Are you in search of innovative market analysis tools and a robust location intelligence platform to optimize your marketing strategies? Look no further than Dathic! We specialize in providing advanced data and technology solutions that empower communities and businesses to make informed decisions and drive growth.

Empowering Communities with Data and Technology

Dathic is dedicated to harnessing the power of data and technology to create positive impacts in communities. Our comprehensive suite of solutions includes a sophisticated Location Intelligence Platform that utilizes advanced analytics to deliver actionable insights, enabling businesses to thrive in today's competitive landscape.

Unleash the Power of Market Analysis Tools

Stay ahead of the curve with Dathic's market analysis tools. Whether you're a small business or a large enterprise, our tools offer valuable insights into consumer behavior, market trends, and competitive landscapes. With features like CPG data insights and analytics powered by AI, you can optimize your marketing spend and drive measurable results.

Transform Your Customer Experience with Dathic Product Locator

Enhance your customers' shopping experience with Dathic Product Locator. Our intuitive platform enables users to easily find stores, products, and services in their area, improving convenience and driving sales. Request a demo of Product Locator Plus today to see how it can benefit your business.

Why Choose Dathic?

• Cutting-Edge Technology: We leverage the latest advancements in data science and AI to deliver innovative solutions that meet the evolving needs of businesses.
• Actionable Insights: Our solutions are designed to provide actionable insights that empower businesses to make strategic decisions with confidence.
• Customizable Solutions: Whether you need a store locator, market analysis tools, or a location intelligence platform, we offer customizable solutions tailored to your unique requirements.
• Exceptional Support: Our dedicated team is committed to providing top-notch support and guidance to help you maximize the value of our solutions.

Experience the Dathic Difference Today!

Visit Dathic.com to learn more about our market analysis tools, location intelligence platform, and product locator solutions. Contact us today to schedule a demo and discover how Dathic can help you unlock insights and drive success for your business.

Currently giving 3rd year end term exams of BTech Computer Science Engineering.
After, what I call, a series of bad financial decisions, my family has landed in a situation where we have to pay more than 60K per month in the form of loan repayments. My brother earns 25K per month all of which goes to debt repayment. My father is a cab driver and has a very irregular income. We used up all our savings to pay off this month. There is no way we can survive without me getting a job. I have decent knowledge of Web development technologies (JS, CSS, Next.js etc.), I have interests in Data Analytics, being a computer science student computer operations is my strongest point but considering the current situation, I am ready to take up just about any job. I have a 4 wheeler driver's licence and 2+ years of driving experience. I am open for driver roles (which do not require me to wear a uniform as my father never wants me to be a driver, he can not know I have taken up a driver's job). Any help is really appreciated.

I’ve always hated the smell of gun oil. It clings to everything it touches, soaking deep into the fibers of my clothes, the lining of my backpack, the coarse hair on the back of my hands. Yet here I am, kneeling on the cracked linoleum of our mudroom, a Remington .308 laid across my thighs, and the stench of gun oil sharp in my nostrils. The early morning light barely scratches at the edges of the blinds, dim and gray like the belly of a dead fish.
My dad Frank is in the kitchen, clattering around with the coffeepot and mumbling under his breath. Today we’re heading up to the woods of Northern Michigan, same as we did every year before Leah… before we lost her.
I can’t help but feel the old scars throbbing as I load bullets into the magazine. It’s been ten years since that hunting trip, the one that tore my family into before and after. Before, when Leah's laughter was a constant soundtrack to our lives; after, when every silence was filled with her absence.
We were just kids back then. I was ten, Leah was eight. It was supposed to be a typical hunting trip, one of those bonding experiences Dad was always talking about. But things went wrong. We got separated from Dad somehow. One minute we were following him, the next we were lost, the dense woods closing in around us.
Dad says when he found me, I was huddled under a fallen tree, my eyes wide, my body frozen. All I could mutter through chattering teeth was "Dogman."
It was only later, after the search parties had combed through every thicket and hollow, that they found her. What remained of Leah was barely recognizable, the evidence of a brutal mauling undeniable. The authorities concluded it was likely a bear attack, but Dad... he never accepted that explanation. He had seen the tracks, too large and oddly shaped for any bear.
As I load another round, the memory flashes, unbidden and unwelcome. Large, hairy clawed hands reaching out towards us, impossibly big, grotesque in their form. Yet, the rest of the creature eludes me, a shadow just beyond the edge of my recall, leaving me with nothing but fragmented terrors and Leah’s haunting, echoing screams. My mind blocked most of it out, a self-defense mechanism, I guess.
For years after that day, sleep was a battleground. I'd wake up in strange places—kitchen floor, backyard, even at the edge of the nearby creek. My therapist said it was my mind's way of trying to resolve the unresolved, to wander back through the woods searching for Leah. But all I found in those sleepless nights was a deeper sense of loss.
It took time, a lot of therapy, and patience I didn't know I had, but the sleepwalking did eventually stop. I guess I started to find some semblance of peace.
I have mostly moved on with my life. The fragmentary memories of that day are still there, lurking in the corners of my mind, but they don’t dominate my thoughts like they used to. I just finished my sophomore year at Michigan State, majoring in Environmental Science.
As for Dad, the loss of Leah broke him. He became a shell of himself. It destroyed his marriage with Mom. He blamed himself for letting us out of his sight, for not protecting Leah. His life took on a single, consuming focus: finding the creature that killed her. He read every book, every article on cryptids and unexplained phenomena. He mapped sightings, connected dots across blurry photos and shaky testimonies of the Dogman.
But as the tenth anniversary of Leah’s death approaches, Dad's obsession has grown more intense. He’s started staying up late, poring over his maps and notes, muttering to himself about patterns and cycles. He’s convinced that the dogman reappears every ten years, and this is our window of opportunity to finally hunt it down.
I’m not nearly as convinced. The whole dogman thing seems like a coping mechanism, a way for Dad to channel his guilt and grief into something tangible, something he can fight against. But I decided to tag along on this trip, partly to keep an eye on him, partly because a small part of me hopes that maybe, just maybe, we’ll find some kind of closure out there in the woods.
I finish loading the rifle and set it aside, standing up to stretch my legs. I wipe my greasy hands on an old rag, trying to get rid of the smell. The early morning light is starting to seep into the room, casting long shadows across the floor.
Dad comes out of the kitchen with two thermoses of coffee in hand. His eyes are bleary and tired.
“You ready, Ryan?” he asks, handing me a thermos, his voice rough from too many sleepless nights.
“Yeah, I’m ready,” I reply, trying to sound more confident than I felt.
We load our gear into the truck, the weight of our supplies and weapons a physical reminder of the burden we carry. The drive from Lansing across the Lower Peninsula is long and quiet, the silence between us filled with unspoken memories and unresolved grief.
—
The drive north is a blur of highway lines and the dull hum of the engine. I drift off, the landscape outside blending into a haze. In my sleep, fragments of that day with Leah replay like scattered pieces of a puzzle. I see her smile, the way she tugged at my sleeve, eager to explore. The sunlight filters through the trees in sharp, jagged streaks.
Then, the memory shifts—darker, disjointed. Leah's voice echoes, a playful laugh turning into a scream that pierces the air. The crunch of leaves underfoot as something heavy moves through the underbrush. I see a shadow, large and looming, not quite fitting the shapes of any creature I know.
Then, something darker creeps into the dream, something I’ve never allowed myself to remember clearly.
Before I can see what it is I wake up with a start as the truck jerks slightly on a rough patch of road. Dad glances over. "Bad dream?" he asks. I nod, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, the remnants of the dream clinging to me like the cold.
"Yeah, just... thinking about Leah," I manage to say.
As we drive, Dad attempts to bridge the silence with small talk. He asks about my finals, my plans for the summer, anything to keep the conversation going. His voice carries a forced cheerfulness, but it’s clear his heart isn’t in it. I respond when necessary, my answers brief, my gaze fixed on the passing scenery.
The landscape changes as we head further north, from flat expanses to rolling hills dotted with dense patches of forest. It's beautiful country, the kind that reminds you how vast and wild Michigan can be, but today it just feels oppressive, like it’s closing in on us.
—
We finally arrive at the cabin, nestled deep in the woods, its weathered wood blending seamlessly with the surrounding trees. The place hasn't changed much since the last time I was here—a relic from another time, filled with the echoes of our past. I can still see Leah running around the porch, her laughter ringing out into the forest.
Dad parks the truck, and we step out into the crisp air. The smell of pine and damp earth fills my nostrils. We start unloading our gear, the tension between us palpable.
“Let’s get this inside,” Dad says, his voice gruff as he hefts a duffel bag onto his shoulder.
I nod, grabbing my own bag and following him to the cabin. Inside, it’s a mix of old and new—the same rustic furniture, but with new hunting gear and maps strewn across the table. Dad’s obsession is evident in every corner of the room, a constant reminder of why we’re here.
As we unpack, we exchange strained attempts at normalcy. He talks about the latest cryptid sightings he’s read about, his eyes lighting up with a fervor that both worries and saddens me.
“Did you hear about the sighting up near Alpena?” he asks, laying out his maps on the table.
“Yeah, you mentioned it,” I reply, trying to muster some enthusiasm. “Do you really think there’s something to it?”
Dad’s eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see a flicker of doubt. But it’s quickly replaced by grim determination. “I have to believe it, Ryan. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
We finish unpacking, the silence between us growing heavier with each passing minute. I step outside to clear my head, the cool air a welcome relief. The sun is starting to set, casting long shadows across the clearing. I can’t shake the feeling of unease.
"You can take the upstairs room," Dad mutters. His voice is strained, trying to sound normal, but it's clear the weight of the past is heavy on him. I nod, hauling my backpack up the creaking stairs to the small bedroom that I used to share with Leah. The room feels smaller now, or maybe I've just grown too much since those innocent days.
I unpack silently, setting my things aside. The bed is stiff and cold under my touch. As I settle in, I can't help but glance at the corner where Leah and I would huddle together, whispering secrets and making plans for adventures that would never happen. I push the thoughts away, focusing on the practicalities of unpacking.
After settling in, I go back downstairs to find Dad loading up a backpack with supplies for our hunt. The intensity in his eyes is palpable, his hands moving with practiced precision. I know this routine; it's one he's perfected over countless solo trips since that fateful day.
"We'll head out early," he says, not looking up from his task. "Gotta make the most of the daylight."
I nod, though unease curls in my stomach. I'm not just worried about what we might find—or not find—out there. I'm worried about him. Each year, the obsession seems to carve him out a bit more, leaving less of the Dad I knew.
—
The morning air is sharp with the scent of pine and wet earth as Dad and I head into the deeper parts of the forest. The terrain is rugged, familiar in its untamed beauty, but there’s a tension between us that makes the landscape feel alien. Dad moves with a purposeful stride, his eyes scanning the woods around us. Every snap of a twig, every rustle in the underbrush seems to draw his attention. He’s on edge, and it puts me on edge too.
As we walk, my mind drifts back to that day ten years ago. I can almost hear Leah’s voice echoing through the trees, her high-pitched call as she darted ahead, "Catch me, Ryan!" I remember how the sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dancing shadows on the ground. Those memories are so vivid, so tangible, it feels like I could just turn a corner and see her there, waiting for us.
Dad suddenly stops and kneels, examining the ground. He points out a set of tracks that are too large for a deer, with an unusual gait pattern. "It’s been here, Ry. I’m telling you, it’s close," he whispers, a mixture of excitement and something darker in his voice. I nod, though I’m not sure what to believe. Part of me wants to dismiss it all as grief-fueled obsession, but another part, the part that heard Leah's scream and saw something monstrous in the woods that day, isn’t so sure.
As we continue, Dad's comments become increasingly cryptic. "You know, they say the dogman moves in cycles, drawn to certain places, certain times. Like it’s tied to the land itself," he muses, more to himself than to me. His fixation on the creature has always been intense, but now it borders on mania.
We set up a makeshift blind near a clearing where Dad insists the creature will pass. Hours drag by with little to see but the occasional bird or distant deer.
The sun rises higher in the sky, casting long, slender shadows through the dense canopy. I shift uncomfortably in my spot, the forest floor hard and unyielding beneath me. My eyes dart between the trees, hoping to catch a glimpse of something, anything, to break the monotony. Dad, on the other hand, remains steadfast, his gaze fixed on the treeline as if he can will the dogman into existence by sheer force of will.
A bird chirps nearby, startling me. I sigh and adjust my grip on the rifle. I glance over at Dad.
“Anything?” I ask, more out of boredom than genuine curiosity.
“Not yet,” he replies, his voice tight. “But it’s out there. I know it.”
I nod, even though I’m not sure I believe him. The forest seems too quiet, too still. Maybe we’re chasing ghosts.
As the sun begins its descent, the forest is bathed in a warm, golden light. The air cools, and a breeze rustles the leaves. I shiver, more from anticipation than the cold. The long hours of sitting and waiting are starting to wear on me.
“Let’s call it a day for now,” Dad says finally, his voice heavy with disappointment. “We’ll head back to the cabin, get some rest, and try again tomorrow.”
I stand and stretch, feeling the stiffness in my muscles. We pack up our gear in silence and start the trek back to the cabin. The walk is long and quiet, the only sounds are the crunch of leaves underfoot and the distant calls of birds settling in for the night.
—
Dinner is a quiet affair, both of us lost in our thoughts. I try to make small talk, asking Dad about his plans for tomorrow, but it feels forced. We clean up in silence.
After dinner, I retreat to the small bedroom. The fatigue from the day's hike has settled into my bones, but sleep still feels like a distant hope. I lie down, staring at the ceiling, the room cloaked in darkness save for the sliver of moonlight creeping through the window. Downstairs, I hear the faint sound of Dad moving around, likely unable to sleep himself.
I drift into sleep, but it's not restful. My dreams pull me back to that fateful day in the woods. Leah's voice is clear and vibrant, her laughter echoing through the trees. She looks just as she did then—bright-eyed and full of life, her blonde hair catching the sunlight as she runs ahead of me.
"Come on, Ry! You can't catch me!" she taunts, her voice playful and teasing.
I chase after her, but the scene shifts abruptly. The sky darkens, the woods around us growing dense and foreboding. Leah's laughter fades, replaced by a chilling silence. I see her ahead, standing still, her back to me.
"Leah?" I call out, my voice trembling. She turns slowly, her eyes wide and filled with fear. "Ryan, you have to remember," she says, her voice barely a whisper. "It wasn't what you think. You need to know the truth."
Leah’s words hang in the air, cryptic and unsettling. Before I can respond, she turns and starts running again, her figure becoming a blur among the trees. Panic rises in my chest as I sprint after her, my feet pounding against the forest floor.
“Leah, wait!” I shout, desperation lacing my voice. The forest around me seems to close in, the trees towering and twisted, shadows dancing menacingly in the dim light. I push forward, trying to keep her in sight, but she’s too fast, slipping away like a wisp of smoke.
Suddenly, there’s a rustle, a flash of movement in the corner of my vision. Leah screams, a sound that pierces through the heavy silence. It happens too quickly—I can’t see what it is, only a dark blur that snatches her up.
“Leah!” I scream, my voice breaking. I stumble, falling to my knees as the forest spins around me. My heart races, and the terror is so real, so visceral, that it pulls me back to that awful day, the one that changed everything.
I jolt awake, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I sit up, wiping the cold sweat from my forehead as I try to steady my breathing. The room is still dark, the shadows cast by the moonlight seem to flicker and dance on the walls. My heart is still racing from the nightmare, the echo of Leah's scream lingering in my ears.
As I struggle to calm down, the floorboards outside my room creak. The door opens slowly, and I see the silhouette of my dad in the doorway, a Bowie knife in his hand, his posture tense.
“Dad, what the hell are you doing?” I whisper, my voice shaking.
“Shh,” he hisses, holding up a hand to silence me. “I heard something. Something moving around in the cabin. Stay quiet.”
I swallow hard, my mouth dry. I glance at the clock on the nightstand—it’s just past three in the morning. The cabin is silent, the kind of deep, oppressive silence that makes every small sound seem louder. I can’t hear anything out of the ordinary, but Dad’s expression is deadly serious.
He motions for me to get up, and I do, moving as quietly as I can. My heart is racing, a mix of lingering fear from the dream and the sudden, sharp anxiety of the present moment. Dad leads the way, stepping cautiously out of the bedroom and into the hallway, the knife held ready in front of him.
We move through the cabin, checking each room in turn. The living room is empty, the furniture casting long shadows in the dim moonlight. The kitchen is just as we left it, the plates from dinner still drying on the counter. Everything seems normal, untouched.
We finish our sweep of the cabin without finding anything amiss. The silence is heavy, punctuated only by our soft footfalls. I can see the tension in Dad’s frame, his grip on the knife unwavering. After checking the last room, we pause in the dimly lit hallway, the air thick with unspoken questions.
“There’s nothing here,” I say, my voice low. “Are you sure you heard something?”
He looks at me, his eyes searching for something in my face. “I heard growling. Deep and close. It was right outside the window.”
“Maybe it was just an animal outside, a raccoon or something?” I suggest, although the certainty in his voice makes me doubt my own reassurance.
“No, it wasn’t like that. It was different,” he insists, his voice tense.
I nod, not wanting to argue, but the seeds of worry are planted deep.
The look in his eyes sends a chill down my spine. It’s not just fear—it’s desperation. The kind of desperation that comes from years of chasing shadows and finding nothing. I can see the toll this hunt has taken on him, the way it’s worn him down, turned him into a man I barely recognize.
We head back to our rooms. As I lie down, my mind races with thoughts of my dad. I can’t help but wonder if he’s losing it, if the years of grief and guilt have finally pushed him over the edge.
Dad wasn’t always like this. Before Leah’s death, he was the kind of father who took us fishing, helped with homework, and told terrible jokes that made us groan and laugh at the same time. He was solid, dependable. But losing Leah changed him. The guilt twisted him into someone I barely recognize, someone driven by a need for answers, for closure, that may never come.
I try to sleep, but my thoughts keep me awake. I can hear Dad moving around downstairs, probably pacing or double-checking the locks. His paranoia has become a constant presence, and I don’t know how to help him. I don’t even know if I can help him.
—
The next morning, the sunlight filters weakly through the cabin windows, casting a pale light that does little to lift the heavy mood. I drag myself out of bed, feeling the exhaustion of another restless night. Dad is already up, hunched over his maps at the kitchen table, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.
“Morning,” I mumble, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I pour myself a cup of coffee. “Did you sleep at all?”
He shakes his head, not looking up from his notes. “Not much. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I heard last night.”
I sip my coffee, trying to shake off the remnants of my nightmare. “Maybe it was just an animal, Dad. We’re deep in the woods, after all.”
He finally looks up, his eyes intense. “Ryan, I know what I heard. It wasn’t just an animal. It was something else.”
I sigh, not wanting to argue. “Okay, fine, Dad. What’s the plan for today?”
“We’re going back out. I found some tracks yesterday, and I want to follow them. See where they lead.”
I nod, feeling a mix of apprehension and resignation. I can see how much this means to him, how desperate he is for any kind of lead. “Alright. Let’s get packed and head out.”
We spend the morning preparing, loading up our gear and double-checking our supplies. Dad is meticulous, going over everything with a fine-toothed comb. I try to match his focus, but my mind keeps drifting back to Leah and the dream I had. Her words echo in my head, cryptic and unsettling: “You need to know the truth.”
We set off into the woods, the air crisp and cool. The forest is alive with the sounds of birds and rustling leaves, but it all feels distant, like background noise to the tension between us. Dad leads the way, his eyes scanning the ground for any sign of the tracks he found yesterday.
As we walk, I can’t help but notice how erratically he’s acting. He mutters to himself, his eyes darting around as if expecting something to jump out at us. His grip on his rifle is tight, his knuckles white.
“Dad, are you okay?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
He glances at me, his expression unreadable. “I’m fine. Just focused.”
He stops frequently to examine the ground or the bark of trees, pointing out marks and signs that seem meaningless to me.
“Look at this,” he says, crouching down to examine a broken branch. “See how it’s snapped? That’s not a deer or a bear. That’s something bigger. Stronger.”
I crouch next to Dad, squinting at the broken branch. To me, it just looks like a regular broken branch, the kind you see all over the forest. "I don't know, Dad. It just looks like a branch to me," I say, trying to keep my voice neutral.
Dad's eyes flicker with frustration. "You're not looking close enough. It's the way it's snapped—too clean, too deliberate. Something did this."
I nod, not wanting to argue. "Okay, sure. But even if you're right, it could be anything. A storm, another hunter..."
His expression hardens. "I know what I'm looking for. This is different."
I sigh, feeling the weight of the past and the tension between us pressing down on me. "Dad, I had a dream last night. About Leah." The words hang in the air between us, heavy and fraught with unspoken emotions.
Dad's eyes widen, and he straightens up, his entire demeanor shifting. "What kind of dream? What did you see?" His voice is urgent, almost desperate.
"It was... strange. We were in the woods, like we are now, but everything felt different. Leah was there, running ahead of me, laughing. Then she stopped and told me I needed to know the truth, that it wasn't what I thought."
Dad grabs my shoulders, his grip tight. "What else did she say? Did she tell you anything specific? Anything about the creature?"
I shake my head, feeling a chill run down my spine. "No, that was it. She just said I needed to know the truth, and then she was gone."
Dad’s grip on my shoulders tightens, and his eyes bore into mine with a mixture of desperation and hope. “Ryan, you have to try to remember. Think hard. What did the creature look like? Did you see anything else?”
I pull back slightly, uneasy with his intensity. “Dad, I told you. I don’t remember. It was just a dream. A nightmare, really. My mind’s probably just mixing things up.”
He lets go of me and runs a hand through his hair, looking frustrated and lost. “Dreams can be important. They can hold memories we’ve buried deep. Please, try to remember. This could be a sign, a clue.”
I rub my temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “I’ve tried, okay? I’ve tried for years to piece together what happened that day. But it’s all just fragments, like pieces of a puzzle that don’t fit. The dream… it felt real, but I don’t think it’s telling me anything new.”
Dad’s face falls, and he looks older than I’ve ever seen him. He turns away, staring into the forest as if it holds all the answers.
—
As we make our way back to the cabin, the sun begins to set, casting long shadows through the trees. The air grows colder, and I shiver, pulling my jacket tighter around me. Dad is silent, lost in his thoughts, his face drawn and haggard.
Back at the cabin, we unload our gear once again in silence. Dad disappears into his room, muttering something about going over his notes. I decide to explore the cabin, hoping to find something that might help me understand what’s going on with him.
In the attic, I find a box of old family photos and documents. As I sift through the contents, I come across a worn journal with Dad’s handwriting on the cover. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I open it, flipping through the pages.
The journal is filled with notes and sketches, detailing his obsession with the dogman. But there’s something else—entries that talk about Leah, about that day in the woods. His handwriting becomes more erratic, the words harder to read. One entry stands out, dated just a few days after Leah’s death:
“June 15, 2013 – It was supposed to be a normal trip. Keep them close, Frank, I kept telling myself. But I failed. Leah is gone, and it’s my fault. I heard her scream, saw the shadows. I tried to get to her, but… the thing, it was there. Too fast. Too strong. My hands… blood everywhere. No one will believe me. I can’t even believe myself. I have to find it. I have to protect Ryan. I have to make it right. God, what have I done?”
Before I can read further, the attic door creaks open, and Dad’s voice slices through the stillness.
“What are you doing up here?” His tone is sharp, almost panicked.
I turn to see him standing in the doorway, his face pale and his eyes wide with something between anger and fear. I clutch the journal to my chest, my mind racing. “I found this… I was just trying to understand…”
In an instant, he crosses the room and snatches the journal from my hands. His grip is tight, his knuckles white. “You had no right,” he growls, his voice trembling.
“Dad, I just wanted to know the truth!” I shout, frustration boiling over. “What really happened to Leah.”
His eyes flash with a mix of rage and anguish, and before I can react, he slaps me across the face. The force of it knocks me off balance, and I stumble backward, my cheek stinging.
For a moment, there’s a stunned silence. We both stand there, breathing hard, the air thick with tension.
“I’m sorry,” Dad says finally, his voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t mean to… I just…” He trails off, clutching the journal to his chest like a lifeline.
I touch my cheek, feeling the heat from the slap, and take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “Dad, what aren’t you telling me? What really happened that day?”
“Stay out of it, Ryan,” Dad growls, his eyes dark with anger. “You don’t know what you’re messing with.”
He turns and storms out of the attic. I’m left standing there, my cheek throbbing, my mind racing. What the fuck is going on? What really happened to Leah? And what is Dad so afraid of?
—
That night, I sleep with my rifle within arm's reach, more afraid of my dad than any dogman. The slap still burns on my cheek, and the look in his eyes—rage, fear, something darker—haunts me. I lie awake, listening to the creaks and groans of the old cabin, every sound amplified in the stillness. Eventually, exhaustion pulls me under, and I fall into a restless sleep.
The dream returns, vivid and unsettling. I'm back in the woods, chasing after Leah. Her laughter echoes through the trees, a haunting reminder of happier times. This time, though, I push myself harder, refusing to let her slip away.
"Ryan, catch me!" she calls, her voice playful.
"I'm coming, Leah!" I shout, my legs pumping, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
The forest around us is a twisted, shadowy maze, the trees seeming to close in on us. Leah's figure becomes clearer, her blonde hair catching the dim light filtering through the canopy. She stops suddenly, turning to face me, her eyes wide with fear.
"Leah, what is it?" I ask, my voice trembling.
"Look behind you," she whispers, her voice barely audible.
I turn slowly, dread creeping up my spine. In the shadows, I see a figure, its form indistinct and shifting. It’s not quite animal, not quite human—something in between. The sight of it sends a jolt of terror through me, and I wake up with a start, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I’m not in my bed. The ground beneath me is cold and hard, the smell of damp earth filling my nostrils. Panic rises as I realize I’ve sleepwalked into the woods. I scramble to my feet, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. The moon casts a pale glow over the surroundings, revealing what looks like a long-abandoned animal lair.
The walls are covered in giant claw marks, deep gouges in the wood and earth. The air is heavy with the scent of decay, and a chill runs through me. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched.
Carefully, I start to move, my eyes scanning the ground, desperate for a familiar landmark. That's when I see them—faded scraps of fabric caught on the jagged edges of the underbrush. My steps falter, a sense of dread washing over me as I bend down to examine them. The fabric is torn, weathered by time and the elements, but unmistakably familiar. It's part of Leah's jacket—the bright pink one she wore on the day she disappeared.
As I strain to make sense of it all, a rustling sound behind me snaps my focus. My heart leaps into my throat. I spin around, my hand instinctively reaching for the rifle I don't have—because, of course, I didn't bring it in my unconscious state.
The shadowy figure that emerges from the trees is unsettlingly familiar, mirroring the menacing forms of my nightmares. But as it steps into the moonlight, I recognize the worn jacket, the weary posture. It's Dad.
"Ryan!" he calls out, his voice a mix of relief and stern concern. "I've been looking everywhere for you. What the hell are you doing out here?"
I exhale slowly, the terror ebbing away as reality sets back in. "I—I don't know, Dad. I must've sleepwalked again." My voice is shaky, my earlier dream still clinging to the edges of my consciousness.
Dad stares at me in disbelief. "You haven't sleepwalked since you were a kid, Ry. This... this isn't just a coincidence." His eyes dart around, taking in the surroundings—the eerie, claw-marked den, the unsettling quiet of the woods. "How did you even find this place?"
I shake my head, struggling to find an answer. "I don't know, Dad. I just... I woke up here." The uncertainty in my voice does nothing to ease the tension.
His eyes lock onto the tattered remains of Leah's jacket in my hands, and something inside him snaps. The color drains from his face as he stumbles a few steps backward. "This... this is where it happened," he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper. “This is where we found Leah."
“I thought you said you don’t remember anything from that night,” he says accusingly.
"I swear, Dad, I don't know anything about this place," I insist, my own heart pounding.
“It was you, wasn’t it? You’ve been hiding this from me.” His voice is frantic. “You... last night, the growling, it was you.” His voice rises, tinged with hysteria.
I step back, my pulse racing, feeling the chill of the night and the weight of his accusation. "Dad, I don't know what you're talking ab—”
"No!" he interrupts, his voice breaking as he points a trembling finger at me. "You knew, you always knew. It was you, Ryan. All these years, the evidence was right there, but I refused to see it. You were the dogman. You killed Leah!"
His words hit me like a physical blow, absurd and horrifying in their implications. "Dad, you're not making any sense. You're talking crazy! I was just a little kid! How could I–" I protest, my voice shaky.
He steps closer, his presence looming over me, the outline of his figure distorted by the shadows of the trees. "Think about it! It all makes sense now. You led us here, to this place, because you remember. Because you did it."
"Dad, stop it!" I shout, my heart pounding in my chest. "You're scaring me. You need help, professional help. This isn't you."
But he's beyond reason, his eyes wild with a haunted grief. "I have to end this," he mutters, more to himself than to me, his hand tightening around his rifle.
His finger hovers dangerously over the trigger of his rifle. My instincts kick in, and I know I have to act fast.
I lunge toward him, trying to knock the weapon away, but he's quicker than I expected. We struggle, our breaths heavy in the cold night air, the sounds of our scuffle the only noise in the otherwise silent woods. His strength surprises me, fueled by his frantic emotions. He shoves me back, and I stumble over a root, my balance lost for a crucial second. That's all he needs. He raises his rifle, his intentions clear in his wild, pained eyes.
I dive to the ground just as the shot rings out, a deafening blast that echoes ominously through the trees. The bullet whizzes past, narrowly missing me, embedding itself in the bark of an old pine. I scramble to my feet, my heart pounding in my ears, and I start running. The underbrush claws at my clothes and skin, but I push through, driven by a primal urge to survive.
"Dad, stop! It's me, Ryan!" I shout back as I dodge between the trees. Another shot breaks the silence, closer this time, sending splinters of wood flying from a nearby tree trunk. It's surreal, being hunted by my own father, a man tormented by grief and lost in his delusions.
I don't stop to look back. I can hear him crashing through the forest behind me, his heavy breaths and muttered curses carried on the wind. The terrain is rough, and I'm fueled by adrenaline, but exhaustion is setting in. I need a plan.
Ahead, I see a rocky outcrop and make a split-second decision to head for it. It offers a chance to hide, to catch my breath and maybe reason with him if he catches up. As I reach the rocks, I slip behind the largest one, my body pressed tight against the cold, damp surface. I hear his footsteps approaching, slow and cautious now.
As I press against the rock, trying to calm my racing heart, I can hear Dad's footsteps drawing closer, each step crunching ominously on the forest floor. He's methodical, deliberate, like a hunter stalking his prey.
“Come out, Ryan!” Dad’s voice is ragged, filled with a blend of fury and pain.
My heart pounds against my chest, the cold sweat on my back making me shiver against the rough surface of the rock. I know I can't just sit here; it's only a matter of time before he finds me.
Taking a deep breath, I peek around the edge of the rock, trying to gauge his position. I see him, rifle raised, scanning the area slowly. This might be my only chance to end this madness without further violence. I need to disarm him, to talk some sense into him if I can.
As quietly as I can, I move out from behind the rock, my steps careful to avoid any twigs or leaves that might betray my position. I'm almost upon him when a branch snaps under my foot—a sound so trivial yet so alarmingly loud in the quiet of the woods.
Dad whirls around, looking completely unhinged. "Ryan!" he exclaims, his rifle swinging in my direction. Panic overtakes me, and I lunge forward, my hands reaching for the gun.
We struggle, the rifle between us, our breaths heavy and erratic. "Dad, please, stop!" I plead, trying to wrestle the gun away. But he's strong, stronger than I expected.
In the chaos, the rifle goes off. The sound is deafening, a sharp echo that seems to reverberate off every tree around us. Pain explodes in my abdomen, sharp and burning, like nothing I've ever felt before. I stagger back, my hands instinctively going to the wound. The warmth of my own blood coats my fingers, stark and terrifying.
Dad drops the rifle, his eyes wide with horror. "Oh my God! What have I done?" he gasps, rushing to my side as I collapse onto the forest floor.
As the pain sears through me, a strange, overpowering energy surges within. It's wild, primal, unlike anything I've ever experienced. Looking down in horror, my hands are no longer hands but large, hairy, clawed appendages. The transformation is rapid, consuming—my vision blurs, senses heighten, and a raw, guttural growl builds in my throat.
In that moment, a flood of understanding washes over me, mingling with the horror of realization. These are the hands of the creature from my nightmares, the creature whose face I can never fully recall because, as I now understand, it is me.
What happens next feels detached, as if I'm no longer in control of my own actions, watching from a distance as my body moves on its own. I turn towards my dad, his face a mask of terror. He stumbles back, his eyes wide with the dawning realization of what his son has become.
The forest around us seems to fall silent, holding its breath as the nightmarish scene unfolds. I can hear my own growls, guttural and deep, filling the air with a sound that's both foreign and intimately familiar. The pain in my abdomen fuels a dark, violent urge, an urge that's too strong to resist.
With a ferocity that feels both alien and intrinsic, I move towards him. My dad, paralyzed by fear and shock, doesn't run. Maybe he can't. Maybe he doesn't want to.
The encounter was brutal and swift, a blur of motion and violence. My dad barely puts up a struggle, as though resigned to his fate.
Not that there is anything he can do. The creature that I’ve become is too powerful, too consumed by the wild instincts surging through me. I tear him apart, limb from bloody limb, my hands—no, my claws—rending through fabric and flesh with disgusting ease.
The sound of my dad’s screams, of tearing fabric and flesh is drowned out by the animalistic growls that echo through the trees.
When it’s all over, the red mist that had clouded my vision begins to fade, and the fierce, uncontrollable rage that drove my actions subsides. I'm left standing, my breaths heavy and erratic, in the eerie stillness of the forest. The transformation reverses as quickly as it came on, and I find myself back in my human form. My clothes are ripped to shreds, hanging off my frame in tattered remnants. At my feet lies what’s left of my dad, his body torn and unrecognizable.
I glance down at my abdomen, expecting agony, but instead find my wound miraculously healed. No sign of the gunshot remains, just a faint scar where I expected a bloody mess.
Shock sets in, a numbing disbelief mixed with a gut-wrenching realization of what I've become and what I've done. My hands, now human again, tremble as I look at them, half-expecting to see the claws that had so effortlessly ripped through flesh and bone. But there's only blood, my father's blood against my skin.
I stand there for what feels like an eternity, trapped in a nightmare of my own making.
Eventually, the shock wears thin, and a cold practicality takes hold. I need to get out of here. I need to cover my tracks, to disappear. Because who would believe this? Who would understand that I didn't choose this, that I'm not a monster by choice?
With trembling hands, I do what’s necessary. I bury my dad in a shallow grave, the physical act of digging strangely grounding. I cover him with leaves and branches, a pitiful attempt to hide the brutality of his end. I take a moment, whispering apologies into the wind, knowing full well that nothing I say can change what happened.
I leave the forest behind, my mind a whirl of dark thoughts. As I walk, the first hints of dawn brush against the horizon, the sky bleeding a soft pink. It’s hauntingly beautiful.

Currently giving 3rd year end term exams of BTech Computer Science Engineering.
After, what I call, a series of bad financial decisions, my family has landed in a situation where we have to pay more than 60K per month in the form of loan repayments. My brother earns 25K per month all of which goes to debt repayment. My father is a cab driver and has a very irregular income. We used up all our savings to pay off this month. There is no way we can survive without me getting a job. I have decent knowledge of Web development technologies (JS, CSS, Next.js etc.), I have interests in Data Analytics, being a computer science student computer operations is my strongest point but considering the current situation, I am ready to take up just about any job. I have a 4 wheeler driver's licence and 2+ years of driving experience. I am open for driver roles (which do not require me to wear a uniform as my father never wants me to be a driver, he can not know I have taken up a driver's job). Any help is really appreciated.

Hi everyone,
I'm looking for some realistic advice and insights on my current job search situation in Shanghai. Here’s a bit about my background and what I’m facing:
My Background:

• Nationality: EU citizen
• Education: Studied in the UK for 5 years. I hold a BSc in Computer Science (First-class Honours) and an MSc in Advanced Computer Science (Merit).
• Experience: 3+ years in software development:
  • 2 years at a private company
  • 1 year at a government research agency working on control software for particle accelerators
  • All work experience was before & during my undergrad and postgrad studies (all full-time: office, remote, and placement year).
• Relevant Languages: Fluent in English (though not a native speaker), very limited Mandarin.

Visa Situation:

• Looking to stay in Shanghai for around 2 years.
• My passport doesn't allow long-stay multi-entry L visas. I’ve managed to get a 60-day single-entry L visa before (considered rare for my passport), but I’ve been told by the visa people that I can’t stay longer than 6 months within a 12-month period using short-term L visas.
• Therefore, I need to secure a work (Z) visa or, as a last resort, an X1 student visa (though scholarship applications for this year seem to be closed).

Job Search Efforts:

• Applied to over 200 jobs at 100+ companies (multinationals, domestic companies, schools, etc.) in the past 2 months.
• Used multiple job platforms: LinkedIn, Indeed, GlassDoor, LaowaiCarrer, eChinaCities, HiredChina, SmartShanghai, LiePin (猎聘), and ZhiLianTuiTui (智联推推).
• Applied to a variety of positions: software-related, IT and tech support, CS/Programming & ESL teaching, customer support call centers, SEO optimization, QA/Localisation, marketing, various internships, etc.
• I've been open and flexible in my job search, willing to make sacrifices in career progression for roles I may be overqualified for or not directly related to my background.

Challenges:

• Multinationals seem to only need seniors or team leads with many more years of experience and have, for the most part, ghosted me.
• Expat websites are flooded with listings for teaching jobs that have good benefits and (frustratingly) loose requirements but require native English speakers.
• Many English-related jobs (localization, proofreading, digital content creation, translation QA, user research, etc.) inexplicably require native English speakers. Despite being able to excel in these roles and achieve a high IELTS/TOEFL score if needed, I am deemed unqualified solely due to my passport.
• HR on Chinese job boards have shown a lot of interest in me, but most Chinese companies don’t seem to be currently hiring international talent.

Current Plan:

• Planning to stay in Shanghai later this year for as long as my tourist visa allows, to continue job hunting in person. I am hoping that this will simplify the process and improve my chances. I will have, at most, 3 months on my L visa.
• If during that time I still don't manage to secure work, I really won't know what else to do, as I may not be issued another L visa.

My Question:
I'm currently in a bind. With my background and qualifications, finding a good programming job in Europe wouldn't be too difficult. However, in Shanghai, it's been so challenging to find any job, even those I'm grossly overqualified for, no matter how much I lower my standards regarding career progression and compensation. Although I could find a remote job, that wouldn't solve my visa issue.
Given my qualifications and experience, what are the realistic chances of finding any job in Shanghai that provides a livable wage and normal work hours? Any advice on navigating the job market or improving my odds would be greatly appreciated. Has anyone been in a similar situation or have insights on making this work?
Thank you!

Hello reddit. I am looking for help and experience from people who have gone through this or work in this field. I live in Russia, graduated with a bachelor's degree in Biomedical Systems and Biotechnology, with an average score of 4.38 out of 5.00. I have been working for 1.5 years in the virology laboratory. I really wanna have the experience of living and working abroad, but I need a serious amount of money for this, I don't have that much. Will I be able to get a job in pharmaceutical production or in a laboratory with a Russian diploma? There is an option to get a master's degree in English in an international program, but also in Russia. Or do you only need an EC, USA, Can diploma? Tell me who works in this field or has also moved. I have no one to ask for advice and help, I will be very grateful to you.

science #help #experience #joboffer #linkedin #pharmaceutical

Howdy, I (F21) have wondered this about myself for a long time. My psychiatrist has labelled me with an "Unspecified personality disorder"... Whatever that means. And I'm not sure whether what I'm experiencing is related to that or not.
I can't be comforted by people. Not at all. Whenever I'm in distress people's attempts to comfort me have all backfired and I get angry at them for even trying to console me. Not even my psychologist can comfort me. I can comfort others just fine, everyone that has come to me feeling bad reports feeling better after talking to me. I'm studying psychology and I've got comforting people down to a science. But no one can comfort me and it's not fair.
I'm literally inconsolable. I've stopped seeking out comfort because it doesn't help. Nothing has ever helped except SH.
Does anyone else experience this? Why am I like this? Why can't I be comforted? I feel so defective.

** This thread is for CONFIRMED losses only. If you suspect a loss and/or have not received confirmation from your RE, then you must post in the Weekly Results Thread until confirmed **
This thread is a dedicated space for members of infertility experiencing a confirmed loss – be it a blighted ovum/anembryonic pregnancy, chemical, ectopic, molar, miscarriage, stillbirth, TFMR, or infant death. This is the space to come together and find support as you grieve, away from the maelstrom of treatment. This is not to imply that these discussions are not allowed in the treatment thread, but is a focused effort to give an additional space to our members grieving a loss. We have many spaces you can discuss a confirmed loss, but we created this space so you don't have to post where it might be hard to.
Please use this space to vent, cry, talk about how you’re coping, share your loss experience, and ask specific questions pertaining to your loss (either resolved or ongoing). Our rules around mentions of pregnancy, children, and prior success still apply in this thread.
Above all - Science minded perspective and respect for others is important here. Please treat your fellow peers with compassion.
If you are looking for further specialized support, we recommend you explore the following communities (their wikis include helpful posts on resolving your loss via multiple methods, coping with your loss, ways for you to honor your grief, and much more):
Miscarriage
ttcafterloss
babyloss
/TFMR_support

Our community threads are the heart of our subreddit and operate much like a specialized support group – we share our experiences and strive to collectively support one another on the topic at hand.
Please use this space for sharing and discussing any type of treatment, trying to conceive, or family building measures. This includes, but is not limited to:

• Advice / Updates on current treatment cycle or planned/future treatment cycles
• Questions / Discussion about medications, treatment, diagnostic tests, and lab results
• Any measures taken/evaluated to improve treatment outcomes – supplements, diet, exercise, etc
• Seeking emotional support related to upcoming treatment, treatment outcomes, infertility diagnosis, and confirmed loss
• Commiseration and venting related to treatment
• Supporting and cheering on fellow members as they run the gauntlet of infertility treatments

Essentially, if you mention treatment, TTC, or family building measures – it goes in this thread.
​
A few notes:

• Positive HPT or Beta Results (including Beta Hell) should only be posted in the Results thread as per the rules (except for confirmed loss): https://www.reddit.com/infertility/search?q=flair_name%3A%22Results%22
• We recognize that the AM/PM distinction doesn’t match up with every time zone in our global community, we ask that you pick the most recently posted thread wherever you are.
• Standalone culture here is saved for complex topics, usually including detailed conversations around scientific studies, or asking multi-part complex questions around treatment plans. We strongly recommend posting in the community threads first. If you aren’t sure, ask in the daily threads first!

Above all - Science minded perspective and respect for others is important here. Please treat your fellow peers with compassion.

Hello everyone,
I’m a 30 yr old Canadian, currently working as a software developer with 4 years of experience and a bachelor’s degree in science. I have a decent income of around $100k, and realistically, I might make up to 200k ish if I get lucky in my career. I’m single, and I’ve recently started looking into the field of aviation.
I have several friends who are currently first officers at a regional airline, and after talking to them and doing a discovery flight myself, I found the experience truly amazing. Up until now, I’ve been happy with my work. I enjoy programming, I work fully remote, and my hours are always 8-4 with no overtime or stress after work. However, I’ve started to realize I’m missing out on a lot in life. I’ve lived in the same city for 30 years, always in my comfort zone.
Lately, I’ve noticed that my passion for software development is waning. I’m finding it increasingly boring, and studying for professional development in the field feels more like a chore than an opportunity and the information I need to cram into my brain is not anywhere near fun at all.
At the same time, thinking about a career in aviation excites me and makes me genuinely eager to study for it. It gets my heart jumping, and I haven’t felt this way about something in a while.
I’m in good mental and physical health, and I’ve passed the class 1 medical exam. I have, for the past 5 years been going to the gym daily and I am physically fit.
If I choose to quit my job and go all in with aviation school near my city, I’d aim to earn all the necessary ratings (PPL, CPL, multi, multi-IFR) and the 250 hours of flight time required to work as a first officer at a regional airline within the next 2 years. The cost is around $80k, which I can afford without taking out a loan. I also have enough to support myself through studying until I find myself a job as a first officer.
After finishing flight school, I’d work on the ramp until a first officer position becomes available, with a starting salary of around $40k-$50k. Assuming everything goes as planned, it should take 3 years or less (hopefully less) for me to reach this stage. I don’t want to keep comparing numbers, but I have to, to stay realistic. My end goal is to become a captain at Air Canada.
I’ve heard about the cons of being an airline pilot, such as unstable schedules, rough early career stages, and not being able to come home to spend time with (future) family. I don't know how I will feel about this, but I am both scared and okay at the same time. One of my biggest concerns is how the career is so seniority-based, given I am starting relatively late compared to people starting in their early 20s.
Main concern is how realistic it is for me to become a captain at Air Canada and start building my career there, knowing that seniority from a previous airline won’t transfer. How realistic is it that I will be able to make a comfortable living while doing the thing I love?
I want to make this change, but I’m scared. I know there are thousands of posts about whether 30+ is too old, and I’ve read them all, but I’m still scared I might not make it past the regional airlines.
Should I go for it?
Thanks for any advice.

It started with a whisper, a shiver of information that slithered through the corridors of the CIA like a cold, uninvited guest. I was a senior analyst, tasked with sifting through the static and noise of global intelligence. But this—this was different. It was 2009 when the first document crossed my desk, a classified report from the Global Access Program. The title was innocuous: “Unidentified Aerial Phenomena – Preliminary Analysis.” But the content… it was nothing short of extraordinary.
The initial report detailed sightings of craft with capabilities far beyond our own. These weren’t the erratic, drunken movements of weather balloons or the technological marvels of hostile nations. These were intelligent, deliberate maneuvers, the kind that hinted at minds far advanced from ours. It was chilling, but it was only the beginning.
As weeks turned into months, the trickle of information became a flood. Documents stamped with the highest levels of classification described encounters, recoveries, and, most disturbingly, autopsies. The recovered bodies weren’t the little green men of popular culture. They were eerily humanoid, yet undeniably otherworldly. Their skin had a silicon-like quality, translucent and tough, and their eyes—large, dark, and haunting—seemed to pierce through the veil of secrecy we so desperately tried to maintain.
I was part of a small, compartmentalized team, tasked with understanding the implications of these findings. The government’s approach was twofold: reverse-engineer the technology and determine the intentions of these visitors. But as our understanding grew, so did our fear.
One evening, after hours of staring at grainy footage of a UFO darting through the sky over a desolate military base, I received a call. The voice on the other end was panicked, speaking in hushed, frantic tones. It was one of our field operatives, stationed at a classified recovery site. They had just intercepted a transmission. It wasn’t human.
The transmission was a distress signal, but not one of desperation. It was a call to arms. These beings, it seemed, were not just explorers. They were scouts, and their mission was not benign. The transmission hinted at a hive mind, a collective consciousness that controlled these entities. They were here to assess, to probe, and to prepare. For what, we could only speculate.
Days later, another recovery operation took place. A craft was shot down over the Nevada desert, and the bodies retrieved told a horrifying story. They were connected, biologically and technologically, to this hive mind. When one entity was captured, the others knew. When one died, they all felt it. The implications were staggering. We were not just dealing with isolated visitors; we were confronting a unified front.
The more we learned, the more paranoid our superiors became. Orders came down to contain the information at all costs. Whistleblowers were silenced, dissenters disappeared. But the truth was too big to contain. The technology we recovered was decades, if not centuries, ahead of our own. Anti-gravity propulsion, energy sources that defied our understanding of physics, biological materials that healed and adapted.
And then came the darkest revelation. The autopsies revealed something even more unsettling. These beings had genetic material strikingly similar to our own. They weren’t just visitors; they were progenitors. We were their experiment, their creation. The implications shattered every paradigm we held dear. Religion, science, history—all of it was called into question.
As I sit here, penning this confession, I know my time is limited. They will come for me, as they have come for others. But the truth must be known. We are not alone, and we never have been. Our governments have hidden this from us, not out of malice, but out of fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of the truth, fear of the inevitable.
To you who reads this, understand this: the veil has been lifted. The shadows hold secrets that are darker and more profound than we can imagine. And the truth, once revealed, will change everything.
This is my testament. Believe it, or don’t. But know this: the world is not as it seems. The universe is vast, and we are not the apex of creation. We are but a fragment in a grand, terrifying design.
The truth is out there, waiting to be uncovered. And when it is, the world will never be the same.
The progenitors, as we came to call them, had motives far more complex and far-reaching than simple exploration or conquest. The truth unraveled slowly, like an intricate tapestry revealing a grand design. It began with fragments of intercepted communications and culminated in a terrifying, awe-inspiring understanding of our place in the universe.
The progenitors did not come from a distant star merely to observe. They were architects of life, and Earth was their grand experiment. Our planet, teeming with diverse life forms, was a controlled environment, a living laboratory designed for a singular purpose: evolution.
From the ancient texts to modern scientific discoveries, we’ve always sought answers to our origins. The progenitors provided those answers, but they came at a cost. We discovered that they seeded countless worlds, each designed to test different variables of life. Earth was unique due to its biodiversity and its potential for intelligent life.
The genetic similarities between us and the progenitors weren’t just a coincidence. They were deliberate. By seeding their own DNA into the primordial soup of Earth, they ensured a certain path of evolution. Our intelligence, our creativity, our very civilization were results of their intricate design. We were, quite literally, their children, bred and cultivated to reach a specific level of advancement.
But why? The reasons were as complex as they were chilling. The progenitors were not just scientists; they were facing an existential crisis. Their civilization, once spanning galaxies, was in decline. They needed a solution to prevent their extinction, and their answer was found in genetic diversity and adaptability.
Earth and its human inhabitants were part of a grander scheme: to evolve a species capable of assimilating their consciousness, their essence, into a new form. Our rapid technological advancement was not just a natural progression but was subtly influenced to accelerate our development. They needed us to reach a level where we could understand and perhaps even merge with their advanced consciousness.
We learned through decrypted communications and rare encounters that the progenitors were a hive mind, an interconnected collective consciousness. Over millennia, they had lost individuality, becoming a singular entity spread across countless biological hosts. This form of existence had its limits, and they sought to evolve beyond those constraints. They aimed to create a hybrid species—humans with the potential to host their collective consciousness.
This wasn’t just about survival; it was about transcendence. By merging with us, they hoped to achieve a new state of being, combining their ancient wisdom and collective power with our adaptability and creativity. We were to be the vessels for their next evolution.
However, this plan wasn’t without resistance. Among the progenitors, there were factions. Some believed in the purity of their collective consciousness, resisting the idea of merging with what they considered lesser beings. These internal conflicts spilled over into their actions on Earth, leading to sporadic yet significant interventions in our history.
As our understanding grew, so did the dread. The government’s attempts to contain this knowledge were born out of sheer terror. How could they explain to the world that we were bred for a purpose beyond our control? That our creators intended to use us to save themselves?
The intercepted transmissions became increasingly desperate. The progenitors’ time was running out, and their interest in Earth intensified. Reports of sightings and encounters surged. The military engaged in numerous clandestine operations to intercept and study these beings, leading to an underground war of sorts.
And then came the ultimate revelation: the progenitors were already among us. Their advanced technology allowed them to blend in, to influence, and to manipulate. The rise and fall of civilizations, the sudden leaps in technology, the inexplicable events in history—they were all part of the progenitors’ intricate plan to guide us towards the inevitable merging.
The truth, when finally pieced together, was more than earth-shattering. It was paradigm-shattering. We were not alone, nor were we masters of our fate. We were pawns in a cosmic game, engineered for a destiny we had yet to fully comprehend. The progenitors, our creators, were not gods but beings driven by survival and evolution, using us as their means to an end.
As I document this, I know the implications are beyond comprehension. The world must know, not to incite fear, but to understand. We stand at the brink of an unprecedented revelation, one that will redefine our existence and our place in the universe.
This is the truth, unfiltered and unvarnished. We are the progeny of ancient architects, part of a grand design stretching across the stars. Our future is intertwined with theirs, and the choices we make now will determine the fate of both our species.

Just curious how others have been using GPT for stock investing. Also to share main areas that helped me
Deep Understanding

• explain to me at 5 levels (5th grader, 8th grader, university accounting 1a student, business exec, CFA license holder)
• create a 4-level rubric for understanding
• explain and evaluate the following post/article. Check validity of reasoning, objective vs subjective, consistent with earlier data and information feeds in our conversation. post/article: *copy and paste

A lot of the technical analysis, and financial filings are subject matters that is not easy to get. Having the AI explain it to you at the 5th grader, 8th grader, university accounting 1a, business exec, and CFA levels helps understand things much faster. Then, having the AI create a 4-level rubric for understanding lets you quickly check what level you are at. Doing both of these prompts is useful for when you talk to friends and family and get asked questions.
Just as there is high bias and misinformation in financial news articles, it is also very easy to get into the hype and speculation of Reddit posts for GME and other equities. By being consistent in checking every post and article you read, you get better at figuring out what's real and what's not. What's plausible and viable? What is FUD, what is hype, and what's likely to be true?
Market Analysis

• Analyze the current option chain for GME to identify any potential gamma squeeze scenarios. What key strike prices should we be looking at?
• Provide me with a technical analysis of GME using moving averages and trend lines to predict future price movements.
• Compare recent trading volumes for GME to assess the influence of institutional buying versus retail investor activity.
• Provide me with a sentiment analysis of social media posts and news articles about GME to gauge investor sentiment. *copy and paste different posts and comments.

I assume that it only gets me 80-90% there. But that's way further than what I can do on my own because I just don't have the domain expertise in this area. You can also copy and paste other Redditors' TA to check if GPT4o agrees with their reads.
Being able to screenshot a stock graph and data table and have it interpret things has been amazing.
Strategic Planning. (example scenarios from a stock news)

• Assuming that LEAPs are expiring, what is the likelihood of the stock price: continuing to go down, staying flat, reverting to the old price, or spiking up?
• Based on the shelf offering (already SEC filing copied and pasted), create a premortem checklist for short hedge funds.
• Evaluate the cost implications for each stakeholder when the T+2 transitions to T+1. Keep it MECE.
• Predict and create hypothetical betting line odds for each of the following scenarios to happen.

GPT4o is very good at simulating scenarios and scoring the likelihood of each case. Their answers will be wrong to what the real future holds, but it is useful in seeing what the different possible futures may look like.

Looking around, I see that there is one thing that is common to prosperous and advanced societies worldwide: they avidly pursue a high degree of excellence in science, technology, and commerce that have their origins in the West. The scientific and rational worldview is a core part of their cultures. There are some exceptions to this, such as some middle-eastern nations that coast on oil wealth. But the trend largely holds.
As a rank amateur, I have often thought about what it is about the West that made them the epicenter of the modern scientific and industrial revolution. I don't have any definitive answers yet, but my current thesis is that it's the heritage of philosophical inquiry of ancient Greece that sets them apart. The Islamic world itself flourished intellectually for a while when it freely pursued the kind of philosophical inquiry that was typical of the ancient Greeks.
When you look at the "munitraya" of Greece - Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle - you find some interesting features.

• They all took reason very seriously; in fact, Aristotle laid the foundations of Western logic. There was a recognition that it was not enough to know the truth, but also, that it's important to justify why things are true. To do this, they didn't take recourse to religious doctrines, but argued from naturalistic first principles.
• They are marked by a profound sense of straightforwardness and intellectual humility. They dared to inquire while fully admitting their ignorance. Socrates was said to be the wisest man in the Hellenic world because he knew that he knew nothing; he didn't experience any "loss of face" in doing so. There was no compulsion to be "profound"; in fact, he scoffed at faux profundity, and was pretty much killed for being a nuisance. When you read their works, you never get a sense of being talked down to by a "wise", "all-knowing" seer; instead, it's more like having a conversation with an advanced peer.
• They took a deep interest in nature and the real problems that people faced. Socrates asked questions about how to live a good life in practical terms. Aristotle was probably the first great empirical scientist, avidly examining specimens for his studies in Biology. Nature and mundane human affairs were not something to be overcome, but to be studied and explored. I feel that it could almost be said that the pursuit of truth for the Greeks meant the study of nature. You see this sentiment in Newton - a prototypical natural philosopher - who spoke of himself as a child gazing at a vast ocean of truth.
• They had a keen interest in Mathematics and an appreciation for its beauty. We see this trend begin as early as Pythagoras who had a mystical faith in the ability of Mathematics to reveal Truth. Plato considered training in Mathematics as an integral component of the education of rulers. Mathematics was useful, true, but they pursued it also for the sake of its beauty. Here too, they were not merely interested in collecting Mathematics facts, but in proving them from first principles accepted by everyone. We see an insistence on justification come up again and again throughout Western culture.

Above all, there is a tendency to self-analyze. The modern West is the most self-critical of cultures in today's world. They are constantly critically examining their methods, their assumptions, their values, and their social systems. There is no seeming compulsion to slavishly uphold their tradition, even though they study their traditions avidly. Instead, there is a frantic search for new and better traditions whose value again has to be argued for rigorously. They think nothing of incorporating ideas from outside into their own if they see them worthwhile. There is a culture of free and open dialog in which all of this happens.
I am sure that I am over-simplifying matters. For instance, neo-Platonists and neo-Pythagoreans were religious and mystical cults. Aristotle was wrong about many fundamental notions that he took for granted. Newton was as much a "sorcerer" indulging in alchemy as he was a rigorous natural philosopher. The West had its dark ages where certain aspects were not allowed to be questioned.
But that notwithstanding, it's clear to me that if our people are to have a shot at true greatness and glory, we must out-West the West at their own game. I further believe that this must be a citizen-led, peer-to-peer affair. We must all be thinking about how deeply and authentically we can naturalize the Western intellectual and scientific traditions in our society.
The sooner we can do this, the better we will be able to face the challenges that we are up against today.

The most useful tool we have this time that we did not have in 2021 is AI ChatGPT 4o.
If you know how to prompt it properly, it acts as your personal trader, CFA, lawyer, and management consultant advisor.
Here are the main areas that helped me
Deep Understanding

• explain to me at 5 levels (5th grader, 8th grader, university accounting 1a student, business exec, CFA license holder)
• create a 4-level rubric for understanding
• explain and evaluate the following post/article. Check validity of reasoning, objective vs subjective, consistent with earlier data and information feeds in our conversation. post/article: *copy and paste

Even for the smartest apes, the subject matter is not easy to get. Having the AI explain it to you at the 5th grader, 8th grader, university accounting 1a, business exec, and CFA levels helps understand things much faster. Then, having the AI create a 4-level rubric for understanding lets you quickly check what level you are at. Doing both of these prompts is useful for when you talk to friends and family and get asked questions.
Just as there is highly biased and misinformation in financial news articles, it is also very easy to get into the hype and speculation of Reddit posts for GME. By being consistent in checking every post and article you read, you get better at figuring out what's real and what's not. What's plausible and viable. What is FUD, what is hype, and what's likely to be true.
Market Analysis

• Analyze the current option chain for GME to identify any potential gamma squeeze scenarios. What key strike prices should we be looking at?
• Provide me with a technical analysis of GME using moving averages and trend lines to predict future price movements.
• Compare recent trading volumes for GME to assess the influence of institutional buying versus retail investor activity.
• Provide me with a sentiment analysis of social media posts and news articles about GME to gauge investor sentiment. *copy and paste different posts and comments.

I assume that it only gets me 80-90% there. But that's way further than what I can do on my own because I just don't have the domain expertise in this area. You can also copy and paste other Redditors' TA to check if GPT4o agrees with their reads.
Strategic Planning

• Assuming that LEAPs are expiring, what is the likelihood of the stock price: continuing to go down, staying flat, reverting to the old price, or spiking up?
• Based on the shelf offering (already copied and pasted), create a premortem checklist for short hedge funds.
• Evaluate the cost implications for each stakeholder when the T+2 transitions to T+1. Keep it MECE.
• Predict and create a hypothetical betting line odds for each of the following scenarios to happen.

GPT4o is very good at simulating scenarios and scoring the likelihood of each case. Their answers will be wrong to what the real future holds, but it is useful in seeing what the different possible futures may look like.
I am interested in seeing the different model-thinking frameworks and observing how different applications use AI. I believe that by considering everything together, we will be able to gain improved interpretations, recommendations, and explanations moving forward.

Hi guy, I am a recent computer science graduated student and wanna make a website for my friends.
I can write basic HTML with CSS or react to build a simple static website. However, I am doubt that should I use CMS like Wordpress or Wix. In my experience, I can build a website using react, then buy a domain and host the website to web server like Netlify.
What is the difference between these two options? Can you provide some advice to me?