begin firing at the people in the crowd.
As they disperse, Power Fist uses the gems on her gauntlets to create energy shields around part of the city so the people can escape.
Metal Mouth is able to hack into the drone's motherboards, and shut most of them down, while Alonzo, and Old Man Gus, hide behind a group of children.
Makko bites the top off of a fire hydrant, and begins spraying water all over the remaining drones.
The battle drones all fall to pieces, and as they round up the remaining drones, Red Rider loses sight of Robo Wrecker, and of the mayor.
***
As he limps his way back to the underground with the mayor in his grasp, Robo Wrecker returns to his master, and hands him his new toy.
"Welcome, Mayor Billingsley/ I just wanted to say hello, and tell you that things are about to get really bad for you in a few minutes," The Know It All says, holding a drill.
The mayor screams in pain as his skull is pierced by the red-hot drill, and something is inserted into his skull.
The Know It All scrambles the mayor's brain, and replaces it with a mechanical brain which lights up, and glows bright pink.
***
After checking up on everyone who was taken, Red Rider, and his people, return to their hideout, and look for anything which they could use to track Robo Wrecker.
Using chips, and motherboards, from the fallen droids to track its GPS, Metal Mouth, and Alonzo, are able to track the droids to a power plant two towns over.
The group heads to the Justice Van, and piles in. The men are amazed by all the changes which Alliver was able to make to it. The Justice Van- which can now fly, and go underwater- is just incredible. It takes just fourteen minutes to reach the Luka Falls Power Plant, and, once they arrive, the No Siders see hundreds of drones guarding the facility.
Red begins vibrating at a high enough speed to stop the world, and he is able to walk in a fifth dimension, one where no one is able to move, or see him at all. Red is only able to maintain this state for twenty minutes before he begins to fade away, and get lost in the fifth dimension.
Red Rider, in his red, leather jacket, and matching pants with a black lightning bolt on the sides, and front of his jacket, runs through the storm until he reaches the power plant.
Alliver sits on Power Fist's lap, and he wonders where her uncle is.
"He's racing the speed storm. You can't see him, but he's there." Power Fist says.
Makko drinks some vodka with salt in it, and Metal Mouth looks on with a face which is frozen from rust.
Alonzo and Gus sit in the front seat of the Van, and play cards. The two of them trade cigarettes for beer as they play.
Red Rider enters the power plant, and with just eight minutes left before he fades away, finds the mayor tied up in the center of the plant. Red grabs him, and before he knows what's hit him, the mayor, and the Red Rider, are outside of the power plant, running for their lives.
Firing a flare in the air to alert his team, Red- who is weak, and bleeding from his ears, and mouth, after racing the speed storm- can barely run.
The Justice Van parks as the droids and drones begin to attack.
The mayor helps Red into the van, and the group flies away with over one hundred drones in pursuit.
Alliver tells his friends that he’s outfitted the Justice Van with many new toys, and weapons for their use.
Pressing a button on the side of the steering wheel, Alonzo sees that it's an EMP mine.
Firing the mine at one of the drones sends a shock wave all throughout the town of Luka Falls. Metal Mouth is also affected by the EMP, and is disabled for the rest of the trip home.
On the way home, Alliver and Alonzo try to repair Metal Mouth while Old Man Gus drives the van. Old Man Gus, however, is blind in one eye, and doesn’t see the building which he's about to crash into.
Power Fist, seeing that they are about to crash, uses her gem to create an energy shield around the Justice Van.
Alliver is impressed by Power Fist's magic, and he tries to hack into her gauntlet, wanting use it to create a shield around Metal Mouth, and the van, when they are in need.
As the Van crashes through a building, Mayor Billingsley demands to be let go, but Power Fist reminds him that he was just kidnapped, and needs to stay with them until they reach his office.
After crashing into the apartment building, the Justice Van refuses to start up. Alonzo tells Alliver to keep working on Metal Mouth while he tries to fix the van.
Alliver tells him that it might be smarter if he tries to fix the van as Alonzo isn't familiar with the changes which he's made.
"I'VE BEEN FIXING THIS VAN SINCE BEFORE YOUR LITTLE GREEN ASS SHOWED UP, AND I CAN FIX IT NOW!" Alonzo retorts, slamming the door, and popping open the hood of the van.
The inside of the van glows a bright, green hue, and the entire thing seems to be covered in some kind of metal-plastic.
Opening the door. Alonzo tells Alliver to fix the van while he works on Metal Mouth.
The little green man smiles, and hops out of the van.
Power Fist, in her most deadpan voice, asks Alonzo if he's fixed the van already.
"That's very funny, Wednesday Addams,” Alonzo says.
With the van fixed, the No Siders take off, leaving behind a fake card which the homeowners can call for reimbursement.
Driving out of the apartment, and back into the sky, Power Fist, who is now driving, takes the No Siders back to the mayor's office, where they hand the mayor off to his security team. He is rushed away.
After dropping off the mayor, Power Fist drives back to the junkyard, and she injects her uncle with a syringe filled with a red and black tornado.
Red begins to heal, and he fills the syringe with more of his blood, before putting it back where it was, and thanking his niece.
***
Power Fist is getting drunk with Makko, and Alonzo, when Red arrives. He asks to speak to his niece for a minute in private.
"Sure. What's up, Dunkcle?" She asks.
"I just wanted to thank you for saving me. I was at the point of death just then, but you brought me back. I just wanted to say thank you, booger head," Red says.
"You’re welcome, pig sticker. I just want you to know that I never would have let you die… unless I could be the one to kill you, that is," Power Fist laughs.
Red Rider and his niece share a few laughs as they walk around the junkyard. The two are enjoying themselves when the police show up, looking for Red Rider.
Officer Jones, and his new partner, Jesse Quick, arrest Red Rider, and tell him that the mayor has revoked his vigilante license, and is planning to disband all of the superhero teams in the city unless they join the police force.
Red is arrested for acting as a vigilante without a license, but, before he can drive off with her uncle, Power Fist asks him a question. "At what time did the mayor sign this order to suspend my uncle's vigilante license?"
"Two hours after he returned to his home. Why do you ask?" Officer Jones asks.
"Well, then you have no case against him. You see, my uncle wasn’t acting as a vigilante in the past two hours, so you have no grounds to arrest him, Officer Jones," Power Fist says.
Releasing Red Rider, Officer Jones laughs, and tells him that he doesn’t want to see him on the streets trying to save people anymore, or he'll be arrested.
Officer Quick looks around the junkyard, and she notices Makko. She stares for almost two minutes before Power Fist loudly asks her what she's looking at. "I just noticed you people seem to be living here in this junk yard, and I was wondering if that might be against the law?" Officer Quick asks, pointing at a pair of bunk beds where Makko and Metal Mouth are sitting together.
Officer Jones takes out his ticket book, and writes Red a bunch of tickets for his many violations. He also gives Red a court date to stand before a judge, telling him that, because of his former service as a hero, he'll be allowed to stand before the judge in his costume, and will most likely receive community service, and not be allowed back in the junkyard ever again.
***
Over the next two weeks, Red Rider begins working at a coffee shop called Speed Demon Deluxe Brew. All of the workers are speedsters, and each of them are able to take orders, and deliver coffee, at super speed. Red's uniform is a brownish-gray hat, and apron, as well as light brown slacks, and a white shirt with the logo of the company on it.
While he's working, the rest of the No Siders are spending their time looking for somewhere to live. Power Fist and Makko find a burned-out crack house on the wrong side of town- a part of the city called Crimeville.
The heroes of Crimeville are very overprotective of their part of the city. Superhero teams like Gang Bang and the South Side Sleuths fight each other for control over the crime-infested streets of Crimeville.
As they are walking the streets, Power Fist and Makko see a little girl being mugged by a group of older children. One of the boys is yelling at the girl in Spanish, and another, with a thick, French accent, laughs as the little girl is pushed to the ground.
Power Fist and Makko intervene, and send the boys running.
As they take off down the street, the little girl thanks Power Fist and Makko. The two then ask the girl why those boys were bothering her, and she tells them that her older brother beat up the biggest boy’s older brother, and cousin.
The girl looks up, and runs away in terror.
Looking behind herself, Power Fist sees a hovering superhero team called the Chicken Crew. The members of the Chicken Crew wear giant chicken costumes with masks, and capes.
The leader of the Chicken Crew demands to know who the hell the two new heroes in his part of the city are.
"We're not looking for trouble. We just wanted to help a little girl, that's all," Power Fist says.
Makko asks why Chicken Lord and his friends are dressed up like chickens.
"YOU DISRESPECTFUL, FISH-STINKING FUCK! YOU SPEAK ILL OF OUR COSTUMES, AND YOU SPEAK ILL OF THE CHICKEN GOD, ROY RODGERS!” Chicken Lord yells.
Power Fist tries to calm everyone down, but the Chicken Crew launches into their attack.
As they fire their eggs at Makko and Power Fist, Toilet King charges into the fight, and attacks a brown and white chicken man called King Chicken.
Power Fist throws her gauntlets at the Chicken Crew, and breaks Chica-Chica-Boom-Boom's leg, and Turkey Neck’s back.
The last man standing is Chicken Lord, and Makko swallows him whole, spitting out his costume, and cape.
Toilet King asks Power Fist what brings her to his neighborhood in the middle of the night.
"It's 4:30 PM. For some reason, the sun just doesn’t shine on this neighborhood. I don't know why," Power Fist says.
"I think a racist wizard must have done it, or something like that," Toilet King says.
Deciding to help his friends to find a place to live in Crimeville, Toilet King takes them to Wuthering Heights: a small, Latino neighborhood in the middle of Crimeville.
Wuthering Heights is a nice-enough place to stay in the morning, even though there is no sunlight in Crimeville.
Toilet King takes his friends to an abandoned lot called the greenhouse. He tells Power-Fist that if she and her friends are willing to put in the work. they can build a nice place on that lot. "It's only $5,000, and it's huge. The guy who bought it wanted to flip the land, and a group of his neighbors murdered him the night they found out what he planned to do. After that, the city took over the land, and, well, they just want to get rid of it for cheap," Toilet King says.
Power Fist and Makko head to the bank to find out how much they have to buy the abandoned lot.
With -$8 in their team bank account, the No Siders are forced to continue meeting at the junkyard.
The group is forced to wait until dark before they enter the junkyard, but without Red Rider as he is forced to wear an ankle monitor for his community service.
While meeting up at night, Power Fist reports that they are broke, and that they can't afford to move out of the junkyard. Alliver asks them why they don't just sell something of value, like water, or air molecules.
Alonzo explains to his little friend that, on Earth, gold, silver, and jewels are considered valuable.
Alliver is pleased to hear this as he has a machine which can turn air into gold and diamonds. "I believe I still have it with me. This machine is very useful as gold and diamonds are used to power my peoples’ ships, and lasers.”
Alliver creates a giant gold nugget, and hands it to Power Fist, who takes it to a jewelry store, and sells it for a fortune, taking the $500,000, and using $5,000 to buy the land, and the rest to fix up the junkyard so that they can live there.
***
While everyone is adjusting to their new lives, The Know It All is putting his plans into action, taking control of the mayor's robotic mind. He orders the mayor to begin disbanding every superhero team in the city.
Each team in the city is served with termination papers. The only team which is allowed to continue operating is the League of Heroes because of their injuries, and out of respect for their service.
Tiger Man, and Lucky Lady, are both almost completely healed, Mr. Invincible, and Castle Man, are still in critical condition, and Speed Demon was killed fighting the Golden Goons.
The mayor does as his master commands, and begins disbanding every superhero team in the city.
Arriving with the mayor's latte, and pumpkin bagel, Red Rider, whose face is concealed by a mask, hands the bagel to the mayor, who yells at him for not bringing him any cream cheese.
Enraged that this man is yelling at him after getting him fired from his team, Red dumps the man's latte over his head. Sparks begin to fly, and the mayor falls to the ground, dead.
As the mayor’s security team knocks on the door, Red grabs the mayor, and jumps out of the window behind the mayor's desk.
Hearing the sound of crashing glass, the mayor's security team comes running, but doesn’t find the mayor, or whoever took him.
***
Back in his apartment, Red has just called his niece to help him out, and to come to get the mayor. He waits ten minutes for her to arrive.
"What the hell did you do, Uncle Tomás?" Power Fist asks.
"MARCY, YOU HAVE TO BELIEVE ME! ALL I DID WAS DUMP A CUP OF COFFEE OVER HIS HEAD!” Red says.
Power Fist decides to take the mayor, and head to the team's new headquarters in Wuthering Heights.
Driving the Justice Van with Alonzo and Alliver, Power Fist discovers that Alliver and Alonzo have built a huge warehouse filled with alien teach, and sleeping pods, as well as cloaking technology.
In the morning, the police arrest Red Rider for attacking, and abducting, the mayor.
With all of the superhero teams disbanded, the police are forced to hire freelance, superpowered deputies to help them to arrest the Red Rider.
Not putting up a fight, Red lets himself be arrested, and to be taken to a superpowered prison called The Dampener.
While inside The Dampener, Red Rider joins up with a gang of mutants, and superheroes, called the Puritans. Their leader is Diamond Mine: a mutant whose skin is as hard as a pink diamond.
Red's Roommate is Chewy: a big Mexican with the power to eat anything, and spit out a fireball. Chewy introduced Red to Diamond Mine, and the two of them became fast friends.
***
Meanwhile, back in the junkyard, Alliver is cracking open Mayor Billingsley's skull. He trips a secret alarm in the mayor's head, sees a glowing light, and removes a bomb, handing it to Alonzo.
Before he can throw the bomb, it goes off in his hand, blowing both of his arms off, and a part of his jaw.
Alliver hears the explosion, and rushes to find Alonzo. He does a deep tissue scan once he finds Alonzo's body, and, after that, he decides to merge with Alonzo, something which his people can only do once in their lives as they will die as a result of the merge.
Alliver and Alonzo become fused together in a cocoon made of green slime, and hard green crystal.
***
On the streets of Bainbridge, Power Fist and Metal Mouth are patrolling the streets while Makko swims through the sewers, munching on rats, and alligators.
As he is making his way out of the sewers, a giant group of five man-sharks jump out of the water, and attack Makko.
"Hello, little brother. Did you miss us?" One of the sharks asks.
The big, blue, tiger shark picks his smaller brother up by his neck, and tosses him around.
The big blue shark pounds Makko's face into a burger with cheese, and curly fries, and, after the beating, the sharks leave Makko in a pool of his own blood.
Power Fist and Metal Mouth radio Makko to get his position, but the shark boy is unresponsive. Power Fist sends Metal Mouth back to headquarters while she goes to check on Makko.
Using the glow of her gauntlet gems to light the way, after searching a mile of underground sewer, Power Fist finds Makko's limp body. The shark lord is still breathing, and one of his twin hearts is still beating. Unlike most sharks, Makko, and other man sharks, have two to three hearts, and four lungs: two for breathing air, and two for breathing water.
Power Fist sees her friend beaten, and bloody, and she lifts him off of the ground, and carries him to the hospital.
The doctor on call is a witchdoctor named Doctor Zhivago. The man stands 6'5”, his face painted a bone white in the shape of a skull.
The big man drinks a potion, and spits it all over Makko, who begins to hyperventilate. The witchdoctor then removes a tube of salt water from his sleeve, and, after forcing Makko to transform into his shark form, pours the salt water into his gills.
The shark man begins crying blood.
Makko opens his eyes, and sees Power Fist standing over him. He strokes her face lovingly, until she catches his hand and pushes it away.
Power Fist leaves the hospital, and returns to the junkyard, where she finds the cocoon, putting up a shield around the junkyard.
***
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"Master, I have something to show you. I've built myself a servant to do my bidding. Would you like to use him?" Brain Drain asks.
One of his drones brings in a dead Mike Luis, the seventeen-year-old, Asian teen with his rock-hard abs, and Highland Hills football team letterman jacket. The boy, with his buzz cut, looks like your average American teen from the 50s.
"Why did you bring me a dead body?" The Know It All asks.
"I am Brain Drain. He is not dead. My nano bugs have put him to sleep, so he feels as little pain as possible when we begin our work on him," Brain Drain says.
"What work do you imagine we'll be doing on this young man?" The Know It All asks his computer.
Brain Drain laughs, before removing part of Mike's brain with a laser attached to his computer console. As schematics for a machine-man hybrid appear on his console, Brain Drain straps Mike to an operating table, and begins his work.
As he watches his servant build himself a slave of his own, The Know It All is impressed.
After twenty-seven hours of surgery, The Know It All and Brain Drain have built a new monster with which to attack the city under the cover of darkness.
Their machine-man, a cyborg with spider legs, and the head and body of a human, with crab cracker arms, and one laser eye, is sent out to terrorize the city.
The cyborg, with its entirely metal, lower body, and metal arms, looks around, and demands to know why he can't feel his legs.
"Mike Luis… Is that your name?" The Know It All asks.
"It is. And who might you be?" Mike asks.
"You can call me Master from this point on," he says.
The sad look on Brain Drain's face says it all; his master has just stolen his creation.
As The Know It All looks his way, Brain Drain smiles quickly, hiding his disappointment with his master.
The Know It All tells Mike that his father was working with a superhero when a shockwave hit, and everything went crazy. "We tried to rebuild you as best as we could, but… Well, these were the only parts we had on hand, and all we wanted to do was save you. God, I'm so sorry that this happened to you…" He says crying his crocodile tears, hoping to sway Mike into joining his side.
"I want to see myself," Mike says, unable to cry with the live wires, and electrodes sticking out of his face.
After looking at himself in the mirror, Mike smashes it, and demands to know where his father is.
"He's getting a medal from the mayor. If only there was a way to get to him, and stop him once and for all..." The Know It All says. "By the way, if you're going to be a villain, you'll need a new name. How about Robo Wrecker?"
Mike smiles after hearing his new name, and is about to leave the underground hideout when Brain Drain calls out to him, and asks if he'll need any help with his mission.
"Hell yeah!" Robo Wrecker replies as a swarm of drones fly over his head with guns, and robots attached to them.
***
That night, the Red Rider is meeting with Mayor Billingsley, and Doctor Richard Luis, who stopped the explosion from a superhero named Particle Man. Red Rider is also receiving an award as he and his team defeated a mutant villain named Big Dick Dinosaur: the huge, green T-rex with its colossal penis which shoots ejaculate on command.
Red hid behind a car while Big Dick Dino frosted his team like a cake with his incredible splooge cannon. He came up with a plan to stop the dinosaur, and vibrated until he was moving fast enough to slow down time, and, once time had slowed, Red began to send car after car at the Dino's cock, and underbelly.
After crushing the Dino's junk, and stomach, Red came out of hiding. As the news cameras arrived, he pointed to the crippled Dino, and flexed for the crowd.
The mayor goes on to say that the country of Marwick is lucky to have two such heroes as Doctor Richard Luis, and the Red Rider.
Speaking at a press conference before the award ceremony, the Mayor tells the press how grateful he is for all of the new heroes who have stepped up, and begun patrolling the city in the absence of the League of Heroes.
The rest of the No Siders stand off to the side of the stage, arms crossed, watching as their leader takes all the credit for saving the city.
Red sits in a folding chair along with Doctor Luis, and the two men chat for a bit before the mayor arrives, and begins speaking to the crowd.
Mayor Billingsley talks about the value of every superhero team which is protecting the city, and all the ones who will come after them.
"What about the villains?" Robo Wrecker asks, dropping down from the sky, his spider legs digging into the ground.
The men and women who are gathered around all run in terror as Red Rider orders his team to form ranks, and to follow him.
"We'd like to, but we're on crowd control, so I guess you'll have to take care of this yourself, boss," Power Fist says.
Robo Wrecker picks a woman up with his crab claws, and snaps her in half, her blood and guts spilling onto the ground.
As Red begins to vibrate, he tosses a bolt of lightning at the cyborg.
The machine-man is struck by the lightning, and he begins to malfunction.
As drones come dropping down to the ground, they begin firing at the people in the crowd.
As they disperse, Power Fist uses the gems on her gauntlets to create energy shields around part of the city so the people can escape.
Metal Mouth is able to hack into the drone's motherboards, and shut most of them down, while Alonzo, and Old Man Gus, hide behind a group of children.
Makko bites the top off of a fire hydrant, and begins spraying water all over the remaining drones.
The battle drones all fall to pieces, and as they round up the remaining drones, Red Rider loses sight of Robo Wrecker, and of the mayor.
***
As he limps his way back to the underground with the mayor in his grasp, Robo Wrecker returns to his master, and hands him his new toy.
"Welcome, Mayor Billingsley/ I just wanted to say hello, and tell you that things are about to get really bad for you in a few minutes," The Know It All says, holding a drill.
The mayor screams in pain as his skull is pierced by the red-hot drill, and something is inserted into his skull.
The Know It All scrambles the mayor's brain, and replaces it with a mechanical brain which lights up, and glows bright pink.
***
After checking up on everyone who was taken, Red Rider, and his people, return to their hideout, and look for anything which they could use to track Robo Wrecker.
Using chips, and motherboards, from the fallen droids to track its GPS, Metal Mouth, and Alonzo, are able to track the droids to a power plant two towns over.
The group heads to the Justice Van, and piles in. The men are amazed by all the changes which Alliver was able to make to it. The Justice Van- which can now fly, and go underwater- is just incredible. It takes just fourteen minutes to reach the Luka Falls Power Plant, and, once they arrive, the No Siders see hundreds of drones guarding the facility.
Red begins vibrating at a high enough speed to stop the world, and he is able to walk in a fifth dimension, one where no one is able to move, or see him at all. Red is only able to maintain this state for twenty minutes before he begins to fade away, and get lost in the fifth dimension.
Red Rider, in his red, leather jacket, and matching pants with a black lightning bolt on the sides, and front of his jacket, runs through the storm until he reaches the power plant.
Alliver sits on Power Fist's lap, and he wonders where her uncle is.
"He's racing the speed storm. You can't see him, but he's there." Power Fist says.
Makko drinks some vodka with salt in it, and Metal Mouth looks on with a face which is frozen from rust.
Alonzo and Gus sit in the front seat of the Van, and play cards. The two of them trade cigarettes for beer as they play.
Red Rider enters the power plant, and with just eight minutes left before he fades away, finds the mayor tied up in the center of the plant. Red grabs him, and before he knows what's hit him, the mayor, and the Red Rider, are outside of the power plant, running for their lives.
Firing a flare in the air to alert his team, Red- who is weak, and bleeding from his ears, and mouth, after racing the speed storm- can barely run.
The Justice Van parks as the droids and drones begin to attack.
The mayor helps Red into the van, and the group flies away with over one hundred drones in pursuit.
Alliver tells his friends that he’s outfitted the Justice Van with many new toys, and weapons for their use.
Pressing a button on the side of the steering wheel, Alonzo sees that it's an EMP mine.
Firing the mine at one of the drones sends a shock wave all throughout the town of Luka Falls. Metal Mouth is also affected by the EMP, and is disabled for the rest of the trip home.
On the way home, Alliver and Alonzo try to repair Metal Mouth while Old Man Gus drives the van. Old Man Gus, however, is blind in one eye, and doesn’t see the building which he's about to crash into.
Power Fist, seeing that they are about to crash, uses her gem to create an energy shield around the Justice Van.
Alliver is impressed by Power Fist's magic, and he tries to hack into her gauntlet, wanting use it to create a shield around Metal Mouth, and the van, when they are in need.
As the Van crashes through a building, Mayor Billingsley demands to be let go, but Power Fist reminds him that he was just kidnapped, and needs to stay with them until they reach his office.
After crashing into the apartment building, the Justice Van refuses to start up. Alonzo tells Alliver to keep working on Metal Mouth while he tries to fix the van.
Alliver tells him that it might be smarter if he tries to fix the van as Alonzo isn't familiar with the changes which he's made.
"I'VE BEEN FIXING THIS VAN SINCE BEFORE YOUR LITTLE GREEN ASS SHOWED UP, AND I CAN FIX IT NOW!" Alonzo retorts, slamming the door, and popping open the hood of the van.
The inside of the van glows a bright, green hue, and the entire thing seems to be covered in some kind of metal-plastic.
Opening the door. Alonzo tells Alliver to fix the van while he works on Metal Mouth.
The little green man smiles, and hops out of the van.
Power Fist, in her most deadpan voice, asks Alonzo if he's fixed the van already.
"That's very funny, Wednesday Addams,” Alonzo says.
With the van fixed, the No Siders take off, leaving behind a fake card which the homeowners can call for reimbursement.
Driving out of the apartment, and back into the sky, Power Fist, who is now driving, takes the No Siders back to the mayor's office, where they hand the mayor off to his security team. He is rushed away.
After dropping off the mayor, Power Fist drives back to the junkyard, and she injects her uncle with a syringe filled with a red and black tornado.
Red begins to heal, and he fills the syringe with more of his blood, before putting it back where it was, and thanking his niece.
***
Power Fist is getting drunk with Makko, and Alonzo, when Red arrives. He asks to speak to his niece for a minute in private.
"Sure. What's up, Dunkcle?" She asks.
"I just wanted to thank you for saving me. I was at the point of death just then, but you brought me back. I just wanted to say thank you, booger head," Red says.
"You’re welcome, pig sticker. I just want you to know that I never would have let you die… unless I could be the one to kill you, that is," Power Fist laughs.
Red Rider and his niece share a few laughs as they walk around the junkyard. The two are enjoying themselves when the police show up, looking for Red Rider.
Officer Jones, and his new partner, Jesse Quick, arrest Red Rider, and tell him that the mayor has revoked his vigilante license, and is planning to disband all of the superhero teams in the city unless they join the police force.
Red is arrested for acting as a vigilante without a license, but, before he can drive off with her uncle, Power Fist asks him a question. "At what time did the mayor sign this order to suspend my uncle's vigilante license?"
"Two hours after he returned to his home. Why do you ask?" Officer Jones asks.
"Well, then you have no case against him. You see, my uncle wasn’t acting as a vigilante in the past two hours, so you have no grounds to arrest him, Officer Jones," Power Fist says.
Releasing Red Rider, Officer Jones laughs, and tells him that he doesn’t want to see him on the streets trying to save people anymore, or he'll be arrested.
Officer Quick looks around the junkyard, and she notices Makko. She stares for almost two minutes before Power Fist loudly asks her what she's looking at. "I just noticed you people seem to be living here in this junk yard, and I was wondering if that might be against the law?" Officer Quick asks, pointing at a pair of bunk beds where Makko and Metal Mouth are sitting together.
Officer Jones takes out his ticket book, and writes Red a bunch of tickets for his many violations. He also gives Red a court date to stand before a judge, telling him that, because of his former service as a hero, he'll be allowed to stand before the judge in his costume, and will most likely receive community service, and not be allowed back in the junkyard ever again.
***
Over the next two weeks, Red Rider begins working at a coffee shop called Speed Demon Deluxe Brew. All of the workers are speedsters, and each of them are able to take orders, and deliver coffee, at super speed. Red's uniform is a brownish-gray hat, and apron, as well as light brown slacks, and a white shirt with the logo of the company on it.
While he's working, the rest of the No Siders are spending their time looking for somewhere to live. Power Fist and Makko find a burned-out crack house on the wrong side of town- a part of the city called Crimeville.
The heroes of Crimeville are very overprotective of their part of the city. Superhero teams like Gang Bang and the South Side Sleuths fight each other for control over the crime-infested streets of Crimeville.
As they are walking the streets, Power Fist and Makko see a little girl being mugged by a group of older children. One of the boys is yelling at the girl in Spanish, and another, with a thick, French accent, laughs as the little girl is pushed to the ground.
Power Fist and Makko intervene, and send the boys running.
As they take off down the street, the little girl thanks Power Fist and Makko. The two then ask the girl why those boys were bothering her, and she tells them that her older brother beat up the biggest boy’s older brother, and cousin.
The girl looks up, and runs away in terror.
Looking behind herself, Power Fist sees a hovering superhero team called the Chicken Crew. The members of the Chicken Crew wear giant chicken costumes with masks, and capes.
The leader of the Chicken Crew demands to know who the hell the two new heroes in his part of the city are.
"We're not looking for trouble. We just wanted to help a little girl, that's all," Power Fist says.
Makko asks why Chicken Lord and his friends are dressed up like chickens.
"YOU DISRESPECTFUL, FISH-STINKING FUCK! YOU SPEAK ILL OF OUR COSTUMES, AND YOU SPEAK ILL OF THE CHICKEN GOD, ROY RODGERS!” Chicken Lord yells.
Power Fist tries to calm everyone down, but the Chicken Crew launches into their attack.
As they fire their eggs at Makko and Power Fist, Toilet King charges into the fight, and attacks a brown and white chicken man called King Chicken.
Power Fist throws her gauntlets at the Chicken Crew, and breaks Chica-Chica-Boom-Boom's leg, and Turkey Neck’s back.
The last man standing is Chicken Lord, and Makko swallows him whole, spitting out his costume, and cape.
Toilet King asks Power Fist what brings her to his neighborhood in the middle of the night.
"It's 4:30 PM. For some reason, the sun just doesn’t shine on this neighborhood. I don't know why," Power Fist says.
"I think a racist wizard must have done it, or something like that," Toilet King says.
Deciding to help his friends to find a place to live in Crimeville, Toilet King takes them to Wuthering Heights: a small, Latino neighborhood in the middle of Crimeville.
Wuthering Heights is a nice-enough place to stay in the morning, even though there is no sunlight in Crimeville.
Toilet King takes his friends to an abandoned lot called the greenhouse. He tells Power-Fist that if she and her friends are willing to put in the work. they can build a nice place on that lot. "It's only $5,000, and it's huge. The guy who bought it wanted to flip the land, and a group of his neighbors murdered him the night they found out what he planned to do. After that, the city took over the land, and, well, they just want to get rid of it for cheap," Toilet King says.
Power Fist and Makko head to the bank to find out how much they have to buy the abandoned lot.
With -$8 in their team bank account, the No Siders are forced to continue meeting at the junkyard.
The group is forced to wait until dark before they enter the junkyard, but without Red Rider as he is forced to wear an ankle monitor for his community service.
While meeting up at night, Power Fist reports that they are broke, and that they can't afford to move out of the junkyard. Alliver asks them why they don't just sell something of value, like water, or air molecules.
Alonzo explains to his little friend that, on Earth, gold, silver, and jewels are considered valuable.
Alliver is pleased to hear this as he has a machine which can turn air into gold and diamonds. "I believe I still have it with me. This machine is very useful as gold and diamonds are used to power my peoples’ ships, and lasers.”
Alliver creates a giant gold nugget, and hands it to Power Fist, who takes it to a jewelry store, and sells it for a fortune, taking the $500,000, and using $5,000 to buy the land, and the rest to fix up the junkyard so that they can live there.
***
While everyone is adjusting to their new lives, The Know It All is putting his plans into action, taking control of the mayor's robotic mind. He orders the mayor to begin disbanding every superhero team in the city.
Each team in the city is served with termination papers. The only team which is allowed to continue operating is the League of Heroes because of their injuries, and out of respect for their service.
Tiger Man, and Lucky Lady, are both almost completely healed, Mr. Invincible, and Castle Man, are still in critical condition, and Speed Demon was killed fighting the Golden Goons.
The mayor does as his master commands, and begins disbanding every superhero team in the city.
Arriving with the mayor's latte, and pumpkin bagel, Red Rider, whose face is concealed by a mask, hands the bagel to the mayor, who yells at him for not bringing him any cream cheese.
Enraged that this man is yelling at him after getting him fired from his team, Red dumps the man's latte over his head. Sparks begin to fly, and the mayor falls to the ground, dead.
As the mayor’s security team knocks on the door, Red grabs the mayor, and jumps out of the window behind the mayor's desk.
Hearing the sound of crashing glass, the mayor's security team comes running, but doesn’t find the mayor, or whoever took him.
***
Back in his apartment, Red has just called his niece to help him out, and to come to get the mayor. He waits ten minutes for her to arrive.
"What the hell did you do, Uncle Tomás?" Power Fist asks.
"MARCY, YOU HAVE TO BELIEVE ME! ALL I DID WAS DUMP A CUP OF COFFEE OVER HIS HEAD!” Red says.
Power Fist decides to take the mayor, and head to the team's new headquarters in Wuthering Heights.
Driving the Justice Van with Alonzo and Alliver, Power Fist discovers that Alliver and Alonzo have built a huge warehouse filled with alien teach, and sleeping pods, as well as cloaking technology.
In the morning, the police arrest Red Rider for attacking, and abducting, the mayor.
With all of the superhero teams disbanded, the police are forced to hire freelance, superpowered deputies to help them to arrest the Red Rider.
Not putting up a fight, Red lets himself be arrested, and to be taken to a superpowered prison called The Dampener.
While inside The Dampener, Red Rider joins up with a gang of mutants, and superheroes, called the Puritans. Their leader is Diamond Mine: a mutant whose skin is as hard as a pink diamond.
Red's Roommate is Chewy: a big Mexican with the power to eat anything, and spit out a fireball. Chewy introduced Red to Diamond Mine, and the two of them became fast friends.
***
Meanwhile, back in the junkyard, Alliver is cracking open Mayor Billingsley's skull. He trips a secret alarm in the mayor's head, sees a glowing light, and removes a bomb, handing it to Alonzo.
Before he can throw the bomb, it goes off in his hand, blowing both of his arms off, and a part of his jaw.
Alliver hears the explosion, and rushes to find Alonzo. He does a deep tissue scan once he finds Alonzo's body, and, after that, he decides to merge with Alonzo, something which his people can only do once in their lives as they will die as a result of the merge.
Alliver and Alonzo become fused together in a cocoon made of green slime, and hard green crystal.
***
On the streets of Bainbridge, Power Fist and Metal Mouth are patrolling the streets while Makko swims through the sewers, munching on rats, and alligators.
As he is making his way out of the sewers, a giant group of five man-sharks jump out of the water, and attack Makko.
"Hello, little brother. Did you miss us?" One of the sharks asks.
The big, blue, tiger shark picks his smaller brother up by his neck, and tosses him around.
The big blue shark pounds Makko's face into a burger with cheese, and curly fries, and, after the beating, the sharks leave Makko in a pool of his own blood.
Power Fist and Metal Mouth radio Makko to get his position, but the shark boy is unresponsive. Power Fist sends Metal Mouth back to headquarters while she goes to check on Makko.
Using the glow of her gauntlet gems to light the way, after searching a mile of underground sewer, Power Fist finds Makko's limp body. The shark lord is still breathing, and one of his twin hearts is still beating. Unlike most sharks, Makko, and other man sharks, have two to three hearts, and four lungs: two for breathing air, and two for breathing water.
Power Fist sees her friend beaten, and bloody, and she lifts him off of the ground, and carries him to the hospital.
The doctor on call is a witchdoctor named Doctor Zhivago. The man stands 6'5”, his face painted a bone white in the shape of a skull.
The big man drinks a potion, and spits it all over Makko, who begins to hyperventilate. The witchdoctor then removes a tube of salt water from his sleeve, and, after forcing Makko to transform into his shark form, pours the salt water into his gills.
The shark man begins crying blood.
Makko opens his eyes, and sees Power Fist standing over him. He strokes her face lovingly, until she catches his hand and pushes it away.
Power Fist leaves the hospital, and returns to the junkyard, where she finds the cocoon, putting up a shield around the junkyard.
***
2024.05.27 21:56 LastOneSergeant For whom the bell tolls, or why is the internet out?
There is a common scene in war movies.
There is a death. A woman sits alone in her house. Two sharply dresses service members approach the house.
We all know why. As soon as she sees them she knows.
At that point walking up to the door is a formality.
The message is already received.
My first deployment was the end of the old school communication. I wrote and received dozens of letters. There was even a foreign pay phone on a base I was at. I called loved ones as often as I could afford.
America's early involvement in Iraq and Afghanistan coincided with a rise in technology.
This complicated casualty notification procedures.
When I arrived in Iraq our base had a little internet and phone stations station. A walled off room in the back of our giant gym within a warehouse we had taken over.
The line was always long. Often longer than an hour. You coud use the phone or a computer. Limited to 15 minutes.
The gym was a sanctuary for many. Wor lous enough headphones it became one of the few places you could almost forget you were deployed.
The first time someone experienced an Internet blackout the reaction is the same. They walk into the gym ready to work out and put their name on the phone or computer wait list.
Only the gym is a little more empty. The internet cafe section is dark.
They usually look around and give the classic "what the fuck". The lights on are, clearly it's not a generator issue.
An inevitable flash of anger.
Moments to speak with family are tough to come by. A continual battle between long lines, long work hours, the choice between sleep, or the fear the person you are calling may themselves be asleep.
At that point someone will look up from their workout and say,
"Internet blackout, waiting on casualty notification".
A confused pause. Their body posture, moments before indignant and tense, deflates, as they realize the internet is off so the official notification can be made before one us accidently posts about it on social media.
You then choose to slink out back to your cot, or quietly do the workout you planned to do anyway.
It was a busy 15 months.
An average there was a black out once a week.
If, you were an angry gmy rat that went after every patrol you could measure how fast casualty assistance was by how long the black out lasted.
On one occasion it lasted several days.
It seemed the deceased soldiers next of kin were camping, or somwere hard to reach.
It sucked for us. No phone, no Internet.
But for that family back home they got to believe their Soldier was alive for a few more days.
submitted by LastOneSergeant to army [link] [comments]
There is a death. A woman sits alone in her house. Two sharply dresses service members approach the house.
We all know why. As soon as she sees them she knows.
At that point walking up to the door is a formality.
The message is already received.
My first deployment was the end of the old school communication. I wrote and received dozens of letters. There was even a foreign pay phone on a base I was at. I called loved ones as often as I could afford.
America's early involvement in Iraq and Afghanistan coincided with a rise in technology.
This complicated casualty notification procedures.
When I arrived in Iraq our base had a little internet and phone stations station. A walled off room in the back of our giant gym within a warehouse we had taken over.
The line was always long. Often longer than an hour. You coud use the phone or a computer. Limited to 15 minutes.
The gym was a sanctuary for many. Wor lous enough headphones it became one of the few places you could almost forget you were deployed.
The first time someone experienced an Internet blackout the reaction is the same. They walk into the gym ready to work out and put their name on the phone or computer wait list.
Only the gym is a little more empty. The internet cafe section is dark.
They usually look around and give the classic "what the fuck". The lights on are, clearly it's not a generator issue.
An inevitable flash of anger.
Moments to speak with family are tough to come by. A continual battle between long lines, long work hours, the choice between sleep, or the fear the person you are calling may themselves be asleep.
At that point someone will look up from their workout and say,
"Internet blackout, waiting on casualty notification".
A confused pause. Their body posture, moments before indignant and tense, deflates, as they realize the internet is off so the official notification can be made before one us accidently posts about it on social media.
You then choose to slink out back to your cot, or quietly do the workout you planned to do anyway.
It was a busy 15 months.
An average there was a black out once a week.
If, you were an angry gmy rat that went after every patrol you could measure how fast casualty assistance was by how long the black out lasted.
On one occasion it lasted several days.
It seemed the deceased soldiers next of kin were camping, or somwere hard to reach.
It sucked for us. No phone, no Internet.
But for that family back home they got to believe their Soldier was alive for a few more days.
2024.05.27 20:29 Rocknocker It takes *balls* to roll in Rock’s league. Part 1.
Roll…roll…roll…
KER-SMASH!
“Good one, Rock. One more and you’ve got yourself a turkey.” Parker Markle, owner of the bowling establishment, noted.
“Thanks, Parker”, I said, thankfully accepting another longneck, “You still going on with your renovations here?”
“Damn straight!”, he replied, “I’ve got me investors, I’ve got me plans, and I’ve even got me real building permits this time…”
Two weeks later, we’re standing out in front of Parker’s still smoldering bowling alley and Parker is on the verge of tears.
“God damn shame”, I said, trying to commiserate my friend.
“Fucking squatters. Can’t even start on the renovations without these bastards…We chuck’em out of your place and the fuckers burn the place down. Hear from the local constabulary yet?”
“Yeah”, he snuffs, “Fucker’s ain’t got a hard dollar among them; nor two cents in their heads. Sure, I can sue, but to what purpose? Look at the place. I had my investors…I had plans…I’m well and truly fucked, Rock.”
“How much you out? “I asked, “How much you need to rebuild and remodel?”
“Oh, fuck me”, Parker trembled, “At least $55-60 thou. Where the fuck am I supposed to come up with that sort of scratch?”
Ker-ching!
I chucked my empty into the bin.
SPANG!
Parker immediately, without asking, dips into the ever-present cooler and hands me an icy-cold one.
In return, I hand Parker my business Rhodium American Express card.
“What’s this?”, he asks.
“It’s my entry into the world of keggeling and conspicuous consumer consumption” I chuckled.
“What the fuck?”, Parker asked, brow furrowed like the early spring marijuana fields hereabouts.
“Use it to order your needful things”, I said, “I’ve got way more than 60 thou free on the card. I mean, let’s not go nuts…”
“You mean?” He asked, quizzically.
“Yep.”, I replied, “Your wishes have been answered…sort of.
Parker looks at me with wide, wondering eyes.
“I’m your god-damned partner.” I smiled as I lit a huge Oscuro cigar; channeling Marion Ravenwood.
“Oh, fuck”, Parker suddenly breaks into a mile-wide smile. “We’re going to be the first bowling alley to have a walk-in humidor, aren’t we?”
“Fuckin-A, Bubba.”, I chuckle, “Plus a Class-A liquor license. Enough of this Class-B slinging beer for bucks bullshit, we’re going to have us a real tavern here on the green…”
“Let me get my plans”, Parker laughs, “I never thought of going the Class-A direction.”
“We’re going to serve more than pre-nuked wings and slate-board pizza.” I said, “We’re going to have 75 lanes, a full-service tavern, walk-in humidor, 80s arcade, and real fucking food. I remember you going on and on about it before the fire. Well, I haven’t forgotten what you’re dreaming about, so fuck it, let’s just do it.”
“It might go a bit past 60 large”, Parker said, slightly uncertainly.
“Let’s just keep it under 100k and for the love of grog, don’t say anything to Esme…”, I pleaded with Parker.
“I’ll do my best”, Parker said, as a manly handshake ensued.
“This could be the start of a beautiful friendship” I nattered.
Between my American Express card and Parker’s insurance pay out, we’ve got more than enough to start selecting contractors and hire us a security team. We’ve had the plans drawn up, had all the blueprints drafted, reviewed and OK’ed by the various governmental departments.
We are ready to tear down what remains of the old place, groom the land, and begin our re-build.
But first, there’s this little problem neither of us had foreseen.
What the fuck are we going to do with over 1,500 scorched pins and 800 or so blistered bowling balls?
We’ve already ordered all new pinsetters, pins and balls; so, what to do with all the leftovers…?
What to do?
What to do?
Of course! We hold a pre-opening carnival and sell tickets to a bowling ball mortar game.
No shit! Carve out a big-ass target out in some field, and fire bowling ball mortars. The closest ticket to where the ball lands wins.
We can worry about the details later.
First, I need to gin-up a set of bowling ball mortars. We’re going to introduce the southwest to Bowling Ball Bingo!
Hell. We’ll make it a huge pre-opening event: bowling ball punt guns, food trucks, local music, games of skill, food trailers, local brewery participation, drinking and merry making.
Still going to need some bowling ball cannons.
But first, we’ll need a place to hold the festivities.
No worries.
Y’see. I know this guy…
Now, in town, there’s been a lot of building. In fact, it looks overly developed.
However, go outside of town a couple of miles, and it’s heavily rural, fallow, and all agrarian.
Then there happens to be an old Junior League baseball diamond that’s been closed for years and in an advanced stage of neglect and derelictitis. However, it’s right off the main exit highway and nestled up closely to the San Juan River. Loads and loads of area to expand and have a nice little festivity.
I know the owner, the venerable ol’ bean Gilberto Cabrera.
So, I load up with beer and cigars and drive over to see Gilberto.
He’s outside his one-up, two-down, three across shotgun shack, sipping warm Modeles and cursing every aspect of life he’s currently been assigned.
I roll up and Gilberto instinctively reaches for his trusty double-barreled Ruger, gauge of 12.
“Whoa!”, I shout. “Just me, Gil. Kindly ol’ Doctor Rock.”
“What the fuck do you want?”, he growls.
“Hey!”, I yell, “Use low tones, or you can’t have any of the goodies I brought back from Canada.”
He props the shotgun over in a corner and being the avaricious old bastard he normally is, he bids me over to the porch to have a rag-chew and he a rifle of my truck’s built-in humidor.
I wander up and present him some pure maple syrup, fresh from Walmart, a half dozen cigars and a cold 12 pack of straight from the land of sky-blue waters, Hamm’s (“The beer refreshing”).
We sit and catch up with each other. He’s an old widower and never had time for kids, so he’s grateful to have someone at least approximately his age to rabbit on with. He’s either 70 or 125, or somewhere in between.
It’s hard to tell with some of these old, wrinkly types.
Anyways, I broach the subject of ‘borrowing’ his land in and adjacent to the old ballpark.
“What fer?” He asks.
“Well,” I reply between sips of some recently obtained Kentucky Firewater, “Parker Markle and I are partners in a new rebuild of his bowling alley, which the squatters burned to a crisp once we got the local fuzz to chuck’em out.”
“Aye?”, he scowls, “Bastards. What does that have to do with me?”
“We decided to hold an impromptu festival, a couple of days, for grand re-opening, where we’d get some folk in to cater the event, with music, maybe some carnival-type rides, local food trucks and trailers, petting zoo for the kids, maybe a pick-up softball game or two and (saving the best for last) Bowling Ball Bingo.”
“What the hell’s that last one?” He wondered.
“Well, we’ve got nearly 1,000 old and slightly scorched bowling balls from the fire. Parker’s got new stock coming in with the insurance money. So, what better way to dispose of old bowling balls by building a couple of cannons, firing the balls skyward and have them fall on some prepared ground? The ground with have a checkerboard of letters and numbers, and instead of popping up little balls at the local Catholic Church, we use bowling ball cannons to choose?”
“Gil looks at me and scoffs, “Y’know, it’s not been really too quiet around here since you moved in. I know you’re a Master Blaster, but what do you really do?”
“Nothing too exciting,” I snicker, “I just snuff oil and gas well fires.”
“Hrumph”, he snorts, “No wonder it’s like the Fourth of July hereabouts every weekend.”
“A man’s gotta stay in practice”, I chuckle back.
We both have a snort and I produce new cigars. We spend the next few hours drafting up an agreement where we can use his land to hold the festival.
But the land and facilities are in a sad state of repair.
So, I promise to fix it up if he loans it to us for pre-opening weekend.
OK, but the facilities need paint, weed removal, blading for parking, Porta Johns, marking of parking areas, etc.
I tell Gil that’s fine. We’ll do all the work necessary to get his 40-acre donation ready for the big weekend. I also agreed to cede the finished area over to the Junior League baseball concern when we’re finished. As well as give the Jr. League 5% of the take, as the area is impoverished and any little help would be smiled upon greatly.
Gil also wants a nice, little honorarium to the tune of 5% of the gate.
“Sorry, Gil”, I replied, “But that’s a NCD (No Can Do). But I’ll let you sit in the security shack and keep an eye on the gate and warn about any potential trouble”.
He seemed less than amused.
“The gate will be right next to the beer garden and I could arrange it so that you could receive free beer in exchange for your time and sharp eye.” I noted.
The ink on the agreement wasn’t yet dry when Gil stated calling for his free beer.
“In a couple weeks, Gil”, I said, handing him a 12-pack of Blatz. “This’ll hold you until then.
He was deliriously happy. Free beer. Free cigars. A minuscule dose of power over his neighbors.
“Today is going to be a long day”, I noted to myself as I pulled out of Gil’s driveway.
First order of business was getting my old D-6 Caterpillar Dozer up and running. However, it needs some work.
I’ve got an idea, but the more it fleshed out, the more I felt like Hawkeye Pierce trying to get a new pair of boots from the Army.
I think I can nuke several birds with one stone: A trip to see Clay Smith about pipe for four bowling ball cannons.
I’ve known Clay for years and he’s one of the reasons we’ve settled in the area. He runs a fabricating/machine shop and that means I don’t need to buy an outbuilding to build my own metal shop.
After the obligatory handshakes, beers and cigars, we get down to brass tacks.
Well, CRA monel steel actually.
Found some 12.000" OD {A} x 8.600" ID {B} x 3.400" Wall {C} DOM Steel CRA casing, actually from the US Navy and once was part of a battleship’s complement; unknown which boat was the donor.
Perfect for 4 cannons.
CRA refers Corrosion Resistant Alloy; special pipe composited by two different materials including inner pipe and outer pipe. Inner CRA layer (0.25~26.0mm) normally such as Stainless steel, Duplex, Nickel alloy, Titanium, Hastelloy, Monel, etc., which are suitable for high corrosion environment.
Outer base material could be seamless or welded, SAWL, SAWH, ERW, HFW, or DSAW carbon steel pipe. The carbon steel substrate provides the required strength and the CRA cladding/lining provides the adequate corrosion resistance to the product being transported. The dissimilar metals that are present through the thickness of the pipe wall bring certain challenges to welding of clad/lined pipes, because welding of such pipes is usually carried out from the outside, using a single-sided welding technique
Clay needs some welding consumables, and will cut and polish the pipe for me if I find him a special CRA cutter-welder.
So, off to see Madden Martin at his welding shop.
“Madden, I need to borrow your CRA welder.” I notify him.
“Sure, what for?”, he asks.
“I’m building bowling ball cannons.” I replied.
“Oh. OK”, retorts Madden, thoroughly nonplussed with the day’s turn of events.
Sure, I can borrow the welder, all I need is to get him some good Wisconsin beer.
After a trip to the house, Madden loads the CRA welder into my truck after he offloads 2 cases of Blatz Light Cream Ale, 2 Cases of Leinenkugel’s, 2 cases of Point (“When you’re out of Point, you’re out of town”) and 2 cases of Spotted Cow from New Glarus.
I drop off the cutting welder to Clay and Javan Elliott, his second in command. We sit and chew the rag for a while, as his minions, of which he has thousands it seems, do the needful.
With the flick of the forklift, they load the 4 cut sections of the bowling ball punt guns in my truck.
Back to see Madden and we discuss his “kids” (apprentices) that are going to be helping me make the bowling ball cannons.
All it cost me was another couple of cases of beer and a box of ridiculously expensive cigars.
There are 6 “kids”:
2 Native American (Navajo): Shizhe'E (Navajo), Atsidi (Navajo),
2 Hispanic (by way of Old Mexico): Hector Manzanares, Richardo Sanchez (really) and,
A pair of local Heinz-57 variety Norteamericanos: Zachary Gibson and Alfie Walsh.
They all spoke passable English, and with my intense Oilfield Spanish, we could still communicate.
First, came the really dirty work. The pipe sections needed to be swaged, that is, drifted to see if they were the proper dimensions.
Any underage had to be filled with weld and then ground to specs. Any overages had to be ground down to specs.
This steel is about a 65-68 Rockwell hardness.
FYI: Rockwell hardness refers to how resistant a metal object is to penetration and permanent deformation from another material. It’s a measuring system of non-destructive metallurgical testing that determines how hard and strong steel truly is.
Truth is, it’s tougher than hammered nails. Way tougher, more like high-speed steel in circular form. However, it’s great for lateral compression and tension resistance, but prone to quench cracking. Quench cracks result from stresses produced during the transition from austenite to martensite, which involves an increase in volume. The martensitic transformation starts at the outermost surfaces of the part being quenched.
In other words, when there’s a phase change in the steel, it must be tempered or annealed slowly. So, a temperature shift greater than 300C must be done slowly or the metal cracks like an old soft-boiled eggshell.
I spent the rest of the day designing the cannons, and once that was done, explaining the blueprint to the gang of 6. They listened intently, asked non-stupid questions and generally came to impress me with the knowledge and work ethic.
The next day, I dropped back over to Madden’s and viewed the finished products.
They built the cannons beautifully. I checked them over and they were in specs every single measurement. They had acid-dipped them to get rid of the mill scale and then, went ahead and laid out the jobs.
It seems trivial, but many, even older hands, will do that in the opposite order. Here’s how errors creep in and begin to multiply.
I swaged each bore with a bowling ball I’d liberated from the old alley and it snugged into each like a Joey snugs into Mamma Roo.
I figured I could use these guys to help renovate the ballpark. I ask Madden if I can poach them for the duration of the build.
Madden readily agrees.
As long as they’re OK with a new boss and I’ll pay their way:
Six voices, in unison and several languages, agreed they’d be there with bells on.
That, I thought, would be interesting to see…
Saturday morning; I had my boon friend, Cat-skinner and all-around good guy, William “Kit” Carson come to the house and help me maneuver the old Cat 6 onto its trailer.
The beast is an old 1977 D6D model, with 140 original horsepower. The D6 is a versatile machine that can be used for a variety of tasks. It is commonly used in construction, mining, and agricultural applications. It is a great choice for clearing land, grading, and road building. It can also be used for digging and pushing materials, as well as for light demolition work. The machine is capable of pushing large loads and can handle most types of terrain.
I took it in trade for a job I did leveling out an old, abandoned limestone quarry that the owner was standing to lose via fines some ~US$50,000/day. He procrastinated and postponed, but did none of the US Government required remediation to the old rip-rap quarry once he finally wrung every peso out of that old hole.
It cost me a few cases of dynamite, a shitload of ANFO, a water well rig and a number of shotholes; but once we were finished, the place resembled a Kmart parking lot rather than the dark side of the moon.
But he didn’t have the cash to pay me and my crew, so I took his old D6 to hold while he generated some cash flow.
He died intestate some 14 months later. I submitted my bills to his estate and they basically said to keep the Cat, they’d sent the proper documents for title transfer, and we’d all call it a day.
So, I had a tinker item. I’d have Kit drop by when I was out of pocket and he could futz with the old girl and see if he could get her up to specs.
We replaced virtually every part on the tractor at one time or another. We stroked and bored the old powerplant and took her from ~140 BHP to around 500. Added a new turbocharger, since now we were residing at over 6,000’ AMSL. New tracks, pinions, trunnions, idlers, ripping hook, roller carrier, ad infinitum. New hoses, clamps, hydraulic cylinders…virtually jacked-up the radiator cap and inserted a new machine underneath.
She still was a cranky old bitch, and had to be kept warm and dry otherwise she’d sit and spit, sputter and smoke.
Yes, we were kindred spirits.
We teased her up onto the trailer and I backed my truck into the drive to hook-up. Luckily, the ballpark was less than 3 miles distant, as even my heavy-duty dualie truck was near it’s limit when it came to towing as the dozer tipped the Toledos at just over 37k pounds.
We all met over at the park and I immediately laid out an impromptu office on the hood of my truck. I had topo maps, aerial photos of the park, and after covering the maps over in vellum, I dragged out my drafting gear and started to sketch dimensions, and where things were going to go.
Kit had backed the dozer off the trailer and I battened everything down with old oil company map magnets and pulled my rig out of the way. I chose a spot under a copse of old-growth elms and live oak. The elms were afflicted with Dutch Elm Disease and the oaks had nasty cases of Live Oak Decline.
They were going to be removed and burned as per NOAA and BLM and half a dozen other alphabetic soup governmental agencies.
Besides, this is where the bingo board was to go.
Kit spent the best part of the day keeping the Cat running and training all of our international proteges. We took frequent breaks to go and rescue the Cat when Ricardo forget where the brake was and damn near drove into the Lower San Juan River or to ensure my charges were staying well hydrated.
The beer was locked in a cooler for when the drinking light was lit after 1700 hours.
Between them taking turns on learning how to speak “Cat”, Kit and the others often came by with ideas, comments and flat-out ridicule for how I was designing the park. Often, this required the liberation of some of my prime cigars.
Parker dropped by and informed me he had lined up 12 local food trucks for the two days, so we’d need parking, Porta Johns, running water and power for these guys.
“Fine”, I replied, “We now have a food court.”
“And well need parking”, Kit noted.
“How many cars at once? “, I asked.
“Best make it a thou”, He replied.
“Hmm…”, I hmm’ed. “The average car is a bit under 7′, but if you are driving them in, you need to park them far enough apart to allow exit on the driver’s side. So, allow 10′ width per car.
The average length is just under 15′. You can certainly park them close enough to allow 18′ per car, for backing and pulling out purposes.
While each acre of land contains 43,560 square feet, a simple mathematical computation shows if each parking space requires 180 square feet, 1 acre of land would accommodate 242 parking spaces. Of course, this assumes no turning lanes and each parking space is right next to each other. If a field that is 180 feet by 242 feet (approximately 1 acre) is designed with six rows of parking spaces with each parking space being approximately 10 feet by 18 feet and the traffic lanes are 24 feet wide, approximately 150 spaces can be designed. Therefore, there are three pairs of parking rows, each containing 48 spaces. The one-way traffic lanes are 12 feet wide and the two-way traffic lanes are 18 feet wide.”
“OK, I said aloud, “It looks like for a thousand cars at once, we’ll need about 7 acres. No problem. We’ve got nothing but space out here.”
“Problem”, Atsidi cautioned, “7 acres represent a long walk. Come in late and too far to drag the kids.”
“OK, clever dick”, I replied, “You and Shizhe’N are tasked with finding some shuttle buses. 25 or 30 person coaches that can just drive an ellipsoidal track around the parking areas. Let me know when, where and how much.”
“For two days?”, he asked.
“Nahh”, I said, “Let’s get them here a day early for a dry run. 3 days.”
“OK, bossman”, he smiled, “But we’ll need some greenery to grease those wheels…”
I peeled off a series of Benjamins from my wallet and gave them to them along with a register to sign.
“Everything on the up and up.”, I said, “I need receipts for everything. I’m going to keep sharp tabs on how much everything costs. Savvy?”
“Oh, yeah, Rock”, they both smiled, “We savvy goodly.”
“Wise-asses.” I snickered.
After lunch, we all sat around smoking and chatting. There were ideas being bounced all around. Some quite good, some a bit silly and some downright laughable.
To give you a rough idea of the layout, it all centered around the ballpark. It had bleachers, a bullpen, dugouts, rudimentary concession stands. And the ball diamond. The park was originally built for the local Little League, with base paths 70’ and pitching distance 50’. Over the years, it had been revived and now had 90’ base paths and 60.5’ pitching distances.
We decided that a fresh coat of paint would revive the old park and make it look more festive (and real). I reached out to several local businesses, and most bought advertisements on the outfield back fences. They’d supply the either canvas banners or plywood sheets with all the pertinent information about their company. Only cost $50/weekend, and it was tax deductible.
It was tax deductible since Esme pointed out our whole endeavor could be umbrellaed under as per the internal revenue code, a 501(c)3 is a nonprofit organization for religious, charitable, scientific, and educational purposes.
Donations to 501(c)3 are tax-deductible.
That helped grease the skids well and I had the lads out hammering and trying off canvas from the gusty Santa Ana-type winds that swept the area.
I won’t go over each and every event we had set for the park, but between Kit, myself and the guys, we had bladed down to the top Kirtland Shale roughly 8 acres for parking facilities. Kit took a turn and angled the main blade and inserted gutters around each acre of parking to facilitate drainage.
I built a Porta San farm that was close enough to the beer vendors yet far enough from the Food Court to be a convenience to all and a detriment to none. I even got the local Honey Wagon drivers to donate their time for a passel of free entrance and drinks tickets.
We had taken out ads in the local trades and dailies; as well as someone on the Internet built a page for the event.
We had a LOT of interest and actually had to turn away some potential partners as this was only a two-day affair. Evidently, a few groups had tried before, but never more that reviving the Little League and park. We went whole hog and decided it was going to be something with all the flavor of a State Fair, but we decided early on that a petting zoo for the kids was enough. I mean, the state actually still runs a real State Fair.
OK, we had a functional ballpark for Little through Senior League. Even had water piped in for the showers and real toilets, rather than Porta Johns. Along one side of the diamond, closer to the river, was the games and attractions area. A rectangle of ‘ping pong ball in the bowl to win a goldfish, to balloon shooting galleries and guess your weight/age’ type of attractions; along with some very, very sedate rides; carousel, mini-scrambler and a Squirrel Nut Zipper, as I recall.
Along the other side of the diamonds, was the food court. We had now some 18 trucks and trailers committed to the festivities. We were going to have funnel cakes, roast turkey legs, pickle-on-a-stick, some Mexican bakeries with all their delectables and one, oddly enough, all the way from Baja Canada hawking huge, ‘it takes two hands to handle’ cream puffs.
How that last one got wind of our little soiree was going to remain a mystery…
Then there was the entrance with ticket taker-sellers.
Of course, I had put in a specialty tent, with the help of no less than 7 local micro-breweries; a Beer Garden. We decided to just go with a Class B license and avoid all the potential nasties of both glass bottles (we only sold draft beer in Solo cozy-red cups) and high proof liquor.
There were, of course, a battalion of Porta Johns in close proximity to the Beer Garden.
We had a couple of the local oilfield service companies donate a fully functional and kitted out First Aid Station as well as a Security office.
Taking notes from the Chicago 1969 Republican party in Chicago, we put out feelers for large, tough people to enforce security if such was needed.
Thanks to Hector and Rick, we had the local motorcycle club, “The Rig Pigs” volunteer their services as security. These are guys that not only work in the Oil Patch but are also motorcycle aficionados. I know or have gotten to know every one of them, from Roughneck to Toolpusher to Rig Manager.
To be continued…
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KER-SMASH!
“Good one, Rock. One more and you’ve got yourself a turkey.” Parker Markle, owner of the bowling establishment, noted.
“Thanks, Parker”, I said, thankfully accepting another longneck, “You still going on with your renovations here?”
“Damn straight!”, he replied, “I’ve got me investors, I’ve got me plans, and I’ve even got me real building permits this time…”
Two weeks later, we’re standing out in front of Parker’s still smoldering bowling alley and Parker is on the verge of tears.
“God damn shame”, I said, trying to commiserate my friend.
“Fucking squatters. Can’t even start on the renovations without these bastards…We chuck’em out of your place and the fuckers burn the place down. Hear from the local constabulary yet?”
“Yeah”, he snuffs, “Fucker’s ain’t got a hard dollar among them; nor two cents in their heads. Sure, I can sue, but to what purpose? Look at the place. I had my investors…I had plans…I’m well and truly fucked, Rock.”
“How much you out? “I asked, “How much you need to rebuild and remodel?”
“Oh, fuck me”, Parker trembled, “At least $55-60 thou. Where the fuck am I supposed to come up with that sort of scratch?”
Ker-ching!
I chucked my empty into the bin.
SPANG!
Parker immediately, without asking, dips into the ever-present cooler and hands me an icy-cold one.
In return, I hand Parker my business Rhodium American Express card.
“What’s this?”, he asks.
“It’s my entry into the world of keggeling and conspicuous consumer consumption” I chuckled.
“What the fuck?”, Parker asked, brow furrowed like the early spring marijuana fields hereabouts.
“Use it to order your needful things”, I said, “I’ve got way more than 60 thou free on the card. I mean, let’s not go nuts…”
“You mean?” He asked, quizzically.
“Yep.”, I replied, “Your wishes have been answered…sort of.
Parker looks at me with wide, wondering eyes.
“I’m your god-damned partner.” I smiled as I lit a huge Oscuro cigar; channeling Marion Ravenwood.
“Oh, fuck”, Parker suddenly breaks into a mile-wide smile. “We’re going to be the first bowling alley to have a walk-in humidor, aren’t we?”
“Fuckin-A, Bubba.”, I chuckle, “Plus a Class-A liquor license. Enough of this Class-B slinging beer for bucks bullshit, we’re going to have us a real tavern here on the green…”
“Let me get my plans”, Parker laughs, “I never thought of going the Class-A direction.”
“We’re going to serve more than pre-nuked wings and slate-board pizza.” I said, “We’re going to have 75 lanes, a full-service tavern, walk-in humidor, 80s arcade, and real fucking food. I remember you going on and on about it before the fire. Well, I haven’t forgotten what you’re dreaming about, so fuck it, let’s just do it.”
“It might go a bit past 60 large”, Parker said, slightly uncertainly.
“Let’s just keep it under 100k and for the love of grog, don’t say anything to Esme…”, I pleaded with Parker.
“I’ll do my best”, Parker said, as a manly handshake ensued.
“This could be the start of a beautiful friendship” I nattered.
Between my American Express card and Parker’s insurance pay out, we’ve got more than enough to start selecting contractors and hire us a security team. We’ve had the plans drawn up, had all the blueprints drafted, reviewed and OK’ed by the various governmental departments.
We are ready to tear down what remains of the old place, groom the land, and begin our re-build.
But first, there’s this little problem neither of us had foreseen.
What the fuck are we going to do with over 1,500 scorched pins and 800 or so blistered bowling balls?
We’ve already ordered all new pinsetters, pins and balls; so, what to do with all the leftovers…?
What to do?
What to do?
Of course! We hold a pre-opening carnival and sell tickets to a bowling ball mortar game.
No shit! Carve out a big-ass target out in some field, and fire bowling ball mortars. The closest ticket to where the ball lands wins.
We can worry about the details later.
First, I need to gin-up a set of bowling ball mortars. We’re going to introduce the southwest to Bowling Ball Bingo!
Hell. We’ll make it a huge pre-opening event: bowling ball punt guns, food trucks, local music, games of skill, food trailers, local brewery participation, drinking and merry making.
Still going to need some bowling ball cannons.
But first, we’ll need a place to hold the festivities.
No worries.
Y’see. I know this guy…
Now, in town, there’s been a lot of building. In fact, it looks overly developed.
However, go outside of town a couple of miles, and it’s heavily rural, fallow, and all agrarian.
Then there happens to be an old Junior League baseball diamond that’s been closed for years and in an advanced stage of neglect and derelictitis. However, it’s right off the main exit highway and nestled up closely to the San Juan River. Loads and loads of area to expand and have a nice little festivity.
I know the owner, the venerable ol’ bean Gilberto Cabrera.
So, I load up with beer and cigars and drive over to see Gilberto.
He’s outside his one-up, two-down, three across shotgun shack, sipping warm Modeles and cursing every aspect of life he’s currently been assigned.
I roll up and Gilberto instinctively reaches for his trusty double-barreled Ruger, gauge of 12.
“Whoa!”, I shout. “Just me, Gil. Kindly ol’ Doctor Rock.”
“What the fuck do you want?”, he growls.
“Hey!”, I yell, “Use low tones, or you can’t have any of the goodies I brought back from Canada.”
He props the shotgun over in a corner and being the avaricious old bastard he normally is, he bids me over to the porch to have a rag-chew and he a rifle of my truck’s built-in humidor.
I wander up and present him some pure maple syrup, fresh from Walmart, a half dozen cigars and a cold 12 pack of straight from the land of sky-blue waters, Hamm’s (“The beer refreshing”).
We sit and catch up with each other. He’s an old widower and never had time for kids, so he’s grateful to have someone at least approximately his age to rabbit on with. He’s either 70 or 125, or somewhere in between.
It’s hard to tell with some of these old, wrinkly types.
Anyways, I broach the subject of ‘borrowing’ his land in and adjacent to the old ballpark.
“What fer?” He asks.
“Well,” I reply between sips of some recently obtained Kentucky Firewater, “Parker Markle and I are partners in a new rebuild of his bowling alley, which the squatters burned to a crisp once we got the local fuzz to chuck’em out.”
“Aye?”, he scowls, “Bastards. What does that have to do with me?”
“We decided to hold an impromptu festival, a couple of days, for grand re-opening, where we’d get some folk in to cater the event, with music, maybe some carnival-type rides, local food trucks and trailers, petting zoo for the kids, maybe a pick-up softball game or two and (saving the best for last) Bowling Ball Bingo.”
“What the hell’s that last one?” He wondered.
“Well, we’ve got nearly 1,000 old and slightly scorched bowling balls from the fire. Parker’s got new stock coming in with the insurance money. So, what better way to dispose of old bowling balls by building a couple of cannons, firing the balls skyward and have them fall on some prepared ground? The ground with have a checkerboard of letters and numbers, and instead of popping up little balls at the local Catholic Church, we use bowling ball cannons to choose?”
“Gil looks at me and scoffs, “Y’know, it’s not been really too quiet around here since you moved in. I know you’re a Master Blaster, but what do you really do?”
“Nothing too exciting,” I snicker, “I just snuff oil and gas well fires.”
“Hrumph”, he snorts, “No wonder it’s like the Fourth of July hereabouts every weekend.”
“A man’s gotta stay in practice”, I chuckle back.
We both have a snort and I produce new cigars. We spend the next few hours drafting up an agreement where we can use his land to hold the festival.
But the land and facilities are in a sad state of repair.
So, I promise to fix it up if he loans it to us for pre-opening weekend.
OK, but the facilities need paint, weed removal, blading for parking, Porta Johns, marking of parking areas, etc.
I tell Gil that’s fine. We’ll do all the work necessary to get his 40-acre donation ready for the big weekend. I also agreed to cede the finished area over to the Junior League baseball concern when we’re finished. As well as give the Jr. League 5% of the take, as the area is impoverished and any little help would be smiled upon greatly.
Gil also wants a nice, little honorarium to the tune of 5% of the gate.
“Sorry, Gil”, I replied, “But that’s a NCD (No Can Do). But I’ll let you sit in the security shack and keep an eye on the gate and warn about any potential trouble”.
He seemed less than amused.
“The gate will be right next to the beer garden and I could arrange it so that you could receive free beer in exchange for your time and sharp eye.” I noted.
The ink on the agreement wasn’t yet dry when Gil stated calling for his free beer.
“In a couple weeks, Gil”, I said, handing him a 12-pack of Blatz. “This’ll hold you until then.
He was deliriously happy. Free beer. Free cigars. A minuscule dose of power over his neighbors.
“Today is going to be a long day”, I noted to myself as I pulled out of Gil’s driveway.
First order of business was getting my old D-6 Caterpillar Dozer up and running. However, it needs some work.
I’ve got an idea, but the more it fleshed out, the more I felt like Hawkeye Pierce trying to get a new pair of boots from the Army.
I think I can nuke several birds with one stone: A trip to see Clay Smith about pipe for four bowling ball cannons.
I’ve known Clay for years and he’s one of the reasons we’ve settled in the area. He runs a fabricating/machine shop and that means I don’t need to buy an outbuilding to build my own metal shop.
After the obligatory handshakes, beers and cigars, we get down to brass tacks.
Well, CRA monel steel actually.
Found some 12.000" OD {A} x 8.600" ID {B} x 3.400" Wall {C} DOM Steel CRA casing, actually from the US Navy and once was part of a battleship’s complement; unknown which boat was the donor.
Perfect for 4 cannons.
CRA refers Corrosion Resistant Alloy; special pipe composited by two different materials including inner pipe and outer pipe. Inner CRA layer (0.25~26.0mm) normally such as Stainless steel, Duplex, Nickel alloy, Titanium, Hastelloy, Monel, etc., which are suitable for high corrosion environment.
Outer base material could be seamless or welded, SAWL, SAWH, ERW, HFW, or DSAW carbon steel pipe. The carbon steel substrate provides the required strength and the CRA cladding/lining provides the adequate corrosion resistance to the product being transported. The dissimilar metals that are present through the thickness of the pipe wall bring certain challenges to welding of clad/lined pipes, because welding of such pipes is usually carried out from the outside, using a single-sided welding technique
Clay needs some welding consumables, and will cut and polish the pipe for me if I find him a special CRA cutter-welder.
So, off to see Madden Martin at his welding shop.
“Madden, I need to borrow your CRA welder.” I notify him.
“Sure, what for?”, he asks.
“I’m building bowling ball cannons.” I replied.
“Oh. OK”, retorts Madden, thoroughly nonplussed with the day’s turn of events.
Sure, I can borrow the welder, all I need is to get him some good Wisconsin beer.
After a trip to the house, Madden loads the CRA welder into my truck after he offloads 2 cases of Blatz Light Cream Ale, 2 Cases of Leinenkugel’s, 2 cases of Point (“When you’re out of Point, you’re out of town”) and 2 cases of Spotted Cow from New Glarus.
I drop off the cutting welder to Clay and Javan Elliott, his second in command. We sit and chew the rag for a while, as his minions, of which he has thousands it seems, do the needful.
With the flick of the forklift, they load the 4 cut sections of the bowling ball punt guns in my truck.
Back to see Madden and we discuss his “kids” (apprentices) that are going to be helping me make the bowling ball cannons.
All it cost me was another couple of cases of beer and a box of ridiculously expensive cigars.
There are 6 “kids”:
2 Native American (Navajo): Shizhe'E (Navajo), Atsidi (Navajo),
2 Hispanic (by way of Old Mexico): Hector Manzanares, Richardo Sanchez (really) and,
A pair of local Heinz-57 variety Norteamericanos: Zachary Gibson and Alfie Walsh.
They all spoke passable English, and with my intense Oilfield Spanish, we could still communicate.
First, came the really dirty work. The pipe sections needed to be swaged, that is, drifted to see if they were the proper dimensions.
Any underage had to be filled with weld and then ground to specs. Any overages had to be ground down to specs.
This steel is about a 65-68 Rockwell hardness.
FYI: Rockwell hardness refers to how resistant a metal object is to penetration and permanent deformation from another material. It’s a measuring system of non-destructive metallurgical testing that determines how hard and strong steel truly is.
Truth is, it’s tougher than hammered nails. Way tougher, more like high-speed steel in circular form. However, it’s great for lateral compression and tension resistance, but prone to quench cracking. Quench cracks result from stresses produced during the transition from austenite to martensite, which involves an increase in volume. The martensitic transformation starts at the outermost surfaces of the part being quenched.
In other words, when there’s a phase change in the steel, it must be tempered or annealed slowly. So, a temperature shift greater than 300C must be done slowly or the metal cracks like an old soft-boiled eggshell.
I spent the rest of the day designing the cannons, and once that was done, explaining the blueprint to the gang of 6. They listened intently, asked non-stupid questions and generally came to impress me with the knowledge and work ethic.
The next day, I dropped back over to Madden’s and viewed the finished products.
They built the cannons beautifully. I checked them over and they were in specs every single measurement. They had acid-dipped them to get rid of the mill scale and then, went ahead and laid out the jobs.
It seems trivial, but many, even older hands, will do that in the opposite order. Here’s how errors creep in and begin to multiply.
I swaged each bore with a bowling ball I’d liberated from the old alley and it snugged into each like a Joey snugs into Mamma Roo.
I figured I could use these guys to help renovate the ballpark. I ask Madden if I can poach them for the duration of the build.
Madden readily agrees.
As long as they’re OK with a new boss and I’ll pay their way:
- Beer.
- Cigars.
- $350/day.
- Plus, I needed to teach them the basics of detonics.
Six voices, in unison and several languages, agreed they’d be there with bells on.
That, I thought, would be interesting to see…
Saturday morning; I had my boon friend, Cat-skinner and all-around good guy, William “Kit” Carson come to the house and help me maneuver the old Cat 6 onto its trailer.
The beast is an old 1977 D6D model, with 140 original horsepower. The D6 is a versatile machine that can be used for a variety of tasks. It is commonly used in construction, mining, and agricultural applications. It is a great choice for clearing land, grading, and road building. It can also be used for digging and pushing materials, as well as for light demolition work. The machine is capable of pushing large loads and can handle most types of terrain.
I took it in trade for a job I did leveling out an old, abandoned limestone quarry that the owner was standing to lose via fines some ~US$50,000/day. He procrastinated and postponed, but did none of the US Government required remediation to the old rip-rap quarry once he finally wrung every peso out of that old hole.
It cost me a few cases of dynamite, a shitload of ANFO, a water well rig and a number of shotholes; but once we were finished, the place resembled a Kmart parking lot rather than the dark side of the moon.
But he didn’t have the cash to pay me and my crew, so I took his old D6 to hold while he generated some cash flow.
He died intestate some 14 months later. I submitted my bills to his estate and they basically said to keep the Cat, they’d sent the proper documents for title transfer, and we’d all call it a day.
So, I had a tinker item. I’d have Kit drop by when I was out of pocket and he could futz with the old girl and see if he could get her up to specs.
We replaced virtually every part on the tractor at one time or another. We stroked and bored the old powerplant and took her from ~140 BHP to around 500. Added a new turbocharger, since now we were residing at over 6,000’ AMSL. New tracks, pinions, trunnions, idlers, ripping hook, roller carrier, ad infinitum. New hoses, clamps, hydraulic cylinders…virtually jacked-up the radiator cap and inserted a new machine underneath.
She still was a cranky old bitch, and had to be kept warm and dry otherwise she’d sit and spit, sputter and smoke.
Yes, we were kindred spirits.
We teased her up onto the trailer and I backed my truck into the drive to hook-up. Luckily, the ballpark was less than 3 miles distant, as even my heavy-duty dualie truck was near it’s limit when it came to towing as the dozer tipped the Toledos at just over 37k pounds.
We all met over at the park and I immediately laid out an impromptu office on the hood of my truck. I had topo maps, aerial photos of the park, and after covering the maps over in vellum, I dragged out my drafting gear and started to sketch dimensions, and where things were going to go.
Kit had backed the dozer off the trailer and I battened everything down with old oil company map magnets and pulled my rig out of the way. I chose a spot under a copse of old-growth elms and live oak. The elms were afflicted with Dutch Elm Disease and the oaks had nasty cases of Live Oak Decline.
They were going to be removed and burned as per NOAA and BLM and half a dozen other alphabetic soup governmental agencies.
Besides, this is where the bingo board was to go.
Kit spent the best part of the day keeping the Cat running and training all of our international proteges. We took frequent breaks to go and rescue the Cat when Ricardo forget where the brake was and damn near drove into the Lower San Juan River or to ensure my charges were staying well hydrated.
The beer was locked in a cooler for when the drinking light was lit after 1700 hours.
Between them taking turns on learning how to speak “Cat”, Kit and the others often came by with ideas, comments and flat-out ridicule for how I was designing the park. Often, this required the liberation of some of my prime cigars.
Parker dropped by and informed me he had lined up 12 local food trucks for the two days, so we’d need parking, Porta Johns, running water and power for these guys.
“Fine”, I replied, “We now have a food court.”
“And well need parking”, Kit noted.
“How many cars at once? “, I asked.
“Best make it a thou”, He replied.
“Hmm…”, I hmm’ed. “The average car is a bit under 7′, but if you are driving them in, you need to park them far enough apart to allow exit on the driver’s side. So, allow 10′ width per car.
The average length is just under 15′. You can certainly park them close enough to allow 18′ per car, for backing and pulling out purposes.
While each acre of land contains 43,560 square feet, a simple mathematical computation shows if each parking space requires 180 square feet, 1 acre of land would accommodate 242 parking spaces. Of course, this assumes no turning lanes and each parking space is right next to each other. If a field that is 180 feet by 242 feet (approximately 1 acre) is designed with six rows of parking spaces with each parking space being approximately 10 feet by 18 feet and the traffic lanes are 24 feet wide, approximately 150 spaces can be designed. Therefore, there are three pairs of parking rows, each containing 48 spaces. The one-way traffic lanes are 12 feet wide and the two-way traffic lanes are 18 feet wide.”
“OK, I said aloud, “It looks like for a thousand cars at once, we’ll need about 7 acres. No problem. We’ve got nothing but space out here.”
“Problem”, Atsidi cautioned, “7 acres represent a long walk. Come in late and too far to drag the kids.”
“OK, clever dick”, I replied, “You and Shizhe’N are tasked with finding some shuttle buses. 25 or 30 person coaches that can just drive an ellipsoidal track around the parking areas. Let me know when, where and how much.”
“For two days?”, he asked.
“Nahh”, I said, “Let’s get them here a day early for a dry run. 3 days.”
“OK, bossman”, he smiled, “But we’ll need some greenery to grease those wheels…”
I peeled off a series of Benjamins from my wallet and gave them to them along with a register to sign.
“Everything on the up and up.”, I said, “I need receipts for everything. I’m going to keep sharp tabs on how much everything costs. Savvy?”
“Oh, yeah, Rock”, they both smiled, “We savvy goodly.”
“Wise-asses.” I snickered.
After lunch, we all sat around smoking and chatting. There were ideas being bounced all around. Some quite good, some a bit silly and some downright laughable.
To give you a rough idea of the layout, it all centered around the ballpark. It had bleachers, a bullpen, dugouts, rudimentary concession stands. And the ball diamond. The park was originally built for the local Little League, with base paths 70’ and pitching distance 50’. Over the years, it had been revived and now had 90’ base paths and 60.5’ pitching distances.
We decided that a fresh coat of paint would revive the old park and make it look more festive (and real). I reached out to several local businesses, and most bought advertisements on the outfield back fences. They’d supply the either canvas banners or plywood sheets with all the pertinent information about their company. Only cost $50/weekend, and it was tax deductible.
It was tax deductible since Esme pointed out our whole endeavor could be umbrellaed under as per the internal revenue code, a 501(c)3 is a nonprofit organization for religious, charitable, scientific, and educational purposes.
Donations to 501(c)3 are tax-deductible.
That helped grease the skids well and I had the lads out hammering and trying off canvas from the gusty Santa Ana-type winds that swept the area.
I won’t go over each and every event we had set for the park, but between Kit, myself and the guys, we had bladed down to the top Kirtland Shale roughly 8 acres for parking facilities. Kit took a turn and angled the main blade and inserted gutters around each acre of parking to facilitate drainage.
I built a Porta San farm that was close enough to the beer vendors yet far enough from the Food Court to be a convenience to all and a detriment to none. I even got the local Honey Wagon drivers to donate their time for a passel of free entrance and drinks tickets.
We had taken out ads in the local trades and dailies; as well as someone on the Internet built a page for the event.
We had a LOT of interest and actually had to turn away some potential partners as this was only a two-day affair. Evidently, a few groups had tried before, but never more that reviving the Little League and park. We went whole hog and decided it was going to be something with all the flavor of a State Fair, but we decided early on that a petting zoo for the kids was enough. I mean, the state actually still runs a real State Fair.
OK, we had a functional ballpark for Little through Senior League. Even had water piped in for the showers and real toilets, rather than Porta Johns. Along one side of the diamond, closer to the river, was the games and attractions area. A rectangle of ‘ping pong ball in the bowl to win a goldfish, to balloon shooting galleries and guess your weight/age’ type of attractions; along with some very, very sedate rides; carousel, mini-scrambler and a Squirrel Nut Zipper, as I recall.
Along the other side of the diamonds, was the food court. We had now some 18 trucks and trailers committed to the festivities. We were going to have funnel cakes, roast turkey legs, pickle-on-a-stick, some Mexican bakeries with all their delectables and one, oddly enough, all the way from Baja Canada hawking huge, ‘it takes two hands to handle’ cream puffs.
How that last one got wind of our little soiree was going to remain a mystery…
Then there was the entrance with ticket taker-sellers.
Of course, I had put in a specialty tent, with the help of no less than 7 local micro-breweries; a Beer Garden. We decided to just go with a Class B license and avoid all the potential nasties of both glass bottles (we only sold draft beer in Solo cozy-red cups) and high proof liquor.
There were, of course, a battalion of Porta Johns in close proximity to the Beer Garden.
We had a couple of the local oilfield service companies donate a fully functional and kitted out First Aid Station as well as a Security office.
Taking notes from the Chicago 1969 Republican party in Chicago, we put out feelers for large, tough people to enforce security if such was needed.
Thanks to Hector and Rick, we had the local motorcycle club, “The Rig Pigs” volunteer their services as security. These are guys that not only work in the Oil Patch but are also motorcycle aficionados. I know or have gotten to know every one of them, from Roughneck to Toolpusher to Rig Manager.
To be continued…
2024.05.27 20:25 HorrorJunkie123 Some is blackmailing me to pay for his Nintendo Switch. What should I do?
TW: cursing, bullying
“Fuck you!”
“Oh yeah? Well, fuck you, too!” I shouted, sending an egg hurtling through the air. It landed square between Biff’s eyeballs with a satisfying splat.
“You’re gonna pay for that, you little punk! Just wait ‘til I get my hands on y-”
I didn’t even listen to what Biff had to say. I unloaded on him, releasing a barrage of yolky fury onto my unsuspecting victim. He couldn’t get another word in. Once I was out of ammo, I grinned at the runny wide receiver, dropped my empty carton, and bolted. Biff was still wiping egg whites from his eyes as I disappeared around the corner.
Okay, I guess I’d better explain myself before I get canceled, huh?
Before the incident, I liked to think of myself as a Robin Hood, of sorts. There were the bullies, the victims, and then there was me. I would put the bullies in their place. I was the one who all the defenseless kids would turn to for help. The way I saw it, guys like Biff deserved to take a carton of eggs to the dome. He was a jock, which automatically made him a douchebag… right?
I have since come to the conclusion that I have royally fucked up in my assessment of a large percentage of the student body. As it turns out, the biggest asshole in all of this was me. But, you know what they say. Hindsight is always twenty-twenty.
I snickered to myself as I strolled down the sidewalk, cooking up my next act of mischief, when it happened. A bony shoulder collided with my chest, knocking the wind out of me.
“Ughh. Watch where you’re going, Pipsqueak,” I hissed, glaring at the boy sitting on the ground before me. A Nintendo Switch had clattered to the ground beside him. The screen was completely shattered.
Though jet-black bangs obscured the boy’s eyes from view, I could tell that he was beginning to cry. A pang of sympathy shot through my chest like a lightning bolt. I shouldn’t have lashed out at him like that.
“Look man, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone off on you. You just caught me off guard. Here, let me help you up,” I said, extending a hand.
He instantly swatted it away. “Go fuck yourself,” the boy muttered, cradling his broken gaming device.
“Excuse me? I didn’t quite catch that. I could have sworn that I heard you tell me to go fuck myself, but that can’t be right. I’ve gotta be hearing things.”
“You heard me. I said go. Fuck. Yourself,” he retorted, meeting my gaze. I could see fire behind his teary pupils.
“Seriously? You weren’t watching where you were going either. It’s not my fault that you weren’t paying attention to your surroundings.”
My new buddy picked himself up off the ground, and glowered up at me with the most hateful stare I have ever seen in my entire life. I could practically feel the rage oozing from every pore in his body. Needless to say, he was pissed.
“You’re gonna pay for this. Do you know how fucking long it took me to save up enough money for that thing? YEARS. I’ve had this Switch for four days. All that time and money just for you to come along and screw it all up. I’m not having that shit,” he spat, jabbing a finger inches from my face.
At that moment, it felt as if a switch (no pun intended) had been flipped. I didn’t care that he’d broken his precious gaming console anymore. I wasn’t going to let some random kid guilt me into paying for something just because he didn’t want to take accountability for his actions. No one talks to me like that and gets away with it.
I stuffed my hands into my pockets, searching for anything I could use in retaliation. A wide grin inched across my face when my fingers grazed a solid object.
In one swift motion, I splattered the spare egg I’d been saving onto the boy’s head, ruffling his hair to ensure that it really got down in there. The look on his face was priceless. He was so stunned that he didn’t have time to get a word in before I raced down the street.
I glanced back only once between giggles. He wasn’t following me. I watched as he wiped his head, somberly staring down at the ruined Nintendo. I didn’t feel one inkling of remorse. But now, I’m terrified of the repercussions.
***
“Sup, bitch,” Carter snarled as I made my way inside. I pursed my lips. I had really been hoping that he wouldn’t be home.
“Screw off, dude. I’ve had a long day,” I said, trying to brush past him. To my immense dismay, he caught my arm before I could leave.
“Well, it’s about to get a whole lot longer,” he replied, flashing me a disgusting grin.
I gulped, mustering every ounce of courage I had. “I’m tired of your shit, Farter. You think you can do whatever you want just because you’re bigger than me. News flash: I’m done,” I hissed, flinging his hand off of me.
“Ah, ah, ah. You’re done when I say you’re done, Butt Munch. And I say…” Carter pondered his next move for a moment. It was taking him a frightening amount of time. Thinking wasn’t his strong suit.
His eyes suddenly lit up. My heart dropped into my stomach, and I frowned. I knew that look. “It’s toilet time!”
All the color drained from my face. “Please, not that. Anything but that.”
“Too late. My mind’s made up,” Carter said, putting me in a headlock and leading me to the bathroom.
“Eh, ow! M-M-” Carter vehemently shook his head, placing a meaty hand over my mouth to shut me up. I bit his finger, hard. He released me, giving me a chance to shout for help.
“MOM!!!”
Carter scowled at me before slinking away. “You win this round, Turd Face. But you’d better watch your back. I’m gonna mess you up the first chance I get.”
“CARTER. LEAVE YOUR BROTHER ALONE. DON’T MAKE ME COME DOWN THERE,” Mom shouted from upstairs.
“Yes, ma’am!” he replied, disappearing into his room. But not without flipping me the bird first, of course.
I breathed an audible sigh of relief, slumping down against the wall. I was extremely grateful for my mother. If it wasn’t for her, who knows what kind of ungodly war crimes Carter would have subjected me to. He really was an ass.
The next day, I plopped into my seat with less than a minute to spare. I was out of breath from sprinting all the way to school. If I was tardy one more time, I’d find myself in detention, and that did not sound appealing.
As I unpacked my bag, I noticed something lying on my desk. It was a photograph.
I cautiously flipped it over, expecting to find some incriminating image of me doing God knows what to an unsuspecting douche bag. What I saw still gives me chills to this day.
It was a picture of my house. It appeared to have been taken at night, from across the street. Beads of sweat began to form atop my brow. With how many people I’d messed with, I had no earthly idea who the culprit could be.
I flipped the photograph over, desperately searching for any clue as to who had left it there. There was faint writing on the back. In addition to my name and home address, there was a note.
Anthony Hopkins -
This is your only warning. Leave the money to repair my Nintendo Switch behind the school’s dumpster by 5 P.M. sharp, or I will take action.
Have the worst day possible,
Logan
My blood began to boil. The freak from the day before. That creepy little bastard was trying to threaten me? Who the hell did he think he was? I was fuming.
As you can imagine, I wasn’t going to take his note seriously. He’d managed to find my house, so what? He’d probably looked up my info on one of those shady subscription services. I was tempted to try and find his house and teepee it overnight. But then, I got an even better idea.
Logan wanted me to leave the money behind the dumpster, eh? I had no intention of doing that, but I was going to leave him something.
I grinned maliciously as I retrieved Logan’s gift from my locker at the end of the school day. I was going to teach that kid a lesson - Nobody fucks with Anthony Hopkins.
I had to stifle my giggles as I placed the fart bomb discreetly behind the big blue dumpster. I’d rigged it to where the slightest jiggle would cause a massive stink cloud to explode in the face of whoever was unfortunate enough to discover my little trap.
Honestly, I was impressed with my own ingenuity. I’m obviously not the brightest crayon in the box, so that took a lot of brainpower.
I had a smug grin plastered across my face the entire walk home. Upon arriving, I confidently strolled into the kitchen to find Mom cooking dinner. Meatloaf night. Not my favorite, but I wasn’t going to complain. I would eat a dead rat if it meant Mom was happy.
“Hey kiddo,” she said as I tossed my backpack aside.
“Hey Mom. Dinner smells amazing. Um… is Carter here?” I replied, glancing down at the ground.
“Well, thank you, Sweetheart. No, your brother is spending the night at Jimmy’s house. It’ll just be you and me,” Mom smirked, before turning back to the pot of green beans simmering on the stove.
I released the breath that I hadn’t known I’d been holding. It felt as if a weight had been lifted. Every day that I didn’t have to deal with Carter was cause for celebration.
“Cool,” I said, heading upstairs. “Thanks for making dinner. I’ll be back down in a few minutes.” Mom smiled at me as I disappeared from view. I didn’t deserve such kindness.
The remainder of the night was relatively mundane. Mom and I ate dinner and watched a low-budget comedy film on Netflix, before turning in for the night. I didn’t have many friends due to my antics, but I don’t mind it much. Unlike most kids my age, I have no qualms about spending my weekends watching trashy movies with my mother. Maybe that’s because she’s one of the only people who truly cares about me… I’m not really sure.
After spending way too much time doom scrolling on Reddit, I finally decided to hit the hay. With the knowledge that I’d exacted my revenge and that I didn’t have to worry about my brother dunking my head in a toilet, I fell right to sleep.
I awoke at some point in the middle of the night. I groggily rubbed my eyes and glanced at the alarm clock on my bedside table. 3:03 A.M. Strange.
I tried my best to drift back to sleep, but some abominable smell had assaulted my nostrils. It was faint, but pungent. In my sleep deprived state, my first thought was that Carter had managed to shit the bed. I rolled onto my side, my curiosity satiated, and quickly fell back to sleep.
I stretched my arms above my head and yawned. This time, I’d woken up at a reasonable hour. I shuffled out of my room and headed downstairs for breakfast. My brows furrowed as I entered the kitchen. Someone had knocked a few plastic cups onto the ground, and the back door was hanging wide open.
“Mom? Carter?” I yelled, hoping that one of them could offer some sort of explanation.
I received no response.
I darted to Mom’s room, praying that my intuition was wrong. My blood ran cold when I laid eyes upon the scene before me.
Mom’s room was a wreck. It appeared as if a struggle had taken place. Pictures were scattered about the floor. All the trinkets on Mom’s nightstand had been strewn across the carpet. Blankets and pillows were haphazardly tossed everywhere. But worst of all? There was a bloody streak splattered across the wall.
“No. This can’t be happening? Why would somebody do this? Mom never hurt anyone.”
I suddenly thought to check my phone. Maybe Mom had left me some sort of message. I needed to at least try to call her to see if she was okay. I bolted upstairs in record time, and retrieved my iPhone. I am still downright horrified at what awaited me.
I had received a text message from an unknown number. My eyes grew wide as dinner plates. With trembling hands, I hurriedly opened it.
You had your chance, Anthony. I’m done playing around. You took something precious from me, so now I’m taking something precious from you. I want five grand. I’ll off her if you don’t comply. Put it behind the school’s dumpster like I previously requested. And no funny business. No more stink bombs, and no cops. I’m watching you. If you so much as think about dialing 9-1-1, I’ll be the first person to know. I’m looking forward to doing business with you (:
Tears began to well in the corners of my eyes. The message had come with an attachment. Dread swallowed me like a python as I motioned to open it. I already knew what it would contain.
It was a photograph of my mother tied to a chair in some filthy looking basement. She’d been blindfolded and gagged with a streak of blood coagulating on her cheek. She looked terrified. My heart absolutely shattered for her.
I don’t know what to do. I have fifteen dollars to my name. I don’t want to risk calling the police in case Logan finds out. I’m posting this anonymously on an old laptop that I don’t use so he won’t suspect anything. Please, if anyone has any suggestions, help me. I just want Mom to come home.
NS Post
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“Fuck you!”
“Oh yeah? Well, fuck you, too!” I shouted, sending an egg hurtling through the air. It landed square between Biff’s eyeballs with a satisfying splat.
“You’re gonna pay for that, you little punk! Just wait ‘til I get my hands on y-”
I didn’t even listen to what Biff had to say. I unloaded on him, releasing a barrage of yolky fury onto my unsuspecting victim. He couldn’t get another word in. Once I was out of ammo, I grinned at the runny wide receiver, dropped my empty carton, and bolted. Biff was still wiping egg whites from his eyes as I disappeared around the corner.
Okay, I guess I’d better explain myself before I get canceled, huh?
Before the incident, I liked to think of myself as a Robin Hood, of sorts. There were the bullies, the victims, and then there was me. I would put the bullies in their place. I was the one who all the defenseless kids would turn to for help. The way I saw it, guys like Biff deserved to take a carton of eggs to the dome. He was a jock, which automatically made him a douchebag… right?
I have since come to the conclusion that I have royally fucked up in my assessment of a large percentage of the student body. As it turns out, the biggest asshole in all of this was me. But, you know what they say. Hindsight is always twenty-twenty.
I snickered to myself as I strolled down the sidewalk, cooking up my next act of mischief, when it happened. A bony shoulder collided with my chest, knocking the wind out of me.
“Ughh. Watch where you’re going, Pipsqueak,” I hissed, glaring at the boy sitting on the ground before me. A Nintendo Switch had clattered to the ground beside him. The screen was completely shattered.
Though jet-black bangs obscured the boy’s eyes from view, I could tell that he was beginning to cry. A pang of sympathy shot through my chest like a lightning bolt. I shouldn’t have lashed out at him like that.
“Look man, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone off on you. You just caught me off guard. Here, let me help you up,” I said, extending a hand.
He instantly swatted it away. “Go fuck yourself,” the boy muttered, cradling his broken gaming device.
“Excuse me? I didn’t quite catch that. I could have sworn that I heard you tell me to go fuck myself, but that can’t be right. I’ve gotta be hearing things.”
“You heard me. I said go. Fuck. Yourself,” he retorted, meeting my gaze. I could see fire behind his teary pupils.
“Seriously? You weren’t watching where you were going either. It’s not my fault that you weren’t paying attention to your surroundings.”
My new buddy picked himself up off the ground, and glowered up at me with the most hateful stare I have ever seen in my entire life. I could practically feel the rage oozing from every pore in his body. Needless to say, he was pissed.
“You’re gonna pay for this. Do you know how fucking long it took me to save up enough money for that thing? YEARS. I’ve had this Switch for four days. All that time and money just for you to come along and screw it all up. I’m not having that shit,” he spat, jabbing a finger inches from my face.
At that moment, it felt as if a switch (no pun intended) had been flipped. I didn’t care that he’d broken his precious gaming console anymore. I wasn’t going to let some random kid guilt me into paying for something just because he didn’t want to take accountability for his actions. No one talks to me like that and gets away with it.
I stuffed my hands into my pockets, searching for anything I could use in retaliation. A wide grin inched across my face when my fingers grazed a solid object.
In one swift motion, I splattered the spare egg I’d been saving onto the boy’s head, ruffling his hair to ensure that it really got down in there. The look on his face was priceless. He was so stunned that he didn’t have time to get a word in before I raced down the street.
I glanced back only once between giggles. He wasn’t following me. I watched as he wiped his head, somberly staring down at the ruined Nintendo. I didn’t feel one inkling of remorse. But now, I’m terrified of the repercussions.
***
“Sup, bitch,” Carter snarled as I made my way inside. I pursed my lips. I had really been hoping that he wouldn’t be home.
“Screw off, dude. I’ve had a long day,” I said, trying to brush past him. To my immense dismay, he caught my arm before I could leave.
“Well, it’s about to get a whole lot longer,” he replied, flashing me a disgusting grin.
I gulped, mustering every ounce of courage I had. “I’m tired of your shit, Farter. You think you can do whatever you want just because you’re bigger than me. News flash: I’m done,” I hissed, flinging his hand off of me.
“Ah, ah, ah. You’re done when I say you’re done, Butt Munch. And I say…” Carter pondered his next move for a moment. It was taking him a frightening amount of time. Thinking wasn’t his strong suit.
His eyes suddenly lit up. My heart dropped into my stomach, and I frowned. I knew that look. “It’s toilet time!”
All the color drained from my face. “Please, not that. Anything but that.”
“Too late. My mind’s made up,” Carter said, putting me in a headlock and leading me to the bathroom.
“Eh, ow! M-M-” Carter vehemently shook his head, placing a meaty hand over my mouth to shut me up. I bit his finger, hard. He released me, giving me a chance to shout for help.
“MOM!!!”
Carter scowled at me before slinking away. “You win this round, Turd Face. But you’d better watch your back. I’m gonna mess you up the first chance I get.”
“CARTER. LEAVE YOUR BROTHER ALONE. DON’T MAKE ME COME DOWN THERE,” Mom shouted from upstairs.
“Yes, ma’am!” he replied, disappearing into his room. But not without flipping me the bird first, of course.
I breathed an audible sigh of relief, slumping down against the wall. I was extremely grateful for my mother. If it wasn’t for her, who knows what kind of ungodly war crimes Carter would have subjected me to. He really was an ass.
The next day, I plopped into my seat with less than a minute to spare. I was out of breath from sprinting all the way to school. If I was tardy one more time, I’d find myself in detention, and that did not sound appealing.
As I unpacked my bag, I noticed something lying on my desk. It was a photograph.
I cautiously flipped it over, expecting to find some incriminating image of me doing God knows what to an unsuspecting douche bag. What I saw still gives me chills to this day.
It was a picture of my house. It appeared to have been taken at night, from across the street. Beads of sweat began to form atop my brow. With how many people I’d messed with, I had no earthly idea who the culprit could be.
I flipped the photograph over, desperately searching for any clue as to who had left it there. There was faint writing on the back. In addition to my name and home address, there was a note.
Anthony Hopkins -
This is your only warning. Leave the money to repair my Nintendo Switch behind the school’s dumpster by 5 P.M. sharp, or I will take action.
Have the worst day possible,
Logan
My blood began to boil. The freak from the day before. That creepy little bastard was trying to threaten me? Who the hell did he think he was? I was fuming.
As you can imagine, I wasn’t going to take his note seriously. He’d managed to find my house, so what? He’d probably looked up my info on one of those shady subscription services. I was tempted to try and find his house and teepee it overnight. But then, I got an even better idea.
Logan wanted me to leave the money behind the dumpster, eh? I had no intention of doing that, but I was going to leave him something.
I grinned maliciously as I retrieved Logan’s gift from my locker at the end of the school day. I was going to teach that kid a lesson - Nobody fucks with Anthony Hopkins.
I had to stifle my giggles as I placed the fart bomb discreetly behind the big blue dumpster. I’d rigged it to where the slightest jiggle would cause a massive stink cloud to explode in the face of whoever was unfortunate enough to discover my little trap.
Honestly, I was impressed with my own ingenuity. I’m obviously not the brightest crayon in the box, so that took a lot of brainpower.
I had a smug grin plastered across my face the entire walk home. Upon arriving, I confidently strolled into the kitchen to find Mom cooking dinner. Meatloaf night. Not my favorite, but I wasn’t going to complain. I would eat a dead rat if it meant Mom was happy.
“Hey kiddo,” she said as I tossed my backpack aside.
“Hey Mom. Dinner smells amazing. Um… is Carter here?” I replied, glancing down at the ground.
“Well, thank you, Sweetheart. No, your brother is spending the night at Jimmy’s house. It’ll just be you and me,” Mom smirked, before turning back to the pot of green beans simmering on the stove.
I released the breath that I hadn’t known I’d been holding. It felt as if a weight had been lifted. Every day that I didn’t have to deal with Carter was cause for celebration.
“Cool,” I said, heading upstairs. “Thanks for making dinner. I’ll be back down in a few minutes.” Mom smiled at me as I disappeared from view. I didn’t deserve such kindness.
The remainder of the night was relatively mundane. Mom and I ate dinner and watched a low-budget comedy film on Netflix, before turning in for the night. I didn’t have many friends due to my antics, but I don’t mind it much. Unlike most kids my age, I have no qualms about spending my weekends watching trashy movies with my mother. Maybe that’s because she’s one of the only people who truly cares about me… I’m not really sure.
After spending way too much time doom scrolling on Reddit, I finally decided to hit the hay. With the knowledge that I’d exacted my revenge and that I didn’t have to worry about my brother dunking my head in a toilet, I fell right to sleep.
I awoke at some point in the middle of the night. I groggily rubbed my eyes and glanced at the alarm clock on my bedside table. 3:03 A.M. Strange.
I tried my best to drift back to sleep, but some abominable smell had assaulted my nostrils. It was faint, but pungent. In my sleep deprived state, my first thought was that Carter had managed to shit the bed. I rolled onto my side, my curiosity satiated, and quickly fell back to sleep.
I stretched my arms above my head and yawned. This time, I’d woken up at a reasonable hour. I shuffled out of my room and headed downstairs for breakfast. My brows furrowed as I entered the kitchen. Someone had knocked a few plastic cups onto the ground, and the back door was hanging wide open.
“Mom? Carter?” I yelled, hoping that one of them could offer some sort of explanation.
I received no response.
I darted to Mom’s room, praying that my intuition was wrong. My blood ran cold when I laid eyes upon the scene before me.
Mom’s room was a wreck. It appeared as if a struggle had taken place. Pictures were scattered about the floor. All the trinkets on Mom’s nightstand had been strewn across the carpet. Blankets and pillows were haphazardly tossed everywhere. But worst of all? There was a bloody streak splattered across the wall.
“No. This can’t be happening? Why would somebody do this? Mom never hurt anyone.”
I suddenly thought to check my phone. Maybe Mom had left me some sort of message. I needed to at least try to call her to see if she was okay. I bolted upstairs in record time, and retrieved my iPhone. I am still downright horrified at what awaited me.
I had received a text message from an unknown number. My eyes grew wide as dinner plates. With trembling hands, I hurriedly opened it.
You had your chance, Anthony. I’m done playing around. You took something precious from me, so now I’m taking something precious from you. I want five grand. I’ll off her if you don’t comply. Put it behind the school’s dumpster like I previously requested. And no funny business. No more stink bombs, and no cops. I’m watching you. If you so much as think about dialing 9-1-1, I’ll be the first person to know. I’m looking forward to doing business with you (:
Tears began to well in the corners of my eyes. The message had come with an attachment. Dread swallowed me like a python as I motioned to open it. I already knew what it would contain.
It was a photograph of my mother tied to a chair in some filthy looking basement. She’d been blindfolded and gagged with a streak of blood coagulating on her cheek. She looked terrified. My heart absolutely shattered for her.
I don’t know what to do. I have fifteen dollars to my name. I don’t want to risk calling the police in case Logan finds out. I’m posting this anonymously on an old laptop that I don’t use so he won’t suspect anything. Please, if anyone has any suggestions, help me. I just want Mom to come home.
NS Post
2024.05.27 20:17 HorrorJunkie123 Someone is blackmailing me to pay for his Nintendo Switch. What should I do?
“Screw you!”
“Oh yeah? Well, screw you, too!” I shouted, sending an egg hurtling through the air. It landed square between Biff’s eyeballs with a satisfying splat.
“You’re gonna pay for that, you little punk! Just wait ‘til I get my hands on y-”
I didn’t even listen to what Biff had to say. I unloaded on him, releasing a barrage of yolky fury onto my unsuspecting victim. He couldn’t get another word in. Once I was out of ammo, I grinned at the runny wide receiver, dropped my empty carton, and bolted. Biff was still wiping egg whites from his eyes as I disappeared around the corner.
Okay, I guess I’d better explain myself before I get canceled, huh?
Before the incident, I liked to think of myself as a Robin Hood, of sorts. There were the bullies, the victims, and then there was me. I would put the bullies in their place. I was the one who all the defenseless kids would turn to for help. The way I saw it, guys like Biff deserved to take a carton of eggs to the dome. He was a jock, which automatically made him a douchebag… right?
I have since come to the conclusion that I have royally fucked up in my assessment of a large percentage of the student body. As it turns out, the biggest asshole in all of this was me. But, you know what they say. Hindsight is always twenty-twenty.
I snickered to myself as I strolled down the sidewalk, cooking up my next act of mischief, when it happened. A bony shoulder collided with my chest, knocking the wind out of me.
“Ughh. Watch where you’re going, Pipsqueak,” I hissed, glaring at the boy sitting on the ground before me. A Nintendo Switch had clattered to the ground beside him. The screen was completely shattered.
Though jet-black bangs obscured the boy’s eyes from view, I could tell that he was beginning to cry. A pang of sympathy shot through my chest like a lightning bolt. I shouldn’t have lashed out at him like that.
“Look man, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone off on you. You just caught me off guard. Here, let me help you up,” I said, extending a hand.
He instantly swatted it away. “Go fuck yourself,” the boy muttered, cradling his broken gaming device.
“Excuse me? I didn’t quite catch that. I could have sworn that I heard you tell me to go fuck myself, but that can’t be right. I’ve gotta be hearing things.”
“You heard me. I said go. Fuck. Yourself,” he retorted, meeting my gaze. I could see fire behind his teary pupils.
“Seriously? You weren’t watching where you were going either. It’s not my fault that you weren’t paying attention to your surroundings.”
My new buddy picked himself up off the ground, and glowered up at me with the most hateful stare I have ever seen in my entire life. I could practically feel the rage oozing from every pore in his body. Needless to say, he was pissed.
“You’re gonna pay for this. Do you know how fucking long it took me to save up enough money for that thing? YEARS. I’ve had this Switch for four days. All that time and money just for you to come along and screw it all up. I’m not having that shit,” he spat, jabbing a finger inches from my face.
At that moment, it felt as if a switch (no pun intended) had been flipped. I didn’t care that he’d broken his precious gaming console anymore. I wasn’t going to let some random kid guilt me into paying for something just because he didn’t want to take accountability for his actions. No one talks to me like that and gets away with it.
I stuffed my hands into my pockets, searching for anything I could use in retaliation. A wide grin inched across my face when my fingers grazed a solid object.
In one swift motion, I splattered the spare egg I’d been saving onto the boy’s head, ruffling his hair to ensure that it really got down in there. The look on his face was priceless. He was so stunned that he didn’t have time to get a word in before I raced down the street.
I glanced back only once between giggles. He wasn’t following me. I watched as he wiped his head, somberly staring down at the ruined Nintendo. I didn’t feel one inkling of remorse. But now, I’m terrified of the repercussions.
***
“Sup, bitch,” Carter snarled as I made my way inside. I pursed my lips. I had really been hoping that he wouldn’t be home.
“Screw off, dude. I’ve had a long day,” I said, trying to brush past him. To my immense dismay, he caught my arm before I could leave.
“Well, it’s about to get a whole lot longer,” he replied, flashing me a disgusting grin.
I gulped, mustering every ounce of courage I had. “I’m tired of your shit, Farter. You think you can do whatever you want just because you’re bigger than me. News flash: I’m done,” I hissed, flinging his hand off of me.
“Ah, ah, ah. You’re done when I say you’re done, Butt Munch. And I say…” Carter pondered his next move for a moment. It was taking him a frightening amount of time. Thinking wasn’t his strong suit.
His eyes suddenly lit up. My heart dropped into my stomach, and I frowned. I knew that look. “It’s toilet time!”
All the color drained from my face. “Please, not that. Anything but that.”
“Too late. My mind’s made up,” Carter said, putting me in a headlock and leading me to the bathroom.
“Eh, ow! M-M-” Carter vehemently shook his head, placing a meaty hand over my mouth to shut me up. I bit his finger, hard. He released me, giving me a chance to shout for help.
“MOM!!!”
Carter scowled at me before slinking away. “You win this round, Turd Face. But you’d better watch your back. I’m gonna mess you up the first chance I get.”
“CARTER. LEAVE YOUR BROTHER ALONE. DON’T MAKE ME COME DOWN THERE,” Mom shouted from upstairs.
“Yes, ma’am!” he replied, disappearing into his room. But not without flipping me the bird first, of course.
I breathed an audible sigh of relief, slumping down against the wall. I was extremely grateful for my mother. If it wasn’t for her, who knows what kind of ungodly war crimes Carter would have subjected me to. He really was an ass.
The next day, I plopped into my seat with less than a minute to spare. I was out of breath from sprinting all the way to school. If I was tardy one more time, I’d find myself in detention, and that did not sound appealing.
As I unpacked my bag, I noticed something lying on my desk. It was a photograph.
I cautiously flipped it over, expecting to find some incriminating image of me doing God knows what to an unsuspecting douche bag. What I saw still gives me chills to this day.
It was a picture of my house. It appeared to have been taken at night, from across the street. Beads of sweat began to form atop my brow. With how many people I’d messed with, I had no earthly idea who the culprit could be.
I flipped the photograph over, desperately searching for any clue as to who had left it there. There was faint writing on the back. In addition to my name and home address, there was a note.
Anthony Hopkins -
This is your only warning. Leave the money to repair my Nintendo Switch behind the school’s dumpster by 5 P.M. sharp, or I will take action.
Have the worst day possible,
Logan
My blood began to boil. The freak from the day before. That creepy little bastard was trying to threaten me? Who the hell did he think he was? I was fuming.
As you can imagine, I wasn’t going to take his note seriously. He’d managed to find my house, so what? He’d probably looked up my info on one of those shady subscription services. I was tempted to try and find his house and teepee it overnight. But then, I got an even better idea.
Logan wanted me to leave the money behind the dumpster, eh? I had no intention of doing that, but I was going to leave him something.
I grinned maliciously as I retrieved Logan’s gift from my locker at the end of the school day. I was going to teach that kid a lesson - Nobody fucks with Anthony Hopkins.
I had to stifle my giggles as I placed the fart bomb discreetly behind the big blue dumpster. I’d rigged it to where the slightest jiggle would cause a massive stink cloud to explode in the face of whoever was unfortunate enough to discover my little trap.
Honestly, I was impressed with my own ingenuity. I’m obviously not the brightest crayon in the box, so that took a lot of brainpower.
I had a smug grin plastered across my face the entire walk home. Upon arriving, I confidently strolled into the kitchen to find Mom cooking dinner. Meatloaf night. Not my favorite, but I wasn’t going to complain. I would eat a dead rat if it meant Mom was happy.
“Hey kiddo,” she said as I tossed my backpack aside.
“Hey Mom. Dinner smells amazing. Um… is Carter here?” I replied, glancing down at the ground.
“Well, thank you, Sweetheart. No, your brother is spending the night at Jimmy’s house. It’ll just be you and me,” Mom smirked, before turning back to the pot of green beans simmering on the stove.
I released the breath that I hadn’t known I’d been holding. It felt as if a weight had been lifted. Every day that I didn’t have to deal with Carter was cause for celebration.
“Cool,” I said, heading upstairs. “Thanks for making dinner. I’ll be back down in a few minutes.” Mom smiled at me as I disappeared from view. I didn’t deserve such kindness.
The remainder of the night was relatively mundane. Mom and I ate dinner and watched a low-budget comedy film on Netflix, before turning in for the night. I didn’t have many friends due to my antics, but I don’t mind it much. Unlike most kids my age, I have no qualms about spending my weekends watching trashy movies with my mother. Maybe that’s because she’s one of the only people who truly cares about me… I’m not really sure.
After spending way too much time doom scrolling on Reddit, I finally decided to hit the hay. With the knowledge that I’d exacted my revenge and that I didn’t have to worry about my brother dunking my head in a toilet, I fell right to sleep.
I awoke at some point in the middle of the night. I groggily rubbed my eyes and glanced at the alarm clock on my bedside table. 3:03 A.M. Strange.
I tried my best to drift back to sleep, but some abominable smell had assaulted my nostrils. It was faint, but pungent. In my sleep deprived state, my first thought was that Carter had managed to shit the bed. I rolled onto my side, my curiosity satiated, and quickly fell back to sleep.
I stretched my arms above my head and yawned. This time, I’d woken up at a reasonable hour. I shuffled out of my room and headed downstairs for breakfast. My brows furrowed as I entered the kitchen. Someone had knocked a few plastic cups onto the ground, and the back door was hanging wide open.
“Mom? Carter?” I yelled, hoping that one of them could offer some sort of explanation.
I received no response.
I darted to Mom’s room, praying that my intuition was wrong. My blood ran cold when I laid eyes upon the scene before me.
Mom’s room was a wreck. It appeared as if a struggle had taken place. Pictures were scattered about the floor. All the trinkets on Mom’s nightstand had been strewn across the carpet. Blankets and pillows were haphazardly tossed everywhere. But worst of all? There was a bloody streak splattered across the wall.
“No. This can’t be happening? Why would somebody do this? Mom never hurt anyone.”
I suddenly thought to check my phone. Maybe Mom had left me some sort of message. I needed to at least try to call her to see if she was okay. I bolted upstairs in record time, and retrieved my iPhone. I am still downright horrified at what awaited me.
I had received a text message from an unknown number. My eyes grew wide as dinner plates. With trembling hands, I hurriedly opened it.
You had your chance, Anthony. I’m done playing around. You took something precious from me, so now I’m taking something precious from you. I want five grand. I’ll off her if you don’t comply. Put it behind the school’s dumpster like I previously requested. And no funny business. No more stink bombs, and no cops. I’m watching you. If you so much as think about dialing 9-1-1, I’ll be the first person to know. I’m looking forward to doing business with you (:
Tears began to well in the corners of my eyes. The message had come with an attachment. Dread swallowed me like a python as I motioned to open it. I already knew what it would contain.
It was a photograph of my mother tied to a chair in some filthy looking basement. She’d been blindfolded and gagged with a streak of blood coagulating on her cheek. She looked terrified. My heart absolutely shattered for her.
I don’t know what to do. I have fifteen dollars to my name. I don’t want to risk calling the police in case Logan finds out. I’m posting this anonymously on an old laptop that I don’t use so he won’t suspect anything. Please, if anyone has any suggestions, help me. I just want Mom to come home.
submitted by HorrorJunkie123 to nosleep [link] [comments]
“Oh yeah? Well, screw you, too!” I shouted, sending an egg hurtling through the air. It landed square between Biff’s eyeballs with a satisfying splat.
“You’re gonna pay for that, you little punk! Just wait ‘til I get my hands on y-”
I didn’t even listen to what Biff had to say. I unloaded on him, releasing a barrage of yolky fury onto my unsuspecting victim. He couldn’t get another word in. Once I was out of ammo, I grinned at the runny wide receiver, dropped my empty carton, and bolted. Biff was still wiping egg whites from his eyes as I disappeared around the corner.
Okay, I guess I’d better explain myself before I get canceled, huh?
Before the incident, I liked to think of myself as a Robin Hood, of sorts. There were the bullies, the victims, and then there was me. I would put the bullies in their place. I was the one who all the defenseless kids would turn to for help. The way I saw it, guys like Biff deserved to take a carton of eggs to the dome. He was a jock, which automatically made him a douchebag… right?
I have since come to the conclusion that I have royally fucked up in my assessment of a large percentage of the student body. As it turns out, the biggest asshole in all of this was me. But, you know what they say. Hindsight is always twenty-twenty.
I snickered to myself as I strolled down the sidewalk, cooking up my next act of mischief, when it happened. A bony shoulder collided with my chest, knocking the wind out of me.
“Ughh. Watch where you’re going, Pipsqueak,” I hissed, glaring at the boy sitting on the ground before me. A Nintendo Switch had clattered to the ground beside him. The screen was completely shattered.
Though jet-black bangs obscured the boy’s eyes from view, I could tell that he was beginning to cry. A pang of sympathy shot through my chest like a lightning bolt. I shouldn’t have lashed out at him like that.
“Look man, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone off on you. You just caught me off guard. Here, let me help you up,” I said, extending a hand.
He instantly swatted it away. “Go fuck yourself,” the boy muttered, cradling his broken gaming device.
“Excuse me? I didn’t quite catch that. I could have sworn that I heard you tell me to go fuck myself, but that can’t be right. I’ve gotta be hearing things.”
“You heard me. I said go. Fuck. Yourself,” he retorted, meeting my gaze. I could see fire behind his teary pupils.
“Seriously? You weren’t watching where you were going either. It’s not my fault that you weren’t paying attention to your surroundings.”
My new buddy picked himself up off the ground, and glowered up at me with the most hateful stare I have ever seen in my entire life. I could practically feel the rage oozing from every pore in his body. Needless to say, he was pissed.
“You’re gonna pay for this. Do you know how fucking long it took me to save up enough money for that thing? YEARS. I’ve had this Switch for four days. All that time and money just for you to come along and screw it all up. I’m not having that shit,” he spat, jabbing a finger inches from my face.
At that moment, it felt as if a switch (no pun intended) had been flipped. I didn’t care that he’d broken his precious gaming console anymore. I wasn’t going to let some random kid guilt me into paying for something just because he didn’t want to take accountability for his actions. No one talks to me like that and gets away with it.
I stuffed my hands into my pockets, searching for anything I could use in retaliation. A wide grin inched across my face when my fingers grazed a solid object.
In one swift motion, I splattered the spare egg I’d been saving onto the boy’s head, ruffling his hair to ensure that it really got down in there. The look on his face was priceless. He was so stunned that he didn’t have time to get a word in before I raced down the street.
I glanced back only once between giggles. He wasn’t following me. I watched as he wiped his head, somberly staring down at the ruined Nintendo. I didn’t feel one inkling of remorse. But now, I’m terrified of the repercussions.
***
“Sup, bitch,” Carter snarled as I made my way inside. I pursed my lips. I had really been hoping that he wouldn’t be home.
“Screw off, dude. I’ve had a long day,” I said, trying to brush past him. To my immense dismay, he caught my arm before I could leave.
“Well, it’s about to get a whole lot longer,” he replied, flashing me a disgusting grin.
I gulped, mustering every ounce of courage I had. “I’m tired of your shit, Farter. You think you can do whatever you want just because you’re bigger than me. News flash: I’m done,” I hissed, flinging his hand off of me.
“Ah, ah, ah. You’re done when I say you’re done, Butt Munch. And I say…” Carter pondered his next move for a moment. It was taking him a frightening amount of time. Thinking wasn’t his strong suit.
His eyes suddenly lit up. My heart dropped into my stomach, and I frowned. I knew that look. “It’s toilet time!”
All the color drained from my face. “Please, not that. Anything but that.”
“Too late. My mind’s made up,” Carter said, putting me in a headlock and leading me to the bathroom.
“Eh, ow! M-M-” Carter vehemently shook his head, placing a meaty hand over my mouth to shut me up. I bit his finger, hard. He released me, giving me a chance to shout for help.
“MOM!!!”
Carter scowled at me before slinking away. “You win this round, Turd Face. But you’d better watch your back. I’m gonna mess you up the first chance I get.”
“CARTER. LEAVE YOUR BROTHER ALONE. DON’T MAKE ME COME DOWN THERE,” Mom shouted from upstairs.
“Yes, ma’am!” he replied, disappearing into his room. But not without flipping me the bird first, of course.
I breathed an audible sigh of relief, slumping down against the wall. I was extremely grateful for my mother. If it wasn’t for her, who knows what kind of ungodly war crimes Carter would have subjected me to. He really was an ass.
The next day, I plopped into my seat with less than a minute to spare. I was out of breath from sprinting all the way to school. If I was tardy one more time, I’d find myself in detention, and that did not sound appealing.
As I unpacked my bag, I noticed something lying on my desk. It was a photograph.
I cautiously flipped it over, expecting to find some incriminating image of me doing God knows what to an unsuspecting douche bag. What I saw still gives me chills to this day.
It was a picture of my house. It appeared to have been taken at night, from across the street. Beads of sweat began to form atop my brow. With how many people I’d messed with, I had no earthly idea who the culprit could be.
I flipped the photograph over, desperately searching for any clue as to who had left it there. There was faint writing on the back. In addition to my name and home address, there was a note.
Anthony Hopkins -
This is your only warning. Leave the money to repair my Nintendo Switch behind the school’s dumpster by 5 P.M. sharp, or I will take action.
Have the worst day possible,
Logan
My blood began to boil. The freak from the day before. That creepy little bastard was trying to threaten me? Who the hell did he think he was? I was fuming.
As you can imagine, I wasn’t going to take his note seriously. He’d managed to find my house, so what? He’d probably looked up my info on one of those shady subscription services. I was tempted to try and find his house and teepee it overnight. But then, I got an even better idea.
Logan wanted me to leave the money behind the dumpster, eh? I had no intention of doing that, but I was going to leave him something.
I grinned maliciously as I retrieved Logan’s gift from my locker at the end of the school day. I was going to teach that kid a lesson - Nobody fucks with Anthony Hopkins.
I had to stifle my giggles as I placed the fart bomb discreetly behind the big blue dumpster. I’d rigged it to where the slightest jiggle would cause a massive stink cloud to explode in the face of whoever was unfortunate enough to discover my little trap.
Honestly, I was impressed with my own ingenuity. I’m obviously not the brightest crayon in the box, so that took a lot of brainpower.
I had a smug grin plastered across my face the entire walk home. Upon arriving, I confidently strolled into the kitchen to find Mom cooking dinner. Meatloaf night. Not my favorite, but I wasn’t going to complain. I would eat a dead rat if it meant Mom was happy.
“Hey kiddo,” she said as I tossed my backpack aside.
“Hey Mom. Dinner smells amazing. Um… is Carter here?” I replied, glancing down at the ground.
“Well, thank you, Sweetheart. No, your brother is spending the night at Jimmy’s house. It’ll just be you and me,” Mom smirked, before turning back to the pot of green beans simmering on the stove.
I released the breath that I hadn’t known I’d been holding. It felt as if a weight had been lifted. Every day that I didn’t have to deal with Carter was cause for celebration.
“Cool,” I said, heading upstairs. “Thanks for making dinner. I’ll be back down in a few minutes.” Mom smiled at me as I disappeared from view. I didn’t deserve such kindness.
The remainder of the night was relatively mundane. Mom and I ate dinner and watched a low-budget comedy film on Netflix, before turning in for the night. I didn’t have many friends due to my antics, but I don’t mind it much. Unlike most kids my age, I have no qualms about spending my weekends watching trashy movies with my mother. Maybe that’s because she’s one of the only people who truly cares about me… I’m not really sure.
After spending way too much time doom scrolling on Reddit, I finally decided to hit the hay. With the knowledge that I’d exacted my revenge and that I didn’t have to worry about my brother dunking my head in a toilet, I fell right to sleep.
I awoke at some point in the middle of the night. I groggily rubbed my eyes and glanced at the alarm clock on my bedside table. 3:03 A.M. Strange.
I tried my best to drift back to sleep, but some abominable smell had assaulted my nostrils. It was faint, but pungent. In my sleep deprived state, my first thought was that Carter had managed to shit the bed. I rolled onto my side, my curiosity satiated, and quickly fell back to sleep.
I stretched my arms above my head and yawned. This time, I’d woken up at a reasonable hour. I shuffled out of my room and headed downstairs for breakfast. My brows furrowed as I entered the kitchen. Someone had knocked a few plastic cups onto the ground, and the back door was hanging wide open.
“Mom? Carter?” I yelled, hoping that one of them could offer some sort of explanation.
I received no response.
I darted to Mom’s room, praying that my intuition was wrong. My blood ran cold when I laid eyes upon the scene before me.
Mom’s room was a wreck. It appeared as if a struggle had taken place. Pictures were scattered about the floor. All the trinkets on Mom’s nightstand had been strewn across the carpet. Blankets and pillows were haphazardly tossed everywhere. But worst of all? There was a bloody streak splattered across the wall.
“No. This can’t be happening? Why would somebody do this? Mom never hurt anyone.”
I suddenly thought to check my phone. Maybe Mom had left me some sort of message. I needed to at least try to call her to see if she was okay. I bolted upstairs in record time, and retrieved my iPhone. I am still downright horrified at what awaited me.
I had received a text message from an unknown number. My eyes grew wide as dinner plates. With trembling hands, I hurriedly opened it.
You had your chance, Anthony. I’m done playing around. You took something precious from me, so now I’m taking something precious from you. I want five grand. I’ll off her if you don’t comply. Put it behind the school’s dumpster like I previously requested. And no funny business. No more stink bombs, and no cops. I’m watching you. If you so much as think about dialing 9-1-1, I’ll be the first person to know. I’m looking forward to doing business with you (:
Tears began to well in the corners of my eyes. The message had come with an attachment. Dread swallowed me like a python as I motioned to open it. I already knew what it would contain.
It was a photograph of my mother tied to a chair in some filthy looking basement. She’d been blindfolded and gagged with a streak of blood coagulating on her cheek. She looked terrified. My heart absolutely shattered for her.
I don’t know what to do. I have fifteen dollars to my name. I don’t want to risk calling the police in case Logan finds out. I’m posting this anonymously on an old laptop that I don’t use so he won’t suspect anything. Please, if anyone has any suggestions, help me. I just want Mom to come home.
2024.05.27 20:06 illfaded_ My ANA First Class Review
My goal for this review is to report the experience I had on ANA First Class to help people select between first class / business / economy in the future.
Flight details:
This was my first time flying first class internationally and through ANA. Overall it was quite nice experience, the food and service was exceptional, especially for a flight. In conclusion, my ANA First Class experience was outstanding, with top-notch service, comfortable accommodations, and excellent food and amenities. While there were slight differences between the older and newer 212 seats, both provided a high level of comfort and luxury, making ANA First Class a highly recommended choice for those seeking a premium travel experience.
submitted by illfaded_ to awardtravel [link] [comments]
Flight details:
- First class round trip from California (SFO) to Tokyo (NRT).
- First class seems to have 4 flight attendants with 2 seemingly dedicated to first class exclusively
- On the flight departing from SFO, I was seated in the 212-seat, and on the flight departing from NRT, I was seated in the newer 212 seat. This review will focus on my experience on the B777-300ER (newer 212-seat)
- Overall, in terms of real estate, the seat footprint takes up about 4 rows worth of economy seats and 2.5 columns worth of econ seats. As a result, legroom is a non-issue. You have 2 complete airplane windows-length worth of leg-space, and a third window next to your seat.
- The seat itself is well cushioned and quite comfortable similar to a simple Ikea recliner. The ability to recline the seats to different levels allows for the ability to stretch out quite comfortably.
- Each seat is self-contained and has a sliding door for privacy, along with many storage compartments, and multiple lights to light different sections (including table / reading / overall lights)
- The seat has a large 43” 4K attached to the front and many interconnectivity ports including power plugs, HDMI input, usb, and a headphone jack.
- First class gives you good over-the-ear noise cancelling headphones. They were good for airplane headphones, however, my ears did not like the constant pressure and I switched back to my AirPods pros the trip and noise cancellation.
- First class bathroom was larger than normal airplane bathroom, and contains bathroom amenities like moisturizer, mouthwash, toothbrush, aroma packs. I’m pretty sure the flight attendant services the bathroom after each time it’s used (like wiping the sink, and folding the toilet paper into triangles like hotels).
- Includes an amenity kit with moisturizer / creams / perfume / lip balm / etc. In the beginning of the flight an attendant will also come around with a basket including face masks, eye masks, ear plugs, wifi vouchers for your devices, etc.
- They give you a pajama set with a cardigan sweater and slippers to change in and out of.
- The attendant to passenger ratio is almost 1:1 or 1:2 in first class, ensuring you have exceptional attention from the attendants. If you ask for anything they immediately start on it and return with it within 15-60s.
- In my case on both my flights, I was the either the only 1 or 1 of 3 people flying first class so it always felt like I had 2 flight attendants anytime I needed anything.
- The attendants will come to you with filled glasses of your choices of water / sparkling water / champagne / orange juice as you get into your seat. They will give you hot towels as they prepare the meals and fresh hot towels in between and as you finish the meals.
- During meal service, I would have 1 flight attendant clean my table between courses and another attendant would immediately bring out the next dish. Drinks were immediately refilled the moment they were finished unless otherwise noted.
- During my flight back to SFO, I was carrying a large bag filled with pottery and dishes and I mentioned I could not put my bag in the overhead bin and that the bag was fragile. The flight attendant asked if it was ok for her to secure the bag in the empty seat across from me. After I agreed, she took my bag and setup pillows around the bag and then seat belted the bag sandwiched between some pillows in the seat.
- As I was finishing up my meal service, during dessert, my flight attendant came and asked to start setting up my bed. She made the bed in the seat across from mine. Once I finished up dessert she then came back and mentioned that the bathroom was ready and asked if I wanted to change into my pajamas now.
- Once I changed into my pajamas and washed up, the attendant took my clothes and shoes and put them on a hanger and put my clothes into the seat closet. She also asked if I wanted to be woken up 1 hr before breakfast service and I agreed.
- Upon waking up from sleep, the flight attendant came by asking if I wanted any water, orange juice, or coffee/tea as they prepare for breakfast.
- My wife had selected the Japanese cuisine meal for dinner for me before the flight so this was the first of 6 courses for dinner. It was a series of 4 tiny h’our derves (a stuffed mushroom, a cucumber with smoked salmon rose, a date with cream cheese, and some cheese cracker sticks). They paired quite well with the fruity - almost sweet - nature of the Chardonnay so I was quite happy tasting each one. I liked the date and cream cheese the least though (it was too much cold cheese for the date).
- Second course was another series of bites including a prawn/tiny squid sashimi soaked in dashi, jelly bite, tamago, a single broccoli, a wrapped cheese salmon bite, a tiny octopus, and finally a small slice of waygu topped with caviar. I happily finished it all and they cleaned up my table, gave me a new glass for water and reset the table again for the next dish.
- Third course was a simple soup, with braised sea bream, one small boche of noodles, one snap pea and one braised shittake mushroom. This was a nice palate cleanser to get myself ready for the main course since the earlier courses were mainly cold or room temp bites.
- The next course was a sashimi course, an appetizer for the main course. Seared scallops, seared tuna, and fresh flounder with wasabi and pickled kelp with a very light soy sauce. I quite enjoyed this as scallops are one of my favorites. The soy sauce was also great - typical soy sauce in America tends to lean very salty so this was a nice surprise.
- Finally the main course was served. Braised fish in a sau sẽ (hot), Miso soup (hot), braised beef dish (hot), uni and ikura on tofu (cold), Japanese pickles (cold), cooked ginger (mid), rice (mid). The different temps and accompaniments with rice is classic Japanese style dinner. I was soo full after this course. It was delicious.
- As for breakfast, I decided to get a western style breakfast. Which included an omelette, potatoes, and pastries including a croissant and a simple bun. Along with the accompanying accoutrements such as butter, orange marmalade, strawberry jam, and honey. Fresh fruit medley was then served after the main breakfast. Quite lovely with coffee.
- Another benefit of ANA FC that I do not see mentioned too often is the separate check-in counter and security at Narita and the exclusive first class lounge. The separate counter was great as it dodged the entirety of the baggage check-in lines and the FC security had it’s own separate room to go through with no line at all, making going through security completely effortless.
- The ANA FC Lounge at Narita was also exceptional as it had its own kitchen with a made-to-order Japanese menu with showers / massage chairs / business center and impeccable service. I had a made-to-order 8 piece nigiri sushi meal which came with japanese pickles and miso soup. It was so good that I ended up ordering an additional gyu-don (rice bowl) with miso soup as well. Both were delicious, but they were not the best sushi I've had in Japan. For American standard, the food was great, but I'd say average for Japanese standards. It even had a small freezer with single-serving sized haagan-dazs ice creams. At one point I wanted to get a latte and I asked the wait staff where the espresso machine was- they told me ok they would get it for me and later brought a fresh latte to my seat.
This was my first time flying first class internationally and through ANA. Overall it was quite nice experience, the food and service was exceptional, especially for a flight. In conclusion, my ANA First Class experience was outstanding, with top-notch service, comfortable accommodations, and excellent food and amenities. While there were slight differences between the older and newer 212 seats, both provided a high level of comfort and luxury, making ANA First Class a highly recommended choice for those seeking a premium travel experience.
2024.05.27 20:02 CatherineL1031 Hell Hath no Fury [Another Long Lorepost, Part 4]
![Hell Hath no Fury [Another Long Lorepost, Part 4]](https://preview.redd.it/gmnognyud03d1.jpeg?width=640&crop=smart&auto=webp&s=4793b9beb040fe04c1721e1c1a120452c65d3ee8 "Hell Hath no Fury [Another Long Lorepost, Part 4]") | Well, we’ve arrived here again, an old witch telling her story to those who will listen…how are you all doing today? I hope everything has gone well with you. I very much enjoy seeing the antics of my fellow mages, so I hope you all know it means even more to me that you’ve taken the time to scry through the net to learn more about me. submitted by CatherineL1031 to wizardposting [link] [comments] My last few tales have shown me as a sort of hero, a noble witch who helped those who needed help, had daring adventures with allies, and even fought back against legions of hell to protect some assholes who truly did not deserve our time. I look back on those times with such glee, knowing that I truly did hold a spark of humanity in me that wanted to do the right thing and could say I was truly a good person. These next few tales, however, act as more of a confession to the crimes of my past that I had tried to keep hidden. This is just a warning for all those who like me, I am going to confess some truly heinous crimes this time. They might seem minor to some of you, but please keep in mind one simple fact: I am not a god, I am not some special being, I am simply a mortal. Without further ado, have a little background on what happened after the town of Farlon was destroyed. After the legions of hell had leveled every building but one in the town, Mona, Har and I talked about what would be the best move to help those affected by this disaster. We had just buried Magnus, and I was still so angry that my first suggestion was to storm Goradel Mansion and reclaim it for the people. This idea was quickly, and thankfully, shot down by both my companions. We had been given a large sum of cash for our involvement in this battle, so we decided to put it to good use. We gathered the townspeople up, and discussed the possibility of founding a new town using the money we had earned. Har was worried that the legions were going to return to attack them, as the warning everyone received was that the legion was going to try and destroy everything associated with the Goradel name. They seemed receptive to the idea, even offering their services as they could in helping to build our new town. Some decided to stay behind, mostly out of debt to the Goradel house, but the others and us left to make our own claim. We set up a small, temporary campground while the three of us searched for suitable land. A chunk of our earnings had gone simply to food and tents for everyone, so we knew we needed to find something good fast. We didn't have excess cash to burn, we had enough to start the beginnings of a town and each day we spent without a set location was going to cause us to afford less and less for the people we were trying to help. Har talked with people in his church for suggestions of any unclaimed land that could house around 150 people, and they offered what they could. Those people were so nice, they offered us food and blankets for no charge as well as a good lead on a location! We knew we had more time now, so we left. Har decided to stay behind and act as acting chief, which helped him stay in contact with the church of Theia, and Mona and I set out to investigate the land. We had brought enough food for about a week of travel, bedrolls and tents for protection against the elements, and various other supplies just to be safe. As we followed the map, Mona and I started to talk and grow closer. We shared our life stories, our experiences, and our hopes and dreams for the future. Turns out, even at her age, Mona had lived quite the life in such a short time! She shared that she was always alchemically gifted, beginning the learning process of brewing and concocting at the age of 4 with her father. Her father was a Master in Alchemy, running a bar known as the Bronze Dragon where he combined the fun of alchemy with the excitement of alcohol. He sounded like such a fun guy. She shared that her father would teach her about potion brewing whenever he got the chance. He never put pressure on her to follow in his footsteps, he was more than happy for her to pursue any path she deemed interesting; he just enjoyed spending time with his daughter and watching her brew all sorts of crazy concoctions. Once she reached the age of 16, she was already an Expert in Alchemy and had plans to begin enrolling into an academy that could help her enhance her skills even further. Except, she never went. During one of her late-night brewing sessions, she stumbled upon something by complete accident. She did not share her recipe, but she told me that with the right combination of ingredients, she could imbue herself temporarily with the powers of a God. She is still not sure how she managed to unlock this secret, but that once she shared her findings with the Alchemical Council, they promoted her to the rank of Archmage of Alchemy without a second of hesitation. Archmage titles were always reserved for those who managed to discover a hidden truth, or a new path in their field, and she had done that better than anyone before her. It really made the journey that much more enjoyable getting to know each other even better. We had become acquainted before our mission, but it was all very surface level. Getting to know her as a person instead of a simple ally, it was a blast! She seemed very interested in my tales as well, so it was safe to say we were becoming good friends. After 6 days of travel, we had finally found the designated location. It was pretty far off the path, a small forest present with a river cutting it in two. It was going to take some work, but we truly believed this was it! We had even agreed on a name for this new town: Mardul, inspired by our fallen comrade so that he could forever remain in our memory and in the memory of those he protected. I told Mona to stay put and begin setting up some potions of plant growth for crops, some potions of strength to help people cut and haul the cut trees, and potions of stamina to help those who might be feeling tired to keep working if they desired. I, meanwhile, decided to take a shortcut to our camp. My body burst into flames as I began to change my form, mostly just doing that for the dramatics, but the results speaking for themselves once the fire was out. I had beautiful blue wings covering my body, a strong pair of wings that could help me fly quite fast, and plumage that, honestly, just felt very pretty to have. I had turned myself into a Blue-Flame Phoenix, except instead of being 2-3 feet tall, I remained my 6’2” in height. With a nod, I spread my wings and flew my way back to our soon-to-be townsfolk. I won’t bore you guys with the details of breaking ground on and building up a small town, so here I’ll be nice and sum it up very easily for you: It was worth it in the end, but most of us and the townsfolk nearly went insane when it came to planning everything. Eventually, we had to elect a small council composed of myself, Mona, Har, his husband Verdant and Daniella, the daughter of a construction company owner that helped with getting supplies and qualified workers to make sure everything was done correctly. After 5 months of work, our work was finally finished. We had a genuine town, complete with a smithy, a few supply stores, we had farmers growing crops and raising livestock, houses for our townsfolk, and a town center! The town of Mardul had now been officially founded, and with it we could begin a brand new life. We were completely spent on our earnings, even having to ask everyone, including ourselves, to work odd jobs in other towns to make enough to continue funding the construction projects. Being the witch I am, I decided to build my own small castle on the edge of town. Thankfully it did not take long to build, thanks to the efforts of Undead Construction and Repair. They’ve offered me a small amount of gold to sponsor them, and they did such a good job with my castle 550 years ago, so I think they deserved it. If you need any housing work done or are looking to build the castle of your dreams, look no further than Undead Construction and Repair! UCR, “Our bodies might have died, but that doesn’t mean your dreams should too!™” Anyways, after the town was finished, Har and Gabriel decided it was time for them to move on from the little town and return to their life back in the city. I bid them farewell, thanking them for everything they ever did for me, and sent them on their way with a donation of gold for their temple. It was the least I could do, given I had taken them away for so many months. Mona, thankfully, decided not only to stay, but move in with me! I was more than happy to have her as a roommate, so without any hesitation I told her she was more than welcome to live with me. We got settled into the castle, and I began to decorate as best I could. I had gathered many trophies from my many battles, as had Mona, so it was easy to decorate in that regard, but we were still without real furniture. We had to sleep on some bedrolls the first few weeks as we continued to work odd jobs in other towns, but after a few weeks we had enough to afford to furnish our wonderful new home. We were happy, finally having a place to call our own, and electing two replacements for the town council. They were Elizabeth and Demetrius, a mother and son who had worked for a while with the Goradel’s and learned about politics and local government through their unfortunate employment. However, I still held hatred and anger in my heart. This wasn’t fair to Magnus, he deserved to be here and enjoy the spoils of this town as we did! Those bastards were going to pay for what they did, it was their fault Magnus died in the first place! They meddled with the forces of hell, they pissed off some devil, why was Magnus punished with death because they were careless and selfish?! So, I began to work… I had a secret room placed into the castle as it was built, nobody knew about it but myself. It was my own private laboratory and study room, a place where I could study in silence without worrying about anyone stumbling onto it or what was inside here. I opened my bag of holding, dumping out the specimens I had gathered from our battle, and began to lay them out. I had enough to put together a full Hell Cobra and Nightmare Corvid as I named them, and I knew enough about standard anatomy to put together muscle connections for the severed legs, arms, neck and heads to their torsos. I spent months studying these abominations, slicing and cutting, grabbing muscles and pulling to see what moved and what twitched, fusing them together to make sure they would work once the form was complete. I spent multiple sleepless nights researching these horrid things, but in the end, it was all worth it. Once my research had been finished, I decided to use their bones to fashion myself a scale model of their skeletons so I’d always have a reference for how big I needed to be. They were so large, so terrifying, they were exactly what I needed to get my revenge on that bitch, Cordelia and her horrid family! Once I had perfected their forms, I began to test them in the nearby wilds to become used to it. As luck would have it, a green wyvern had recently taken residence in our woods and had been causing quite the disaster for our hunters and explorers. So, I decided it would be the perfect target to test my new capabilities. I entered the forest that night and headed right for the trail of poison left behind by this asshole. He made such a mess of things, tearing animals in half and letting us hear their horrid screams of pain as they slowly bled out and died. He was trying to anger us, trying to make us fight him so he could kill us and take over the town. My town! He didn’t know who he had messed with, though. As I arrived in the cave, I saw him carrying a large bear we had lovingly named Hank in his mouth. Hank was such a fat bear, and so gentle. He was one of the only bears I’ve ever met that didn’t need to be charmed in order to be okay with people, he would just ask for some food and when given, he’d snuggle up to you before going on his merry way. I realize that feeding wild animals is dangerous and can cause them to potentially become aggressive to humans as they start to view them as their main source of food, and not getting it can cause them to attack, but Hank was our town mascot and I wasn’t gonna let him die! I slammed my tail onto the ground, the echo causing the wyvern to look back and see my form. I let out a loud hiss, venom practically oozing from my open maw as I ran towards him with claws outstretched. He dropped Hank, who ran away as fast as his chubby little body could take him, and began to take a defensive stance. I slammed myself into him, claws pinning him down as my tail stiffened at the tip. I had figured out how to harness the sharpness the regular snakes had on their tails, and I used that to stab right into the Wyvern. It let out a shriek of pain as I pierced its shoulder, but managed to throw me off by kicking me in the stomach with its legs. It crawled back onto its feet, its body beginning to secrete the poison we had all become far too familiar with in the past as it charged at me. My body was far too big to dodge, so I had to take its head ramming into my chest at full speed. I had tried to stop it, my arms grabbing its body, but it was still powerful. I felt the poison start to absorb into my skin, causing my claws to start feeling numb and burning. I couldn’t give up, though, this was my first fight and I was going to win. I opened my jaw wide as it slammed me into the wall of its cave, and I clamped right down onto its wing. My teeth sank into the fleshy membranes and the bone of its wing, easily crushing it with a mighty and stomach-churning SNAP. It reeled back in pain, giving me the chance to counter attack. I slam it onto the ground, one of my feet planting itself onto his back so I could keep it pinned down. I gave one final hiss, and my tail struck true. I stabbed it right through the brain, going through its skull and embedding the tip right into the ground. I couldn’t believe it, I had won! This asshole now twitched under my heel as its body became more and more limp, until it finally stopped. This bastard was dead, and we were finally free from its terror! Even better, I had my next form to study. It was as large as I was, 15 feet tall with an impressive wingspan, so I got to test the capabilities of my next form. I spent the next few minutes changing back into my normal form, downing a potion of cure poison from Mona, and spending the next few minutes shifting into my Nightmare Corvid form. I was now much taller than it, almost too tall to fit through the opening, but I made it work. I grabbed it in my beak and began to drag it out. Once we were in the clearing of the forest, I gave my wings a flap to lift me off the ground. I hovered myself over the wyvern and sank my talons into its wings. I didn’t need to be gentle, it was dead, so why would I care if it sliced up the membrane of its wings? It was now much harder to get off the ground, but with some strong flaps from my mighty wings I was able to lift it up into the air. I flew back to my castle, letting out a deep breath as I stuffed the corpse of the wyvern into my secret room, again barely managing to fit it through the tunnel. I had transformed back to my normal form, so hauling it in required the rest of my magic for the night. I was exhausted, tired, I had just spent the last 30 minutes carrying this thing here. I crashed hard that night, I think I slept for 13 hours without waking once. I was so happy we had real beds, trying to do that on a sleeping roll would have made me absolutely miserable. Once I awoke the next morning, I acted surprised as I heard the news from my townsfolk. The Wyvern had been defeated! No one had seen how, but a trail of blood and splatters of skin and viscera told a story of defeat for the bane of the town. They cheered as they felt a weight lifted off their shoulders, they seemed so happy to be free of the fear and burden of this creature, and it made me even happier to know I was the one to bring them that joy. With my strength secured, and another specimen ready for study, I decided that it was time to start enacting my plan now a full year in the making. It’s a messy thing, revenge. In a lot of ways you can view it as a wound. If treated probably and correctly, it can become a simple scar that reminds you of where you once were. However, once it’s allowed to fester, it will continue to spread further, deeper, become worse, and cause permanent damage. The longer it goes unresolved, the worse it’s ultimately going to be when you finally do seek to treat me. Originally, I had simply wanted the Goradel house to lose their nobility status, or to give some large amount of money as an apology to Magnus, or to get beat up. You know, simple stuff that could be healed or recovered from. But, the wound had festered. The stress of dealing with running a town mixed with the recent wyvern that was causing us so much trouble sent me over the edge. I wanted them dead. They deserved to be dead. The world would be a better place with them dead! So, I got to work tracking them down. Last we heard, the town they had destroyed was abandoned and they had moved. I began to collect pieces of information overheard in town, I would volunteer my services to other nobles who might have a lead on their whereabouts, even practiced my Scrying to try and find them by spying on them. Unfortunately, it seems something was protecting them. My attempts to scry were met with protective ward after protective ward, preventing me from even getting an idea of where they could be hiding. Bastards were smart, but I had all the time I needed. It took almost two full years of searching before I finally found a solid lead. I was now 120 years old at this point, and our little village had grown into a full town at this point! We were now a point of interest on a map, somewhere to stop in for some nice rest or to get away somewhere quiet. We didn’t have the amenities and spectacles of a real city, but we made up for it with a quiet, comfy stay in a nice area. Magnus would have been so proud to see it… As night approached, I said my goodnights to Mona and headed to bed. I waited for about an hour to make sure she was asleep, and put my plan into effect. Just in case, I left a note in my room that said I would be visiting Ralin for a few days or more to help her deal with some drama that had occurred in her clan. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for us to see her every now and again to visit or ask for advice, so it was an easily believed excuse. I packed myself some supplies and turned myself into a small, unassuming Raven so that I would not garner any attention. With my wings spread, I jumped from my room and began my flight. The city they lived in was only a 2 hour flight, so I would still arrive in the dead of night and hopefully away from prying eyes. It was an uneventful flight, except for seeing a Roc fly overhead in a blaze of glory. My mind was racing as I began to think of ways to take it down and add it to my collection, but I was no match for a mythical bird of its grandeur. Even partially insane, I still knew not to punch outside of my class and anger something that would end up causing me a lot of harm. Once the flight was finished, I landed on the perch of the rumored Goradel manor. My suspicions were confirmed very soon, as I saw that absolute bitch Cordelia currently barrating one of her lady’s maids for…who even cares. This complicated plans, as I did not know how many servants were in the manor with them. They didn’t deserve to die, they were just innocent people trying to make a living. So, I began to plan my next move far more carefully. I decided I needed a more easily accessible form to get inside and investigate, so I took on the second most classic witch form: An unassuming, fluffy little kitty cat. Like my other forms, I kept my brown eyes and decided on a bright orange coat. There were many cats in the alley nearby, so the sudden appearance of one more would not be cause for alarm. It was the perfect disguise, who would expect a cute little kitty? I spent the next few days scouting out the house and getting a read for entrances, exits, various points of interest, and seeing if I could get a count on servants. By pure luck, one of the footmen had taken a liking to me. The first day of my arrival he had been taking out some garbage, so I approached him. I let out a soft little meow as I ran up to him, almost causing him to slip from jumping the way he did. He was a halfling, his hair a jet black, and looking absolutely dapper in his suit. He saw me there, put a hand out to me, and let me sniff. His hands smelled very clean, at least, and I will admit that it felt amazing to have him pet me. He was so gentle as he ran his hand across the back of my neck, I couldn’t help but start purring and rubbing up against him. He came to visit me twice a day in the garden, bringing me whatever leftover veggies or meat they had as he vented his troubles to me. After eating I would sit in his lap, make myself comfy and just enjoy his petting as he let out the gory details of his work. Seems these assholes truly were as terrible as I thought, and treated their servants like shit to the surprise of no one. I also came to learn that there were 13 servants in total that worked the manor. There was my new friend, who was one of three footmen, a valet who waited on Zavier, a butler, a chauffeur, a cook, the cook’s assistant, a ladies maid each for Cordelia and Helena, two maids and a head housekeeper. A very long list that I’m shocked I still remember, to be honest. My friend got up to leave, and I decided to try and enact the next phase of my plan: infiltrating inside. It was one thing to see the servants of this place, it was another thing to gain their trust and get to know them better. So, I let out a long, pleading meow as I followed him. He told me he wasn’t allowed to bring animals inside, but I continued to meow and paw at him until he finally caved. He scooped me up and brought me back inside. As we arrived inside, I got a good lay of the land. The servants were currently sitting down for lunch, and did not seem too happy that I had been brought in. My new friend made my case, however, spouting something about how ‘a cat would be good for morale’ and ‘they could help catch any critters that try and enter the kitchen’. Eventually, others started to join in as I walked around, all agreeing with the same lies. None of them wanted to say it, but I know exactly what they really wanted to say; “This cat is very sweet and we want to keep them as a pet”. After a few minutes of debate, I was given permission to stay on the grounds I did not cause trouble. I was even given a name and a collar. They named me Gabby, and I still have the collar to this day. Weeks started to pass, and I got to experience first-hand just how shit they were to their servants. Oftentimes they would come down on the verge of tears or crying outright after being chewed out for some dumbass reason, or be rushed due to receiving some almost impossible to fill request. My rage just built further and further as I saw these poor people suffer, definitely making my thirst for revenge all the worse. I knew it was time, and I just hoped that it would go well. Once the servants had gone to take on the day, I decided to finally drop the act. I turned myself back into my true form, a bit shaky and unfamiliar with being in a human body after spending 3 weeks as a cat. You forget how nice it is to be 6’2”, but it feels weird going back to being bipedal and not being covered in hair. I kept the collar on my neck to hopefully make it clear to them I was the creature they had befriended for all these weeks, and waited. I decided to brew myself a cup of tea as I waited, taking one last look around the downstairs of the manor to remember the kindness these people had shown. After my self-guided tour, I sat back down in the dining area and waited. I knew they’d be back for lunch eventually. Once they arrived down to begin lunch, they immediately froze as they saw me. With a wave of my finger, the doors slammed shut, and all 13 of them looked at me in fear. I stood up with a sigh as I put down the empty cup, and decided to spill the beans about who I really was. I told them all about my time these last few weeks, how truly sorry I felt for them that they were being forced to work for such horrid people, and how I meant them no harm. I opened the doors back up to them, even used my magic to bring the lunch in for them to enjoy, and told them I would leave if they desired. They still seemed scared, but decided to humor me as they slowly sat down to eat. As we continued discussing things, I extended them a lifeline that I knew many of them wanted desperately. Mona and I were very lonely in the tower that had been created for us, it was quite large and seemed a waste to use it to just for two women who used a combined total of maybe 7 rooms, including the bathrooms. I offered them employment back at my tower, making sure they knew they were free to refuse. The lunch was wrapping up, so I told them to take the rest of their limited break to think about it. I bid them good day, and made my way out of the downstairs back to the outside. I did not want to tell them I planned to kill their current employers, so I only hoped that they would join as a whole and I would not be forced to scare the rest of them off with what was about to occur next. By sheer luck, only a few hours had passed before the halfling, who I now knew as Bartholomew, found me in the garden. It was growing late, the sun was setting, but there was still plenty of time before the real plan could start. He reported that the servants had discussed it over many times, and that they agreed to my offer. They would return to my town to serve new Ladies who might actually appreciate them. As their dinner time rolled around, I returned back downstairs and heard it again from them. Many were just excited to leave, some seemed hesitant but said they would be willing to take the offer and see if it was better indeed, and the rest said they were just excited for a change of scenery. With a smile, I took off my hat and pulled out a few scrolls of teleportation. Within the span of their dinner, each of them had been sent to our manor with a note from me to explain the situation to Mona. I had instructed them to not tell the truth about how I found them, just that I had found them during my travels and invited them to work for us. I made sure they knew not to say which noble’s house they came from, as to not raise any alarms for Mona, just that they were seeking better employment and had found their way to us. Once the last of them was gone, it was time to enact the real plan. I didn’t want to be coy, or subtle about it, I wanted them to know their doom was coming. I stepped into the main foyer, and transformed into my Nightmare Corvid form. I let out a piercing shriek as I began to tear through their house, causing all three of them to arrive with a look of shock and fear. I laid my eyes on them, and they ran into their drawing room. I made sure to burst through the front, causing quite the commotion. The townsfolk saw me plain as day, tearing through windows and walls without a care in the world. To them, I was just one of these hellish abominations destroying this manor, succeeding in the attack that had occurred 3 years ago. As I slammed through the barred doors of the drawing room, I turned myself back to normal and set my hands ablaze. Immediately the carpet under me caught, followed by the furniture I passed, and the wooden supports nearby. They were absolutely terrified, quivering in fear as they saw my grinning, crazed face getting closer and closer. “Do you remember me?” I asked, holding my hands up to let a pillar of flames begin to consume the entire room behind me. “Did you even bother to learn my name after I nearly died protecting you? Do you remember his name?!” The flames began to collect into a form near me, the form of my fallen comrade, the form of the one I convinced myself would want this and that this was all for. Magnus stood there for a second before the flames spread even further, consuming his form as the flames drew closer and closer. “He died protecting your worthless existence. He died because you fucked around with forces you shouldn’t! It’s your fault he was killed, now you’ve got to see the true consequences of your selfish, horrid actions!” The flames began to collect into a new form, that of chains that lashed out and wrapped themselves around their arms, necks and legs. The chains pulled them to the ground, their pathetic voices screaming out and begging for mercy. They apologized for trying to gain the favor of a devil, insisting that they could make it worth my wild if I spared them and reported back to the Archdevil I worked for that the job had been finished. I just laughed, and laughed, and laughed as I forced their heads up to look me in the eyes. Why was I laughing so much? I just couldn’t control myself, it was just so funny! They thought I was some grand creature of hell coming to finish the job! I pulled the chains tighter as the flames began to make their way up their bodies, making sure each of them heard me through the maniacal cackling. I pulled my hat off, sending it away so they could get a good look at the face of their killer. “You think I work for one of them? Ha ha ha ha! I am Catherine Louise! Mistress of Flames, Master of Forms! I don’t work for some fucking devil!” With a burning hand in front of me, I placed a rune onto each of their heads. “A visitor from hell would have been far, far nicer than me…” With a snap of my fingers, a casting of Slow Immolation had been cast on each of them. The runes flared to life, and their bodies burst into flames, their shared screams filling the burning room as it began to collapse around them. I could see fire spewing from their mouths as they writhed in pain, the chains disappearing from around them. They collapsed as they tried to roll out of the flames, and I could only watch my handy work. Helena was the first to go still, the flames turning her from woman, to skeleton, to ash in a matter of seconds. Zavier was the next to fall, and finally, down went Cordelia. Their ashes were swept up in the inferno, erasing all traces of their worthless forms. With my handiwork complete, I calmly made my way out of the manor. The flames parted for me as I went out the back, running a burning hand over their precious and treasured garden to let it be consumed as well. As I got to the river, I just watched it burn with a smile. The manor started to collapse as the flames engulfed the structure, lighting up the darkness of the night like a mini sun, smoke rising into the air and carrying the ashes of truly awful people into the sky. It was done. The house of Goradel had been wiped off the face of history and their bloodline destroyed. I think it would be best to end my story corner here for the time being…I know I have taken up much of your time, and for that I apologize. I have many things to apologize for, including the crimes I have just confessed above. I truly regret my actions that day, I have the presence of mind to know now I was starting to lose myself. Things will only get worse from this point on, but it’s important that it be known. I swear, I have changed, but these are secrets that should have come to light centuries ago. Until next time…thank you again. |
2024.05.27 18:50 FabulousEntrance8447 Computer Repair in Bhandup
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2024.05.27 18:29 OriginalPapaya8 The Agrale Marruá, a rugged off roader used by the Brazilian military. Long post.
 | The Agrale Marruá is part of the Brazilian Army fleet and several other security forces. A truly 4×4 car, robust and with excellent off-road performance. submitted by OriginalPapaya8 to Offroad [link] [comments] ORIGINS Its origins unite two Brazilian automakers, the current Agrale and the extinct Engesa Brasil. It all started with this second automaker, which was a large manufacturer of military vehicles, including trucks and tanks. In 1984, Engesa brought the EE-12 to the market, a 4×4 off-roader completely developed on Brazilian soil, using Brazilian components. From 1985 onwards, the civilian public had access to this vehicle, which was renamed Engesa 4. This car initially had the Chevrolet 151 4-cylinder, 2.5-liter engine, the same as the Opala line. The EE-12 ended up being approved by the Brazilian army. However, in the 1990s, Engesa went bankrupt and several projects ended up dying along with the company. In 1994, Envesa, a company from Londrina – PR, managed to acquire some models at an Engesa auction, made some modifications and resold them under the name Envesa. In 2003, Agrale, an automaker from Rio Grande do Sul, acquired the design and manufacturing rights from the companies Columbus and Ceppe, which had the rights to the Engesa off-roader since the 2000s. Agrale saw the market opportunity and made the decision to invest around R$11 million reais to continue developing the project and try to launch its serial production in 2004, and that is how the Agrale Marruá was born. Marruá is a word to describe a wild ox, an undomesticated bull that escapes the herd and ends up becoming more “wild”. APPROVAL IN THE ARMY After the projects were subjected to severe tests of maximum inclination, maximum ramp, weight supported, and many other tests, it was then approved by the army. This project, named AM2, had a galvanized steel body, manufactured by Engesa itself. This structure also facilitates the installation of a shielding system. It was equipped with a 2.8-liter MWM 4.07 TCA diesel engine with 135 hp, 4×4 traction with the car coupled in motion and still maintained the Engesa suspension using coil springs. The load capacity was 500 kg or 1102,31 lbs and it could receive various army weapons to be attached to it. CIVIL USE In November 2004, 100 units were presented for civilian use. This version received small changes, including the electrical system, auxiliary headlights and the front windshield. In addition to civil use, the Marruá also began to conquer the heavy services sector such as mining, reforestation and network maintenance. RELEASES AND UPDATES In 2005 a new variant appeared, the AM-100 model; with a military version and metal bed. The AM-11 with 4 doors and capacity for 750 kg or 1653.47 lbs and also a version for the Fire Department. In 2012, the Agrale Marruá EV was presented at the United Nations Conference on Sustainable Development – Rio +20, a project developed jointly with Itaipu Binacional and Stola do Brasil. In 2015, the new generation of the Agrale Marruá 4×4 was presented. The newest launch occurred in 2019 with the armored Agrale Marruá AM-200 Double Cab, a vehicle built for use mainly by the Armed Forces and Public Security. It offers Level III ‘Plus’ ballistic protection, providing maximum protection to crew members during security actions and missions. INTERNATIONALIZATION The Agrale Marruá, in addition to being part of Brazil's three armed forces: Brazilian Navy, Brazilian Army and Brazilian Air Force, also caught the attention of other countries and was exported to Angola, Argentina, Namibia, for the UN peacekeeping mission in Haiti, Ecuador among others. CURRENT SPECS: These are from the Agrale Marruá AM 200 2022 version. ENGINE ·Installation: Front ·Layout: Longitudinal ·Aspiration: Turbocharger ·Power: Direct Injection ·Cylinders: 4 in line ·Valve Control: Single in the cylinder head ·Valves Per Cylinder: 2 ·Cylinder Diameter: 94 mm (3,7 in) ·Piston Stroke: 100 mm (3,937 in) ·Compression Ratio: 16.5:1 ·Engine Code: Cummins ISF ·Unit Displacement: 694 cm³ (42,3505 in³) ·Displacement: 2800 cm³ (170,8665 in³) ·Maximum Power: 150 hp ·Maximum Torque: 36.7 kgfm (24.6 lb/ft) ·Maximum Rotation: 3600 rpm TRANSMISSION ·Traction: Permanent Integral ·Type: Manual Transmission ·Gears: 5 ·Exchange Code: FSO 4505 E ·Coupling: Single Disc Dry Clutch SUSPENSION ·Front: Rigid axle with coil spring ·Rear: Rigid axle with semi-elliptic leaf springs BRAKES ·Front: Solid disc ·Rear: Drum DIRECTION ·Power Steering ·Turning Diameter: 16.7 m (54,79 ft) TIRES ·Front and Rear: 285/75 R16 ·Side Height: 214 mm (8,42 in) DIMENSIONS ·Length: 5.3 m (17’ 4,6”) ·Width: 2.16 m (7’ 1,039”) ·Wheelbase: 3.35 m (10’ 11,89”) ·Height: 1.97 m (6’ 5,559”) ·Vehicle Weight: 2910 kg (6415,452 lbs) ·Truck Bed Capacity: 1000 l ·Payload Capacity: 1390 kg (3064,425 lbs) ·Towing Capacity: 3800 kg (8377,566 lbs) ·Entry Angle: 54 degrees ·Exit Angle: 30 degrees ·Water Crossing: 80 cm (3,15 in) ·Maximum Ramp: 31 degrees ·Maximum Side Tilt: 17 degrees ·Minimum Height From Ground: 23 cm (0,9 in) PERFORMANCE ·Top Speed: 134.2 km/h (83,38 mph) FUEL ·Urban Consumption: 7.5 km/l (17,6 mpg) ·Highway Consumption: 10 km/l (23,5 mpg) ·Fuel Tank: 100 l (26,41 gal) EQUIPMENT ·ABS brakes ·Rear camera for maneuvers ·Fog lights ·Central door locking ·Rear parking sensors ·Central differential ·All-wheel drive ·Air conditioning ·Heater ·Power steering ·Automatic speed control ·Electric front window control ·Electric rear window control ·Electric adjustment of the mirrors ·GPS Navigator ·On-board computer |
2024.05.27 17:58 Zander823 Extermination Order #31.5: The Equippening
The Beginning Wiki Part Thirty-One (first half)
“Hey, Pyro, I was wondering something.”
“Ask away.”
“It’s your voice, and your vocabulary too. What’s the deal with that? Was it the spell doing that?”
“Right on the money. No spell, no obligate goofball. Thas’ not gon’ stop me from usin’ it if I’m feelin’ it, though. But it’s a bit stale by now.”
I sighed and admired the smoldering countryside, dotted by the expensive mansions of the wealthy, oppressor caste of demons. “Well it was Grunnus who did it, so I bet it was just to fuck with me.”
“Of course. He’s ‘funny’ that way.” He flicked his mane. “While we’re on the topic, you know the disguising as a normal horse deal? That’s gone too.”
“That’s crap. We’re supposed to be inconspicuous right now.”
There was another lull for a few minutes. “I’ve been thinking… about why I came back to you.”
“Oh? Because I’m nice, or something?”
“Nah, that’s not why I came back; more like a factor that kept the option open. No, it’s the worry. I can’t say I’ve ever seen you so deadly serious, and it’s about your own safety, too.”
I frowned. “Well, I am concerned. After all that I’ve researched, all I’ve read, it’s pointed me to a major rule in this world: Fate doesn’t want us GCs to die. Some shit always happens. A little odd nudge here, a sudden bout of incompetence there, or it all goes completely sideways at the last possible moment, all in the service of the GC living to fight another day. It’s a consistent thing, happens again and again with barely any logical explanation, and usually at the expense of the natives, who aren’t so generously covered.
“But it’s not set in stone. You’re dumb, you die. Maybe not the first dozen fuck ups, but it’ll getcha eventually. The problem… is that there’s an exception.”
“I suppose that’s when the chosen fight each other?”
“Yeah. Believe me, fate will try to stop them from dying, but two chosen can keep that dice roll repeating over and over again until someone’s luck runs out. Like a pair of drunks trading headbutts until someone gets a brain hemorrhage. And thank my unlucky stars, because the single thing we’re confident in right now is that it’s GCs that broke into my house. A team of 7, no less.”
He bobbed his head as he trotted. “That’s why I’m worried. Hecate was filling me in before you called her. She told me you were summoned to the search for Auseta, and that you ended up having to run around without me. It made me think real hard, and led me to a conclusion. You need me ready to go at a moment’s notice, no matter where, or when.
“Now I know I’ve said I hate it—and I do—but I think I should be in a catch orb in your pocket whenever you’re not in need of a mount.”
I was shocked into a 3-second silence. “Damn, wow, really? That’s not very freebird of you.”
“Don’t get me wrong, it’s not comfy, but right now, you’re the priority. Once this trouble passes we can have a long talk about changing things. I want to be loud! I want to be proud! I want to be the baddest motherfucking horse around, who carries the coldest sonofabitch at blazing speed; wherever the critters need roasting. And when we get there, I want to blaze half the things my damn self!” he boasted with a sassy trot.
I patted him on the shoulder, causing him to look back at me. “There’s only 1 thing I can say to that.”
(Simultaneously:) “Hell yeah, brother.”
……
We got home to a very cranky, half-slept Matti at the gate, with a few thousand not-very human (read: windy) footprints pacing a veritable trench into the driveway.
“Where the fuck were you?” she barked incredulously. “And what gaudy slop are you wearing?”
The wind could be heard huffing exasperatedly in the background.
“Didn’t you get my note?”
“Yeah, ‘I’ll be back soon, don’t worry’,” she paraphrased aggrievedly. “You gods-damned nut! It’s my job to worry! You’re not supposed to go anywhere without a full security detail.”
I waggled the lamp in front of her. “My security detail was at 98% power, thank you very much. I’ll tell you the rest later. For now, I think I’m finally ready to sleep.”
“You–”
“Hush a moment, Matti,” Pyroshir interjected. “What’s important is that we’re safely back now. There’s nothing good to come from a flared temper, so let’s head in and sleep before we say anything our rested selves might regret.”
Her brain visibly crashed, requiring a reboot. “What… happened to–”
“La-ter.”
……
Laying low: Day 4, morning, Drivellum-Lawson estate, breakfast nook.
“So he’s… free now?”
“yup.”
“And he’s staying in your service… of his own volition?”
“Pretty much.”
Matti rubbed her temple. “Why?”
“Because he couldn’t find it in himself to leave when things were getting interesting. Also, he said he wants to burn stuff with me later.”
She took a swig of her bloody mary. “No, the other… ugh, Chivos, make this make sense.”
We both looked at him, wearing his gossamer brand silk bathrobe. He paused combing his hair. “Matters of morality are not legally required to make sense. For my opinion on the matter, I believe you have surmised it already.”
I imitated his laser-cut diction. “While freeing your steed was an admirable pursuit, the timing chosen was poor, and the execution highly alarming to important security staff.”
“Hmm, yes,” he conceded with a yawn. We then clinked our coffees together and took large gulps.
Chivos set his cup down with a more serious expression. “I have heard back from the assorted agencies. Your attendance at Meridian Valley is greenlit. However there have been… a few magic items that you are required to wear.”
“Define ‘a few’.”
He stared into his drink. “... 3 crates.”
I didn’t say anything aloud, as my eyes were perfectly conveying ‘are you serious?’ to him in vivid detail.
“Crates?” Matti Balked. “You go over 20 and you risk… melting! Randomly!”
“Yes, we have a small team of energetic interaction specialists coming with the crates. Hubs, wrap up your business and be packed by tomorrow. It will take a while.”
……
“I have finished laundering your clothes, and I have taken the liberty of separating all damaged articles. I can have them mended by your return, and the same for your furniture.”
“Thank you, Droth, I appreciate it, but I want it all locked up proper this time.”
“But of course. I will see to it personally.”
I shifted the relevant bags across the sorting table and pointed to the next bunch. “These are all equipment. I don’t need you to do anything to these, just stow them.”
“Happily. What of this bunch tied with ribbon?”
Matti paused her usage of the reading nook.. “Those are mine. Please store, but do not open them.”
“Yup. And this one specifically is important documents. Please have Chivos take it to the vault and set it up for remote access.”
Mr. Slakendroth opened his mouth, then paused. “I do believe someone is at the door.”
He marched over and peeked out. “Ms. Hecate, is something amiss?”
They murmured a minute, then he shut the door and returned carrying an oblong parcel. “It seems a package has arrived for you.” He inspected the scribbles on the exterior. “The return address is coordinates in the Dreuhningst Mountains, and there are marks of inspection from the League of Conspicuous Evil, our local customs… and Hecate too.”
“It wouldn’t happen to be 722.02 by 156.25, would it?”
He looked again. “Indeed it is! A friend of yours?”
I shrugged. “Well, someone in the know, at least, and acceptably trustworthy too. Let’s see what she sent.”
The 3 of us crowded around the table as I donned the curse-proof magic gloves, for paranoia’s sake. I looked over the package, finding no further information on the exterior before tearing into the paper wrappings. Underneath was a carefully-prepared silk package, which I elected to bypass with vorpal goodness. Anticipation abounded as I tore away the layers to reveal…
A sword. Thin, of middling length, and narrow, with a shifting purple gemstone on the pommel.
Matti was briefly nonplussed, but then she gasped. “Is that the Gossamer Needle?”
“Mmmyup. A Gossamer Needle,” I muttered. The note tied around the hilt caught my attention. I liberated and unfolded it.
To my dearest contractor:
I, Lechia Uvembril Arachnis, offer the loaning of this blade to Dennis Lawson at the price of 2 free location clearing services. To draw the blade is to accept the offer, but you may carry it until this incident is resolved. May it bring a long, agonizing death to all who cross you in this trying time.
Until our next meeting.
Lechia.
I blinked, handed the note to Matti and grasped the implement of destruction. “There goes all that weapon loadout tuning, right out the window.”
Matti wilted upon reading the note. “Aww, I can’t hold it,” she pouted.
……
Laying low, day 5, 45 minutes late for lunch, Drivellum-Lawson Estate, Laboratory blast-suppression chamber.
A dark priest, wrapped in deep purple and blue robes, held one last ring in a pair of tongs.
“And now, the Band of the Whisper’s Will. Size 2.”
He extended it shakily towards my left pinkie, filling the room with a sharp tension. Tatanchael stopped combing my singed hair to cover my ash-stained face, shielding me further with her right wing. A sharp snap of electricity filled everyone’s ears… and my arm. I jerked briefly at the pain, but the ring went on and stayed on. The angelic embrace ended and Tatanchael resumed trying to clean the singings off my face.
“Can we recess for food, please?” I asked, dark green smog spilling from my mouth.
Rather than answer my question, a small, multi-faction peanut gallery instead jumped on my symptom. “Forestral fog, oral, heavy,” a scholastic demon called out. “Still within tolerances.”
“Uhh.”
The dark mage answered for the distracted nincompoops. “Absolutely not. Until final equilibrium is achieved, you must not leave this sigil. Your life may depend on it.”
“Man, I’d be fine with a stale granola bar at this point. What’s next on the agenda?”
Dark and moody placed the next box on his little table. “The rest of the rings.”
I stared him down, deadpan, and held up my hands, and the eight-fuckin’-teen rings (argued down to only 1 per thumb). “Where? Wheeerrrreee will you put them?” I asked, animatedly swinging my arms, jingling at 90 decibels.
“These are the toe rings, Mr Lawson.”
I wanted to punch him, but I bottled it up and relaxed my posture. “At this point I doubt there’s anything that can harm me besides this wasp nest of crap I’m wearing.”
He did not respond, instead resuming his duty of carefully dressing me.
“Oh, you poor thing,” Tatanchael cooed honestly. “Always a victim of everyone else’s stupidity.”
She somehow managed to be completely sincere, and sharply sarcastic at once, something a few angels were remarkably skilled at. I didn’t feel the need to add onto it, and fate handed me a better blip of comedy than I ever could have thought up myself. For as the first toe-ring slid onto my foot, I felt an odd sensation of aching and vertigo. Rather abruptly, my pants were a bit short, and I was sporting a bare midriff.
“Increased height, 5 inches,” the scholar demon called out.
A high-city librarian in the back then held up a sheet of paper with a grid on it, and a line through said grid.
“BINGO!”
…Two hours later…
“Waddya mean I can’t take them off?” I yelped indignantly. “How am I supposed to sleep?”
The demon scholar looked up from his ever-thickening sheaf of notes. “Mr Lawson, please, it is only 3 days. Allowances for rest and hygiene have been made.”
“Can sleep doesn’t mean want to sleep!” I squawked. “It’s a miracle I’m still in one piece! I don’t want to hit the sack and evaporate mid snore!”
“I must concur with Mr Lawson,” Tatanchael threw in. “The risks seem quite outsized compared to the benefits. Now that the combination is proven stable, and adequately tested, why not strip it off in favor of a faster re-equipping tomorrow?”
“Because it is not adequately tested, you featherbrained buffoon. Not only that, but the energetics of the myriad relics are attuning to a stable harmonic setpoint. To separate them now would only inflame their magicka! Not that I expect an angel to know that.”
The angel snarled. “Pleasantries are only extended to you as a courtesy, hellspawn. One more arrogant word out of that foul mouth and I will invert your healing setpoint.”
He cocked his head in confusion as her threat blossomed like a deathly flower. “Every soft, comfortable sensation will turn to unbearable pain as your body willfully rots itself from the inside out, blissfully unaware that is not repairing wounds, but manufacturing them. Only the excruciating sting of harmful magic would hold it at bay, for a while.”
Whilst the grim soliloquy played out, delving into how she would pay his insurance to keep putting him back together so he could start the cycle all over (what a gem, amirite?) I tested out one of the earrings forced on me. With it, I composed a psychic message that sent right to someone who had the gravitas to shut those idiots the hell up. With a flash of flame, Hecate appeared from her lamp, wearing an unamused frown.
She slapped the demon across his cheek and pointed menacingly. “Antagonism has no place in a joint mission of this import.”
Right as Tatanchael started to grin, she caught a seraphic hammerfist atop her head. “And you! Bait is for fish, and yet here you are, dangling from the devil’s hook.” A rebuttal was swiftly squashed with a hand over the mouth. “Save it for your weekly counseling.”
……
Some time later, in the secure room after scarfing down a reheated meal.
“Hecate?”
Her face appeared as a small flame from the lamp. “Yes?”
“Are… angels just psychotic or something? No offense, but y’all’re 3 for 3 in recent times.”
“I take no offense, though I must disagree. Even setting aside my status as not a true angel, I am simply designed to enjoy immolation and destruction by my hand, in a manner that scales with the quantity, challenge, and necessity of it. That is simply a feature that enables me to carry out the purging of a fractured world without pause.”
I sighed. “Okay, fine. I don’t feel like arguing semantics, or your mental state. What about Nidael?”
“Moreso a tragedy. I have witnessed it again and again, the true angels marching off from the heavens hoping to do good. But they are so susceptible to those around them. You surely know that the castle in which she works is a den of justified atrocities. It is the banal festering of moral intentions that slowly guides one to a self-justified path of infliction and suffering. I, for one, am glad you outed her, for it finally gave her superiors cause to recall her.”
“Ugh. Next you’ll tell me that Tatanchael is just a flawed little good girl or whatever.”
“No, she has diagnosed psychotic tendencies.”
“What?”
“Worry not. They manifest as hostility towards those who are not under her charge, so you are safe. It is well within the tolerances to remain an effective guardian angel.”
I shook my head with a smarmy expression. “Women.”
“That is not a funny joke. Say it again, and I will burn you, understand?
“Yes, ma’am.”
I rolled off the chair and onto the adjacent bed. With a deep exhale, I came to an epiphany. I once thought the demons were one-note scheming villains, who would double-cross, blackmail, and cheat their way to the top of the ladder, or towards the end goal of stealing your soul. They still were all of that, of course, but that was barely a third of what made them… them. When I looked past that loud minority of their hearts and souls, I saw that they were just people, even if a bit spicier.
Then my assumptions of the angels were falling into the same track. I assumed they were all sunshine and rainbows of perfectionism and exceptionalism. As with the demons, it was turning out to be both true and not their whole self. That wasn’t the epiphany, though.
The epiphany was that I had figured out the Hells and the demons in great depth and detail, and I somehow did not immediately take that knowledge and invert it slightly to apply to the literal opposite zone of the Heavens. I could have figured them out 20 years ago. Instead, I ignored them because they were boring and annoying.
And that right there was the epiphany: That I’m still kinda dumb sometimes.
……
Laying low, Day 6, morning, Drivellum-Lawson estate, portal room.
Mr. Droth read off the address book on its lectern. “Change portal alignment! Co-ordinates, 2, 5, 8, D, E, S, 16, A.”
Runes were placed into the configurable floor sigil with a sound effect that would make your average SG1 fan squint with suspicion.
“The portal is open. Confirming safety.”
Whilst our dear butler ran down his sacred checklist, I eyed Chivos, who was rather uncharacteristically dressed in khaki, with rolled sleeves and shorts, and a pith-like helmet. He also carried a ballistaff, a weapon analogous to an airbow, bearing the same implications of rich laziness and gadget-obsession.
“I can’t say I’ve seen you in your safari getup before.”
“I have neglected to invite you on such excursions in the past, owing to our busy schedules, and the work-adjacent nature exotic game hunts would have for you.” He adjusted his collar. “And today, said hobby will provide a sufficient explanation for my presence.”
“Hmm, yeah, that sounds about right. Some of the GCs at Meridian should get a kick out of the getup.”
“The portal is now ready, gentlemen!” Mr. Droth called out.
“Oh, good! Let’s roll,” I began, putting my best foot forward.
Matti appeared from my peripheral vision. “Not so fast. We go first, you follow after. Stick to the plan.”
I gave her a pouty frown, then jingle-jangled my over-equipped butt back to where I started. They proceeded on through the portal without me, and I awaited the signal to proceed. And waited. And waited. It felt like:
……
But it was actually about 2:45. I finally got the call to head through, so I stuck out my arms and jogged forward with them flapping ungracefully.
“HEY GUYS, WAIT UUUUUP!”
The Cover Art
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“Hey, Pyro, I was wondering something.”
“Ask away.”
“It’s your voice, and your vocabulary too. What’s the deal with that? Was it the spell doing that?”
“Right on the money. No spell, no obligate goofball. Thas’ not gon’ stop me from usin’ it if I’m feelin’ it, though. But it’s a bit stale by now.”
I sighed and admired the smoldering countryside, dotted by the expensive mansions of the wealthy, oppressor caste of demons. “Well it was Grunnus who did it, so I bet it was just to fuck with me.”
“Of course. He’s ‘funny’ that way.” He flicked his mane. “While we’re on the topic, you know the disguising as a normal horse deal? That’s gone too.”
“That’s crap. We’re supposed to be inconspicuous right now.”
There was another lull for a few minutes. “I’ve been thinking… about why I came back to you.”
“Oh? Because I’m nice, or something?”
“Nah, that’s not why I came back; more like a factor that kept the option open. No, it’s the worry. I can’t say I’ve ever seen you so deadly serious, and it’s about your own safety, too.”
I frowned. “Well, I am concerned. After all that I’ve researched, all I’ve read, it’s pointed me to a major rule in this world: Fate doesn’t want us GCs to die. Some shit always happens. A little odd nudge here, a sudden bout of incompetence there, or it all goes completely sideways at the last possible moment, all in the service of the GC living to fight another day. It’s a consistent thing, happens again and again with barely any logical explanation, and usually at the expense of the natives, who aren’t so generously covered.
“But it’s not set in stone. You’re dumb, you die. Maybe not the first dozen fuck ups, but it’ll getcha eventually. The problem… is that there’s an exception.”
“I suppose that’s when the chosen fight each other?”
“Yeah. Believe me, fate will try to stop them from dying, but two chosen can keep that dice roll repeating over and over again until someone’s luck runs out. Like a pair of drunks trading headbutts until someone gets a brain hemorrhage. And thank my unlucky stars, because the single thing we’re confident in right now is that it’s GCs that broke into my house. A team of 7, no less.”
He bobbed his head as he trotted. “That’s why I’m worried. Hecate was filling me in before you called her. She told me you were summoned to the search for Auseta, and that you ended up having to run around without me. It made me think real hard, and led me to a conclusion. You need me ready to go at a moment’s notice, no matter where, or when.
“Now I know I’ve said I hate it—and I do—but I think I should be in a catch orb in your pocket whenever you’re not in need of a mount.”
I was shocked into a 3-second silence. “Damn, wow, really? That’s not very freebird of you.”
“Don’t get me wrong, it’s not comfy, but right now, you’re the priority. Once this trouble passes we can have a long talk about changing things. I want to be loud! I want to be proud! I want to be the baddest motherfucking horse around, who carries the coldest sonofabitch at blazing speed; wherever the critters need roasting. And when we get there, I want to blaze half the things my damn self!” he boasted with a sassy trot.
I patted him on the shoulder, causing him to look back at me. “There’s only 1 thing I can say to that.”
(Simultaneously:) “Hell yeah, brother.”
……
We got home to a very cranky, half-slept Matti at the gate, with a few thousand not-very human (read: windy) footprints pacing a veritable trench into the driveway.
“Where the fuck were you?” she barked incredulously. “And what gaudy slop are you wearing?”
The wind could be heard huffing exasperatedly in the background.
“Didn’t you get my note?”
“Yeah, ‘I’ll be back soon, don’t worry’,” she paraphrased aggrievedly. “You gods-damned nut! It’s my job to worry! You’re not supposed to go anywhere without a full security detail.”
I waggled the lamp in front of her. “My security detail was at 98% power, thank you very much. I’ll tell you the rest later. For now, I think I’m finally ready to sleep.”
“You–”
“Hush a moment, Matti,” Pyroshir interjected. “What’s important is that we’re safely back now. There’s nothing good to come from a flared temper, so let’s head in and sleep before we say anything our rested selves might regret.”
Her brain visibly crashed, requiring a reboot. “What… happened to–”
“La-ter.”
……
Laying low: Day 4, morning, Drivellum-Lawson estate, breakfast nook.
“So he’s… free now?”
“yup.”
“And he’s staying in your service… of his own volition?”
“Pretty much.”
Matti rubbed her temple. “Why?”
“Because he couldn’t find it in himself to leave when things were getting interesting. Also, he said he wants to burn stuff with me later.”
She took a swig of her bloody mary. “No, the other… ugh, Chivos, make this make sense.”
We both looked at him, wearing his gossamer brand silk bathrobe. He paused combing his hair. “Matters of morality are not legally required to make sense. For my opinion on the matter, I believe you have surmised it already.”
I imitated his laser-cut diction. “While freeing your steed was an admirable pursuit, the timing chosen was poor, and the execution highly alarming to important security staff.”
“Hmm, yes,” he conceded with a yawn. We then clinked our coffees together and took large gulps.
Chivos set his cup down with a more serious expression. “I have heard back from the assorted agencies. Your attendance at Meridian Valley is greenlit. However there have been… a few magic items that you are required to wear.”
“Define ‘a few’.”
He stared into his drink. “... 3 crates.”
I didn’t say anything aloud, as my eyes were perfectly conveying ‘are you serious?’ to him in vivid detail.
“Crates?” Matti Balked. “You go over 20 and you risk… melting! Randomly!”
“Yes, we have a small team of energetic interaction specialists coming with the crates. Hubs, wrap up your business and be packed by tomorrow. It will take a while.”
……
“I have finished laundering your clothes, and I have taken the liberty of separating all damaged articles. I can have them mended by your return, and the same for your furniture.”
“Thank you, Droth, I appreciate it, but I want it all locked up proper this time.”
“But of course. I will see to it personally.”
I shifted the relevant bags across the sorting table and pointed to the next bunch. “These are all equipment. I don’t need you to do anything to these, just stow them.”
“Happily. What of this bunch tied with ribbon?”
Matti paused her usage of the reading nook.. “Those are mine. Please store, but do not open them.”
“Yup. And this one specifically is important documents. Please have Chivos take it to the vault and set it up for remote access.”
Mr. Slakendroth opened his mouth, then paused. “I do believe someone is at the door.”
He marched over and peeked out. “Ms. Hecate, is something amiss?”
They murmured a minute, then he shut the door and returned carrying an oblong parcel. “It seems a package has arrived for you.” He inspected the scribbles on the exterior. “The return address is coordinates in the Dreuhningst Mountains, and there are marks of inspection from the League of Conspicuous Evil, our local customs… and Hecate too.”
“It wouldn’t happen to be 722.02 by 156.25, would it?”
He looked again. “Indeed it is! A friend of yours?”
I shrugged. “Well, someone in the know, at least, and acceptably trustworthy too. Let’s see what she sent.”
The 3 of us crowded around the table as I donned the curse-proof magic gloves, for paranoia’s sake. I looked over the package, finding no further information on the exterior before tearing into the paper wrappings. Underneath was a carefully-prepared silk package, which I elected to bypass with vorpal goodness. Anticipation abounded as I tore away the layers to reveal…
A sword. Thin, of middling length, and narrow, with a shifting purple gemstone on the pommel.
Matti was briefly nonplussed, but then she gasped. “Is that the Gossamer Needle?”
“Mmmyup. A Gossamer Needle,” I muttered. The note tied around the hilt caught my attention. I liberated and unfolded it.
To my dearest contractor:
I, Lechia Uvembril Arachnis, offer the loaning of this blade to Dennis Lawson at the price of 2 free location clearing services. To draw the blade is to accept the offer, but you may carry it until this incident is resolved. May it bring a long, agonizing death to all who cross you in this trying time.
Until our next meeting.
Lechia.
I blinked, handed the note to Matti and grasped the implement of destruction. “There goes all that weapon loadout tuning, right out the window.”
Matti wilted upon reading the note. “Aww, I can’t hold it,” she pouted.
……
Laying low, day 5, 45 minutes late for lunch, Drivellum-Lawson Estate, Laboratory blast-suppression chamber.
A dark priest, wrapped in deep purple and blue robes, held one last ring in a pair of tongs.
“And now, the Band of the Whisper’s Will. Size 2.”
He extended it shakily towards my left pinkie, filling the room with a sharp tension. Tatanchael stopped combing my singed hair to cover my ash-stained face, shielding me further with her right wing. A sharp snap of electricity filled everyone’s ears… and my arm. I jerked briefly at the pain, but the ring went on and stayed on. The angelic embrace ended and Tatanchael resumed trying to clean the singings off my face.
“Can we recess for food, please?” I asked, dark green smog spilling from my mouth.
Rather than answer my question, a small, multi-faction peanut gallery instead jumped on my symptom. “Forestral fog, oral, heavy,” a scholastic demon called out. “Still within tolerances.”
“Uhh.”
The dark mage answered for the distracted nincompoops. “Absolutely not. Until final equilibrium is achieved, you must not leave this sigil. Your life may depend on it.”
“Man, I’d be fine with a stale granola bar at this point. What’s next on the agenda?”
Dark and moody placed the next box on his little table. “The rest of the rings.”
I stared him down, deadpan, and held up my hands, and the eight-fuckin’-teen rings (argued down to only 1 per thumb). “Where? Wheeerrrreee will you put them?” I asked, animatedly swinging my arms, jingling at 90 decibels.
“These are the toe rings, Mr Lawson.”
I wanted to punch him, but I bottled it up and relaxed my posture. “At this point I doubt there’s anything that can harm me besides this wasp nest of crap I’m wearing.”
He did not respond, instead resuming his duty of carefully dressing me.
“Oh, you poor thing,” Tatanchael cooed honestly. “Always a victim of everyone else’s stupidity.”
She somehow managed to be completely sincere, and sharply sarcastic at once, something a few angels were remarkably skilled at. I didn’t feel the need to add onto it, and fate handed me a better blip of comedy than I ever could have thought up myself. For as the first toe-ring slid onto my foot, I felt an odd sensation of aching and vertigo. Rather abruptly, my pants were a bit short, and I was sporting a bare midriff.
“Increased height, 5 inches,” the scholar demon called out.
A high-city librarian in the back then held up a sheet of paper with a grid on it, and a line through said grid.
“BINGO!”
…Two hours later…
“Waddya mean I can’t take them off?” I yelped indignantly. “How am I supposed to sleep?”
The demon scholar looked up from his ever-thickening sheaf of notes. “Mr Lawson, please, it is only 3 days. Allowances for rest and hygiene have been made.”
“Can sleep doesn’t mean want to sleep!” I squawked. “It’s a miracle I’m still in one piece! I don’t want to hit the sack and evaporate mid snore!”
“I must concur with Mr Lawson,” Tatanchael threw in. “The risks seem quite outsized compared to the benefits. Now that the combination is proven stable, and adequately tested, why not strip it off in favor of a faster re-equipping tomorrow?”
“Because it is not adequately tested, you featherbrained buffoon. Not only that, but the energetics of the myriad relics are attuning to a stable harmonic setpoint. To separate them now would only inflame their magicka! Not that I expect an angel to know that.”
The angel snarled. “Pleasantries are only extended to you as a courtesy, hellspawn. One more arrogant word out of that foul mouth and I will invert your healing setpoint.”
He cocked his head in confusion as her threat blossomed like a deathly flower. “Every soft, comfortable sensation will turn to unbearable pain as your body willfully rots itself from the inside out, blissfully unaware that is not repairing wounds, but manufacturing them. Only the excruciating sting of harmful magic would hold it at bay, for a while.”
Whilst the grim soliloquy played out, delving into how she would pay his insurance to keep putting him back together so he could start the cycle all over (what a gem, amirite?) I tested out one of the earrings forced on me. With it, I composed a psychic message that sent right to someone who had the gravitas to shut those idiots the hell up. With a flash of flame, Hecate appeared from her lamp, wearing an unamused frown.
She slapped the demon across his cheek and pointed menacingly. “Antagonism has no place in a joint mission of this import.”
Right as Tatanchael started to grin, she caught a seraphic hammerfist atop her head. “And you! Bait is for fish, and yet here you are, dangling from the devil’s hook.” A rebuttal was swiftly squashed with a hand over the mouth. “Save it for your weekly counseling.”
……
Some time later, in the secure room after scarfing down a reheated meal.
“Hecate?”
Her face appeared as a small flame from the lamp. “Yes?”
“Are… angels just psychotic or something? No offense, but y’all’re 3 for 3 in recent times.”
“I take no offense, though I must disagree. Even setting aside my status as not a true angel, I am simply designed to enjoy immolation and destruction by my hand, in a manner that scales with the quantity, challenge, and necessity of it. That is simply a feature that enables me to carry out the purging of a fractured world without pause.”
I sighed. “Okay, fine. I don’t feel like arguing semantics, or your mental state. What about Nidael?”
“Moreso a tragedy. I have witnessed it again and again, the true angels marching off from the heavens hoping to do good. But they are so susceptible to those around them. You surely know that the castle in which she works is a den of justified atrocities. It is the banal festering of moral intentions that slowly guides one to a self-justified path of infliction and suffering. I, for one, am glad you outed her, for it finally gave her superiors cause to recall her.”
“Ugh. Next you’ll tell me that Tatanchael is just a flawed little good girl or whatever.”
“No, she has diagnosed psychotic tendencies.”
“What?”
“Worry not. They manifest as hostility towards those who are not under her charge, so you are safe. It is well within the tolerances to remain an effective guardian angel.”
I shook my head with a smarmy expression. “Women.”
“That is not a funny joke. Say it again, and I will burn you, understand?
“Yes, ma’am.”
I rolled off the chair and onto the adjacent bed. With a deep exhale, I came to an epiphany. I once thought the demons were one-note scheming villains, who would double-cross, blackmail, and cheat their way to the top of the ladder, or towards the end goal of stealing your soul. They still were all of that, of course, but that was barely a third of what made them… them. When I looked past that loud minority of their hearts and souls, I saw that they were just people, even if a bit spicier.
Then my assumptions of the angels were falling into the same track. I assumed they were all sunshine and rainbows of perfectionism and exceptionalism. As with the demons, it was turning out to be both true and not their whole self. That wasn’t the epiphany, though.
The epiphany was that I had figured out the Hells and the demons in great depth and detail, and I somehow did not immediately take that knowledge and invert it slightly to apply to the literal opposite zone of the Heavens. I could have figured them out 20 years ago. Instead, I ignored them because they were boring and annoying.
And that right there was the epiphany: That I’m still kinda dumb sometimes.
……
Laying low, Day 6, morning, Drivellum-Lawson estate, portal room.
Mr. Droth read off the address book on its lectern. “Change portal alignment! Co-ordinates, 2, 5, 8, D, E, S, 16, A.”
Runes were placed into the configurable floor sigil with a sound effect that would make your average SG1 fan squint with suspicion.
“The portal is open. Confirming safety.”
Whilst our dear butler ran down his sacred checklist, I eyed Chivos, who was rather uncharacteristically dressed in khaki, with rolled sleeves and shorts, and a pith-like helmet. He also carried a ballistaff, a weapon analogous to an airbow, bearing the same implications of rich laziness and gadget-obsession.
“I can’t say I’ve seen you in your safari getup before.”
“I have neglected to invite you on such excursions in the past, owing to our busy schedules, and the work-adjacent nature exotic game hunts would have for you.” He adjusted his collar. “And today, said hobby will provide a sufficient explanation for my presence.”
“Hmm, yeah, that sounds about right. Some of the GCs at Meridian should get a kick out of the getup.”
“The portal is now ready, gentlemen!” Mr. Droth called out.
“Oh, good! Let’s roll,” I began, putting my best foot forward.
Matti appeared from my peripheral vision. “Not so fast. We go first, you follow after. Stick to the plan.”
I gave her a pouty frown, then jingle-jangled my over-equipped butt back to where I started. They proceeded on through the portal without me, and I awaited the signal to proceed. And waited. And waited. It felt like:
……
But it was actually about 2:45. I finally got the call to head through, so I stuck out my arms and jogged forward with them flapping ungracefully.
“HEY GUYS, WAIT UUUUUP!”
Afterword
The Beginning Wiki Part Thirty-One (first half)The Cover Art
ko-fi art fund
2024.05.27 16:42 jasonacg Springhill Escondido...No Elevators all week!
Spent last week at this property. Neither of the two elevators was in service during my entire stay. So my room became a fourth-floor walk-up for the entire stay. To make matters worse, my room was right next to a stairwell. This is usually a quieter end of the hallway, but when all foot traffic has to go by the room, and the fire door always closes loudly, it was anything but a peaceful stay.
My theory is that the property had already lost one elevator, and they deferred maintenance on it instead of getting it repaired. Then, the second one went out of service, and they were left with nothing. With no sign of a repair crew on the property for my entire stay, there appeared to be no urgency to get it fixed. I guess there's nothing in the budget to take care of the problem.
And surprise, surprise...you can't leave a review for them on the Marriott site.
submitted by jasonacg to marriott [link] [comments]
My theory is that the property had already lost one elevator, and they deferred maintenance on it instead of getting it repaired. Then, the second one went out of service, and they were left with nothing. With no sign of a repair crew on the property for my entire stay, there appeared to be no urgency to get it fixed. I guess there's nothing in the budget to take care of the problem.
And surprise, surprise...you can't leave a review for them on the Marriott site.
2024.05.27 15:34 peacegrrrl Aging in place is such a burden on the family.
My mother lives in the home she and my Dad built and retired in, the interior designed with aging in place in mind. Dad is gone now, Mother is 89 with dementia, and we have hired caregivers to be there with her. There are multiple family members in the area, though about 40 minutes drive away, me included. Seems like a great setup, right?
There are multiple problems, however. The home was built in 1989 so is pretty aged. Something is always needing repair. The power and phones go out frequently. It is in a rural area so companies that service that area are limited. The 11 acres, though very wooded, has a large lawn to mow. In the last couple of weeks she needed her gutters cleaned, she has a termite invasion in the detached garage that has compromised the garage door, her bushes are way overgrown, the basement wall has a disturbing crack in it, she needed a phone replaced, etc.
With other family members limiting what they will agree to help with, I have been trying to arrange for all these repairs, cleaning out the garage for the termite treatment, etc. I am a single working mom with my own family and home to take care of, but am burdened with all this.
My parents planned somewhat well, but not for the extended time of infirmary that is dementia. The funds will run out in a few years, and even quicker if we sink them into all this work that needs to be done.
I can handle the care. It’s the damn home upkeep that is killing me!
submitted by peacegrrrl to dementia [link] [comments]
There are multiple problems, however. The home was built in 1989 so is pretty aged. Something is always needing repair. The power and phones go out frequently. It is in a rural area so companies that service that area are limited. The 11 acres, though very wooded, has a large lawn to mow. In the last couple of weeks she needed her gutters cleaned, she has a termite invasion in the detached garage that has compromised the garage door, her bushes are way overgrown, the basement wall has a disturbing crack in it, she needed a phone replaced, etc.
With other family members limiting what they will agree to help with, I have been trying to arrange for all these repairs, cleaning out the garage for the termite treatment, etc. I am a single working mom with my own family and home to take care of, but am burdened with all this.
My parents planned somewhat well, but not for the extended time of infirmary that is dementia. The funds will run out in a few years, and even quicker if we sink them into all this work that needs to be done.
I can handle the care. It’s the damn home upkeep that is killing me!
2024.05.27 14:20 gcorelabs Top 10 Container Orchestration Tools
 | https://preview.redd.it/e6vtvmv1ny2d1.jpg?width=1600&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=3f5d48ffd2371d93d6ecc194bb58e7350276edb7 submitted by gcorelabs to gcoreofficial [link] [comments] We’re unveiling ten different orchestration tools for managing containerized applications and automating their deployment process. The Importance of Container Orchestration Containers have revolutionized how we distribute applications by allowing replicated test environments, portability, resource efficiency, scalability and unmatched isolation capabilities. While containers help us package applications for easier deployment and updating, we need a set of specialized tools to manage them. To help with this, orchestration tools provide the framework through which we automate containerized workloads. Such tools help DevOps teams to manage the lifecycle of containers, and therefore implement their networking, load balancing, provisioning, scaling and more. As a result, orchestration tools help teams unlock the full benefits of containerization by offering application resilience, improved security and simplified operations. Tasks performed using container orchestration tools include:
List of Top Container Orchestration Tools Kubernetes Kubernetes was developed by Google in 2008 and handed over to the Cloud Native Computing Foundation in 2014. As one of the most popular open-source container orchestration tool, Kubernetes offers a wide array of benefits, including auto-scaling and automated load balancing. Figure 1: The main components of a Kubernetes cluster The Kubernetes framework consists of four main components:
Gcore Managed Kubernetes Gcore Managed Kubernetes is a service that allows you to run production-ready Kubernetes clusters with ease. The service frees you from maintaining node deployment and management, control plane management, and K8s version updates; you only manage worker nodes. Because you don’t have to worry about maintaining the underlying infrastructure, Gcore Managed Kubernetes allows you to focus on building and deploying applications. The service is available in 15 locations worldwide, including in the US, Europe, and Asia. Figure 2: How Gcore Managed Kubernetes works Gcore Managed Kubernetes key features include:
Gcore Container as a Service (CaaS) is a serverless cloud solution that allows you to run containerized applications in the cloud without managing virtual machines or complex orchestrating solutions like OpenShift. You can manage containers through the Web UI or the REST API. You can use CaaS for different scenarios, such as running ML models for inference, streamlining the deployment of microservices and distributed systems, and deploying containerized applications using third-party tools like GitHub Actions. Figure 3: Running containers with microservices using Gcore CaaS Key features of CaaS include:
OpenShift was developed by Red Hat to provide a hybrid, enterprise-grade platform that extends Kubernetes functionalities to companies that require managed orchestration. The framework is built on an enterprise-grade Linux Operating System that lets you automate the lifecycle of your containerized application. This lets you easily manage all your workloads using a container to virtualize every host. More so, with its various templates and pre-built images, OpenShift lets you create databases, frameworks and other application services easily. As a result, you get a highly-optimized platform that standardizes production workflows, enables continuous integration and helps companies automate the management of releases. As an added advantage, the Red Hat Marketplace lets you purchase certified applications that can help in a range of areas, such as, billing, visibility, governance and responsive support. Figure 4: The OpenShift Platform architecture OpenShift offers both Platform-as-a-Service (PaaS) and Container-as-a-Service (CaaS) cloud service computing models. This essentially lets you either define your application source code in a Dockerfile or convert your source code to a container using a Source-to-Image builder. Key features of Red Hat OpenShift include:
Mesos is a cluster management tool developed by Apache that can efficiently perform container orchestration. The Mesos framework is open-source, and can easily provide resource sharing and allocation across distributed frameworks. It enables resource allocation using modern kernel features, such as Zones in Solaris and CGroups in Linux. Additionally, Mesos uses Chronos Scheduler to start and stop services, and the Marathon API to scale services and balance loads. To let developers define inter-framework policies, Mesos uses a pluggable application module . Figure 5: The key components of Mesos More details on the Mesos architecture can be found here. Key features of Apache Mesos include:
Go to our blog for the rest of the tools : https://gcore.cc/4dZkAei |
2024.05.27 13:35 Joshthebugguy Conquering Scorpions: The Ultimate Guide to Pest Control in Las Vegas
Las Vegas, renowned for its vibrant nightlife, world-class entertainment, and bustling casinos, is also home to a lesser-known, but significant, resident: the scorpion. These arachnids, with their menacing appearance and painful sting, pose a notable challenge for homeowners and businesses alike. Effective scorpion pest control in Las Vegas is crucial for maintaining a safe and comfortable living environment. In this blog, we will explore the various aspects of scorpion control, why it’s essential in Las Vegas, and how you can protect your property from these unwelcome guests.
Understanding Scorpions in Las Vegas
Las Vegas’s desert climate provides an ideal habitat for several scorpion species, with the most notorious being the bark scorpion. These creatures thrive in the arid conditions, finding shelter in cracks, crevices, and other cool, dark places. While scorpions generally prefer to avoid human contact, they can often be found in homes, particularly during the hotter months when they seek cooler environments.
The bark scorpion, in particular, is a cause for concern due to its potent venom. A sting from a bark scorpion can cause severe pain, numbness, and in some cases, more serious health issues, especially for children and the elderly. This makes effective scorpion pest control not just a matter of comfort, but of safety.
Why Scorpion Pest Control is Crucial
Health Risks: As mentioned, scorpion stings can lead to significant health problems. While fatalities are rare, the pain and potential complications from a sting make it important to minimize the risk of encounters.
Property Protection: Scorpions can be an indication of other pest problems, as they feed on insects. Addressing scorpion infestations often means dealing with a broader pest control issue.
Peace of Mind: Knowing your home or business is protected from scorpions allows you to relax and enjoy your space without fear of an unexpected sting.
Effective Scorpion Control Strategies
Effective Scorpion Control In Las Vegas involves a multi-faceted approach. Here are some key strategies:
When choosing a pest control company, look for those with specific experience in scorpion control. They will be familiar with the local species and the most effective treatment methods.
DIY Scorpion Control Tips
While professional services are highly recommended, there are some DIY measures you can take to help control scorpions:
Use Diatomaceous Earth: This natural powder can be sprinkled around entry points and in areas where scorpions are likely to hide. It is safe for humans and pets but deadly to scorpions.
Install Black Lights: Scorpions glow under ultraviolet light. Regularly using a black light to inspect your property at night can help you spot and eliminate scorpions.
Natural Repellents: Essential oils such as lavender, cedarwood, and citrus are known to repel scorpions. Use these oils in diffusers or spray solutions around your home.
Conclusion
Scorpion Pest Control In Las Vegas is a critical aspect of maintaining a safe and comfortable living environment. By understanding the behavior of scorpions, implementing preventative measures, and seeking professional help when needed, you can protect your home or business from these unwelcome visitors. Regular maintenance, vigilance, and a proactive approach will ensure that scorpions remain a distant concern, allowing you to enjoy the many pleasures of life in Las Vegas without worry.
submitted by Joshthebugguy to u/Joshthebugguy [link] [comments]
Understanding Scorpions in Las Vegas
Las Vegas’s desert climate provides an ideal habitat for several scorpion species, with the most notorious being the bark scorpion. These creatures thrive in the arid conditions, finding shelter in cracks, crevices, and other cool, dark places. While scorpions generally prefer to avoid human contact, they can often be found in homes, particularly during the hotter months when they seek cooler environments.
The bark scorpion, in particular, is a cause for concern due to its potent venom. A sting from a bark scorpion can cause severe pain, numbness, and in some cases, more serious health issues, especially for children and the elderly. This makes effective scorpion pest control not just a matter of comfort, but of safety.
Why Scorpion Pest Control is Crucial
Health Risks: As mentioned, scorpion stings can lead to significant health problems. While fatalities are rare, the pain and potential complications from a sting make it important to minimize the risk of encounters.
Property Protection: Scorpions can be an indication of other pest problems, as they feed on insects. Addressing scorpion infestations often means dealing with a broader pest control issue.
Peace of Mind: Knowing your home or business is protected from scorpions allows you to relax and enjoy your space without fear of an unexpected sting.
Effective Scorpion Control Strategies
Effective Scorpion Control In Las Vegas involves a multi-faceted approach. Here are some key strategies:
- Professional Pest Control Services
When choosing a pest control company, look for those with specific experience in scorpion control. They will be familiar with the local species and the most effective treatment methods.
- Home Maintenance and Repairs
- Yard and Landscape Management
- Reducing Insect Populations
DIY Scorpion Control Tips
While professional services are highly recommended, there are some DIY measures you can take to help control scorpions:
Use Diatomaceous Earth: This natural powder can be sprinkled around entry points and in areas where scorpions are likely to hide. It is safe for humans and pets but deadly to scorpions.
Install Black Lights: Scorpions glow under ultraviolet light. Regularly using a black light to inspect your property at night can help you spot and eliminate scorpions.
Natural Repellents: Essential oils such as lavender, cedarwood, and citrus are known to repel scorpions. Use these oils in diffusers or spray solutions around your home.
Conclusion
Scorpion Pest Control In Las Vegas is a critical aspect of maintaining a safe and comfortable living environment. By understanding the behavior of scorpions, implementing preventative measures, and seeking professional help when needed, you can protect your home or business from these unwelcome visitors. Regular maintenance, vigilance, and a proactive approach will ensure that scorpions remain a distant concern, allowing you to enjoy the many pleasures of life in Las Vegas without worry.
2024.05.27 12:35 Opening_Abrocoma_498 Smart Dai Limited
 | https://preview.redd.it/6x5n7zoq5y2d1.png?width=940&format=png&auto=webp&s=73fdca22f529580b43413528735f42e1a11b6a0f submitted by Opening_Abrocoma_498 to u/Opening_Abrocoma_498 [link] [comments] Welcome to Smart Dai – Your One-Stop Solution for Smart Living! At Smart Dai, we pride ourselves on offering a diverse range of services to enhance and simplify your daily life. Our dedicated team of professionals is committed to providing top-notch services in various fields, ensuring your convenience and satisfaction. 1. Computer and Networking: Experience seamless connectivity with our computer and networking services. From troubleshooting technical issues to setting up a robust network, our experts ensure your digital world runs smoothly. 2. Construction and Renovation: Transform your living spaces with our construction and renovation services. Whether it's a small upgrade or a complete overhaul, our skilled craftsmen bring your vision to life, creating a home that reflects your style. 3. Paint and Color of House: Add a touch of personality to your home with our paint and color services. Our experts help you choose the perfect palette and deliver flawless results, turning your house into a vibrant and welcoming space. 4. Cleaning and Pest Control: Maintain a hygienic and pest-free environment with our cleaning and pest control services. Our professional cleaners and exterminators use advanced techniques to ensure your home remains a haven of cleanliness. 5. Home Salon: Indulge in pampering right at home with our home salon services. From haircuts to facials, our skilled beauticians bring the salon experience to your doorstep, allowing you to relax and rejuvenate. 6. Laundry: Say goodbye to laundry woes with our convenient laundry services. We handle your clothes with care, ensuring they come back fresh and neatly folded, saving you time and effort. 7. Celebration: Make your special moments unforgettable with our celebration services. Whether it's a birthday, anniversary, or any milestone, we take care of the details, allowing you to focus on creating memories. 8. Car Rental: Hit the road in style with our car rental services. Choose from a fleet of well-maintained vehicles for a hassle-free and comfortable journey. 9. Mobile Repairing: Stay connected with our mobile repairing services. Our skilled technicians fix your devices promptly, ensuring you're always in touch with the digital world. 10. House Appliances Repairing: Keep your home running smoothly with our house appliance repair services. From heaters to bulbs and power sockets, we've got you covered, ensuring all your appliances are in optimal condition. At Smart Dai, we believe in simplifying your life by offering a comprehensive range of services. Experience the convenience of smart living with us! Explore our website for more details and book your services today. |
2024.05.27 12:22 Square-Training5001 Locked Out Service
 | Locked out Your Door! Need Key duplication! Or Car locked out! Not to worry as Best Choice Locks Repairing LLC can handle every situation with ease. Reach out to Best Locksmith, one of the best locked out service in Dubai. for more information contact us;https://www.bestlocksmith.ae/locked-out-service.html submitted by Square-Training5001 to u/Square-Training5001 [link] [comments] https://preview.redd.it/v7h6h3sp3y2d1.jpg?width=1000&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=dc230b7b33859a7c71b005a8a0ccf31f05e929d6 |
2024.05.27 10:50 jean-luc-trek Administrative Template error message
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2024.05.27 09:02 semixfenz Keep Your Evening Dress Flawless: The Importance of Professional Cleaning
 | https://preview.redd.it/opgtqhzu3x2d1.jpg?width=940&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=8ae14a4a295a81b9aa05cefec60bdf5eb8be238e submitted by semixfenz to u/semixfenz [link] [comments] Have you ever had a perfectly planned evening derailed by a smear of lipstick or a dash of red wine? Your evening gown understands this emotion all too well. Evening gowns frequently bear the markings of unforgettable nights, complete with a few battle scars. But don't panic, professional cleaning services are here to save the day. Your favourite dress deserves to look its best on many more occasions. From painstaking inspections to complete cleaning and preservation, we take the time to do it right. Our professionals know their satin from their chiffon, so your evening gown will receive the royal touch it deserves. Tips for Cleaning and Storing your Evening DressWhether you need help spot-cleaning your evening gown or knowing how to store and protect it, Evening dress Dry Cleaners is your one-stop shop for dry cleaning, preservation, and restoration!● Choose a Certified Professional: Go for a professional cleaner with required certificates and affiliations to assure top-notch service. ● Breathable Storage: To avoid moisture buildup and maintain fabric integrity, keep your evening dress in a breathable garment bag or preservation box. ● Ideal Storage Conditions: Keep your evening gown in a cool, dark, and dry location, away from extreme temperature changes that might damage the garment. ● Flat Storage Preferred: To reduce fabric tension, keep your garment flat. If flat storage is not an option, hang the dress on a solid, padded hanger using the internal loops, not the shoulder straps. ● Regular Inspections: Inspect your dress on a regular basis to ensure it is still in good shape. Early diagnosis of any problems can help prevent long-term harm. The Value of Cleaning and Preserving Your Evening Dress● Expert Handling: Addressing stains and fabric repairs on your evening gown necessitates specialized knowledge to provide the best results.● Timely Attention: To avoid stains becoming ingrained in the fabric, clean your evening dress as soon as possible after using it. ● Exacting Standards: At B X Dry Cleaner, we adhere to the highest standards of care for evening dresses, providing personalized solutions to each garment's specific fabrics and adornments. ● Customized Cleaning procedures: Our professional evening dress cleaning service determines the best cleaning procedures for your gown, combining dry cleaning or wet cleaning processes with fabric-specific treatments to provide thorough but gentle care. ● Comprehensive Spot Treatment: Our evening gown cleaning service includes comprehensive spot cleaning that tackles any specific areas of concern, promising the utmost care for your prized garment. Perfectly Pressed: Trust B X Dry Cleaners with Your Evening DressBid farewell to relentless wrinkles in your evening gown, ensuring it's perfect for your special occasion. Evening gowns consisting of satin to tulle require meticulous care, and our experts at B X Dry Cleaners excel at cleaning and pressing, handling even the most delicate fabrics to ensure they retain their gorgeous beauty. When it comes to safeguarding your precious memories, Evening dress Dry Cleaners Bushey says, "Believe me, I've got this."So, let your evening gown go on a voyage that will ensure its grandeur is remembered for years to come. After all, your dress deserves nothing less than a magnificent ending. And that's exactly what Evening dress Dry Cleaners Watford delivers. |