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

In my first AA meeting, when it was my turn to speak, I said that I felt my life was a lot like the curse of Sisyphus – forever pushing a boulder up a hill only to slip at the top and, along with the giant stone, roll back to the bottom to start all over again. In my version, each time I slipped and fell, once I got up to start over, the boulder had grown in size, intensifying my labour.
Once the meeting had ended, a person came over and talked to me. “It’s nice to see another lover of the classics here,” they said. I smiled and said, “Oh yeah, haha.” The truth is, I really only know this myth from a friend who is a lover of the classics, and although I relate to the story, I myself will only listen to the enchanting timbre of Stephen Fry’s voice on the topic.
He then went on to tell me that there is a more modern reinterpretation of the story where the curse wasn’t real, but Sisyphus had been tricked into thinking he was eternally damned but could walk away at any time. This really got me thinking about how I had viewed this big stone of mine, this metaphor for everything that fuels my feelings of resentment, stress, anxiety, and depression. Maybe I could just walk away? Now, obviously, I’m not saying people should just walk away from their problems, but it’s our often locked, self-imposed, resentment-fuelled perspective on these problems that causes them to fester and grow. AA is full of “God” and “higher power” talk. I’ve seen people come to a meeting for the first time, hear these words and sigh, deal with the next however long, and never be seen in a meeting again. I don’t blame them. When someone would say to me, “Just put it in the Lord’s hands,” I would always feel disappointed, like it’s just a thing to say to get you to shut up already. What does that mean? Some imaginary force is going to fix my problems? Well, it didn’t take too many meetings to figure out that, no, it doesn’t. What I have come to believe this means is that you’re giving your problems to a higher mode of thinking, the lower mode being this default negative, the world-is-against-me way of looking at things. This lower mode is what brings us to feel the need to numb ourselves because it’s just so overwhelming and hurts emotionally, mentally, and physically – and in come the substances.
I’m going to now share my own reinterpretation of the Myth of Sisyphus, leaving out the whole story about why he was cursed because it doesn’t really apply.
In a timeless realm where punishment and perseverance intertwine, Sisyphus eternally pushes his boulder up a steep hill, only to watch it roll back down each time he nears the summit. This cycle, which he believes to be a divine curse, becomes his singular reality.
As he strains against the weight of his burden, a demon appears on one side, its voice smooth and tempting. It offers Sisyphus a potion, claiming it will ease his pain and make him forget his struggles. Desperate for relief, Sisyphus drinks the potion, and indeed, his pain subsides, his mind grows numb. But each time the boulder rolls back, it returns larger and heavier than before, intensifying his labour.
On the other side of the path, an angel stands silently, offering its hand. Its serene presence contrasts sharply with the demon's boisterous allure. The angel says nothing, its expression calm and patient, a silent invitation to abandon the fruitless task and find peace.
Yet Sisyphus, ensnared by the demon’s persuasive voice, ignores the angel. The demon’s seductive words drown out the silence of the angel, and the potion’s false relief becomes an irresistible escape from his perceived torment.
Unbeknownst to Sisyphus, he is not truly cursed. The gods had tricked him, implanting the belief of a never-ending punishment. The boulder is but an illusion of his own making, a symbol of his acceptance of a lie. The angel’s hand, extended in eternal patience, is the path to his freedom, offering a silent truth: he can walk away at any moment.
But silence is easily overlooked amidst the clamour of temptation. Thus, Sisyphus remains trapped in his self-imposed struggle, pushing the ever-growing boulder, unable to hear the unspoken truth that could set him free.
(Thanks for the re-write, AI)
For most of us, drinking or drugs aren’t really a problem, and that’s great. But unfortunately for some, what started as a fun social partaking from time to time turned into a form of self-medication. It’s a reaction to “I don’t like how I feel.” It’s a very self-involved, short-sighted solution. It’s a selfish act and feeds selfish thinking. Even the aftermath – the hangover – is a continuation of this. It’s so hard to focus or deal with anyone else other than yourself when you’re feeling the withdrawal. Thoughts dwell on fixing the way you feel, and when this is a regular occurrence, even if you no longer suffer as intensely as you once did, those thoughts become one: “When can I have my next drink?” The ultimate cure.
This supposed “cure” is a lie. I call it ‘The Sweet Spot Fallacy’. If I have a few drinks – for me, it was 2-3 generous glasses of whiskey – I’ll reach that sweet spot, and I can finally be at peace. Well, this “sweet spot” only lasts for a moment, and as it starts to fade, the body groans, “I’m losing it, I need more.” So you top up, then whoops, you've had too much, and here comes the slurry mess of “deep, meaningful, and/or epiphonic” (but really just resentment-fuelled dopamine drops of shallow validation) thoughts and conversation. Or what if you can’t top up? Well then, the body and mind continue to groan ever more intensely, and this displays itself in a shit-coloured variety of behaviours in the search for peace and comfort.
I drank because I was filled with resentment. I hated the fact that the world didn’t align for me, and thoughts and memories relating to this made me feel awful, and they wouldn’t stop dropping in to remind me. The irony is that the more these thoughts grew, the more unhinged I became, and the world more unaligned. And the reason those thoughts grew as intense as they did? Alcohol. Alcohol and fatigue.
I’m going to end this with another metaphor that I feel relates to what I have said here, and I’ll leave it to you to figure out why.
“Knowledge is knowing it’s a one-way street. Wisdom is looking both ways regardless.”
Peace and Love.

So, I posted this theory a while back but it seems that most people didn’t read through it due to it being too long. So here I am back again with my best to briefly summarize the theory with the major points of evidence from the comics that I have found. It’s still going to be a lot but, hopefully, this will help get the broad idea across. Then if you have any specific points you can hopefully find them answered in the sections beneath it.
For context, you only need to read the Basic Premise section to get the basic gist of the theory, all the remaining sections are where I outline the evidence to support it.
~Basics of the Theory~

Nightcrawler is the Winding Way is basically the idea that X-Men’s Nightcrawler got his soul ripped in half when he was a child by his adopted mother – Margali Szardos – who used the magical half of Kurt’s soul to form the source of her power, the Winding Way.
Nightcrawler would have inherited this magical power from Azazel, who he is still technically biologically related to, as well as potentially the combination of genes from Mystique, Destiny, and Baron Wagner.
Amanda Sefton – after seeing Margali use Illyana’s Soul-Sword to obtain power in the Winding Way, took over Limbo to study it before fusing it with Kurt’s soul in the hopes of being able to use the Soul-Sword to undo her mother’s work and restore Kurt to being whole again.
Ultimately, Destiny gave the baby Kurt to Margali knowing full well she would do this to him to hide his true power from Enigma (the Nathaniel Essex that became a Dominion), who she had Kurt concieved in order to defeat.
Additionally, she told Margali of a prophecy about a Soul-Sword falling into Margali’s hands knowing that Margali would attempt to steal Belasco’s Soul-Sword, that Belasco would turn his attention to Nightcrawler to steal that magical power for herself which would result in Illyana being kidnapped by Belasco after he gave up trying to steal the power from Kurt and thus create said Soul-Sword as well as – eventually – the Hope-sword.

~Part 1 – Margali Szardos is the Worst Adoptive Mother of All Time~
Margali Szardos is a powerful witch in Marvel comics who has shown being particularly hungry for magical power – doing everything from manipulating her daughter, Amanda Sefton, into getting her Illyana’s Soul-Sword so that she could use it in a killing spree to obtain magical power from her victims (Excalibur #85), to attempting to steal the power of a demon living under London nearly destroying it in the process (Excalibur #100), to forcibly mind-swapping with her daughter to save herself leaving Amanda to be tortured by Belasco (revealed X-Men: Unlimited #19), opening a magical rift to the World Beyond to obtain its power which forced her daughter to sacrifice herself to close it (4^th Nightcrawler series #1-4), to finally selling Nightcrawler out to ORCHIS to obtain the Hope-sword that was lodged in Kurt’s chest (Legion of X #7-10).
All of these villainous actions raise an important question – why did Margali adopt Nightcrawler? After all, it’s not like Margali went around adopting children – only Nightcrawler. In fact, outside of Kurt, the only other child that Margali has ever displayed an interest in obtaining was a young Scarlet Witch (Mystic Arcanum: Scarlet Witch) which is concerning given just how magically powerful Scarlet Witch is.
This all points to the idea that Margali only took Kurt in because she got something out of it – very likely magical power. This wouldn’t be nearly so concerning if Margali Szardos wasn’t also the Sorceress Supreme of one of the most mysterious and unexplained magical systems in all of Marvel.
~Part 2 – The Winding Way is WIERD~
So, I’m just going to come out and say it - the Winding Way makes no sense in the current understanding of magic in Marvel Comics. Even characters like Dr. Strange – one of Marvel’s masters of magic – has basically no idea how the Winding Way actually operates. There is a data page in Legion of X #9 that outlines the basics of what the Winding Way is and how it operates.
According to the data page, the Winding Way is an exocentric magic system – that is to say a form of magic that is powered by an external source to the user – which its various wielders experience cycles of power and powerlessness. As far as characters like Strange are aware, it remains unclear if there is a physical “Way” or if that is simply metaphor.
The strange thing about the Winding Way is that there is no other magical system in Marvel where this cycle of users having powers and being powerless is even a thing. Whenever an exocentrically powered sorcerer loses their powers, it is always a form of punishment. This is true with Dr. Strange when he lost 99% of his powers back during the War of the Seven Spheres story. This is true with Juggernaut who loses his powers whenever he and Cyttorak – the entity that powers the crimson gem that Juggernaut uses for his powers. It’s even true for someone like Thor and his hammer. No where else in Marvel is there a system of magic where cycles of power is a thing.
All of this raises the question of whether the fluctuating cycles of power the Winding Way are actually a natural part of the Winding Way or whether they due to something else – like, say the power source of the Winding Way trying to continuously punish the various practitioners but being unable to due to their attention being split up.
Ultimately, the only truth that we can glean about the Winding Way is that nobody but the practitioners of the Winding Way ultimately know how it works and even then, characters like Margali and Amanda have proven time and again that their word cannot be trusted.
~Part 3 – the Szardos Family, Cthon, & Wundagore Mountain~
Interestingly, a different Sorcerer Supreme Sgt. Sebastian Szardos – the Sorcerer Supreme of World War II – has his own insights about the Winding Way, though they are rather vague. Firstly, in the 8^th series of Avengers #50, Sebastian claims that the Winding Way has ties with Mt. Wundagore – which was famously the tomb of Cthon before Scarlet Witch absorbed him. This seems to suggest that the Winding Way originates either via Cthon or his creation – the Darkhold.
What is more interesting is that the Winding Way doesn’t seem to be practiced during the time of the Second World War as Sgt. Szardos states that only his great grandmother on his mothers side even knew about the Winding Way – Sebastian himself clearly wasn’t a practicing member. This is peculiar as Margali Szardos demonstrates an unusual amount of familiarity with the position of Sorcerer Supreme in Uncanny X-Men Annual #4 when she stole the Eye of Agamotto off of Dr. Strange with a mere gesture. Given that Sebastian and Margali share the last name and Sebastian was a known former Sorcerer Supreme while Margali – as far as I can tell – has never been, this would seem to suggest that there is some sort of familial connection between Margali and Sebastian. This in turn seems to suggest that the Winding Way experienced some sort of revival with Margali.
My theory is that the Winding Way started out as a sort of ritual that originated with the Darkhold and was initially practiced by the Szardos family over the centuries to siphon power off of Cthon to keep him in check and imprisoned - hence why there are other Szardos clan members such as Theodosia as shown in that run of Avengers. This would mean that if my theory of Nightcrawler being the Winding Way is true, then it would mean that he is only the current source of the Winding Way.
~Part 4 – Nightcrawler is still related to Azazel (and Azazel is a demon)~
Now a major aspect in this is that Nightcrawler is where exactly would Nightcrawler’s magical powers come from? After all, he’s the son of Mystique and Destiny – two mutants with no sort of magical capabilities, right? Well, that’s… complicated.
Firstly, it’s important to note that the X-Men Origins: Blue retcon is… frankly, not very well thought out. There are a bunch of things that it just gets plain wrong and contradict a bunch of previously established X-Men lore – everything from the fact that Destiny would have been too old to give birth to Nightcrawler, to Rogue’s age being way too young (she was adopted by D&M when she was 13 not 5), to the fact that Mystique canonically cannot mimic mutant x-genes - meaning Nightcrawler shouldn’t have teleportation with this retcon, and much, much more. On top of all that, the fact that the only evidence supporting the idea that it ever even happened is from Mystique and Destiny – two of Marvel’s most notorious liars – and you got yourself an extremely messy and rather dubious retcon.
Putting all that aside, going based on what the retcon has established there are a few ways in which Kurt might have inherited some sort of magical power.
Primarily, Kurt is still technically related to Azazel – yes, Mystique “mimicked” Azazel’s DNA in Kurt’s conception but given that in genetics it is the sequence of DNA that matters and not the source of that sequence, Mystique’s “Mimicked” DNA is still ostensibly Azazel’s DNA. Azazel is an established master of dark magic – specifically soul magic – and used to rule over a legit Hell Dimension during the time of Kurt’s birth – making him a legit hell lord similar to Mephisto or Dormammu. Given that Hell Lords are also considered the Sorcerer Supremes (as in the strongest) of their respective dimension, this would suggest that Azazel once held some major power, regardless of if he’s a demon or not. And as it has been established, magic is inheritable as shown with Clea (the daughter of Umar), Daimon Hellstrom (son of Marduk Kurios), and at least half the cast of Strange Academy, it would stand to reason that Nightcrawler could also inherit magical power from him.
Now, I know what you are saying – “But, Azazel isn’t a demon! Chuck Austen said so!” And while, yes, Chuck Austen has clearly gone on record to say that Azazel is only a demonic looking mutant instead of an actual demon, it’s been kind of invalidated by the thing that every other writer for Azazel – including the likes of Chris Claremont – have referred to Azazel as a demon at least once either on-panel or in interviews. And frankly, there’s nothing in the lore that says that Azazel cannot be both a demon and a mutant – after all, Magik is both a demon and a mutant at the same time. And let’s be real here, Chuck Austen doesn’t deserve nice things when it comes to the X-Men.
However, Azazel is not the only DNA that Mystique apparently mimicked – Baron Christian Wagner was also added onto that list for some reason. This is odd as why would Destiny and Mystique feel the need to include Baron Wagner at all in the genetic makeup of Nightcrawler unless there was something special about the Baron. However, the only uniquely genetic thing we learn about him is that he’s seemingly infertile – which may suggest that there is some sort of genetic anomaly going on with him, such as maybe a repressed X-gene.
~Part 5 – Amanda Sefton/Jimaine Szardos history in Marvel Comics~
Another aspect of this theory is that – if it is true – it suddenly explains a lot of what Kurt’s ex, Amanda Sefton has been doing in comics since she was first introduced in 1976. You see, Amanda Sefton followed Kurt back from Germany and began dating him under a different name – which Kurt was not aware of. She only reveals the truth after the events of Uncanny X-Men Annual #4. This unfortunately supports Kurt’s accusation in Uncanny X-Men #206 that Amanda used a spell to make Kurt fall in love with her to begin with – an accusation which Amanda has never confirmed nor denied.
Amanda’s peculiar behavior continued into Excalibur where she was manipulated by Margali into obtaining Illyana’s Soul-Sword from Kitty Pryde – who had previously given the Soul-Sword to Dr. Doom and then Darkoth, with it returning to her both times. Upon obtaining the Soul-Sword, Margali then used it to go on a killing spree against the other members of the Winding Way to obtain their power for herself. Following this, Margali’s failed attempt to steal the power of a demon beneath London, and Kurt and Margali rescuing Amanda from Belasco after Margali body-swapped with her daughter to save her own skin – Amanda ended up taking over Limbo, supposedly in the name of protecting earth.
However, then we have the smoking gun of Amanda’s meddling – during the 3^rd Nightcrawler solo series, it is revealed that Amanda fused the Soul-Sword with Nightcrawler without telling him. Her reason for doing so? “To protect the Soul-Sword from falling into the wrong hands.” This lie is so glaringly bad that not even Nightcrawler buys it and he calls Amanda out for not being honest with him.
~Part 6 – Amanda’s Bad Lie and What it Means~
And frankly why would anyone believe Amanda’s claim? Amanda is a sorceress – which means that she is infinitely more qualified than Nightcrawler to keep the Soul-Sword safe than he is. Even if she couldn’t do so, why didn’t she take the Soul-Sword to someone like Dr. Strange?
On top of that, Amanda took the Soul-Sword away from Kitty Pryde claiming that Kitty wasn’t qualified to keep the Soul-Sword safe due to her not being a trained sorceress. Well, guess who’s also not trained in sorcery and thus – by Amanda’s own logic - would not be able to keep the Soul-Sword safe? Nightcrawler.
Except, Kitty technically was able to keep the Soul-Sword out of the wrong hands – back during Excalibur #37 she phased the Soul-Sword into a rock which even Rachel Summers channeling the power of the Phoenix Force was not able to remove it from – it wasn’t removed until Doom came knocking and got Kitty to willingly remove it for him. So why couldn’t Amanda do something similar? Why fuse it with Kurt and endanger him?
And to top it all off, Amanda still needed the Soul-Sword. She was ruling over Limbo – a dangerous hell dimension full of power-hungry demons. Her magical powers are of the Winding Way – meaning that they wax and wane. So quite literally, Amanda needs the Soul-Sword – a weapon which every demon in Limbo fears – to keep herself in power; something which was proven in New X-Men #37 when Belasco walked back into Limbo and ousted her.
~Part 7 – Amanda took over Limbo to learn about the Soul-Sword~
So, what was Amanda really up to? Well, to understand Amanda’s actions in the 3^rd Nightcrawler series, we first need to go back to Amanda’s actions in previous series. What’s interesting is that Amanda’s interest in the Soul-Sword was first manifest through Margali – who reveals in Excalibur: Minus One that there is a prophecy that the Soul-Sword would pass first into Margali’s hands and then into Amanda’s hands but would result in both of their dooms.
However, Amanda doesn’t really demonstrate any sort of interest in the Soul-Sword until after Margali used it to obtain power in the Winding Way during Excalibur. While she didn’t get the opportunity to act after the events of Margali’s failed London project due to her mother mind-swapping with her, Amanda’s actions in taking over Limbo after X-Men: Unlimited #19 was more likely due to Amanda wanting to obtain and learn more about the Soul-Sword than about her trying to protect earth.
You see, as Limbo was in no position to even threaten earth until Belasco had obtained the Soul-Sword following Margali ending up there – meaning that if Amanda had simply obtained the Soul-Sword and left Limbo, Limbo would not have been able to endanger Earth. Instead, Amanda stayed. Why? Because if there was anywhere in the universe where you wanted to learn about a Soul-Sword and how it works, Limbo is the dimension to do so.
~Part 8 – Nightcrawler and Magik are… Soulmates?~
So, why did Amanda fuse the Soul-Sword with Nightcrawler? Well, ultimately because a major function of the Soul-Sword is that it can be used as a countercharm which can undo other spells – potentially meaning that Amanda could use it to undo the Winding Way and restore the two halves of Kurt’s soul back together again.
However, another aspect of the Soul-Sword is that it is dangerous to magical creatures and Kurt’s magical soul would already be weakened after years of being separated. Amanda must have figured that if she bonded the non-magical half of Kurt’s soul to the Soul-Sword would allow for her to bypass the more dangerous aspects of the Soul-Sword and allow her to restore Kurt.
And as a result of Amanda’s meddling, when a demonically possessed Pixie ripped the Soul-Sword out of Nightcrawler during X-Infernus, it left behind a void in Kurt’s Soul as established in Legion of X #10, which allowed for the Hopesword to later form. This also seemingly gave Illyana’s Soul-Sword a new ability to damage Techno-Organic beings which it did not possess before. This also means that Nightcrawler and Magik are… soul-mates(?) for the lack of a better term, as they are both bound together through the Soul-Sword after Amanda undid Illyana’s bond with Kitty, though this fact has never been established or confirmed in the comics.
~Part 9 – Destiny caused Magik to be kidnapped by Belasco~
Now, I noted in an earlier section that Margali’s fascination with the Soul-Sword was as a result of a prophecy – one that has at least partially come true. The prophecy as laid out during a flashback in Exalibur: Minus One was that the Soul-Sword would pass from into Margali’s hands and then Amanda’s but would result in both of their dooms. Illyana’s Soul-Sword was indeed obtained by Margali back in Excalibur #85 before she lost it to Belasco after falling to Limbo and the Soul-Sword was obtained again by Amanda after taking Limbo over in X-Men: Unlimited #19.
Now, this whole situation is peculiar as Margali herself is not a precog – outside of this one time, we never even hear her do anything similar ever again. However, we know that Destiny is a precog and we also know that she was the one who gave Kurt to Margali, as per the X-Men Origins: Blue retcon, meaning that this prophecy more than likely originates with Destiny. And really, this shouldn’t be a surprise – Mystique hinted at having some sort of a connection with Margali as far back as UXM #142 when she first met Nightcrawler, it was just never clarified what that connection was.
However, this prophecy would have been given to Margali before the Soul-Sword was ever made and before Illyana was even born, which means that either Destiny could predict Illyana being kidnapped by Belasco and creating the Soul-Sword as a result… or she caused Belasco to kidnap Illyana and create the Soul-Sword as a result.
Now, you may question how that’s even possible? After all, how could Destiny cause someone like Belasco to do something when the two haven’t even canonically met?
Well, for this, I would like to point out the unexplained animosity going on between Margali Szardos and Belasco. This is a rivalry that has been mentioned quite a few times – such as back in Excalibur: Minus One, X-Men: Unlimited #19, and the 3^rd Nightcrawler series. For some unexplained reason, Margali Szardos and Belasco have a lot of enmity for one another.
So, what’s the cause of this rivalry? Well, during the Dark Web event, Mary Jane Watson and Black Cat were captured by Belasco and sent to retrieve his Soul-Sword – which, as it is explained in the story is something that Belasco could not potentially use up until the events of Dark Web.
So here’s an idea – what if Destiny didn’t specify which Soul-Sword would end up in Margali’s hands, causing Margali to immediately assume that she was talking about Belasco’s (as that would have been the only one in existence at that point) and try to steal it from him.
This then drew Belasco’s attention and caused him to realize that Nightcrawler was somehow the source of Margali’s powers. This would be why Belasco even had his eyes on the X-Men to begin with and why there was a soulless Nightcrawler back in the original Magik series – Kurt was Belasco’s original target. However, the soulless Nightcrawler and Belasco’s obvious shift in attention to Illyana clearly points to the idea that whatever experiments Belasco tried to use to obtain that magical power from Kurt, it only ended in disaster – causing him to turn to Illyana as a replacement.
~Part 10 – the Big Picture… stopping Enigma~
So, if Destiny was ultimately the cause behind all of this – from orchestrating Kurt’s birth, to handing him off to Margali, to telling Margali the prophecy about the Soul-Sword, what is it all ultimately for?
Well, what it is almost certainly not for is the given answer of defeating Azazel. Simply put, Azazel has never been so major of a threat that creating a super special prophecy child was needed. Heck, he was killed in Dark X-Men by the demonic version of Nightcrawler, so how difficult would it have been for Mystique and Destiny to do it? No, Azazel’s defeat was a bonus that Irene used to justify Kurt’s birth to Raven, not the focus.
Ultimately, there’s only one answer as to who Kurt was conceived to stop – Enigma. The original Nathaniel Essex who transcended space and time and who Irene knew to be an existential threat to all Mutantkind.
This answer even explains some of Irene’s other past actions, such as why she was involved with the Black Womb project – yes, she was keeping an eye on Sinister, but she was also learning as much about the mutant x-gene in preparation for Kurt’s birth.
It also explains why she handed Kurt over to Margali at all – the Winding Way is described in the datapages of Legion of X as being something akin to a No-Place – something that Enigma and other Dominions famously have trouble seeing into. Thus, by hiding Kurt’s magical half in the No-place until the time was right and creating the means by which to release him from that prison, Destiny ensures Enigma’s defeat.
Or does she? Because as far as the current X-Men comics have been going, there is nowhere near the development needed to have my theory take place. At this point, only the Hopesword is established which begs the question of whether the Winding Way is meant to be the thing to stop Enigma or if the Hopesword is. As of this point in X-Men Forever (2024) #4, the Hopesword is what was needed to stop Enigma… for some reason. So far, all that the sword has accomplished is being handed off from Kurt to Exodus to Hope… who was then killed by the Phoenix and sent the Hopesword back to Kurt. We’ll have to wait and see if anything else comes of it.
Personally though, I kind of like the idea that everything Destiny did in orchestrating the creation of the Hopesword and/or the Winding Way was kind of a pointless thing in the end. It’s kind of poignant for Destiny’s character – being the same woman who thought that killing Senator Kelly would prevent the Days of Future’s Past Timeline when she was in fact going to cause that very timeline to happen – to have all her manipulations and schemes to create this weapon against the existential threat that Enigma presented… only to have that threat be dealt with in some other way, leaving Irene to deal with the consequences of her own actions and question whether it was worth putting Kurt through all of that. Maybe that’s just me though.
Conclusion
So yeah, that’s most of the evidence supporting this theory. There are a few other things – such as Margali potentially being the reason why Kurt was killed during Second Coming and potentially causing his mental break down during the Extraordinary X-Men story, but those are more auxiliary to these major points.
But yeah, let me know what you guys think down below. Do you think this theory is onto something or is it way off base?

I am not one for write long well written posts so I hope I am able to describe the situation well. TW: Animal was harmed
For the past little while my girlfriend 26f and I 24m have been looking to get a dog recently and it was going pretty well until today. We went to a rescue just met a brand new dog we were looking at and excited to meet spoke briefly to the people inside and they suggested we take it for a small walk to the end of the sidewalk and back then we can go inside and talk more about it. They put him on a slip lease and outside we went. the dog got spooked by a car driving by and managed to slip out from the lease and ran away. I went after it and some of the people from the rescue came outside to help but we couldn't catch him in time. He ended up running into a busy street where he was struck. My girlfriend and I couldn't see it because it was blocked by some bushes but heard it clearly. Very shortly afterwards my girlfriend starts crying and blaming herself I tell her it wasn't her fault and very sternly tell her to go sit-down in our car, which she does and I ran off to go help the rescue people and see if I could help. Luckily the dog lived with very minor fractures and will make a full recovery after some rest but we didn't know that at the time. I help the rescue get him loaded into a car and then go to comfort my gf.
Fast forward maybe ten or so minute of consoling her I step out of the car to go inside the rescue to see if they need anything which they ask for some information and then I stepped outside. There was a couple who also witnessed this happen in the park nearby and were in close proximity to us when it happened. They approached me when I came out and asked some question and then the girl told me "no matter what happened I shouldn't have spoken to my gf like that".
So my question for you reddit is aita for telling her sternly/aggressively to go wait in the car wrong? I was just trying to get the point across quickly and I didn't want her to see the aftermath after she was already getting upset.
TLDR: Horrible situation unfolded I spoke not so nice to my gf and dog is OK

Hi guys, i made a short post last week. Please read this one before continuing here. But anyways today was another bad performance on my end today and id like to just vent or explain what went on and why im frustrated.
So its been a week since my last post and during that time my ocd/anxiety latched onto the idea that i had some sort of ED. So throughout the week i jerked off numerous and i mean NUMEROUS times standing and a little bit sitting to "test/prove/" that my dick isnt effected by a physical form of ED. This was proven to be the case when me and my love got off to each over a video call with me standing and so on. Fast forward to today and she came over and I wanted to try and see if everything was working fine now.
We started out amazing kissing, foreplay, and even standing at the bed with her doing oral on me was amazing for a solid 10ish minutes. But then right when it was time to actually do vaginal and our usual positions its like I lost all of my drive. I started to think about last week and go "what if i cant do it or it gets soft" and sure enough it did. I got like butterflies in my stomach and it felt like something was just metaphorically blocking the hornyness from coming through all the way in my head. It almoat felt like i had a terrible headache or someone was pinching the pathway that was letting the horny come out. After this happened we both communicated. I told her how angry i am that this is happening, and of course we are committed partners and have been together for 7 years so she said she loves me no matter what and its ok shit happens. She said its ok and its not a big deal + we had amazing foreplay beforehand.
Im am just at a loss personally. Im hurt and angry that something mentally is effecting me from staying rock solid and performing like i usually do. We have never had a problem in 7 years of being together. Again, we are both 24, I have diabetes type 1 and highblood pressure/anxiety OCD. But everything with my health is stable and under control with zero complications. The ONLY think that is different (the last time we had rough amazing sex was the last week of April) is that I started a new internship/volunteer work for my career 2 weeks ago and it is the first "job job" in my career outside of college. I am a graphic designer and the constant need to sit and be creative can sometimes be draining but I of course love it. Lastly, my partners brother was an absolute dick two weeks ago and was trying to start drama where it didnt need to be at all and everyone got extremely agitated and bothered by him including me so theres been family stress too. I'm think maybe the lifestyle switch is maybe enough stress to fuck things up for me? Because otherwise I have no idea whats been going on in these two weeks thats fucked up my drive.
Thank you for reading everyone, i really appreciate it and look forward to your replies!
TLDR; Bad performance in bed, anxiety/stress from life may be mentally blocking me from completing sexual experiences.

We live in a rowhouse at the end of a row, so it shares 1 wall with an adjacent (abandoned) house. There are 3 exterior walls: front, back, and side (the side wall borders the sidewalk, so no room to install a compressor there). We had heat pumps installed in the 3 rooms on the 2nd floor 2 years ago shortly after we moved in. The compressor is on the back deck. My room and the tiny spare room face the backyard, so those rooms' pumps are mounted on exterior walls and work fine.
However, the other big bedroom faces the front of the house, so they mounted the unit there to an interior wall. According to the company that installed it, because it's mounted to an interior wall, this unit has a "pump" inside that's only supposed to pump when it fills with water while the cooling function is being used. However, they've had to replace this pump 3 times so far because they inevitably start buzzing louder and LOUDER, and at regular intervals, even when the cooling function isn't being used. It happened this winter, when the cooling function obviously wasn't being used and hadn't been used for months. Yet this pump that had no water inside to pump turned on at consistent intervals, even when we left the unit off, and got louder and louder before they were able to come replace it again, to the point where it sounded as loud as jet engine and could be heard in literally every room of the house and I had to clal and beg someone to come disconnect it until the replacement part came in.
So they just replaced this "pump" (that's what they call it -- I mean this part, not the heat pump itself) 2 or 3 months ago, and tonight, I heard it buzzing again. Not to jet engine levels yet, though I'm sure it will if they can't replace it soon enough.
My question is:

• Is there such a thing as a "pump" that will not start buzzing at regular intervals like this, getting louder and louder, even when there is no fluid inside, or do they all do this, and this is something you have to accept when a heat pump is mounted to an interior wall? If not, do I tell the company what manufacturer to use, or call a new company?
  
• Is it possible to move this heat pump to the exterior wall of the room, even though it's the opposite side of the house from where the compressor is?
  

ACT 1. Sunday afternoon after visiting the local market two brothers wait for their train to arrive. If they were even a minute late, they knew their mother would surely scold them and scold the elder of the two far worse. The idea of another beating did not bother the elder brother; he had been through far worse just dealing with the brat and his attempted jailbreaks, though something did begin to make him painfully nauseous forcing him to feel pressured by the light breeze as if gravity had suddenly been increased tenfold. All his senses were heightening beyond anything he had thought possible.All around him he saw that the once energetic and hyperactive passengers had become little more than mannequins; their movements slowing to a standstill. They had all gone silent. The station was no longer filled with the cries of children or the gentle laughs of their parents. He had never heard such silence in such a crowded location. He did not feel panicked, nor did he feel a need to act for this silence was oddly comforting to him. However, the newly calm atmosphere would quickly be the source of a lifetime of suffering.His hand began to reach for his brother in an attempt to call his attention. Though in a moment of both unprecedented shock and exhaustion John shoved his younger brother onto the rails of an oncoming train. Local news would report the incident as nothing more than a tragic manic episode of a young sixteen-year-old. However, for John this single visceral instant in which all of his brother's bones were instantly crushed was stretched into hours. He was painfully aware of how every bone in his brother's body contorted in inhuman ways some nearly resembling perfect right angles, until eventually, they snapped and sent insurmountable pain throughout his nervous system. His blood curling screams were made mute by the screech of the train coming to a halt, though, by the time they stopped, his brother had torn his every vocal cord and had long ago lost consciousness. Still on the platform, the elder brother stood still, attempting to process what exactly he had done. He had no idea what force had compelled him to push his brother, but that instant would forever define what he saw as reality.That however was nineteen years ago, in present day he lived in isolation far from any person. He spent his isolated days wandering the land around his cabin completing house chores that distracted him from reminiscing about his days in the asylum or as he liked to call it “The Echo Room” where he was transferred after the incident. He headed inside after spending a portion of his morning counting all one-hundred-and-thirty-two trees that were showing signs of life after the harsh winter that nearly forced him to cut down two of them for firewood. Once inside he began preparing his morning coffee when he heard a loud creak come from the hall. He (after many incidents) learnt to avoid the boards that creaked, so in his mind immediately an intruder was breaking into his cabin searching for food or his stash of special edition coffee. Deciding to investigate he walked towards the noise when suddenly he heard two knocks at his front door. Confused and slightly worried, he proceeded to walk towards the door making sure not to step on any of the annoyingly loud floorboards.He approached and looked through the peephole and saw only what remained of the melting snow outside. Opening the door, he saw that only his steps led to the doormat. He glanced around and saw no indication of any life aside a few dark patches on the snow. He was about to close the door when he noticed a tiny red package wrapped in a radiant red bow placed clear from where the door would open. Cautiously picking it up, he noticed how it had almost no weight to it; as if empty. He walked inside and sat at his desk planning to journal later about the weird morning he had been having. He examined the exterior of the package and saw how not only was it near perfect condition but it was also slightly warm to the touch; as if recently held. He undid the bow and cautiously opened the package, half expecting an explosive of some sort. Though, all he found was a ragged ripped piece of paper. Unremarkable aside from the fact that it was inside such a carefully constructed package. On the other side he saw that it had some scarlet lettering inscribed into it reading.“Ouroboros”. At first believing it to be a prank by the kids who had heard rumors about him, and his incident, nearly caused him to dismiss it entirely deeming it little more than a slightly humorous event. He decided to put it aside for now as he had coffee left to drink that was quickly getting cold. He walked back towards the kitchen still distracted by the idea of no trace being left by whoever had left the gift. Was it even a gift? Maybe it was just some well-executed prank? In any manner he would later have a better look at it. He absentmindedly, reached for his cup and immediately pulled his hand back shocked by the temperature of the cup. It was frozen! Almost to a complete solid. He thought himself slightly distracted but not enough to freeze his morning coffee especially not his special edition coffee. First The Box and now this, it was all adding up to an annoying morning. Was it still morning? No, that’s not right. He had just spent the day counting trees. How could it still possibly be morning?The thought of Dr. Lumis being correct about his mental condition after so many years sent a chill down his spine especially since last time they talked, he did not exactly behave amicably. He was sure that both incidents had been isolated events that could never happen again. Sure, he had heard the echoes every once in a while, but he was never insane like the others; this he knew to be a fact. If he was insane, how could he have ever left? Disoriented and beginning to sweat, his legs suddenly gave out causing him to fall backward landing on the cold wooden floorboards. He looked around hurriedly expecting to see an intruder that had somehow found him. After seeing nothing but his pristine furniture, he steadied himself and began to control his breathing. He slowly got up causing the wood underneath to creak under the sudden release of weight. Deciding to further assure himself he went around the cabin checking in all four rooms. He found nothing aside from his own disturbances. Still feeling slightly nervous and disturbed he headed back towards the living room in search for The Box with the red bow determining that it had somehow triggered his current situation. The Box was still where he placed it; much to his relief. He sat down. He looked once again at the scarlet lettering.
Act 2. Back in the asylum he would often spend his days wondering how he could have ever been grouped alongside individuals who had purposefully and viciously committed heinous crimes against innocent victims. He was not insane like them. Whatever had caused his hand to shove his brother had long abandoned him. His routine now consisted of cleaning whatever mess the older residents made in the halls and transporting lab waste to the crematorium. He would clean from the southern stalls all the way to the northern cemetery and make his rounds gathering the waste from the rooms. It was a simple job but lonely, nonetheless. The halls were often only illuminated by tiny flickering red lights that indicated the position of the cameras through which Dr.Lumis would often monitor John during his nightly crusades. Though incredibly distasteful, John did not mind, he accepted that odd situations would be easier to explain if someone of credit had seen them. Yet despite this, he felt he was being watched by someone other than the doctor. He assumed that this feeling was due to the paranoia he had been diagnosed with a few months back. On a particular night, moments after dumping another bag of soft solids and dense liquids down the chute, he heard footsteps, just outside the room. Expecting to see the doctor he begrudgingly walked towards the door. Exiting and seeing no one he called out for the doctor but got no response aside from the echo of his own voice. He began to walk towards where he had heard the footsteps come from when he suddenly collapsed out of exhaustion. The same exhaustion that had plagued him during the moment of his brother’s death. He tried to reach for his panic button (a gift from Lumis) but it had disappeared from his chain. He tried to scream but not a single whisper was heard. He gazed into the dark corridor where he had thought Dr.Lumis had gone, but saw nothing but soft shadows. Though something was unnervingly wrong about them. They moved as if following an order, all synchronized, all heading towards him. That night in the asylum had left him scared to even return to the disposal area; he feared that The Shadows might eventually be able to reach him. The Shadows did not haunt him unaccompanied: they followed alongside The Echo tormenting his nights. While The Shadows could not reach him during daylight, he could never escape The Echo. It followed wherever he went and tracked everything he did. Dr.Lumis explained that he merely suffered from an extreme case paranoia but John saw the others; who yelled and who screamed true nonsense, he was perfectly aware of himself and the ones around him. Dr. Lumis secretly believed patient #132 experienced Hyper-sanity though this he would never verbally confess. It was term he decided would for now adequately describe his patient’s acute awareness of The Shadows and The Echo. John would for many years go without hearing The Echo after that night, only ever hearing what seemed like the final moans of a dying voice. Back in present day, he hoped he wasn’t suffering another hallucination as they tended to leave him in an embarrassing shocked state. He questioned what “Ouroboros” could possibly mean in relation to himself. He considered the possibility of it being an early warning of some threat to the sanctity of his home. He quickly dismissed it as he had not interacted with anyone long enough to possibly annoy them. Weird them out? Sure. Offend them? Maybe with his sense of fashion. Following his incredibly fine-tuned survival instincts he put on a light coat and went outside to walk among the trees. A mundane task, but one he truly enjoyed especially since he hoped it would distract him for a short while. Just before he closed the door behind him, he took one more look at The Box sitting on his desk and decided to take it with him in case he met the person who had left it. The sun had begun to set marking the end of the day. He watched the sun hide behind the mountain range letting the world bathe in darkness for another night. John did not dislike the night (he had worked nightshifts in The Echo Room for years) but he didn’t find the freezing cold to be ideal. He had not left his land for what was a few years now and the idea of even slightly stepping out of his comfort was making him incredibly anxious. Still, he walked forward towards wherever the path took him. The night only got darker and quieter, and he only got colder. He did not see the lightning bugs that usually warded away the dark near the edge of his hill. Without the soft hum of bugs or soft breeze that would brush against his beard he felt alone. Even the nights back in the asylum did not possess this level of quiet. He kept moving hoping that eventually he would find something that could break the uncomfortable silence. As he continued down the hill, he realized he could no longer distinguish the path from the dirt surrounding it. He considered heading back when he realized he had not kept track of where he had come from. Not only was he lost but alone with his thoughts and whatever had been watching him from the start. He walked a step forward and then another one back repeatedly. What he was attempting to achieve was beyond reason. Had he gone mad? No, he was perfectly sane. “Wait, I can hear them clearly now” he spoke, his voice dried from the cold.“This is not a hallucination” he spoke softly.“i-I AM NOT HALLUCINATING” he proclaimed. He heard The Echo once more though they were not of his voice but rather of Another. He had long been aware of “The Echo” but he could never fully determine whether it was a dream or an effect of the chemicals but this Other was undoubtedly real. “I don’t know where you are but please. Are you real?” he asked the night. He could now hear The Echo or rather feel the pressure of its words upon his reality. Had it been trying to hide the Other? He walked forward and pulled out The Box. “You gave me this right? What for? What purpose does it serve?” No one responded.Annoyed, he threw it as far as he could down the hill. “THERE! THIS CAN’T CONTINUE WITHOUT IT, RIGHT?” He shouted at the endless empty. That’s when out of the darkness emerged a faint light. Was it a lightning bug or maybe a sign of civilization?
Act 3. Cautiously, he approached the cold light and saw that the light was artificial. The tube inside flickered before another appeared a few feet ahead, and then another and then another and then what seemed like an uncountable amount more. He took a step forward and noticed that the ground underneath had turned to hard white tile. Accepting that this was not the weirdest occurrence that had affected him he proceeded to walk forward making sure to keep a mental note to journal about it later. The surrounding landscape transformed into white walls that every so often had a window that let him peek at the other side. At first, he could still see the snowy landscape, but it to slowly changed; first having scattered papers and then chairs, cabinets, and desks until they eventually resembled a typical office. Its purpose was not obvious to him, and neither was the hallway but if they were changing surely, it possessed a deeper metaphorical meaning that related to his life. He saw a door at the very end of the hall and decided to not postpone the ploy of whatever “The Echo” was planning. He stood before the door wondering about what it could possibly contain. John proceeded to open the door. Inside was a desk along with a single cabinet. Walking inside he noticed that the room was illuminated by some otherworldly source that had no words that could possibly describe it. He walked towards the desk and a file he had not seen previously, sat open. Inside was a description of his physical appearance. “Age: 35. Height: 5’8. Weight: 185 lbs. Hair: Black with obvious signs of stress. Eyes: Brown. Character Aptitude: High.” “Okay, I get it. I’m old, you didn’t have to expose my hair like that” he said slightly embarrassed quickly restyling his hair. He noticed that even though they had an almost perfect description of his hobbies, dreams and wishes they did not have a single picture as if they for some reason were only able to use words. “SOOO you know about that one time in the asylum (don’t ask) BUT NOT A SINGLE PICTURE? That’s lame.” he said mockingly. On the final page he found what looked like an incomplete file; most of the personal attributes had not yet been filled and only a note was made reading. “They don’t need a complete story just one they can understand.” Besides the fact that whatever role he played in this act had been a mere afterthought; he was confused as to how anyone could have ever gathered such sensitive and personal information about his isolated life. Was it The Echo? Had it told them his life? A phone started to ring somewhere in the room abruptly breaking the silence he had become used to. He quickly rotated towards the source of the ringing but did not find anything. There was only him and the four walls that despite the lighting did not change a shade of grey. He walked towards one of them that seemed to be where the noise came from resting his hand on it and gently put his ear to it thinking that the ringing was from another room entirely. The wall he had just laid a hand on had no longer a physical representation and causing John to fall through to the other side. Disoriented he slowly looked up and saw The Telephone illuminated by what seemed to be the same light that illuminated the previous room. This one however was far more powerful and concentrated solely on The Telephone. He approached it expecting a chasm to somehow appear underneath his feet. The Telephone did not stop ringing and only seemed to increase in intensity (though this could have simply been a hallucination). He lifted it to cut the blaring noise and slowly put it to his ear. “hello?” “…” “…” “The protagonist only dies if the story ends” the voice said quietly. “HUH? YOU DRAGGED ME HERE TO TELL ME THAT OMINOUSLY ANNOYING LOAD OF *********!” “…I’m so sorry” The call disconnected not out of offense but rather out of completion. John slammed the phone back onto its stand and decided it was time for this nonsense to end. He walked out into the room he was in before anxiously attempting to find another exit: only to be met with solid walls. What wicked game had he been roped into? When would it end? These were questions he would answer far earlier than he expected. A door appeared in the center of the room. No, it was more of a two-dimensional plane that appeared to be a sort of portal. With no other options, John stepped into the newly opened portal.
Act 4. On the other side was a station, and his ears were immediately flooded with the cries of children and the laughs of their parents. He walked around moving through the crowd careful to not miss any indication of the location. His pace increased as he began to recognize the commuters shortly realizing exactly where he was. He rushed to a platform, the platform where he and his brother were to arrive after their day in the market. He sat on a nearby bench committed to saving his brother no matter who he would have to shove instead. Three agonizing days passed with the daily commuters repeating their routine with the slightest variations. One of these variations would be the key to preventing the day that haunted his nights. Something would soon cause him to shove his brother onto the tracks. He was determined to stop the fall or kill himself to keep his brother safe.He heard a familiar laughter and turned towards the source and saw his brothers face uncontrollably laughing and himself lightly smiling. He began to run towards them but felt once again suddenly exhausted. As if the air became a type of nonnewtonian sludge making his legs impossibly heavy. The crowd around him seemed to be moving just as easily as before; children laughing just as maniacally and just as carelessly. He tried to yell to them, but his lungs were filled with the dense fluid drowning any screams he attempted. He was forced to watch how his brother got closer and closer to the edge. Through much effort, he managed to get close enough to extend a hand towards his past trying to desperately push him away from his brother. The past reacted in what seemed to be a defensive system and sent a temporal anomaly throughout the space his past and present inhabited. Time began to exponentially speed forward. In a last desperate attempt to prevent his brother’s death he tried to distract the past long enough to let the train pass without incident, but the temporal anomaly caused the relative slow velocity of his touch to have the effect of a sudden jerk and in his final moments of consciousness he saw his brother accelerate towards the rails in a split second. He awoke back in the office alone with nothing, but the realization of what force had killed his brother. He curled into the fetal position and began to cry; still believing his lungs to be filled with the dense liquid he did not let out a single sigh. He spent several hours in this state of painful silence without even opening his eyes. His emotions were chaotic and his thoughts unending. They tormented him for hours far after he had run out of tears to let out. They were merciless and torturous forbidding him from resting, insisting on his suffering. Being the cause of his brother’s death nearly caused him to go insane yet part of him kept insisting that Another was to blame. Another had caused him to do it. The Other had forced his hand. Of this, he was now sure. The Other enjoyed his suffering, The Other forced him to kill his brother. He had not eaten nor slept in what seemed like years and yet he stood up defying the gravity that held him down. He took a deep breath of as much oxygen as his lungs allowed and began to speak. “Whoever you are. Whatever you are. Wherever you are. Just know I will no longer play for your entertainment the rest is entirely my choice” he said threateningly. He then began to walk forwards confidently towards the dark wall and through the hidden door that he was not supposed to see. He entered what seemed to be a studio room though, unlike the sterile office; it was trashed. Papers littered the floor and empty bottles populated the lone mattress. On it laid a journal that had recently had liquid spilt on it. He picked the journal and gently opened it and began to read. It was scratched with the stray ideas of a creator who seemed to have never decided upon an end or beginning to his story; yet possessing the journey. He saw many ideas that together seemed to create a way for the continuity to depend entirely on Another rather than itself. A thought described in a single word interested him enough to take it with him. The room started to dissolve around him transforming into a cold landscape. Armed with the knowledge of who he was he treaded what remained of the worn-out path. The sun began to rise signing the start of another day, yet John did not seem to notice as he was focused on something buried in the snow. He could not see much of it yet he knew it was The Box he had thrown the previous night. He dug it up and began his walk up the hill once more. He eventually arrived at his cabin and walked towards his front door….
Act 5.
If you wish to rebel; continue reading on the next page.
Begin the story once more on Truth 2.
If you wish to ward away The Other; don’t read any further
If you wish to follow The Echo read Truth 3
To understand turn to Truth 4
Truth 1
…Before deciding that no longer would he be a puppet for someone’s amusement. John arrogantly began marched back down the hill and headed north towards the nearest interstate a few miles from his home hoping that he had derailed The Echo’s plot. It took him hours on foot, but he would eventually come across the road and start his journey back to civilization no longer subject to the whims of an Otherworldly Audience. He believed his future was now his to decide. He decided what he would become. He decided when and what to think. This he was sure would be how he escaped his torment. John suddenly suffered a complete body collapse and fell forward landing face first onto the scorching road. It would be several sweltering hours before anyone would find him. But eventually someone did, john suffering heavy burns and on the brink of death was saved. He would awake months later in a hospital bed though no one would ever know of this. Weeks would pass as john laid in the hospital bed unable to speak or even move; alerting no one to his consciousness. The doctors and nurses were busy with whatever important patients needed immediate attention; they walked from one end to the other in what seemed like mere minutes. The entire time the only company he had was The Echo and yet slowly it too seemed to forget his existence as well. Eventually The Echo having no interest went away.Jane a third-year medical student had recently joined the staff a month prior and had already been assigned two elders and one child. Though overwhelmed she did not grow annoyed nor frustrated; she loved her job and by proxy her patients. Despite her benevolent nature there was a single patient she never went near as he always seemed to be watching her despite his eyes being shut for over four months. Any time she got near to patient #132 she would begin to get nauseous and quickly retreat. She had no ID on the man, but it seemed he was dehydrated for far longer than should’ve been possible and should be by all accounts dead if not near it. Whenever she worked nightshifts, she would swear that she heard the man whimper slightly as if to warn her of something. Even when she was on the opposite side of the building, she would hear the echo of his groans. She would eventually be transferred and would soon forget the man who after 6 months was officially declared braindead and was due to be disposed of, yet she would still every once in a while, still hear The Echo. Forgotten Ending
Truth 2…Realizing that there was no other choice John took a step forward while placing the note he ripped from the journal into The Box making sure to keep it neatly packaged. He saw the footprints he had left two nights before and carefully stepped into each one making sure to not disturb the surrounding snow. Whatever…Whoever had set him on this path allowed him to live a life of suffering, a life of loss, and a life of pain. This, he felt was the way things were intended to play out; the way it had to end. He placed The Box on the final step making sure it would not be knocked away whenever the door would eventually open. He walked away nearly to the edge of the property when he looked back once more. Managing to peek inside he saw his past still making his coffee when he saw an almost invisible distortion appear near the front door. He smiled and turned away only saying…Freedom ending
Truth 3…though spotting a disturbance near the back of the cabin distracted him from the front door. He decided to investigate for fear of losing a single blossoming tree. Arriving near the back fence he saw no indication of a disturbance giving him much needed reassurance. He heard noise emerge from inside the cabin giving him one more dilemma to deal with. He headed to the backdoor making sure to not disturb the recent snow and entered the cabin. Being sleep deprived and without coffee he had forgotten about the wooden floor and stepped on one that caused a creak to be heard throughout the cabin. He quickly hid in the bathroom fearing that he had disturbed the continuity that The Echo had established when suddenly a bright flash blinded him. He found himself at the front door next to The Box. Slightly amused he proceeded to knock on the door and was soon after transported once more to an empty hall. Both confused and entertained as he was being transported from one place in time to another he took a few steps forward alerting the past to his presence. Seeing his past enter the hall he ducked and quickly hid around the corner. His past seemed to believe that the doctor was in the halls and decided to investigate though just as he was nearing closer; his past collapsed. John saw how his fall was slowed as if moving through the dense liquid he had once gone through. He walked towards his past and noticed an old fashioned panic button that would instantly call Dr.Lumis to his location. Measuring the consequences, he decided to remove the panic button and head back towards The Shadows. For a third and final time he was transported to a final location, the bottom of a snowy hill. Taking in his surroundings he noticed burn marks on the snow where his past would eventually walk through the portal whenever the past caught up. He reached into his pocket and realized how the plot was supposed to move forward. He walked until he reached the exact point where his past would once again find The Box. He kneeled and buried The Box making sure to erase any evidence of his own disturbances. Fully fulfilling his purpose John collapsed. The End.
“Did the hero die?” “What?” “Did he die?” “No? He beat the bad guy and saved the day remember?” “Yea but like AFTER.” “Well, I guess after a few years he would.” “No” The young child said growing annoyed, “when you said, “The End” did he die?” “No.” responded the elder brother. “Then what happened to him? Is he still alive?” “The protagonist only dies if you stop reading.” concluded the elder brother as if possessed. Begin again?
Truth 4…Then just as he took his first step forward everything began to rot. His trees, his home, his coffee, all of it was slowly eroding into a fine dust. He knew that another temporal anomaly would be the likely cause, but he had not yet experienced one that possessed this level of molecular destruction. The fabric of his reality was slowly and thoroughly being untangled into its most simple of compositions. It separated the light from dark, gravity from time, and words from spaces.John could now comprehend what had defined his reality for so many painful years, he finally understood The Narrative and how all possible endings had been chosen long before his creation. John had been a slave from the moment The Narrative began; not once in his entire existence had he ever had a real choice only walking paths already treaded by Another. He was nothing but a plot device in an otherwise self-indulging tale written by a gentle master forced to be cruel for those above. From the moment this story began, John was in pain. He could never hope to truly escape; he could only die until he arose once more. Had John never understood what his life really was then maybe he could’ve found meaning in his suffering. Unfortunately, this choice has now forced John to become aware of how truly meaningless his existence was. His life was little more than entertainment for The Other; they were the ones truly in control. For as long as The Other remained, The Echo would doom John to eternal suffering. The Echo was never in control of The Narrative; he too was merely a subject to it by an even greater force. The Echo did not wish for John to suffer but The Other would not allow John to live if he did not. It is a toxic cycle of pain, suffering and realization that forces John to relive The Narrative lifetime after lifetime. The Narrative must have suffering intertwined into its foundation otherwise The Other would grow bored and erase the reality ending John in but a mere thought. Don’t you see? Don’t you understand? This is reality; John cannot exist without pain, The Echo cannot live without a narrative, and The Other is you. THE END......
Intended to be a philosophical narrative detailing the tragic relationship between the reader, the narrator, and the character and how they cannot coexist without hurting each other.

My store is one of many in a line of other small businesses and boutiques. This area is super populawell known for it’s small business shopping & incredible foot traffic. A farmer’s market also happens right outside our door. Business was BOOMING until… the city decided to start demolition of the unit next to us. They have to block it off, of course, so the sidewalk stops literally 2 feet from our front door ie we are at the end of the line of stores. Where people used to be able to walk past, they just cross the street before even seeing our windows 😞 We’ve tried the big collapsible signs, talking to the landlord/city, etc. I think I’m hesitant on putting racks outside because of the concrete dust (women & children’s clothing). Any ideas to increase foot traffic irl, besides of course continuing to try to expand our online presence? Thank you SO much!

Over the course of my 4 year marriage to my partner, I have arrived at the position that I was abused, manipulated, and functionally enslaved to a mentally ill partner.
In simplest form, the progression is apparently observable. She was diagnosed with cancer in October of 2019 while we were engaged. Due to the diagnosis, we moved up our actual marriage date (our wedding was still set for mid-April) to December 1, 2019. Her surgery was December 13, 2019. In my compassion for her, I agreed to move our wedding date up to offset her anxiety around who would be responsible for her if things went south with her surgical treatment.
Our first month of marriage was straightforward; she was on pain meds recovering from surgery, so the main engagement that occurred was me walking her up and down the hospital hallway as she recovered and trying to meet her base physical needs of hygiene, food, and presence. We stayed in the hospital for 2-3 weeks (with recurring hospital visits for complications).
Quickly after we figured out our marital living situation in her small 3-bed apartment with 2 roommates, our relationship devolved. Specifically, she was irritable because of the pain she was in, causing her to lash out at me with regular frequency for small things. If I didn’t put clothes away in the right place, didn’t anticipate her needs (without her communicating them), or ate the wrong food in front of her she would shout at me and decry me for my thoughtlessness.
These small, critical engagements were wounding and created a distance between us – and there was no upside. She was never kind, never paid mind to needs I might have, and started down a path of cultivating a root of bitterness in her soul. She quickly revealed herself to be venomous, hateful, and vindictive when she felt like she was wronged — and any observation of concern about our marriage resulted me in being accused of being mean or insensitive, even if I spent hours or days calculating the best way to share my concern (and I have a master’s degree in communication where I focused in studying disagreement — I know how to carefully package concerns).
During this time, I worked hard to provide for us, foreseeing a significant time period where I would have to be primary financial provider and caregiver. I increased my income each year we were married by around 25%, finishing our marriage at >$80,000 in yearly income, compared to starting our marriage at a modest $42,000 salary (including dramatically improving our healthcare). Frankly, I increased my income to provide for us in spite of the lack of support at home.
But to be clear: I don’t think it would have been particularly difficult to provide financially if I had an ounce of support at home.
However, the relentless criticism and expectation of mind-reading continued through the years. I rationalized this abuse for the first year of our marriage because of all the excuses to be cruel, she had a good one – she had cancer. I hung onto a hope that it would stop. Contrary to my hope, as the years went on – and our expenses climbed – and I continued to work myself to the bone – she continued to relentlessly critique and even started being more emotionally demanding, expecting me to take responsibility for her inability to cope with her emotions – I was drowning. She was asking too much of me. There was no deliverance from her abuse.
I was exhausted. In the peak of the abuse I endured at her hand, I was working multiple jobs, sleeping 10+ hours a night and napping frequently during the day around meetings and work, then coping with alcohol to numb myself to the abusive dynamic and fall asleep with no support from her. The only time I could approach her sexually was when I was intoxicated, with inhibitions lowered. The only time I could have a conversation with her was with a counselor in the room. Without something to mitigate opportunity for her to be cruel to me, either a mediator or self-medication, I was scared.
I lived at home in a constant state of alert and cognitive fatigue. No matter how I tried to make sense of my home life, I couldn’t. When she looked at or touched me, I would recoil in fear, anticipating some sort of incisive critique or demand expressed. Then she would criticize me for not responding warmly to her, exacerbating the cycle.
I couldn’t meet her needs – I was utterly exhausted. When I would tell her of the exhaustion I experienced in marital counseling, her responses were typically something along the lines of not believing me, denying what I was saying was true, or calling my exhaustion an ‘excuse’. I could interact happily with my friends… why not her?
I did not deny her demands were legitimate; rather, I expressed my inability to meet them because of how fatigued I was. I said ‘I can’t’ so many times. I realize her demands were small; affection, saying ‘i love you’, complimenting her. But it’s disorienting to be consistently berated and belittled by a person and then asked to compliment them and tell them you love them.
The push and pull of abuse is exhausting to a person who is not mentally because it does not make sense.
Further, in counseling I realized that I have forgotten that I have needs. I have lost the tools to even evaluate what my needs might be because, implicitly and explicitly in my marriage, I was told my needs don’t matter.
My marriage made no sense; I was obviously drowning, exhausted with the demands our life imposed on me. I was doing everything I could to get straight. I was in individual therapy, marital counseling, pastoral counseling, trying different antidepressants (4 in total – all with no effect), changing eating habits, trying to reduce my drinking, getting medical tests to see if I had health issues causing my fatigue, and being vulnerable in my friendships in an attempt to invite others in to process and move forward and figure out my marriage. I desperately shared everything I could about my marriage, hoping someone else would crack the code where I couldn’t.
None of my efforts worked. I could not get out of the exhausted state I was in. It’s worth noting here that within weeks of separating I almost completely cut out alcohol, got into a regular sleep schedule, was waking up at 6-7am every day and reading multiple hours (which I couldn’t do in marriage due to cognitive fatigue/distraction), and experienced a resurgence of energy. I have felt the duress I was under lift and lift and lift and the weeks and months have went on.
In retrospect, I was experiencing cognitive fatigue because I was taking the demands my wife was placing on me seriously, but no matter what I did I could not make sense of them. How could she not see that I was doing everything I could to make ends meet – the ends which she was imposing on me? I did not have additional energy left. She would ask me ‘Do you love me?’ and I didn’t know how to respond. How is my work not at least some symbol of love? My dream was to be a poor professor, which she knew – instead I was grinding myself to the bone, working in digital marketing with multiple freelance projects, picking up a bartending gig and a teaching gig on top of full-time employment.
The last straw was when she accused me of abuse. I took that accusation seriously, and weighed it against my experience. ‘Am I an abuser?’ I asked myself. I sorted through my behavior and how I treated her. I came to the conclusion that I may be a poor husband in serious ways; but I am not an abuser. And the abuse question opened the door to the question… ‘I may not be an abuser… but is there abuse in our marriage?’ And the answer quickly became ‘Yes.’
When we were married, I understood that she wasn’t going to work much for a while. However, she worked the bare minimum she could for 4 years, earning at most in a single year $18,000. As the years went on and my income climbed, our debt continued to climb as well. She was still contributing the same, yet spending frivolously on useless knick knacks for our home and a cat. As I packed up our home to sell, the majority of items were dozens of boxes of useless junk she’d accumulated.
She lived a life of mania around finances. We would go to marital counseling and she would regularly express, ‘I would rather be poor and happy than rich and sad’. We were poor and sad. Sure, my income was the highest it’d ever been – but we were still drowning, with debts climbing. At the end of our marriage, we’d accumulated about $20,000 in consumer debt between credit cards and personal loans.
It was traumatizing (and abusive) to go to counseling and be told by my partner she would ‘rather be poor and happy and than rich and sad’ when the factual scenario we were living was neither. She actively denied reality – both my lived experience and the reality of our finances – at my expense. It was killing me, trying to make sense of what we were going through but being unable to make sense of what I was being told and what I was experiencing.
Throughout this time, it is worth adding that she also leveraged my spiritual leadership to ‘set me straight’. I was in a conservative Evangelical space, believing that men are the ultimate provider in a family unit and primarily responsible for the status of the marriage. Because I was not doing what she wanted me to (lavishing her with affection), I was muscled into multiple groups and meetings where pastoral care intervened to restore our marriage. In the moment, I submitted to my pastoral care because of my trust for them and my faith in God. Now, I believe this dynamic was abusive; my pastoral care did not care in any sense for my soul; they only cared about fixing my marriage. No questions around ‘why’ my marriage was so bad were asked; only what was going on and how it could be fixed. I relish the thought of my pastoral care being held accountable for the abuse they exercised upon me during this time on judgment day, albeit through a shaken faith in a God that would enable this dynamic.
With my spiritual community, I shared that I felt like she was my tormentor; that she it felt as if I were on the ground due to exhaustion, and she was standing on my throat, telling me to ‘get up’ and ‘tell me you love me’; that our metaphorical life was a boat, sinking, and I was desperately bailing out water. All the while, she stood at the other end of the boat, desperately bailing water in and looking at me like I was a maniac.
And yet, because there was no adultery, there was no category for divorce. We had sworn an oath before God and were required to fix this.
As I reflect upon my marriage (and the ongoing divorce proceedings), a few things are clear.
She is an abuser. I don’t think she intends to be, but impact matters. She is mentally ill and unable to reckon with basic reality.
She is a manipulator. She manipulated my spiritual community against me. I was viewed as someone to be corrected while begging for help from my trusted friends and pastoral care, whom I now regret being vulnerable with due to their abuse and denial of my reality because I didn’t fit neatly into their thin theological categories.
She is an enslaver. In divorce proceedings, she is doing everything she can to get every dollar from me, leveraging student loans I did not co-sign, my continually increasing income due to my hard work, and denying every claim of dissipated assets she can.
It is truly a mind-breaking experience to see your compassion leveraged against you for money. I had to sit under an attorney proclaiming to a judge that, since I consented to move up our marriage date before her cancer surgery, ‘I knew what I was getting into’. That she is entitled to large sums of money (that do not exist; we never had more than $3000 in our bank account during marriage) due to that decision.
Even apart from the abuse, I did not know what I was getting into. Including the abuse, I am full of remorse for having invited such an evil, hateful person into my life.
This experience has been the most challenging to my faith. As I endured abuse from her, I trusted God in a few ways. That the compassion I showed would maybe be rewarded – or, at least not punished. That my spiritual community wanted what was best for me. That God was not a punitive, hateful God (like my partner). I do not believe this trust was well placed, but am open to shortcomings in my views here.
I struggle to consent to a God that allowed my experience to occur. I’m open and processing in some kind of faith, but I really don’t know what it looks like to find a place to put this pain and betrayal that I’m experiencing.
I am a survivor of abuse, and the abuse I endured was mind-shattering. I sacrificed everything to support a partner diagnosed with serious bodily illness, which drove her to hate me and deny my lived experience because she could not reconcile it with the hatefulness she cultivated over our marriage, choosing bitterness over any positivity for four years, poisoning my well-being in the process.
What I envisioned to be the most compassionate moment of my life — marrying a person with cancer and promising to support and love them — has become nothing but a symbol of pain and remorse. I envisioned a life where my partner and I would fight against the terror of cancer; instead she hopped to the other side, choosing her ongoing health issues as the ally and myself as the enemy.
It took me 4 years to realize it. And as she drags me through court to leverage every dollar out of me I can, my only regret is that I didn’t leave my abuser to her own devices sooner; self-pity, hatefulness, and a sheer disregard toward taking responsibility for anything.
I am grateful but drowning. As we are negotiating settlement, the end is near, and my abuser will soon be unable to execute any influence in my life.

The mistake is to assume that naming a problem is enough to solve it. I’ve come to think of this as the “Rumpelstiltskin fallacy” — or I also think of a famous Arthur C. Clarke short story, which I won’t spoil by naming it. But clearly I’m not the first person to use these metaphors, and if I google “Rumpelstiltskin principle” (or “effect” or “fallacy”) then I get all kinds of interesting usages… some of which overlap with what I’m talking about, none of which are quite the same thing.
So I’m just calling it a “mistake” here, because it doesn’t seem to reduce to a single logical fallacy or cognitive bias, and it may be more of a compound or second-order heuristic. I’ll give a few examples in different domains, and I’m hoping that someone can either point to where the umbrella concept has been better defined and discussed, or explain why I’m off base in thinking of it as a single mechanism.

1. Politics: whenever one side gets overly attached to some concept or framing, with demands that the other side either use or renounce specific terms. In the US, one obvious two-way example today is “critical race theory,” but another was “Islamic fundamentalism” in the post-9/11 period.
   
2. Psychology / self-help: on the one hand you’ve got Tumblr style therapy culture, with these increasingly specific taxonomies of identity, neurodivergence, trauma, etc. On the other end of that cultural axis, you’ve got pop Stoicism and other repackaged virtue ethics, which can be just as reductivist in practice.
   
3. Social science: the blank slate and the rational actor seem like parallel left-ish and right-ish examples. You might say they were each initially useful as a simplifying assumption (e.g. let’s zero out what we “know” about innate male/female differences, to see how much of it is really socially constructed) but they became reified to the point that whole new “contrarian” subfields formed just to question them, like behavioral econ or evo psych.
   
4. Culture: just the rise of fan culture and the increasing “meta-ness” of taste — the idea that explaining or contextualizing music/film/books is the point of consuming them, or that it’s somehow prior to consumption. So we could talk about right-coded objections to diverse Marvel movies, or left-coded objections to Young Adult plots... but one of the earliest signs for me was when new TV shows started to be promoted with interviews with the cast, before even telling you what the show was about.
   

I appreciate that I’m stretching the meaning of “naming” to mean defining, explaining or framing, and stretching the definition of “problem” too. I realize you could tackle each of my examples with a stack of other concepts, like map vs territory, man-with-a-hammer syndrome, “solutionism,” confirmation bias, and so on.
But am I right that there’s some other overarching mechanism they all share? Sort of a convergence on this same pattern of magical thinking, derailing from practical subjects into theory that doesn’t ramify the way we want it to? Or am I just overthinking it?

Hello,
I’m 23 f and I have at least 3 women I know who are most likely in abusive relationships. One of them is my friend, one of them is my aunt, one of them is boss. All three of them I’ve had a situation where I witnessed a clear sign of abuse. This is a long one. But I feel like each situation matters.
The first one is my best friend. She would tell me all types of events that happened between them where he was not a good man. Mostly cheating. I tell her to leave him multiple times. Next thing you know she’s pregnant and they move in together. He didn’t change though. Next thing you know they were fighting and he hit her in the car, bruising her. I beg her to leave. She doesn’t. The next event that happens is that they’re arguing in the house and he pulls a knife on her threatening her. He eventually gets mad and throws their baby onto the bed and storms out the apartment. She sent me the footage and I tell her to please leave for the safety of her baby and call the police. The police didn’t do anything but make his whole family mad at her. The police did not care at all. She tells me she’s going to have her dad get her a ticket to leave and move in with her dad. I kept asking about how that’s going everyday. And it turns into a month afterwards. She stayed. She gets pregnant again. And her boyfriend hates me and told me if I go to her baby shower he won’t be there and neither will his family. So I don’t go because of this and also because I’m scared he’ll hurt me too. She doesn’t tell me about what happens with him anymore. I feel like through speaking up and trying to help I made her situation worse.
The second woman is my auntie. She’s not my aunt by blood and not even by marriage but she has my biological uncles children. You can’t go anywhere with them without them arguing at the end of the night. They’re both still young and only 4-5 years older than me and they both have a drug addiction with coke. However, I notice he gives her coke more than he does it himself. He goes out of his way to embarrass her, call her names, and ruin the night. He doesn’t care whose it’s in front of. I’ve never seen him physically hit her, but I wouldn’t doubt for a second he does. Nobody in my family speaks up because he’s blood. And they’ll always take his side because they just see her as the coke head baby mom. And she does have her issues. She’s had fights with other members of my family because of them. And I don’t excuse her from them. But I think the way my uncle talks to her is unacceptable and verbally abusive. Not only does he do it front of our family, but he does it in front of his own kids who are all girls. One night we’re all getting back from somewhere and they start fighting and he’s just berating her over nothing all because she asked if I wanted to go get something to eat. I tell him calm down it’s okay it’s not that deep and then he tells me “you’re not helping at all”. I’m not a very confrontational person. I’m often scared to be the one to speak up. So I put my hand on her should and tell her it’s okay. And he gets mad at me and tells me “you’re not helping AT ALL stay out of it”. It’s a quiet way back home. Weeks pass and it’s my birthday so we’re all playing board games having a good time and drinking. Me and my aunt start talking about mental health and stuff and my uncle doesn’t like it so he tells her it’s time to go to bed. And my aunt is like we’re talking and we’re about to watch another movie. I agree and my uncle gets mad at both of us. When he walks out we talk about him being weird and he starts blowing up when he gets back. I’m drunk and I’m like this is the moment I speak up because this is not okay. I stand my ground and I continue watching the movie with her even though he’s throwing a fit in the background. Eventually he just shuts the tv off. And I turn it back on. Eventually we’re fighting over the buttons and he tells me you’re my niece and you’re turning against me don’t ever ask me for anything ever again. My dad wakes up and tells us all to be quiet. And he tells ME to calm down. When this all started because of him. I go and hug my aunt and just go to bed. The next morning they’re laid up together again and they’re both not talking to me. And the rest of my family tells me I should’ve just minded my business and to stay out of peoples relationships. But how can I stay silent seeing this happen? This scars me because It felt like everyone turned against me instead of the obvious abuser. My aunties smiles at me, but she wont speak to me because it’ll start another fight with my uncle. We eventually hang out again but I feel discouraged for speaking up anymore. Because nothing changes.
The next person is my boss. I know this is odd. And I’m not that close to my boss. And I don’t know what happens when she’s at home with her husband. But there was a work trip and my boyfriend and I go to the event in her husbands car to carpool. I’m the car I guess she gave the wrong directions on accident. He starts driving crazy yelling at her and calling her stupid. The way he was driving at that moment you would’ve thought he was drunk. He’s driving over sidewalks, speeding on city roads cutting off other people while berating her. She just stays silent. And I stay silent. My boyfriend stays silent. I’m scared to speak up anymore. Because I know nothing will change. But something needs to be said. But if I feel like if said anything I would’ve caused more trouble.
What am I supposed to do in situations like these? Do I really say nothing? It’s like every part of my body is fighting to speak up but the only person who gets punished is me and the victim. But never the abuser. What do I do when witnessing this?

I'm pissed off at the so called justice system and need to rant and I figure plenty of other pod listeners have experienced what a bastard it is and might relate. Feel free to share your story in the comments and we can all commiserate and bitch together.
I work the front desk of a motel and I love it. The owner pays a living wage, and I'm not required to smile in the face of Karen nonsense.
For the most part, the property is safe and quiet, but we have been having issues with this one particular loiterer for a few years now. In general, we really don't want people who are not guests or here with guests to be hanging around the property. He did more than just hang around though. He actively bothered guests, trying to bum money, cigarettes, alcohol and rides off of people while stinking drunk. He'd bother anyone but women were his favorite. He'd hit on them and try to get their numbers, even staff members. It didn't matter how many times he was told to leave, he'd keep coming back. Usually this happened at night, but he'd show up stumbling drunk during the day as well.
He's not homeless. When we figured out his name, we were able to determine he lives in an apartment complex a stone's throw away. We learned his name after an employee saw his mugshot, and that he'd been charged with trespassing and indecent exposure at a nearby business. Looking up his past criminal history, he's no stranger to run ins with the police. Criminal Mischief, False Imprisonment Of Child Under 13 Yoa, Child Abuse, Battery, Possession Of Drug Paraphernalia, Disorderly Conduct, Trespass In Occupied Structure, Possession Of Cocaine all from one encounter with police. Others include another count of indecent exposure, assault on a female and breaking and entering.
When we learned all this, we realized he was more than just a nuisance and we needed to try harder to get him to stay the hell away before he hurt one of our guests or a member of staff. Then he ended up being gone for awhile anyway. Jail? Another state? We don't know and I'm not that good at reading court records.
But he came back with a vengeance toward the end of 2022 and started zeroing in on our night auditor who was a very pretty but naïve girl which I guess he took as an invitation. When we learned about this she was told to just call the police whenever he'd show up so we could finally get him trespassed. I'm sure it will come as no surprise to any of you that the police never showed up in time to get him on the property, so they kept saying they couldn't do anything about it. Months later the planets aligned and he was finally trespassed.
This kept him away briefly. The night auditor left and a new one was hired who was not aware of the loiterer. Unfortunately for her, he took an even bigger shine to her, escalating to very sexual comments. We hadn't seen him for a bit, so we foolishly thought having him trespassed would work and hadn't warned her about him. One day last summer she is telling me about a guy who keeps coming around on her shift, and she doesn't think he's a guest. As she's describing him I realize she's talking about the loiterer. I tell her next time he comes around, just call the police.
To make a long story short (too late), by November he'd been arrested on our property three times for trespassing. And one time for communicating threats when he came screaming at the night auditor demanding to know why the general manager was at the hotel in the middle of the night. Clearly having him trespassed was not a deterrent. We kept being told to just keep calling because it would build a stalking case against him. Private security options around here are a joke, so instead the night auditor's boyfriend was given a free room during her shifts because her stalker would stay away when her boyfriend was around. But he would watch the property from somewhere because if her boyfriend went to run an errand or was away from the desk long enough, guess who would come creeping?
Don't worry, we finally got stalking charges against him though. Early November I was working a 16 hour shift because I'm a workaholic and I like OT. I was also pet sitting for my parents so as my day drew to a close I was absolutely running on fumes. Guess who turns up on the property bothering our guests again? We do the same song and dance where I call the police and they don't show up on time. The night auditor he likes was working that night and she arrived without her boyfriend, long story but he couldn't be there.
I desperately needed to get out of there because I had to be back in 8 hours and also needed to take care of the dog, but I could not in good conscience leave her by herself when I knew her stalker was prowling around. Sure enough, as I'm about to leave we see him on the security cameras heading toward the desk. The lobby has big glass windows and he walked by them, presumably looking to see if she was alone, but he kept going because I was here.
Something in me snapped. If the law wasn't enough to deter him from coming around, we'd have to find alternative methods to discourage him. I grabbed the pepper spray we have because of him and went outside to confront him like a lunatic. I shouted "hey!" to get him to turn around and I pepper sprayed him in the face as he was eating a cheeseburger and then I did it again. I got his face and his cheeseburger and he was so drunk he kept eating it as he cursed me and called me a crazy bitch, which is a fair thing to call the crazy bitch who just pepper sprayed you even though you deserved it.
I had dialed 911 on the way out the door, so they got to hear me yelling at him and told me to stop following him and I lied and said I wasn't following him, I was just yelling at him. In reality I was doing both though I only followed him to the edge of the property. The reality of the situation hit me at that point because I absolutely just attacked him and called the police on myself. My biggest concern in the moment though was the fact that my parents were out of town and there was no one else to take care of their dog.
Anyway, cop shows up like ten minutes later to take our statements and whatever. My eyes are stinging because I'd walked through a cloud of pepper spray, so I recommend gel not spray because it apparently doesn't do that. Fortunately I did not get in trouble and the cop was like huh, if your reaction to seeing him is to just immediately pepper spray him, perhaps we have enough for stalking charges. Yay, finally. They didn't catch him that night though.
And it turns out pepper spray wasn't that good of a deterrent. He was back bothering people two days later. Fortunately his favorite target was off for a few days and the other NA was working and called the police. They showed up and talked to him AND DIDN'T ARREST HIM. They said they couldn't because he wasn't on property when they arrived, which is bullshit because all they need is proof he was here which we have because we have security cameras and he has been busted another time that way. They just didn't want to do their job.
I started bringing my gun to work at that point in case the stalker decided he wanted revenge for the pepper spray. But honestly his brain is so liquor cooked I'm not even sure he remembers I did that.
Over the next couple days we say him a few more times, learned he had a warrant out for his arrest on the stalking and trespassing charge, but the cops kept not showing up in time. Then we didn't see him for a few weeks. I'd check on the local arrest records to see if he'd been arrested, and he finally was about 6 weeks after the incident. He was bonded out a couple days later and bond conditions included staying away from the hotel as well as my coworker and I.
After that he stayed off the property, but would sometimes shout at the NA from the sidewalk out front, telling her he loved her and would never hurt her. He never stuck around long enough that she felt it was worth calling the police over.
He would still hang around the fast food restaurant parking lot next door and bother guests whose rooms faced that direction. There wasn't anything we could do about it and they weren't interested in doing anything about it. This changed at the end of March when he was arrested there for being drunk and disorderly. He bonded out on that charge as well. We didn't see him around after that but knew better than to celebrate.
End of April, he gets arrested again this time at the gas station across the road. Drunk and disorderly, indecent exposure, and resisting an officer. Bonds out again.
Just a couple days later, the other day shift person spots him hanging around the property though he didn't stay long. She warned night shift about him when she left that night. Sure enough, he turns up again IN THE FUCKING LOBBY. NA scares him off with the stun stick that was also purchased because of him and calls the police. As is tradition, they don't arrive in time. But we have proof of him violating bond, so we're hopeful that maybe he'll get locked up and give us a longer break.
But he wasn't done with his chaos for the night, the NA learned the next morning when the police came back to talk to her. He went to hang around the gas station where he'd just been arrested. He was loitering around with another guy, generally being suspicious and touching themselves. Then comes the escalation no one saw coming (/s). He and his creep buddy attempt to sexually assault a woman at the gas station. Fortunately they fail, unfortunately buddy gets away, fortunately stalker does not.
But you wouldn't know about any of that looking at his charges. All you would see is that he was trespassing at the gas station, had an open container of alcohol, damaged a police car, resisted an officer, did a disorderly conduct, and he pissed on an officer. Nothing about the sexual assault, or trespassing at the hotel and violating bond. Also apparently pissing on a cop is a felony.
On the bright side, his bail was set to $25k and I kept checking to see if he had posted bond and he hadn't. So we were enjoying a reprieve. I checked every couple of days for updates on that, and when doing so today I noticed the status of the stalking case had changed from pending to disposed.
I looked into that and discovered the stalking charge had been dismissed because the victims and officer had not shown up to court. Showing up to court is kind of difficult to do WHEN NO ONE TELLS YOU YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE THERE. There was absolutely no communication with any of us regarding the stalking charge. Everything I did know I knew from arrest and court records which I barely know how to decipher.
We've done everything we were supposed to do, but fuck us I guess right? We're having to take our safety into our own hands because the justice system doesn't give a fuck. He's not getting whatever help he needs to not be a predator because it doesn't give a fuck.
I'm so fucking angry right now. We're going to call the DA on Monday, for all the good that is likely to do. Maybe the owner can band together with other business owners in the area and get something done about him since money talks. I don't fucking know.
I'm not scared of him for myself, I'm scared of what he might do to a guest or one of my coworkers. He wouldn't be the first pervert to attack a housekeeper, thinking they're an easy target. One guy flashed his dick at a housekeeper a couple years ago and the owner chased him down and held him at knife point until the cops showed up. At least that cop had the good nature to claim not to have heard the owner when he said he was going to cut the guy's dick off.
The cop the stalker pissed on probably deserved it.
How has the justice system fucked you over?

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Season 10 “Days of Fury” - Episode 2 “Visiting Omen”

He had hoped for a boring day. Boring days are good at work, and Santos was already expecting to not have many of them for a while.
The first couple of days were boring, as usual- Blackriver is a small town, and the worst that had happened was Nila and Kessa making a few wellness checks after worried calls from neighbors. A couple of people in denial, a few ashamed at their own violent outbursts and a stern warning to Tamm about painting others’ properties without asking first.
This morning, however, began with an all-hands meeting. There were no meeting rooms in the office, so they made do in the general workspace room, they all stood there at the center while Keya looked them over.
“We have received a report from a neighboring city about a convoy of protestors making its way to Blackriver” she describes without tone. At this point nobody bothers interrupting.
“This convoy is comprised of approximately four hundred and seventy eight individuals of multiple species, primarily human and venlil but with operationally relevant representations of the entire spectrum of size and mobility types” her paws are behind her back, her ears focused directly ahead, her eyes centered to keep the entire team on the core of her focus “They have crossed multiple cities already, generally engaging in verbal sparring with any figure of authority, parading signs and banners denouncing all manners of authorities as well as occasionally engaging in physical altercations with officers.”
“They are also known to engage in vandalism. Though primarily aimed at exterminator and police precincts as well as public offices, they have already caused considerable collateral to others they have identified as ‘collaborators’” there’s a single heartbeat of waiting for breath before she continues “They have, however, not shown to be an incredibly organized group or one with a clear goal and objective. The convoy appears to contain only extremely emotionally charged people with no clear overarching goal.”
“We are incapable of dealing with the situation should they turn aggressive, as such we will be simply maintaining watch and relocating the populace should they become a problem.” Then, she picks up her holopad and passes it to Lunek beside her “They can only follow one path with the entire convoy, the central street, therefore I have divided it into four sectors. One of each will be assigned to a sector.”
First her ears turn to the first target “Lunek, sector one at the entrance. As the most approachable member of the precinct your task is to give an initial image of harmlessness. Do not engage first, do not take initiative against them. Ensure the members of the herd in the area are warned of their approach. If they become aggressive, retreat and focus on the escape of the herd.”
She tilts her head a little bit, turning her ears the other way “Marik, sector two. Mostly the commercial area, your task is ostensive protection to lower the chances of them initiating aggression. Whereas protection of the herd is first priority your second priority is ensuring Tenve’s Hardware Store as well as Sunbreeze Meals and Watchful Café remain capable of providing anyone whose residences become damaged.” suddenly, she turns her head entirely to face Marik “Ostensive protection means dissuasion, ensure that they know they are not under threat and as long as those specific areas are not engaged, do not provoke”
Next in her line of fire is Santos “As our human officer you will be in sector three, nearby the precinct. They are liable to become most agitated in this area and your presence may serve to calm them. You are not to engage, if deemed necessary the precinct’s materials are considered expendable, do not attempt to stop them”
“Sector four, the exit of town, will be with me to ensure that they have fully left Blackriver and will not attempt to turn back” then she tilts her ears again “Aren, you will gear up with a CCG and remain out of view range, your task will be quick emergency response should the need arise.” she then points her tail at the last three officers “Vess, your task will be to inform the herd and ensure a clear path for the convoy while Nila and Kessa will gather all of our medical supplies and set a staging area out of the convoy’s range. Organize ambulance assistance from Striped Hill and Everrain”
Then, she turns her ears around to focus each one in turn “As any attempt at aggression will end only in negative consequences, and in order to reduce the apparent levels of threat you will be unarmed. The estimated time of arrival is a third of a claw, ready yourselves and be at your post in time. Dismissed.”
“Not sure if I like or I don’t that we had the cold bastard right now” Aren says, as soon as Keya had left the room “Maybe we should move in closer when the convoy gets to sector four?”
“Probably a good idea to be nearby” Santos adds with a sigh “They might take umbrage with her demeanor, hopefully they won’t be set off too hard.”
And with silent signs of agreement all of the officers of Blackriver depart for preparations. The first ones to leave the precinct are the ones in charge of support, the two girls set off early to find someone willing to permit usage of their lawn as a possible impromptu field hospital and a little while later Aren leaves with a heavy CCG.
Slowly, the clock ticks to the appointed claw… And soon enough, Lunek can see in the distance the incoming omen of people. At first a distant line in the horizon, slowly the dark mark on the road coalesces into distinct shapes, the shapes of hundreds of vehicles slowly rolling down the road.
When the first few get close to the initial buildings of the main street, the entire convoy slows down. Their process of preparation is seemingly laborious, each vehicle houses multiple people at a time, smaller cars full to the brim, flatbeds with more people on their cargo space than can safely be contained, even buses conscripted for the effort. They carry with them signs, flags, a multitude of symbols as they dismount their vehicles and start spreading out to fill the street.
They seem to naturally form two distinct yet highly mixed groups, at its most distinctive is the pack of humans who keep a good distance from each other. But they are not alone in this group as takkan, mazic, yotul, zurulian and even drilvar form this central group. But flowing around them, not avoiding their presence but never infringing in their space is the grey mass of venlil, packed tight together, and mixed in there adding color to the monochromatic flux are krakotl, tilfish, sulean, iftali, sivkit and even a seemingly very confused duerten.
And at the very core of the moving group are their vehicles, which gently start rolling forward again as the group starts moving. Lunek simply waits, silently, by the side of the road, his ears attentively swiveling from one side to the other, expression having given way to function. Before the first of the convoy even arrives close he turns to the side, making a pointing sign with his tail. A woman who had been watching from her yard flicks her right ear and runs back inside.
He continues to wait, scanning around at all times for the presence of… Anything. The street is empty of locals when the first visitors start to alight. The convoy is loud, their symbols carry a loudness of colors and their vehicles make as much noise as they can to draw attention, but those who walk seem content in allowing their tools to speak for them, for now. Lunek tries to make sense of the banners and signs, but the messages are disparate as the group- Some speak of injustices against their people, some speak of anger at invaders, some speak of betrayal.
“Fuck off, fireman!” comes the harsh bark of a human, causing Lunek to flinch. But flinch is all he does, he simply starts walking alongside the moving convoy.
The exterminator’s attention is drawn to the details of the few people he can distinguish amongst the mass. Something tickles at his pattern-recognition but he cannot quite ascertain what for a while, until a lightly limping mazic makes her way to the edge of the mass “Want to finish the job?!” she trumpets, her form towering over his.
“I’m just observing, ma’am.” Though the tremor of his voice is noticeable, he remains stoic. But her proximity makes him notice something about her body, marks in her wrists, neck and feet. Though mazic have powerful wrists and knuckles upon which they support the front half of their weight, her left wrist seems completely incapable of it, giving her a limp particular to a three-point walk. “To make sure there’s no impediment on your path” he notices the leathery skin around her left wrist is deeply blackened.
“Oh, ‘no impediment’ is that it? So everyone that lives here is an impediment?!” her voice booms.
“Ma’am” still, he does not yield nor does he break his pace following the convoy “We have not done anything other than inform our people of your presence…” for a half second all he hears is the sound of his own heart “We can’t do anything else.”
Those words, then, sealed his fate. The first shout to echo in his direction was a yotul howling “Yeah you’re useless!” and soon the avalanche came in multiple voices and languages “Can’t do shit!” “You’re just here to hurt people!” “Useless crap!” “Idiot!” and many more.
With every step and twitch the very average exterminator puts all of his focus on just being there. He lets himself cower a little bit, against the barrage it is difficult not to, but he continues to accompany. A few curious coats step out from their houses to watch, but the front of the convoy seems far too focused on the sole exterminator in view to bother anyone else.
A few steps ahead, an older venlil with a cane has moved the closest to the convoy as any watcher has up to now. Seeing her proximity to the increasingly rowdy crowd causes Lunek to speed up, quickly approaching her “Leva-”
But his words are stalled when she puts a paw on his shoulder, she gently puts her head against his for just a second “You’re doing good pup, keep at it” she mutters to him before breaking contact and turning around to walk back inside. He can spy her grandchildren looking on through the door. Lunek looks back at the still-shouting moving convoy, takes a deep breath, and continues to accompany them forward. A small pawful of them, however, seem to have fallen silent.
Once having reached the limit of his assigned zone, however, Lunek stops. He watches the convoy move forward, past the houses, now noisier than before. The initial hollering at him had turned into disjointed screams at some indistinct foe- Though the herd had been noticed of a foe, it was yet unaware of who, or what, said foe was. So for now it howled at the ineptitude of… Someone. And as the last of the convoy passes beyond the imaginary line of his duty, Lunek lets out a deep sigh and allows himself to sit down on the ground.
He stays there for a moment, without thought, simply letting the tension, confusion and fear permeate his body until a gentle paw touches his arm. He doesn’t need to look to identify it, he lets his lover use her strength to prop him up, raising him to his feet “Keina you shouldn’t-”
“Neighbor’s looking over Tiss” his wife wraps her arms and tail around him “I’m not leaving you alone.” she stays like that for a second, before breaking off “Do you need to go after them?”
“No”
Marik stalks through the sidewalk, moving with energy. His speed outpaces the movement of the convoy, his paws twitch to grasp at something that isn’t there and a deep and intense motion makes his short fur stand on end. He had let the convoy’s head move in front of him, simply standing still as he assessed as many as he could in the mass, and now he had begun to move towards the front again.
As he stalked forward he focused his sight on every member of the convoy that seemed of interest. A human whose clothes seemed suspiciously loose, a venlil whose movements were far too stiff, a gojid who kept his claws behind his back. He stared at each like they were his quarry, analyzing every piece of movement they made for threats, and yet aside from the challenge in the human’s gaze he saw no danger arise.
Tenve had closed his shop, so as the convoy moved forward Marik simply continued to follow along, scanning the crowd for threats. But the next point of interest arrives, and he rushes ahead placing himself in front of the only restaurant of the town. Sunbreeze Meals wasn’t a very common sort of restaurant, Blackriver did not have enough visitors for a normal restaurant to be profitable and was small enough most people had their meals at home, it most often served takeout for those farmers who’d spend so long in the field they would return home without the energy to feed themselves.
Sparing a look inside at the only five tables, Marik couldn’t keep a small thought away from his mind. How most who got their meals from Sunbreeze these days did so because they enjoyed the cooking rather than their need of work, ever since the sunspeck population has been brought under control and the maintenance of the fields had become much smaller. He feels the presence long before he can recognize what led him to feel it and turns to stare at a group of six that approach the entrance: Two humans, a tilfish, two gojids and a takkan had broken off from the convoy and approached the restaurant.
He traces his color band over each in turn, and they all bristle at his stare. One of the humans hesitates before continuing to walk inside, and Marik simply remains by the door with his arms crossed, left ear twisted as far back as he could to listen to the inside.
“What have you got here?”
“W-we mostly ha-have ready ma-made meals to go or- or- Or you can look over the menu”
“There’s no need to stutter, y’know”
“So-sorry-”
“Really, after everything y’all are still with this predator crap?”
The chimes on the door echo for the second time in sequence as Marik makes his way inside. The tilfish had started to lean over the counter while the other five had arrayed themselves behind her. They all turn their attention to him as he enters, including the venlil manning the counter. Marik keeps his gaze directly on the tilfish for a few uncomfortable seconds, before looking at the man behind the counter and making a simple sign with his tail, a short vertical bob with the tip and a slow horizontal swipe. It’s meaning simple: >Safe<.
After a few seconds someone else appears from the kitchen. The tall venlil carries a large stack of plastic boxes in his arms, all of them seemingly designed to attach to themselves so as to be carried with ease. He puts them down with a resounding crash on the counter, and opens up his voice with ice “Farmer’s Pots, good meal when you’re working and can’t go home.” With each word the owner of the restaurant and main cook comes closer and closer to the tilfish, until the last “Ten credits each.”
Nobody moves for a couple of seconds, and then one of the humans steps closer and brings a holopad over to the credit reader. There’s a noise indicating payment, and then the owner raises his head and tilts it to focus his favored eye and both of his ears at the man who paid “Now,” he shifts register in his voice and the language he speaks in “fuck off” he finishes.
With no small amount of surprise the group of six retrieve the stack of packaged meals, carefully walking out and back into the convoy. Marik stays behind for a moment “Didn’t know you spoke human”
“Pup’s enamored with their languages. Of course, first greek words he learns is swearing.”
Outside, Marik stalks further ahead to the next point of interest. He moves faster than the convoy, and has time to move in front of it. For a few meters the street is still clear as he arrives to find a group of people standing in front of the Watchful. Standing there were all of its employees, and even all of its regulars, twenty people total standing there as if they were having the most normal day. If not for their raised ears tracking every noise coming from down the street and their swaying tails swinging about like angry beasts.
One of them simply points his tail at the other side of the street as Marik comes closer, and the hunter doesn’t need a second command to understand the meaning. They have this, he has a less practical but just as important duty. He crosses the street quickly before the convoy starts coming closer, and heads towards the park.
As the regulars of the Watchful had feared, it took little time until a large group had broken off from the convoy. With the town on alert about the convoy they had found themselves bereft of prey and now this group had set out to find some, anyone who might be willing, or not, to listen to their grievances. And what is clearly a place designed for people to congregate looked most appetizing.
Marik shadowed the group as they moved through the park, but they were accompanied by nothing but silence. It wasn’t until they ran into the centerpiece of the park that he took initiative, stepping ahead of the group and simply… Standing there a distance away from the tree of many scions, between it and the group.
“What’s so important over there, fireman?” it was a venlil who asked, but his usage of an english word was not lost on Marik.
“A place you will respect” the exterminator has his arms crossed, the one good portion of his gaze set on the man who asked “This is a grave.”
Though the group that now prowled was large, those who heard were taken aback. One such, however, approaches closer. He was a venlil whose fur shifted between a soft, brownish color and a dirty white “A tradition of the tenets right? One of those family trees?” The man would have been distinctive in any other group due to his missing patches of fur around neck, wrists, even portions around his head. But such signs of long term damage were common in the convoy.
Interest. They had shown true interest, or at least one of them had. “No, but similar… The forgotten tree is a grave for the forgotten.” He felt like these people, at least the ones before him, could probably understand the meaning of this place “It is of no tradition. Someone, a long time ago, wanted to honor someone who was gone but whose name was not meant to be remembered. Someone who had disappeared in the system… So they borrowed on another’s tradition, and added a scion to this tree, with something in their memory. Others have done so similarly, until it became… A grave for the forgotten”
“Didn’t think you’d be worried about this kind of place” it’s a human that speaks up this time
“Our duty is to protect this town, what you think-” but Marik’s words are interrupted by that same venlil who had asked before. His demeanor suddenly shifts, his ears perk up and his entire body shifts forward for a moment. He hesitates, for a second everyone’s focus is on him, and then he runs towards the tree.
Marik follows behind, stopping just by the man’s side as he finds himself at the base of the tree. The man makes a direct line to somewhere, something he had found from the distance, as if it had called him. He finds a thick and heavy branch that had been bent down by the weight of its scions and memories, near its base and speaking of a memory left behind long ago is a braid of fur made of three colors, a dirty white, a soft brown and a dark grey, bound by the braids are two beads.
The man raises up a paw, but does not touch it. As if cradling it, he recites the words engraved in one of the beads “I will cross every star to return home” others have come closer to listen to the man’s hoarse voice “There will always be a home for you” he reads of the second one. The names on the beads have been scratched out. The man falls on his knees “S-she kept her promise and… I couldn’t keep mine…”
Marik steps back as he watches two others come closer to comfort the man. He looks as a few others approach with more caution, looking up at the tree with a bit more reverence than they had before. Then, he turns around and starts heading back towards the main street.
Gazing out as the convoy gains a new flux, some leave it as it passes to move towards the park while others leave the park to rejoin the convoy, Marik simply stays there at the side of the street looking as stern as he could. Though the noise of the convoy remains great, here in this portion it seems to die down a little. A thought crosses his mind as he turns an ear as far back as he can, a thought he can’t help but voice “I wonder how many are looking at their own graves…”
As the convoy progresses, Santos simply stands by the front of the precinct, hands in his pockets. He watches the convoy arrive, heart beating fast, constrained hands the only reason he hasn't started shaking quite yet. He starts tapping his right foot as he watches the first few people cross by without noticing what this place is yet, everyone knows where the precinct is, so aside from the words printed on the sign by the entrance there is no other marker of what this building’s purpose might be.
Of course, it is impossible for nobody to notice. The entire convoy seems to stop as soon as a zurulian riding on the shoulders of a human points a claw at the building and says something. A large group breaks away at the command, all of them holding disparate signs and messages. They turn on the building with enough roars that whatever they are attempting to transmit is lost on him.
Santos is thankful his hearing isn’t nearly as good as his coworkers’, as the cacophony is already overwhelming him. He changes stances slightly, taking his hands out of his pockets and crossing his arms. This prompts a small group to turn their looks at him, the focus easily identifiable with the humans in their midst, focus which made the hair in the back of Santos’ neck stand on end. Living in this place had refined his sense of danger, but he didn’t need that to realize what could happen.
It was a group of five that approached, four humans and a venlil. “Didn’t think they’d be letting humans live out here in the boonies” said one of his kin.
Santos just shrugs “Got hired to work here. Honestly, rural folk get a needlessly bad reputation, most of the time they just don’t care as long as you’re not bothering them”
“Really? In my-”
Santos interrupts the man “Cut it out” there are many ways in which humans make themselves obvious, many of which are their eyes. Santos did understand the fear of them and why it was primal, it was not the fear of the eyes but the fear of attention, it was knowing you were under the scrutiny and judgment of another that set off that emotion. It was rarely the eyes that showed this attention for most species, but for humans it was, and the man’s clear gaze on his badge made the entire situation clear to him “Stop beating around the bush and say it already.”
Someone else is who speaks. The tall woman starts not with words, however, but by spitting on Santos’ uniform “You fucking traitor” her voice is both fierce and cold at the same time. A very emotional coldness.
“There we go” he sighs “Just… Move on. We’re not getting anything out of this conversation”
“Why?” It was the venlil in the group that started this time “These people hate you, they hate you for what you are! Why do you work for them?!”
Santos rubs his eyes and sighs “Because someone has to. Change only happens when you make it happen, simple as that”
“Change?!” another one of the humans howls “Do you think those people can change?! You know the truth, those fuckers have never done anything good!”
“You know, if you had read your history books…” Santos stares at the one who had just had their outburst “You’d remember that we once thought the very same about the police” there’s the sound of glass breaking, but he doesn’t reaction “And a lot of us still do”
The human staring him down shifts their gaze slightly at the broken window of the precinct, then back at Santos “A broken window is easy to fix” he shrugs “As I was saying. Same shit.” he crosses his arms again “There’s a role those people play, a role that needs to be played because it’s important. Different name, different problems, still the same shit. Gotta fix this, I’m doing my part” he then stares at the venlil in the group “You do yours. Simple as that.”
“Role?!” the venlil of the group steps closer “What role could they possibly have?! They only exist to hurt people!”
Santos steps back, and raises his eyes a little bit. Of course, the classics had shown themselves in this instance. With as many humans as there are in the crowd there were now quite a few objects in the air, most clearly aimed at the precinct behind him. Though given the failed arc of some of them it was clearly not just the humans indulging in such a tried and true method.
“I used to be a wildlife preserve ranger” Santos then focuses his gaze on the aggravated venlil “This is a frontier town, if you walk in the brushes with shorts you’ll walk out with your ankles numb. The athai out there are rather harmless, but they keep the sunspecks under control.” He takes another step back “Since coming here I’ve been pest control, had to catch an exotic animal set loose, investigated a murder, helped stop a child from taking her own life, stopped large scale fights, helped a dozen people avoid being arrested for self defense and helped break a fucking siege”
Santos cracks his knuckles “There’s roles. Jobs that need done and there is one fucking organization doing it all. That is a problem.” Then, he sighs and takes a few more steps to the side, offering indifference from this point on “There’s nothing I can say that would make you calm down.” he says one final time “Just make sure not to injure yourselves in the process, alright?” His words seemed to be enough to make the small group cease trying to interact, as the convoy had begun moving again. Though the one human who had called him a traitor gets one final parting shot at the precinct “Where the hell did you get an egg in this planet…” Santos says with a raised eyebrow as the projectile impacts the front door.
Keya stands by a large sign, the same one that welcomes you into Blackriver on one side and sees you out at the other, the official limit of the town. Her arms behind her back, her attention directly towards the front of the convoy as they march. Something gains the whole of her attention, the car in the front. Someone draws her focus, a human with a megaphone on top of the car. The man shouts words of encouragement at the people behind him with the megaphone before turning to his holopad, then he bends over downwards to discuss something with the driver.
She simply remains there, waiting for the convoy to pass. But instead of moving on out of the city, here the convoy stops completely. Keya observes as the further end of the convoy starts to slowly compact upon itself, and her ears pick up something “Alright everyone, start getting ready, next town over is more than a claw away, make sure you’ve left nothing behind” the words were not meant for her, nor for anyone too far. They come from the same man she had seen standing on top of the car, but he had now climbed down and was talking with a group of multiple species.
It is clear they have some degree of leadership, though the convoy does not stop cleanly nor does it begin to organize with alacrity they do respond to the group’s organization. So Keya keeps her focus on them as they point, wave and talk between themselves, others and devices. But at least one of them has noticed her attention, a gangly and light-skinned human with fire-red hair, the man that was atop the car. He starts walking in her direction, before turning around for one final set of commands as he walks backwards “And make sure the guys at the back got all the crap! We’re here to be heard, not to trash the city!” he says before turning back again to head towards her. A venlil with pure white fur erupts from inside the car he was riding, quickly dashing to his side as they notice where he was going.
In a few moments both have come up to her, the human looking down at her with the venlil bristles at his side “Saw anything interesting, fireman?”
“What are you doing here?”
“What? Isn’t it obvious?!” it was the venlil that roared a response “You saw all of it! You know what they’ve done to us! What they’ve done to everyone! And you still work for those brahking monsters! It’s like you’re thankful they made you a cripple!”
The human puts a hand on the venlil’s shoulder, calming her demeanor just a little bit “We’re here because honestly, we’re all too tired of being fucking ignored is what. So what the fuck are you gonna do?!”
“I have put the wrong emphasis” Keya says with her lack of tone. She can see the human shiver just a little bit “My task is to ensure the safety of this town. Your convoy is a danger. We have eight field-capable officers, we cannot ensure the safety of the residents against a group like yours. People will take actions for reasons, you have broadcast your reasons clearly. You have chosen this place for a reason which I cannot ascertain.”
She makes sure her ears are trained towards both the human and the venlil, an action which causes the venlil to cower behind her partner “We do not house government agencies. This is a farming town of little note. The local precinct is a simple precinct, we have no regulatory or command authority. The town population is approximately double that of the number of your convoy. We have no individuals of appreciable social or political reach. There is nothing in Blackriver of interest to people attempting to change government policy, nor have there been actions taken here that I can identify as being cause for retaliatory actions within the context of your message.”
“I must ensure this does not happen again and the only way of doing so is minimizing our attractivity as targets. A logical assumption of your choice of quarry would be a town with the presence of politicians, a large city with constant news coverage, cities housing important government agencies or those containing the Regional Firebases”
“So I ask again. What are you doing here?”
The two remain silent for a few seconds, before the human turns around with a mouth noise “Whatever, I don’t need to explain myself to someone that won’t listen. Come on!” he starts to stalk back towards the car, but stops once he notices his venlil companion wasn’t moving.
The snow-white venlil has their focus on Keya, who offers a simple low forward swipe of her tail, a sign to proceed. Still, the venlil seems frozen in place until the human comes back and grabs hold of their paw with a gentle touch. At which point both finally return to the convoy.
Keya remains at the side of the road, watching as the convoy readies itself again to leave. People get back inside cars, they hop on the back of trucks and load themselves into buses. She continues to watch as the convoy takes its time riding out, making their way out of the town.
Once it is finally gone, multiple footsteps sound behind her. When she turns around she meets her officers, having returned from their assigned positions “They have left. I expect your reports of what happened in each sector by the end of your shifts” she states plainly, before looking at Santos “They did not appear to have a specific reason for targeting Blackriver.” The question remains unspoken.
The human officer just shrugs “Sometimes, you don’t know what you’re doing. We’re just a little town, I doubt they even know what exactly they’re angry about.” He looks at the tail end of the convoy as it leaves “Town was probably just a place they felt safe going to.”
“D-do you think we might get more like that” Lunek says, at the back of the group.
“Who knows…” Santos sighs “But if human history applies anywhere here… This is just a sign of worse things to come”
[ [FIRST] [NEXT>]
And thus the omen passes by. Feelings, emotions of all sorts, without a plan or a reason other than just their own rage and distress.
Did any of these even know what they were doing? And how much worse can it be when they do?

How do the poets present the effects of conflict in Poppies and one other poem?

In this essay, I am going to explore how Jane Weir presents conflict as affecting someone not directly involved in war by analysing how Weir presents the mother of a young soldier feeling during a war. I will contrast this by discussing how Simon Armitage presents someone directly involved in the Iraq War (Guardsman Tromans) as being mentally scarred by his involvement. I will mainly focus on how war effects people emotionally / mentally, whilst also exploring how Armitage presents the physical effects of conflict in Remains. Additonally, i will consider how the idea of propaganda during wartime affects how people feel about the conflict.
In Poppies, Weir decided to make the poem be through the lens of a mother. The name of the mother or son is never given, rather she utilises vague pronouns such as “You” to describe the son, perhaps this was deliberate as to make the poem reflect a universal experience, which may highlight how many people conflict can effect, therefore presenting conflict as having a major effect, not just on the people fighting it, but everyone. Also, “Armistice Sunday” is a combination of Armistice Day and Rememberance Sunday, perhaps Weir has left the war being remembered ambiguous, as to increase the number of people who share this experience, yet again foregrounding the sheer number of people who have felt this way. It creates the impression that Weir has made this poem to act as a microcosm for the shared experience of every mother with a young son going to war, therefore reflecting the sadness and fear those not fighting in the war feel, raising the awareness of this issue to those who hadn’t considered it as a result. In contrast Armitage created Remains to highlight the experience and effect of conflict on only one person – Guardsman Tromans. Remains juxtaposes Poppies, since Remains cannot really be seen as an attempt by Armitage to reflect a common experience from war. This is because the poem can literally be viewed as a first hand account from Tromans himself. This may be indicated by the fact that Armitage has made the poem have an unreliable narrator, which can be interpreted as Tromans himself trying to distance himself from the “looter” that he killed, as if it will alleviate him from the guilt and psychological effects of the killing. This is seen at the start of the poem where the looter is described as being “Probably armed, possibly not.”. Here, two adverbs “Probably...possibly” are utilised in short succession to foreground how Tromans is trying to make himself believe that the looter was a danger to him, which would give him a reason to kill the looter, however, the comma acting as a hesitation and “Possibly not” suggests Tromans believes the looter couldn’t hurt them. When coupled with the fact that Tromans is so clearly emotionally disturbed by this moment, one can interpret that the man was not armed, perhaps being the reason for Tromans guilt.
Also, in the first half of Remains Armitage presents the physical effects of conflict by describing the brutal murder of the looter. He creates a semantic field of agony and suffering which contrasts the playful imagery created before “Tackle some looters...”. As a result the death of the looter is foregrounded via the juxtaposition, as it would have made the reader shocked. Also, the verb “Tackle” suggests that Tromans before the murder may have not viewed war that seriously, perhaps indicating he has been so greatly disturbed by the murder as it made him realise the war was real. It also gives connotations to the WWI propaganda poet Jessie Pope, who convinced many young men that war was “a game”. The idea of propaganda affecting people during conflict is explored in Poppies too. In the first two stanzas it is unclear whether the mother is sending a child of to school, or a young man to war. This may suggest how the mother was affected by propaganda, since she is not immediately frightened by her son going to war. Additionally, the son is described as being “Intoxicated” when the world is presented to him. This verb may suggest the young man as being almost drunk on excitement, like he himself believes that the war will be a fun game, rather than a horror. Whilst it may seem the mother also believes the war may be a “game”, Weir utilises biblical imagery through the hair of the boy being described as “gelled blackthorns”. “Blackthorns” may allude to the crown of thorns Jesus wore during his crucifixion. As a result, it could be inferred that the Mother thinks her son is being sent to war as a sacrificial lamb, undergoing great pain to ultimately assist in salvation (ending the war).
As discussed earlier, Armitage creates a semantic field of agony through the way he describes the looter’s death in Remains. An example of how this is achieved is through the declarative metaphor “I swear, I see broard daylight on the other side”. “I swear” suggests that Tromans wholeheartedly knows the severity of the murder. This further suggests just how significant the mental effects of the war have been on Tromans, as he has replayed this scene so many times he is fully sure this happened. “Broard daylight” is visceral imagery created by Armitage, suggesting the man was shot so many times there is a hole big enough to see daylight on the other side. This is coupled with the euphemism “Sort of inside out”, this almost suggests that the looter was in such a bad state that Tromans cannot even bring himself to describe the image, or that his vocabulary is this limited, which foregrounds how this experience is uniquely his, as the narrative voice reflects Tromans own. By using these techniques, Armitage presents the physical effects of war as being strong enough not just to kill someone, but to completely destroy the body itself.
Finally, both of the poets highlight how the effects of war are long-lasting on those affected. In Remains, Tromans’ PTSD is shown in the second half of the poem. This is after the volta “And then I’m on leave”, Armitage suddenly includes a volta after the description of the murder to show Tromans’ poor psyche due to his PTSD. Whilst in the first half, Tromans clearly recounts his experience with high detail, the second half shifts in topic and location suddenly, suggesting that Tromans is entering and exiting the world, perhaps the “drink and drugs” he is self medicating with are causing him to lose large track of time. But i think Armitage does this to show how Tromans’ PTSD occurs so often and suddenly. It also explains how Tromans is able to recount his experience in Iraq so clearly. As he has replayed the moment so many times, showing how conflict affects people long after the fact. Similarly, in Poppies the mother hopes to hear her son’s “Playground voice”. This suggests the mother wanting to remember her son as a child, we can interpret he is dead as she is at the “war memorial”. By doing this, Weir creates the impression that the Mother has, and never will have closure regarding her son’s death, as she wants to hear him one more time. We can infer his death was a result of war, therefore showing how war effects people after it has ended, since people are still grieving for those who died in the process.
In conclusion, both Weir and Armitage present war as having long-lasting powerful effects, both emotionally and physically in Armitage’s case. They present how war has wide-reaching effects, as well as arguably stronger effects on individuals directly involved in conflict. The theme of propaganda stemming from conflict affecting people is also suggested in both poems.

I finished the game last night and I feel like I understand about 80% of the plot, but I’m unclear on Isa’s role in the story. To recap my understanding:
Ariane Yeong grew up with her mother on Leng but was sent to Rotfront to attend school there. She was ostracized from her peers but was friendly with Isa and Erika, whose family owned the bookstore where she worked. She volunteers for the Penrose program and is sent to die out in space with Elster, whom she falls in love with. Ariane is bioresenant (a powerful psychic) so as she’s dying of radiation poisoning things get weird. From this point things are a little more ambiguous, I’ve come up with three possible scenarios.

1. The Penrose crashes outside of the Sierpinski station at the same time that the miners there uncovered the Red Eye, a powerful eldritch being. Ariane’s bioresenance combines with the Eye’s nonsense, resulting in the infection (where members of the Sierpinski die/have their consciousness overridden by Ariane’s memories).
2. Out in space, the Penrose comes into contact with the Red Eye. Because Ariane was going to be assigned to the Sierpinski station, the Red Eye reaches out to it (leading to the events of the game). This is similar to scenario 1, I just don’t see how the Penrose could go from drifting into deep space to crashing on Leng at the edge of the solar system.
3. The events of the game are Ariane’s dreams made manifest due to her bioresenance. It doesn’t take place on the real Sierpinski station, just her mental image of it because she was going to be assigned there and related to Alina Seo. The Red Eye may or may not actually exist.

However, I don’t see how Isa fits in to these scenarios. In the first two where the game’s events actually happen, why would she be on Sierpinski? She claims to be searching for Erika but why would she be there either? She also seems remarkably unperturbed by the bizarre events of the game, up to being sent back to her childhood home on Rotfront.
If the events of the game didn’t happen and Isa is just a manifestation of Ariane’s memories of her, what does she represent? Is her fruitless quest to find her sister like a metaphor for Ariane trying to find belonging? And if she is essentially a dream NPC, why would her and Adler interact outside of Elster (the only ‘real’ person)’s POV?
Additionally, why is Erika always depicted with half her face missing? I assume it parallels the faded photograph of Alina Seo's Elster and Elster herself after losing her eye at the end, I'm just a bit stumped as to the symbolic significance. I'd appreciate any clarification or theories people may have.

I (30M) recently had a first date with a guy (40M). We went on a hike on an urban trail with parts being forested and other parts being more urban as the trail ended back in the city near traffic. During the hike, I noticed two distinct times that the guy physically grabbed me as if to move me out of "harm's way".
The first time, someone was approaching from behind on a bike. He grabbed my arm and said "watch out". He didn't exactly pull me to the side or anything, but I was a notable moment for me, as it was the first time he physically touched me. I didn't think much of it beyond that.
The second time felt more distinct. At the end of the trail, we had to walk through a residential area to get back to where we parked. This was one of those 5-10mph type of neighborhoods and there was a section where the sidewalk was blocked off due to construction. So we had to walk on the side of the street. There was a car coming from behind about 3-4 houses back. It was driving very slowly, and I had already noticed it and was getting ready to move myself out of the way.
Before I began to move myself, he grabbed me by my upper arm and physically moved my entire body out of the street whilst saying "watch out, there's a car coming". Now this time, it felt completely unnecessary because: (1) the car was far enough behind us and driving slowly enough that there was no immediate danger of anyone being hit in the next 5 - 10 seconds and (2) I was already aware of the car's presence (not that he had to know that I was aware), and I don't see how a simple verbal "watch out, there's a car coming" while giving me a chance to move MYSELF out of the way wouldn't have sufficed.
Nevertheless, the second time I felt slightly annoyed but I decided it was not worth addressing in real time so as not to spoil the date. Instead, I made a mental note to give him the benefit of the doubt that he was genuinely concerned about my safety, BUT to still observe him more closely to reflect on what may be the underlying cause for his behavior. Could it have been that he naturally felt a sense of responsibility for my safety given the age difference? Could it be indicative of more underlying aggressive/controlling behavior issues?
Later, he actually acknowledged his behavior. By this point, I had pretty much forgotten about it as I didn't dwell. However, what concerned was that he told me he hoped he didn't offend me by grabbing me because he has a "bad habbit" of doing this to people in general, and lately he's been getting feedback from others that people don't like (in his words) "being grabbed and having their bodies readjusted". This concerned me because he was clearly aware of his behavior and how people have told him they don't like it, but he's clearly still doing it.
Since he acknowledged it, I told him I DID notice both times he did it to me. I told him the first time he did it didn't seem like a big deal, but the second time was when things felt more palpable. I let him know that while I appreciate someone looking out for me, it wasn't actually necessary to physically grab me and move my body out of the way if there was no real immediate danger of me being hit by a car. I was already aware of the car's presence and getting ready to move myself anyway, so a simple "watch out" would've sufficed, as I can move myself out of the way as an able-bodied adult.
To me, this has more to do with treating other adults with dignity and respect for their personal boundaries. I also told him, I can't speak for the others, but maybe they don't like it because it might come across like you're treating them like they are less than capable of fending for themselves, almost as if they are a child. And this can be especially demeaning behavior to other adults. Finally, I added that I really don't have an issue with someone looking out for my safety as long as it comes from a genuine place -- However, you should still consider if there's an immediate danger when deciding if physical intervention is necessary. If I'm about to be hit by a bus in the next SPLIT second, by all means feel free to SHOVE me out of the way because you better believe I'm doing that to you! However, if there is no immediate danger, there really isn't a reason to grab me and physically move by body when I can clearly do so myself as an ADULT.
*TLDR:
(1) Where do you draw the line between respecting someone's personal physical boundaries and physically stepping in to protect them from harm?
(2) Do you feel it's a violation of another adult's personal autonomy to grab them and physically move them out of the way even when the person would have enough time to move themselves out of the way?
(3) Do you think this behavior comes across as belittling or treating someone like they're a child?
(4) Do you think any of the above is a red flag in dating?

This will be rambling as I’m typing this quickly on mobile without thinking it through, so patience please.
What the title says. As a writer I was curious what these voice memos sounded like— especially as my cousin who is a huge Swifty has told me my iPhone notes app to finished product pipeline is apparently very similar to Taylor’s process, according to her.
I was only able to find the “Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me!” voice memo and… it’s literally the complete finished song? Not a first draft at all. I don’t think any of the lyrics changed, the composition was all the same, just un-produced… it’s the finished, most polished version of the song that can possibly exist without the production., in fact.
And it’s bullshit. A complete and utter fabrication. A masterpiece she put hours into and then told the world it was simply a “doodle”.
The creative process isn’t easy— and sure, the more you write, the quicker and better your editing becomes. You edit while you write, even , once you’re worth your salt as a professional. Still, as a published and paid writer (poetry, opinion pieces, marketing material, white pages, short fiction, website copy, songs… you name it, I’ve been paid to write it at some point, even if on a small scale), my Notes app doesn’t have a single finished product in it. Even poems that were written entirely in Notes change a little when transcribed to a Word document— the page changes, and so the distribution of lines and appearance on the page does as well. It sounds stupid and fickle, but it’s the truth. But Taylor’s poetry? Perfection, apparently, instantly in her notes as if she’s only capable of finished products.
Or, as many have theorized— she didn’t edit this album at all.
I don’t know what I expected; I knew artistic integrity was likely a very lofty goal for her, but I decided to check because maybe, in the pursuit of the “tortured artist” label, she would release a real first draft— something messier, more raw, with lines that changed later. Something that revealed the artistry step she took to make the final record. Alas, she could never stomach the shame of artistic misunderstanding that might result. It’s why her metaphors are… well, hardly metaphoric, to be generous.
This is why you don’t release drafts. They aren’t supposed to be pretty or make sense. They’re supposed be redlined and crowded out in the margins by frantic notes and ideas, a testament to the artistic vision overtaken by the polished thing that emerges only at the very end, lifting itself out of the scramble of scratched out words once all the hard work of editing, of murdering darlings, has been done. I love all of my drafts, and I keep the marked up and co-edited versions for times when my creativity lacks. I can go to those pieces and see, on paper, the ways they changed for the better— I can access my process even in times it’s lacking. I am inspired by my own past messiness, the weak lines and word choices because a long time ago I internalized the humility needed to make truly great art.
I don’t know what I expected— I was genuinely shocked that her fans care about these fake “first drafts”. These glorified, lazy acoustic versions of her apparently always-perfect, never changing art.
She wouldn’t last a day in the workshop where they raised me, that’s for sure.
Can anybody confirm if this is how all of the notes drafts are?
Edit: Also, another thought. I think this really bothers me because the artistic process is what artists are taught to be afraid of— it’s where we’re the most judged, made to feel the most ashamed of our pursuits. Non-artists read drafts or look at unfinished canvases and judge, often vocally, the unfinished work without any consideration of how tumultuous a process that can be in pursuit of an unrealized, unknown end goal. So how is the biggest “artist” in the world making a falsehood of the most precious of parts of artistic pursuit without so much as a thought?
Other artists learn to grow protective of this process because of its fragility, its rawness, its necessity. She just chose to abandon the rest of us to the wolves and lie about what that actually looks like, and its feels like a sacrificial betrayal for me.
View Poll

So, Identity Crisis. More like Type Crisis, but whatever!
Please help me decide whether I am ENFP, ESTP or ESFP... I don't think I am ENTP (I think)

1. My hobbies serve me some purpose in life. I would not have, say, crocheting for a hobby because personally, I believe it is useless. I like drawing and graphic designing among many things. And I can use them in real life. Same with Keyboard.
2. I can ping pong between topics during discussions and can appear random to everyone else, but somehow going from hygroscopic salts to mic to pluto to plastic to salts again makes perfect sense to me.
3. I enjoy observing people and motivations that drive them to do certain things. Like, people are SO INTERESTING! Tell me your fears, your vices, your strengths. TELL ME EVERYTHING.
4. I am the therapist friend which is a recent development. I used to be apathetic about emotions and usually hated any emotional display, but I am great at comforting others (as they have said) and know how to respond to every problem appropriately, according to the individual
5. I would be the first person to observe and point out if you have changed your hairstyle, slippers, earrings or glasses. Or even nail colour.
6. When dealing with feelings or crushes, if they start to have a negative effect on my performance (academics) or distract me too much, it is VERY easy for me to box up my feelings and deal with them like I am the observer and weigh the pros and cons of continuing with my mushy feelings. (sounds heartless when i put it that way) I would be the person who doesn't get sad that she has been rejected. I will be relieved that I wouldn't have to ping pong between wondering 'he likes me, he likes me not'
7. I am empathetic (i think? or is it sympathetic?) and I am a pure person (friends told me for reference/credibility lol). not uncomfortable with dealing with my emotions as well
8. I am fiercely independent. This has been detrimental for me (thankfully minor) but I will do things my way if I think I can (even if I over estimate myself) even if the person makes some good points... like if I fail, I want to be accountable for my failure
9. I have cartoon-ish and often exaggerated expressions. And in any social setting, i am seldom the wall flower. I would be nearing the thick of the crowd, and possibly narrating some incident of my own.
10. I can articulate my thoughts and emotions really well. I pride myself in my ability to do so, I'll give you metaphors, similes and all sort of literary devices to explain my points and don't fumble my way through sentences
11. I love exercising and camping and all things outdoors. i also love to think about things and daydream while i walk. I would be doing planks and simultaneously, thinking about my crush and some fantasy lol
12. i tend to worry about my future (is it my GAD speaking? idk) but mostly like worrying about the future worries me even more? like, i am scared about ending up as a failure mostly. like... what if the fact that i flunked a huge entrance exam means i'll flunk everything in life? Not 10 year roadmap, thank you.
13. I have a wide range of interests. Reading, writing, drawing, debating, oration... basically anything to express my ideas. But I don't really have the SO MANY INCOMPLETE projects. Like I have a lot going on, but a fair amount of them are complete...
14. I am not super sensitive... IDK if it is because of my upbringing, but I don't take things personally and get offended. I have a relatively thick skin. If I don't care about you, you could talk shit and I wouldn't give you the time of my day. If I care about you, I'll take it as a constructive criticism and use that to make myself a better person. You bet I have asked my friends and even teachers at least once in their life what I can do to be better at that task or as a person etc etc
15. I LOVE debating, particularly about ideas I am against because I want to see it the way you do if we disagree. I am open to changing my opinions and views about ideas, if you provide me convincing arguments. And I can typically see all the perspectives in an argument which can helps me convince someone else to think from another perspective
16. Not prone to jealousy. If my friend does better than me, even if i worked harder, i'll be genuinely happy for them and cheer them on
17. I need concrete examples to understand stuff. Like, say for waves in physics, I needed the teacher to demonstrate me beats and beat frequency in real time in order for me to understand. Like, I need a physical manifestation of whatever the concept or even FORMULA is... I find Maths really interesting because I love connecting ideas and stuff together and Maths is just that! But I don't think the current school curriculum is conducive for me to explore it.
18. I love learning about new things! Who knows, maybe something I read about makeup could be applied while making food?
19. I also don't associate with people who have like, 0 ambition in life. This sounds quite mean, but till date I have never befriended a person who is content with just winging stuff without putting any effort.
20. A mundane life kind of scares me...? I don't want to live monotonously for the rest of my life. I want some spice, some drama, some excitement. But I'll take an IT job so that I have the financial stability for my passion.
21. I get along with 99% of the student population. That 1%? you are probably jerks or bullies
22. Also, not really a point, but at what point of judgey feelings do you become judgemental?
23. Scarily accurate gut feelings about people (where I subconsciously notice ticks that stick out to me)
24. FOMO! If everyone is there for a particular event, I have to be there! What if something interesting happens and I miss it?

Thank you and have a great day!

Chapter 4:
As the force of Jason’s corpse, meeting the ground, turned his body into a fine soup. The resulting damage overflow caused his soul to begin coming apart at the seams. The sheer suddenness of the impact had left him no time to think about activating any of his plethora of life-saving cheat skills, consuming any of his vast horde of damage preventing concoctions, nor really use any of the other myriad bullshit tools at his disposal; before having a very intimate face-to-face with the crust of this planet. The previously mentioned soup-ification of his limbs and internal organs did mean that even if he had thought to use such items, he was unable to reach for, much less consume, anything. This limitation was slightly mitigated by the fact that the meteoric collision had shattered/ shredded/ or otherwise pulverized all non-magically enhanced items that Jason had been carrying on his person. Further, because apparently this world just plain hated Jason’s particular brand of bullshit; even the extra dimensional nature of his storage solutions were not spared the calamitous effects of meeting the ground at approximately Mach 3.

For you see, as any “good” gamer does, Jason had been sure to run with max out stacks of potions, hi-potions, tonics, tinctures, ethers, and various other mundane healing concoctions. As to why he decided to have enough vials on his person to put a glass blowers' children through college, he operated under the mindset of “Why bother using your precious spell slots to heal, when you can just replace a literal gallon of your blood with healing potion?” Turns out that this issue was fixed around the same time as Jason picked up the passive [Regeneration] skill.)

In addition to his reservoir of the common mundane potions, Jason had never gotten around to using ANY of his built-up hoard of magical elixirs. He had always meant to use one... or twenty of them, but seriously, you never know when you might need those bad boys when you are facing down a particularly difficult big bad.... And phooey to anyone who points out that this usually just means you never actually use any of them.

One might argue that the only upside to Jason’s impromptu intimate associations with the ground, was that his healing items quite literally vaporized upon impact. And while terrible for him, the unique shape and depression of the unmarked crater grave allowed for the creation of a heretofore impossible oasis in the multiverse.

*Legend has it that the sheer volume of aerosolized revival drink that still lingers in that crater, has turned it into a mythical place of physical and mental healing. One reputable interdimensional tour book has even rated the area with its highly coveted 7.3 (star) ranking....

Seriously, who uses base 7? Much less base point anything. Like I understand base 5 or base 10, but 7.3?! Doesn’t that make calculating partial stars a nightmare?.... ANYWAY....

They claim that spending even a single night is enough to heal 30 (years) of bodily wear and tear. Yes!!! That DOES also means fixing such pesky problems as losing limbs, “curing” otherwise incurable/ fatal ailments, or reversing the effects of mana burnout.*


< Primary user deemed non-responsive. >
< Searching for approved work around >
< Searching… >
< Searching… >
< Responsive secondary user detected >
< Activating secondary user system >
< System online. >
< Secondary user has been approved to make existence sustaining choices for primary user. >

A soft pop can be heard within the stopped time, followed shortly thereafter, by a long drawn-out yawn. From the endless nothingness that exists between all things, there springs to life a small non-euclidean shaped.... thing. As is the case with most things that are born into the multiverse, she was... less than pleased, about the whole “existing” thing. Her displeasure was noted by the system, and a formal complaint would be submitted to the appropriate beings. But that was an issue to be dealt with at another time and place.

Once more she let out a big yawn and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. A surprising feat, considering that she did not, nor had she ever required or known sleep; coupled with the fact that her form lacked anything that could be considered, even by the most generous of terms, as “eyes”. But again, a problem logged for another place and another time. At this moment she had a job to do, and gosh darn it, she was going to do the absolute HECK out of it.

P.O.V: Personalized Utilitarian Lazarus Liquidation System. AKA: P.U.L.L.

After coming to terms with the unfortunate fact that she now existed, P.U.L.L. decided that her job would likely be far simpler if she possessed a form similar to that of the primary user’s. If she shared a form with the user, it stood to reason that she could better understand what had caused their lack of functioning, and how best to remedy it. And the sooner she remedied the issue, the sooner she could return to blissful nonexistence. As luck would have it for her, the ability to edit her being fell within the parameters of “existence sustaining choices” she was allowed to make. With a flick of her nonexistent finger, she tasked the system to use the Primary’s mana stores to craft her a form. She was aware that the system had produced a series of pop-ups in regards to her request. However due to her lack of visual sensory organs, she was unable to read any of the pop-ups, instead choosing to just spam the approval process for now. She couldn’t quite prove it, but she got the distinct feeling that the whole process took far longer than it had any right to.

Opening her newly actualized eyes, P.U.L.L. took in her surroundings. She discovered that she existed within, what could most accurately be described as either “a really big hole” or perhaps a bit more loosely defined as “a crater”. After a few moments, she decided that “crater” sounded more impressive, thus it would be how she would define it moving forward.

The crater looked to be recently formed, she could still make out some chunks of rubble suspended within the stopped time. She deduced that whatever had happened to the Primary, had likely also caused this crater. With nothing else to do, and with sweet, sweet, nonexistence waiting for her at the end of this task, P.U.L.L. began to search the crater for answers. She learned precious little in her exploration, other than the stopped time seemed to end at the crater's edges. After spending a considerably longer period of time than what she would like to admit to, searching for signs of life, P.U.L.L. was forced to admit a very troublesome fact. She could not for the life of her seem to find any sign of the Primary.

“System, can you hear me?”



“Cool, cool. I am having difficulty locating the primary user. Could you please highlight them for me.”



“Approved”



P.U.L.L. deeply regretted her previous choice in the whole “getting eyes” department, as the entire world around her suddenly flashed into a searing yellowish green color. Her brain screamed in displeasure, as she fumbled blindly with the personal system settings to lower the brightness. Eventually she found what she was looking for. A few moments later, still blinking spots out of her vision, P.U.L.L. surveyed the scene in front of her. It took her a little bit, but as she looked more closely, she started to see tiny areas where the sickly yellow/green color was not plastered across the entirety of her vision. As she parsed the new information, an uneasy feeling started to creep up in her gut.

“System?”



“Would I be correct in my assumption... That the entirety of THIS”, she gestures to the colored haze. “Is the remains of the primary?”



P.U.L.L.’s jaw hits the floor. “What in the world could have done this”, she wonders to herself. Another few moments pass as P.U.L.L. ponders the possibilities. Try as she might, her brain cannot think of any manner of beast nor magic that could cause this kind of devastation; at least none that would have left such a minimal amount of collateral damage to the area surrounding this crater.

“System. Please pull up the most recent Battle Logs and Memory Logs”







“Fuck. System, access primary’s items and use mana restoration items.”



“You have got to be kidding me...”



“Nooooo...” PULL frantically scans the primary’s profile page.



“No, no, no...” Her metaphysical heart is racing. She just needs something, ANYTHING, to put more mana into the tank.



“FUUUUUUUUUCK!!!” She knows she’s out of time.

As it turns out, with the acquisition of a physical form comes a certain kind of morality. And wouldn’t you know it, morality is the perfect breeding ground for all kinds of guilt. Guilts that are not at all conducive to the utilitarian choices that a P.U.L.L system, by its very nature, is generally forced to make. She mentally recorded another point in the ‘Pros of non-existence' column.

With a heavy heart, P.U.L.L. decides that she really has no choice, and does what her most base programming has been telling her to do since the beginning. She begins to frantically scroll through the primary’s profile, searching for various skills, abilities, and/or items to purge.

<10>

“System!”

<9>

“Authorize, emergency liquidation”

<8>

<7>

In a blind panic, she picks a random ability from the Skill screen. “Liquidate”

<6>



<5>



<4>



<3>

“APPROVED!”

<2>

The system replies in a sickeningly sweet voice.

P.U.L.L lets out a breath she didn’t even know she was holding. Her hands are shaking as she opens the screen to see how much mana that little gambit got her. The bar sits at a healthy 45%, a feeling of unbridled joy washes over her; followed closely by crushing sadness as she can already see the bar beginning to dip. She tries very hard not to think about what she just did. She knows she can’t liquidate anything TOO important, but...

“System. Moving forward, please disable all non-emergency warnings. Further, all orders are to be considered pre-approved until the primary user is revived. Now, what is the mana cost to maintain [Temporal Flux]?”





















P.U.L.L. was a bit shocked; was... was that a cheeky undertone she just heard? Was the System even capable of being “cheeky”? No, something deep within her programming told her that it wasn’t. The Master Interface and its myriad systems had been designed with function above all else. Up until this point, the system had had a personality about as interesting as, unflavored oatmeal or watching paint dry.

Nothing about this day was living up to her expectations. Deep within her sub systems, she let herself have a little tantrum (as a treat). She let herself piss and moan, throw metaphorical chairs across the room, stomp her feet and pout. She raged against the absurdity of all of this. She knew precious little about the wider multiverse, but even she could see that someone, or something, was fucking with her.

Bringing herself back to the here and now, she takes a deep breath and tries to center herself within the moment. While it might have felt good, that little tantrum had cost her precious moments, and likely would end up costing her user some hard won plunder. “With your reserves sated; System! Please pull up the recent Battle and Visual Logs.”



P.U.L.L. watched the data feeds. Watched as the user popped out of The Void and into the skies above this planet. She watched as he plummeted down, down, down. She took notes about the abnormal interactions with this realm’s equivalent of mana. How it seemed to fight back when the user called forth his own mana reserves. Something about the way it all played out taunted her, she knew she had seen this sort of reaction before; but couldn’t quite put her finger on what exactly it reminded her of.

She watched as the user’s hands and lips bubbled and blistered after each spell, saw the spike in damage; followed by an automated activation of regeneration skills. She watched as spell after spell fizzled out, half formed and fully useless. She watched as his final spell shattered, and reformed into something entirely new. She watched as gravity seemed to coalesce around the man and hurl him ever faster towards a rapidly rising ground. And finally, she watched as his super-heated body made contact with the planet. With a shaky hand she hovered over the damage logs.

[click]