Moccasin ball

"You go first down the slide," he said holding his hand like a polite gentleman at the shiny metal surface.
I waited at the top of my slide for him to get on his so we could shove off together.
"Ready, go" he screamed and we sailed down the metal slides together, hitting little bumps that made us bop in the air at times and giggle.
And then next thing I knew I went through the chute and landed with a thud on silk pillows.
"Did you like it," my Beloved asked smiling at me, atop his own set of pillows. He was awaiting my synopsis of his system he built.
"Maybe a ball pit at the bottom?" I shrugged. He didn't like that answer.
I looked out the window at the whole city block he owned. Our Cult couldn't exist without this genius. My adorable, handsome, sweet, funny beloved that innovated all of us to our wealth. I ran over to swoon at his face, having all the lines of tender beauty. His skin supple with health and intelligence. Even his face had artistic allure, I felt so deeply smitten with him.
But why had he built that big top tent on top of our building across the street? I sighed and I turned to look at the tent blowing in the breeze and felt i could almost smell the caramel corn wafting. It sat empty waiting for our lanterns to flicker on party nights. My Beloved knew what he was doing, we'd have the finest parties around! We'd wine them on my handmaiden mead and feast them on our ostriches cooked with rosemary! I pictured all of our guest enjoying the two metal slides as their titties happily bounce down them, racing from the tent to our Compound's art warehouse. They'd descended steeply down and land with a thunk. We'd pluck a bud from our weed botanica and light up. Cheers!
I stared at the whole complex in awe of what a brilliant mind my Beloved has....but only a matter of time before the knock of the city code rapped on our Compound entrance. Even in these apocalyptic times, they still seemed to keep their grasp on building codes, specially our cult Compound.
There were questions of how we came into our money.
Our whole cult was hiding assets, people said.
Hiding from the government and producing wares in our own trading system outside their system.
Our enemies growing exponentially as the rumors spread like fire.
Suddenly the two metal slides he built to connect our two buildings, it seemed a portal for thieves to come sliding in and I blurted my concerns. "How will you close these slides from intruders?"
But he didn't answer. He was busy talking with his hands, "you realize this is art? People will come to see this from miles. It's a statement on Possibility and Hope."
I loved his lofty side that inspired others to reach their own goals. I swirled around and spun on my moccasins tips and kissed him. He was hope and I grabbed his peachy ass to show him.
Why he was beauty itself! I kissed him extra as his lovely wrist outstretched to me and Beloved's hand unfurled to offer me special gifts. I thropped my shoulder up and down to thank him for the canned opossum and the jar of caviar. He was beaming like warm sunlight.
I sat down at the kitchen counter to enjoy my bowl of canned good luxury. "What about mosquitos," I questioned between spoonfuls of dank meat that I savored in my mouth.
He looked up. His perfectly worn, canvas coat made him look as clever and handsome as a professor explaining very regally the netting system he engineered. He seemed very sure of it so I dropped it.
He grabbed the bucket of pistachio ice cream from the fridge and tapped himself a big bowl full. We headed off to watch the tv theatre he set up. I checked to make sure I was wearing my cutest panties for him and rubbed my rump on him in wiggles.
I spun around. One more way to entice thieves, I thought ... as i surveyed the giant tv at the bottom of his stupid slides. "Here thieves, here thieves" I laughed merrily as i plopped up onto the red couch mocking him.
He pulled his red shoes off and came in close to me, us both in our sock feet. Our couch built extra high off the ground so it felt like we were little kids with our feet dangling off the edge. I cozied up to him, snuggly.
The TV theatre filled the wall with an all encompassing curve. I could still smell the scent of new electronics. I considered myself lucky I had such a successful partner to help care for me during such trying times, such a master my Beloved was. I slid my hand down the edge of his pants to show my appreciation. Squeezing and copping for a feel of the warm bulge. I twirled his warmth around in my hand. My mouth getting wet for the bulge, as he focused on the remote ignoring me.
TV flipped on, my beloved husband tossed the remote beside me. Outfitted trucks flashed on the screen in a convey. I listened as his ice cream spoon clanked the ceramic bowl between bites. Without warning the screen flashed,
No Rest for the Wicked
No Rest for the Wicked
Rising over a fallow field that was once the highway, a rag tag team of bandit pirates looking haggard in the back of their ragged truck seemed to be moving towards us. We watched as they hedged closer and closer.
"Are they really climbing the fire escape next door," my beloved husband asked me nervously. I jumped up, always the squirrel wanting to scamper.
"No, they're not really out there," I assured him as I turned back around to double-check.
"Nothing out there but big top tents," I smacked my belly in happy fits and pivoted back around, but my face went aghast.
I was ON TV, I watched me watching the thieves come down the slide. I was on my knees over Beloved with my face dripping drool down his innards. I mean outards.
I moved closer to the tv to watch the thieves barreling down the chute. I struggled to keep from vomiting. "Do you see this!!" I screamed pointing at the TV with tears, "do you f'ing see this, Jospeph?" I was ranting now.
I forgot to call him Beloved. He hadn't noticed. He was too busy twisting pale on the floor, like a worm cracking like freeze dried cake on hot pavement as he watched the thieves on TV come charging at him with long swords and pick axes.
But suddenly I was on tv too, sneaking up behind the thieves like Ali Baba's darling. I pulled the ax from one then swung it around, aimlessly beheading like a helicopter blade spinning freely. Whirling around giggling in fits, like a child playing pinata. Whacking heads across the room, dying in laughter that heads were rolling around the screen like bowling pins struck at the sweet spot. I lifted my skirt over my head saying, "oh whoospie, sir, oh whoopsie tootsie, sire,"
I was dying laughing at my self.
"Why are you laughing, you, rude ugly wench...," Joseph sour complained.
But I charged across the room with obscene force and pummeled him to the ground. Without thought. we were wrestling on the carpet, tearing each others hair, rubbing our faces into carpet burns.
I sat my face on him for daring to ask me what I was doing. I thudded his head down, screaming. "I was defending you, you, you ungrateful devil," I hissed with spittle dripping, my hands full of his ears that i used to pin him harder to the ground. I felt his tongue try to push into me. Trying to push me off of him.
In a flash, I saw the vision.
The thieves at the top of the slide, smoking cigarettes as they mocked our slide of hope. Their dirty pants suddenly flung in the air as they jumped soaring down our the slide, laughing hysterical as they charged towards us.
It was then, I cried. I wailed in rage. I grabbed all three of our butcher knives. I flung the first one, knocking what's his name Beloved in the gut. Not satisfied, I flung another at him and watched as his innards sprung out like spring tendrils unfurling into the grace of the soft sun.
Moving in with the third knife, I leaned over close to my husbands soft cheeks. I twisted the knife in, "I loved you so much. It's a good thing I saved you from the Reckoning. You are my prince, my," and I paused forgetting his name a moment. My mouth drooled seeing the tender tendrils sprung outwards like blue noodles and I hadn't hadnt noodles in 5 years. I wiped the spittle from my lips. Drool dripping down his outards, I mean innards. I looked up.
"No Rest for the Wicked," said one of the pirates to me victoriously. He motioned a wine glass to me.
"No Rest for the Wicked," I said back to him as my head bobbled in excitement. "Cheers!" I gleefully clanked my imaginary wine glass against new guy's. And danced a polka gig.
"We did well, didn't we," I winked at him, tucking my hand under the curves of his hindend enjoying the texture of his dirty denim against his muscular ass. I craned my neck about admiring my pirate's warm sunkissed skin and smiling like the cheshire cat. I grasp his hand and we walked off into the setting sun.
originally submitted by Yeet Poppins on yeetpoppins

Yessir, I dun met that cocksucker, Vladimir Putin, I did. It were, ohhhh, back in 2002 I reckon. See, I wuz on vacation down thar in Florryda during sprang break. I know, I is too old fer that shit and I ain’t never been to no high filutin college. I ain’t no student. I is The Professor…. The Professor of fucking sweet, young college pussy! And thar is plenty of teaching to be dun during spring break.
So come April one of 2002 I hitched my old wooden wagon up to my old mule, Hillary, and took off to Florida fer the Super Bowl of fuck. Unfortunately, I had been trippin on sum pineal glands whilst I were calculating my journey. As a result, I did not arrive in Florida fer 4 weeks later. It didn’t help that when I started my sojourn I were a’holdin my old compass upside down. I didn’t even realize it until I seen a sign saying “Welcome to Ohio” a week later.
But eventually I dun did arrive in the sunshine state. My first thought was “whar’s the fucking beach?!?” There weren’t no goddamn water anywhere except fer sum skanky looking swamps. I thought this may be a good place to go after that thar Skunk Ape. That’s what they call them Sasquatch down here in these parts. But it tweren’t no Sasquatch I were after right now. I were after sum “Ass-Crotch”.
Well sir, I sat thar fer a moment, pulled over on the side of I-95. I cyphered on my situation fer a spell. Then I remembered seeing a picture of the geographical layout of Florida. I seen it that time I stole cable TV from a local hotel back home called the “Bigfoot Inn”. It wuz time fer the Georgia-Florida game and I did not feel like driving down into town and watching it at sum dive bar with all them assholes. See, I tapped into the coax cable then run me a line bout 37 miles up and down the mountains until I got it to my cabin in Sasquatch Hollow. As it turned out, I was 11 feet short! I had to set up my old picture tube in my front yard.
So during the game I seen a picture of the state. I thunk to myself that it looked like a big, thick flaccid dong. “SHIT FIRE!”, I thought to myself. Florida must be full of black dudes cuz this here is the big dick state! I figured that I would fit in fine down there.
Then I had me one of them thar epiphanies. The revelation hit he so hard it damn near knocked me over. THIS is why all them horny little pussies high tail it to Florida ever spring: cuz Florida looks like a big old sloppy tallywacker!! I felt like I had jest been touched by the hand of God hisself. BIG DICK ATTRACTS HOT PUSSY! It’s a natural law. It were one of them thar special moments ya might have once or twice during yer life.
So I remembered that Florida was a long flaccid fuck stick. This means all I have to do is head either east or west and I HAD to hit water! Then I remembered that I-95 hugged the east coast. Or was it the west coast? Hmmmmm… Those damned old glands had gotten all over me that I had a hard time thinking straight. “Oh well, fuck it! I’m going to hit water either way I go.”
I turned and went west. On the third day old Hillary got bit by a water moccasin crossing the road. I figured I may as well put the bitch out of her misery cuz she weren’t gonna be any good to me now. “BANG!” I put a .44 mag bullet right through Hillary’s head. She fell like a stone.
The next thing I knowd was thar were giant lizards coming out of the swamps around me! They took to old Hillary’s corpse and started ripping it apart, then EATING her! “WHAT IN TARNATION IS THESE CRITTERS?!?!”, I thought to myself. Hell, we got lizards back home, but they only git bout 6 inches long at most. But these motherfuckers here in Floriddy are 12 FEET long!!! And they got TEETH! HOLY SHEEYIT!!!
Well sir, I wuz tickled pink cuz I had worked up a powerful hunger and I ran out of the vittles I packed. I also weren’t looking forward to cooking up Hillary cuz ya’ll gotta slow roast a mule to make it edible, and I ain’t got time fer that shit. I wanted to git my fuck on.
I got ahold of one of them thar giant lizards by the tail. I pulled that sumbitch away from the carnage of Hillary’s corpse, then jumped on top of it. It thrashed and rolled sumthang fierce! But I got the better of it. I grabbed both sides of its head and twisted it sharply and violently to the left. “CRACK!!” I broke the motherfuckers neck!
I skint that sumbitch up. Then I deicided to eat it raw…sushi style. I gotta tell you fellers sumthang: this lizard meet is DEE-LISCIOUS!! I made a mental note to wrangle up a few of these here lizards to take back home with me fer vittles. These fuckers make fer some damn fine eatin!
Then another thought hit me like a ton of bricks. We’re it another epiphany? Well, not quite. But it were damn close! I needed me sum transport and old Hillary was dead and eaten by giant lizards. Maybe I ought to use the lizards to power my old wagon!
Well sir, I got down into that old swamp and wrangled me up 5 or 6 of them damned reptiles, then I hitched them to my wagon. I climbed up on my wagon, took the reins, and hit em. “YOW YOW!!!! HEY NOW!! GIT!!! LET’S GO NOW!!! GIT!! GIT!!!” It did not work worth a shit. Dumbass lizards. I would have had better luck trying to put my jizz ropes back into my dick. Oh well, not every idea can be a winner.
Then I heard a familiar sound approaching from the East. It were a car! I knew my problem was solved. As the auto approached I stood in the middle of the road waving my arms to git it to stop. It did. Then this old fucker got out and asked if there had been an accident. He had a real concern on his face as he stared at the road behind me: a broken down wagon, a mutilated and bloody mule corpse, and gigantic lizards lurking around everwhere.
I sed “Howdy fella! I am Roy. What’s yer name?” He sed “I’m …”, then “BLAMMM!!!!” The report from my .44 mag was deafening. I grabbed my shit and threw it into the back of his car: a Toyota Prius. I thought to myself “Goddamn. A commie car. Fuck this here shit!” But I remembered that I wuz stuck out here in the middle of nowhere, and that thar be sum of that thar good old warm and wet, young and tender cooter jest up ahead. I sighed and thought, “whatever.”
As I pulled away in the commie car I looked in the rear view mirror. I seen one of them thar giant lizards dragging the commie sumbitch’s body off into the swamp. “Serves him right!”, I sed out loud.
I headed west fer an hour. I deduced that I wuz on Highway 10. After a bit I seen me a sigh fer Panama City Beach. I thought “HELL YEAH!” I knowd that PCB is sacred pussy hunting ground in the hallowed annals of fucking. I could already feel my cock getting hard. I stomped on the gas pedal on the Prius, but of course nothing happened. “What a fucking piece of shit!”, I said.
Now, to speed things up and not get bogged down in all the sex shit, let me jest say that I spent a few days at PCB. Unfortunately, spring break wuz over and all that fresh young pussy wuz gone. So I settled fer a bunch of fat moms taking “girls vacations” away from thar families. It were amazing how many of these bitches there were thar. All it took was meeting their drunk asses out at night, flashing them a look at my old Hawg Leg, then it was hard core sloppy fucking until morning. Those bitches were gross. But at least I got my ball sacks drained. At this point it were medicinal.
Now you may be wondering where Putin fits into all this here. Well sir, I am a’gonna tell ya. During all that fucking, humping, sloshing around, and wallowing in big girl flesh fer a week, I came across Putin, both figuratively and literally. See, old Putin has got him a thing fer fat, sub-milf bitches. It is a fetish with him.
So during one schloggjng session with multiple bitches, one of them thar whoowahs let out a great big old wet fart. I never stopped pumping whatever hole I was into at the moment. But I did raise up my head and look around because it was a gnarly trouser sneeze. I grimaced at the thought of what the smell was going to be like when it hit.
Then I saw him: Putin. See, in this here moment thar were fat bitch flesh from here to over yonder. We filled up a big old hotel suite. It were an orgy, really. Fat bitches everywhere. It started out with me flashing my pecker at a bar. Then me and 3 of them bitches headed back to the hotel. We started fucking right away. After a bit, I noticed that there wuz bout 10 bitches in the room. Pretty soon a couple other dudes were thar. Next thang ya know this place was literally wall-to-wall flesh. I don’t rightly knowd how the scene evolved except to say thar were a lot of fruity alcoholic drinks and a lot of X being passed around.
But thar he was. That rat-bastard commie, Vladimir Putin, was a couple of fat whoowahs over, pumping the rump of one of the bitches. I immediately made a mental note that I would waste that commie prick after I had my fill of pussy.
Hours later I passed out from exhaustion. I was drained. Ever time I orgasmed the only thing that would come out of my dick was air. Eventually I came to. I got up and made my way toward the kitchenette to try to find me something to drink. I was parched like a pecker in the desert.
I had to wade through a sea of naked fat bitches. They were everywhere, passed out on the beds, chairs, and all over the floor. I noticed some dude lying thar dead in a corner with obvious blunt trauma to his head. I figured one of them big old gals rolled over on top of him and squashed his skull.
Finally in the kitchen, all I could find to drink was Bacardi and Diet Coke. “Jesus Christ”, I thought. Then I heard his voice as he walked into the kitchenette, “Here, Comrade! Try some of this juice of orange!” It was Putin, and he was handing me a glass of cold orange juice. “Thanks”, I sed. Then I drank the juice. Jesus Christ, I got to tell you that it was delicious and much needed!
As I drank Putin leaned up against the kitchen counter and spoke to me. He said “You and I, comrade, we are the same, no? We both like to take the large ones! The thicker the cushion, you know? Ha ha!!” I just studied his face as I drank the juice. The communist pecker.
Then things took a dark turn. See, old Putin sed “Look, friend, the bitches are out of the game for a few hours, you know? Even when they come to they have to re-fuel on daiquiris and chocolate brownies, you know? Let’s do each other a favor and do mouth stuff on each other until then. What do you say, buddy?”
Putin then dropped the towel around his waist and it fell to the floor. There stood Putin’s commie dick at full salute. It was not small, but it was not big either. It was clearly uncircumcised and for some reason it was a darker color than the rest of his skin on his body. What a fucking weirdo.
So there was old Vlad, a chubby chaser who just proposed gay sex to me. Without needing to consider anything, I grabbed a large kitchen knife that was sticking out of the remains of a chocolate cake one of the bitches had brought and in one motion brought it down on the commie prick, slicing off his member in one strike. His commie dick hit the floor with a “WHUP!”.
Old Pooty’s eyes grew wide and he reached for his crotch. Blood was pouring out around his fingers. Knowing that I had best get my ass out of there before Vlad’s security force busts in, I violently punched the dick-tater in his throat then high tailed it out of thar. He hit the floor as I hit the door.
Once outside I spotted Putin’s security detail. They were on the other side of the hotel parking lot. I yelled in their direction, “Hey! You cocksucking commies!” I then dropped trou and mooned the bastards. I chuckled as they rushed over to me. Then I pulled out my .44 magnum.
Well sir, I got home a few days later. I could not help but to think how fucked we is as a world when the leader of Russia is sum degenerate chubby-chasing cock whore. “What the fuck is the world coming to?”, I asked to nobody as I sat on my front porch in Sasquatch Hollow, sipping sum of my good old homemade korn licker and fingering the trigger of my rifle as I wait on a Sasquatch to saunter up out of the woods. Fucking commies.

Someone told me I should write up my sensory processing disorder issues and how I handle them. It turned out to be a lot of text.
So I'm plopping it here in case it might help others.
Sensory Processing Disorder, sensory aggravants, how I deal
What increases physical effects of sensory aggravants Stress, physical or emotional. Being rushed. Pregnancy. Accutane/other medication for acne. Antibiotics. Job interview. Harsh criticism. Being shouted/screamed/yelled at/shamed. Being hit/spanked/shamed as a child, especially by adults who accused and did not listen to my impressions of what happened because “talking back is disrespectful”. Inability to communicate personal needs or traumatic personal events due to lack of descriptive words/understanding/communication barrier. Recent loss, breakup, death of human or pet. Permanent loss of valuable objects/needs, whether monetary or emotional (ex: only inherited heirloom of stolen, house burned down). Housing/food instability. Physical illness. Recent medical procedure. Recent dental procedure. Dilation of eyes. Recent immunization. Multiple sensory aggravants at once. Being unable to stop or escape sensory aggravant. Having my period. Clutter.
Skin aggravant
aggravant: Coarse hair of any length, especially stubble, especially where skin folds in on itself. On my body, that is underarms/vulva/between breasts/hair on back of neck.
Physical reaction: Each individual hair feels like small sharp bristles.
What happens if I ignore it: I want to scream or cry. Visible red marks on skin, often. Full body shudders, as if experiencing forced tickling. Burning, itching sensation where the hair stubble is.
Solution: shave, wax, epilate frequently. Shave armpits daily. For me, the hair between buttocks is not a sensory issue if it is left to grow untrimmed.
Aggravant: Stubble on legs
What I feel: each individual hair catches knits, tighter clothing, rayon, leggings, tights, gets pulled. When I kneel or lay in bed, stubble against legs feels like sandpaper.
What happens if I ignore it: I want to punch something. It gets itchy. Usually red substantial red marks on lower legs. I have screamed.
Solution: hair removal frequently, wear looser pants, palazzo pants, bell bottoms, jeans. Never, ever wear leggings, tight pants, fitted pants. Never wear hose, tights, nylons. Keep razor and tweezers on hand for hair removal. Apply Gold Bond healing lotion to itching areas. When I find comfortable clothing, I buy them in all the colors. Epilation pulls hair out by the roots so it is less irritating as it grows in, however epilation hurts quite a bit to begin with. I do it in stages and take long breaks when my body starts shaking from the pain.
Issue: Dry Skin
What I feel: My dry skin cracks and catches on textiles/floochairs/socks/whatever. It hurts.
Solution: Gold Bond healing lotion. Also Cerave products and unflavored, unscented lip balm.
Issue: Scented things, basically all, but for some odd reason fresh or dried food products usually are fine. Essential oils, nope.
What I feel: Sprayed air freshener and car air fresheners make me nauseous. When I was pregnant, everything stank and everything made me throw up.
Solutions: Avoid air fresheners. Open windows, if air outside is fresh. There are phone apps that people use to decide when to run outside. Usually if the air quality is marked as “good” on those, it is safe to open windows. Use unscented soap/deoderant/personal products. When I find a candle that does not make me nauseous, I buy plenty of them. During pregnancy, all trash had to be taken out as quickly as possible. Food was generally eaten cold, as heat spreads the smells around. Heating a bowl of vinegar in the microwave then letting it sit out cut lots of smells. Cat litter needed scooped immediately and changed at least twice a month. There is some kind of spray thingie that I forget name of, a friend got it at a smoke shop. It cut smells from neighbor’s smoking cigarettes/weed. Using an enzymatic cleaner on pet stains helped.
Aggravant: Hair on head long enough to curl under and touch forehead or back of neck
What I feel: Individual hairs touching forehead itch. I scratch it.
What happens if I ignore it: I will scratch area until it hurts to make it stop itching. As a child, I cut my hair very poorly, very short to stop the itching. I will scratch it until it bleeds.
Solution: I maintain a short pixie haircut. Personally I hire a good hairstylist, find one, and stick to them. Others simply buzz-cut their hair.
Aggravant: Textures and fiber
Specific textures: velvet, all types. Cotton balls, all. Pipe cleaners, all. Most polyester fleece. Most tags. Most thick seams. All overlapped leather seams. Some printed on fabric tags, especially on older well-worn clothes where the paint-ink has melted into a rough texture. All non-cotton and non-rayon laces. Most ribbons. Most fuzzy things. Serged/overlocked seams, if done with polyester thread (In general, the thread is polyester if it does not exactly match the color of the clothing. Polyester thread is difficult to dye. On other clothing, feel the seams to see if they are a little bit rough, and look for threads that are one solid color). Wool, all. Seams in stiffer jeans, all. Elastic, all. Small bits of rubber, elastic poking through covered covered seams. Smocked outfits, all. Most ruched outfits, those with covered ruching seams and nothing poking through excepted. Nylons, hose, tights, all.
What I feel: Velvet, cotton balls, polyester fleece, pipe cleaners cause a “nails on chalkboard” shudder. Seams, rough texture, wool, ribbons, laces, small bits of elastic or rubber sticking through causes a burning itch. Nylons, hose, tights cause a burning heat that alternates with cold prickles through my lower legs. Toe seams on socks. During pregnancy, most sheets felt like sleeping on sandpaper.
What happens if I ignore it: I will scratch area until it hurts to make it stop itching. I will get red or bleeding marks on skin. I will have difficulty focusing on anything. I have cried uncontrollably. I have screamed. I unconsciously reach to where tags/seams/rough areas are and scratch. I will scratch the skin under that areas that itch until my skin bleeds, because I prefer the sensation of pain over the sensation of itching.
Solution: I buy my clothes with feel and by fiber. Rayon, bamboo, viscose, cotton, silk, and linen are usually safe. Looser clothes. Drawstring closures instead of elastic. Avoid ruching, lace, ribbons, nylons, hose, tights, wool. Buy underwear with covered elastic. Wear underwear and clothing with rougher seams inside-out. Complete removal of tags from all clothes—I have to cut open seams by removing the stitches, remove every last bit of tags from clothing and stitch it back up. Simply cutting the tag flush with the seam still leaves a bit of the tag touching my skin, causes redness/itching/sores. Use camisoles of at least 95% cotton or other natural fiber, worn seam-side out, for bra. Look for clothing recommended for people undergoing chemotherapy or radiation. I look for softer stretch jeans without a thick waist band and wide/boot cut/bell-bottom cut. For bedding, I use 100% cotton sheets with 300 thread count and preferably long staple cotton. For jewelry, I look for anything I can wear and forget that I am wearing. Soft leather cuff bracelets, solid sterling or solid gold pieces or solid brass pieces. My body is sensitive to the rest.
Aggravant: Hyperhydrosis, also known as “I sweat more than most people”
What causes it: my body has always sucked at regulating its temperature. When I hiked in the woods as a kid, I would come back soaked in sweat while other kids wearing the same kinds of clothes as me had no sweat. When participating in winter sports, my body sweats and the sweat freezes into ice against my feet/core/hands/face. Every day, palms get soaked while holding hands or objects, often wet enough for phone/tablet/objects to get dropped. The soles of my feet sweat so much they slip off yoga mats, slide off flip-flops and sandals. Armpits sweat, dripping sweat within hours of waking up. Sweat drips down chest/back within 60 seconds of exposure to temperature greater than 80 Fahrenheit.
What happens if I ignore it: People holding my hand let go and wipe their wet palms off, making an “ew” face. Phones have been destroyed by dropping. I’ve slipped/fallen from wet soles of feet sliding off footwear. Shirts soaked by sweat within minutes. Huge armpit sweat stains. Looking unprofessional in professional settings. Social awkwardness when I am supposed to shake hands. Yellow armpit stains on lighter colored clothing. Solutions:
Armpit sweat—use of Certain Dry antiperspirant daily after showering. Drying off wet armpits throughout day. Washing armpits with strong soap, occasionally alcohol hand sanitizer. Mitchum deodorant, several applications throughout day. Frequent covert sniffing armpits to see if I stink. Post-Covid destroying my sense of smell, asking trusted friends/family occasionally to see if I stink. Daily/twice daily showers. Purchasing tops with larger armscythes/armpit holes/one size up so fabric does not touch sweaty armpits. Wearing loosesleeveless tops in summer. Minimizing light colored clothing because sweat stains are real. Frequent scrubbing of armpits because build-up of deodorants is a thing. Avoiding roll-on deodorant, as that stuff feels like I dumped honey on my armpits. I tried the hippie crystal deodorant thingie all the ways, it does not work for me.
Overall body sweat in general: Limiting clothing to natural fibers—cotton, rayon, bamboo, viscose, linen, silk. Wool works well for some, not me. Long staple wool works for others, too, not for me. Avoiding all polyester mix fabrics as a base layer unless specifically woven to wick. Polyester makes natural fibers warmer, causing more sweat. I choose polyester-cotton mix for hoodies because warmth. Using a jacket or cardigan that can be removed as needed. Applying cornstarch powder, thin layer, to folds before sweating. Applying Certain Dry antiperspirant immediately post-shower to skin folds if I will be outdoor in heat in a professional setting. Otherwise tucking t-shirt into camisole to absorb sweat dripping down my back/stomach. Yes, I look weird. If I pretend I do not care, others pretend they do not care and we get along fine. Avoiding wearing layered tops, with the exception of a jacket/cardigan. Avoiding/minimizing clothing that is fitted and light-colored. Avoiding outdoors during heat of day. Was unable to feel comfortable with heat/sweat/etc., so did not attain my dream career. Instead pursued career that has me working air-conditioned settings. Some people get Botox injections to stop sweat. I have tried prescription strength deodorant on hands to stop hand sweat, this did not work for me.
Foot sweat: Summer footwear—Chaco sandals with the toe strap, have to frequently adjust toe strap to minimize strangling of big toe. Sandals made of leather with zero man-made/”vegan leather” facing of leather work well, too, as leather absorbs sweat. I read ingredients tag on shoe, avoid any sandals that say “man-made leather uppers”. Moccasin with real leather sole inside that does not have a “ledge” of leather on the foot sole. Etsy shop TreadLightGear product Raw Cut Inca Moccasin with Vibram Sole has been my go-to, the product is pricy at $270 for a pair. My pair was purchased four years ago, remains working well. Requires leather cleaning products/leather conditioning care about twice yearly. I had to send my pair back to have sole shortened. Lightweight mesh shoes for sneakers. Grippy foot socks and hand mitts when doing yoga. Have tried multiple allegedly wicking socks, so far socks with over 65% cotton work best for me. Wool socks do not work for me due to wool sensitivity. Have not found hiking boots that work for me.
Outdoor winter activities leaving me soaked in sweat, have not found a solution. Possible solution could be wicking silk underwear. Dharma Trading Company has silk knit underwear starting at around $15 per item for tops, I have not yet tried their products.
Hand sweat: I minimize holding hands, found a significant other who is cool with breaks to wipe sweat off during hand holding. I covertly wipe my hand prior to shaking hands.
Sounds Aggravants: Loud music/concert/noise I cannot escape or turn down or shut off. Constant background noise with words that I cannot understand, such as a radio turned down low in another room. Crying/fussing/calls of distress from any human or animal. Constant whooshing noise, such as toilet running, ceiling fan. Anything with a heavy beat I can physically feel in my body. Most white noise. Any high-pitched constant squeak such as comes from an older TV/computer monitor. Repeated higher-pitched unvaried bird/bug calls. Cicada chirps. Shouting/yelling/screaming. High pitched, strident voices. Loud voices. Voices at full-volume near my ear. Loud speakers. Alarms, all. All sound sensitivity is increased when I have earaches/ear infection/itchy ear canals, all of which are common with my body. With an ear infection in front of a loud industrial speaker during a calmly spoken sermon at church, it felt as though someone hammering my internal eardrums. With changes in altitude, it feels as though someone is shoving chopsticks into my ears, worse if active ear issues. Sharp sounds in echo-ey locations, gives the chopsticks-jamming-into-eardrums sensation. Tinnitus, which I have continuously in both ears. There are two different pitches, one in each ear. Sitting in a silent room makes the tinnitus louder.
What happens if I ignore it: After ten to fifteen minutes, I become jittery and must fight against yelling, screaming, or snapping. I begin to physically shake. After around 30 minutes, I have intrusive suicidal thoughts. I have screamed with extended exposure. I have taken apart particularly malfunctioning radios that made terrible sounds, and used the speaker magnets like so many hunting trophies on my fridge. I have smashed things satisfyingly, very carefully, only things that can be replaced. With whooshing sounds, I get an uncontrollable random full body shudder. Once this happened during a haircut, and the hair stylist treated me like a pervert afterwards, so now I warn stylists that I get full body shudders.
Solution: For constant background noise I cannot escape, one earbud in my ear playing music/podcast/audiobook I can focus on helps a lot. Lacking that, one foam ear-plug squished long and thin lengthwise then pushed into ear canal leaving a bit out, and left to expand makes noise tolerable. There are specialized ear plugs used by musicians in orchestra pits, I have not tried these yet. On earbuds, I listen to BBC radio. The most soothing podcast for me personally is “In Our Time” by the BBC. I also use Audible and library card with app Libby for free audiobooks, and search social media/Reddit/blogs/web search for deep voiced/lower pitched/soothing narrators. The Vaughan Williams Academy of St Martin-in-the-fields Neville Marriner 1972 album is particularly calming. I do not know why the higher pitches on it are not sensory aggravants.
Using a portable bluetooth speaker for watching movies at home so I can turn the volume up and down minimizes migraines from sounds. Hanging tapestries in echoey rooms at home minimizes painful echoes. I avoid concerts, crowded loud places. Turning down middle and high pitches on car radios helped. Take ear plugs to movies, or just plug my ears during the loud parts. In one particularly echoey room taught by a teacher with a strident voice, I used one ear plug or wore a thick large-hooded jacket to minimize the sound waves bouncing back into my ears.
Very high-pitched frequencies interfere with my constant ear-ringing (tinnitus) with what seems to be sound-wave interference. There are varying beats inside my head depending on what high-pitched frequency I am hearing.
If the noise is a cry of help, I figure out why the human or animal is crying and help them. Stray animals, to the humane society. Sick pet, to the vet. Crying baby, hold them or change diaper or bottle. If that is not possible, I go to another room and shut doors between us. Noise canceling headphones or earbuds can help. Personally, my ear canals are sensitive so I require earbuds with interchangeable rubber ear thingies. I always use the smallest size of ear thingies.
Pain and gut and postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome (POTS, stupidest acronym ever) issues:
Issue: abdominal pain
What the aggravants are: I have medically diagnosed (after surgery, endoscopy, cystocopy, et al.) interstitial cystitis, endometriosis, and irritable bowel syndrome. This means I frequently have urinary tract infection symptoms while testing negative for an infectious agent in my urine, slow gastric motility, frequent nausea. Combined with postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome (dizzy when stand up, pulse increases 30 beats per minute upon standing), I get nausea upon standing. I get bloating. Any pressure on my abdomen is painful (clothing, pet or kid tromping on my belly, hand of significant other resting on my belly while we snuggle before sleep, etc.). I get increased dizziness after eating a large meal. There is frequent stabbing gut pain, sudden unpredicable urges to have a bowel movement or urinate. There is unpredictable constipation interspersed with liquid diarrhea. I have intense sensitivity to food poisoning, new food types must be introduced gradually or severe constipation or liquid diarrhea will occur. Frequent straining to evacuate bowels plus pregnancy has resulted in constant external hemorrhoids. I am in ongoing consultation with gut doctors to manage this whole shebang.
What happens if I ignore it: I wind up doubled over in agony.
Solution: I found a career that does not micromanage my bathroom breaks. Generic Miralax daily per gut doctor’s recommendation. Occasional writing all the foods and gut reactions down, exhaustively, has only shown that eating oatmeal is likely to cause a bowel movement soon. Testing for gluten allergy has been negative. Largely avoid new food groups from new restaurants, prepare most foods at home. I feel better with higher protein intake but a keto diet makes me feel angry. I live on rice, beans, frozen and seasonal fruits and vegetables, chicken, and an embarrassing amount of protein bars. I eat when I am hungry, and pay attention to food cravings. If the idea of eating a food makes me nauseous, I do not eat that food, for I will puke it up. Frequent use of anti-nausea medications, especially zofran. I try to eat smaller meals. I do not eat large meals while at work. I always take medications with food unless specifically contra-indicated.
Increasing salt intake helps decrease the dizziness with standing. A Mexican salted plum treat called saladitos helps with salt. I like the lemon flavor ones, but in general the salted plum is an aquired taste. Drinking pickle juice helps some. Eating salted pickles helps.
Gut issues and clothing: I cannot wear typical thick jeans because seams and the one-button closure irritates my skin and puts pressure on my bladder. I must wear stretchy denim with thin waistband, and preferably two-button, pull-on, or snaps for closure. I tend towards drawstring linen or palazzo pants without elastic, as any stretched elastic on my waistband causes painful abdominal pressure.
Specific brands and styles and clothes stuff brain dump:
I find traditional clothing styles such as cotton kurtas from India work well. Well-worn often-washed cotton clothing such as 100% cotton scrubs from the thrift store worn seam-side out on terrible sensory days is nice. Oddly, the cotton-polyester drawstring scrub pants at all the hospitals works well. Shopping for clothes at a thrift store and feeling for rough seams, soft fiber helps. Read tags for fiber content (then cut open the seams carefully and remove that itchy tag). Avoid decorations that touch skin such as non-cotton lace, non-silk ribbons. If in doubt, test inexpensive soft things you’ve purchased by burning a bit of a hidden seam. If the fabric burns instead of melting, you have a natural fiber. A crunchy or hard little melted plasticy ball or tar-like smell indicates polyester or other synthetic oil-based synthetic fibers. Target and Walmart frequently offer tag-free clothing. That is great. Expect the printed tag on clothing to melt in a hot dryer over time and become rough and itchy. Replace item or wear it inside out when that happens. There are hippie style clothes sewn with visible seams on the outside. I collect those kinds of clothes. I buy underwear that is cotton, silk, or linen. I look for covered seams, no lace or ribbons, and I usually wear it inside out. I often wear older-fashioned or vintage clothing or SCA/LARP kinds of clothes. Tap pants are nice. Bloomers are nice.

I should preface this by saying I’ve never owned snakes or any other reptiles. But I’ve been a lurker in the exotic community for almost my entire online life. And I’ve come to find that the methods used to feed thawed rodents to snakes to be outdated.
Because there’s this prevalent myth that snakes will only ever eat live prey. And in order to get a snake to eat something dead, you have to fool it into thinking that it’s actually alive. This couldn’t be more wrong.
Drawing heavily from a 2002 literature review, scavenging is highly under-appreciated and even quite common among snakes. For example, fly larvae associated with carrion have been found as snake stomach contents. Snakes have also been seen scraping and eating frog pancakes off the road. Water moccasins have been observed eating fat oozing out of a hog carcass. There’s also a population of water moccasins on an island devoid of fish or other prey, meaning most of their diet consists of washed up fish and bird vomit. Rattlesnakes will even search out and dig up decomposing mice, but will ignore freshly killed mice. Indicating that rattlesnakes will actively search out carrion using olfaction.
There was even a brown tree snake that stole a cooked spare rib at a Guam resort.
And just about all taxonomic families of snakes have been observed exhibiting this behavior; colubrids, pit vipers, elapids, pythons, and boas.
And what I find kinda funny is that only pythons, boas, and pit vipers have heat sensing pits. Which leaves the vast majority of snakes incapable of sensing heat signatures. And while pythons and boas are by far the most common as pets, hog nose snakes and other colubrids are also very common. And yet owners of these snakes will still heat up thawed rodents in boiling water or a microwave. While I would recommend to keep doing this to kill pathogens and parasites, if you were to ask owners of these snakes why they do this, 9/10 of them would probably say to fool their snake into thinking it’s alive. Even though their particular snake can’t even sense heat signatures.
I did become curious if this would also be the case with ball pythons, due to them being by far the most common as pets and notoriously picky eaters. And from what I’ve read from owners on forums, ball pythons will scavenge on a thawed rodent after it’s been sitting in their enclosure for 12-24 hours.
While it is true that some snakes might refuse frozen thawed prey, this likely has more to due with a failure of the method, which is to fool the snake into thinking it’s live. Some snakes are probably just harder to fool, especially if they have experience with the real thing. I think the community should change its feeding methods from a predation response, to a more scavenger response. Or at least include as an alternative. It would probably prevent many people from having to resort to live feeding.

Hello, hello my snarky little gnocchis! OfNostrils did some revising and has updated her apostrophe placement to the grammatically appropriate point. She did however leave her dust smeared face on the thumbnail, and The Gropening is still the intro. Since OfNostrils isn’t beating around the bush trying to create suspense out of nothing this week, let’s just jump in.
Monday
Ohmywordya’ll. She’s soexcited! The Suburban is back from the body shop and is ready to roll. Nostrils’ truck rumbles loudly in the back ground as OfNostrils tries to inform us all about her new hunk of junk. Side note: you shouldn’t have to wait for your “new” car to get back from the body shop. That’s a sure sign of a lemon. Anyways, they drove it for the first time yesterday, she was going to film it but she didn’t. Their Sunday was too busy. Worry not though, she’s going to give us a tour of the Suburban after Nostrils surprised her by getting it detailed. She points the camera at the gigantic SUV and says “I don’t know if ya’ll can see”. I’m sure no one could miss the 5,800 pound vehicle, but she points out the “liiittle bit of damage” they didn’t have fixed on the driver’s side and rear passenger door. She then goes to the back left of the vehicle and asks something like “remember how bad it was before?” I’m distracted by the portable air pump hooked up to the rear driver’s side tire. *insert meme about looking at the camera here* That frame isn’t going to be true and it’s going to eat tires. As Nostrils’ truck rumbles on, she opens the back hatch and shows a couple of kid items in the back of the cargo area. She steps back to let us admire the cargo area and hits the button on the bottom of the hatch. She’s never had one that is automatic like that before. I’m pretty sure that she had automatic side doors in the minivan and that seems more exciting than the auto close on the hatch, but I don’t know. She shows us the passenger side and states the obvious. Nostrils has his truck on and it’s loud. I figured that out a full minute of footage ago. She opens the passenger door and climbs up to show us the shiny interior. “OOhhMyyyWooooord. *breath* IttsABSolutelyStunnnning-uh. She spins the shot around so we can see the car seats strewn across the back seats. Austina is riding behind the shotgun seat, Giddy-Up is centered on the back seat and A.G.’s base is right behind the driver’s seat. It’s like she got a bigger car so the carseats wouldn’t look cramped on the Tube. She slides-climbs down out of the passenger seat and turns the camera back on herself. Her two miniscule braids on either side of her head get tucked behind her ears as she says she is “thankful” and this is the fastest they’ve gotten a pre-wrecked, I mean “insurance auction car”, back from the shop. I need to stop and explain something here. Most cars at an insurance auction will generally have either a salvage title or a clean title. Salvage titles are complete write-offs, but if the car is fixed it will then become a rebuilt title. The other option is a clean title, which is mostly surface damage but not any real damage. My gut says they got a clean title and just had the bumpers and body work done. I don’t think the frame was bad enough for the body shop to address and it’s just going to slowly eat tires and pull to one side. If they had a salvage title, I’d guess that the body shop would have messed with the frame to try and knock it as close as possible back into shape to give them a rebuilt title. But like I said, I think it was a clean title. But back to the show. OfNostrils can’t wait to drive it some more, it drives great! It has “90-something thousand miles” and they aren’t getting rid of the minivan because of the miles because 100,000 isn’t that bad. Oh, so she was listening. Let me explain something else. 100,000 on a 2016 or 2017 is actually about average at 12,500 per year. Not “very low for a car”. 95,000 on a 2019 *isn’t* good at all because it’s literally double the average at 23,750. Essentially that Suburban got driven almost the same amount as her minivan in roughly half the time before it got totaled and sent to auction. Thank you for coming to my TedTalk on Used Car Math. Anyways she goes on to say that when she was driving it, it felt like floating. She promises to bring us all along “the next time we take it out for a stroll”. A stroll? Does the damn thing have Flintstone mode where you can just run to make the car move? Does it have a Leash feature where it follows you along the curb until you tell it to stay? How in the ever living hell are you supposed to take a car for a stroll? I know she meant a drive or a ride but seriously. How is “stroll” where you end up after a whole ass segment of talking about your car? Anyways, her made up and bespectacled face is replaced by her complaining about the weather.
Tuesday
OfNostrils complains about the weather like approximately 75% of the US right now. Baby Swiss is the same way, pollen just fucks her right up. Anyways, A.G. cries as she wanders into the hallway after saying Tuesday is Date Night, informing us that OfGrandNostrils will be watching Austina and Giddy-Up. She proceeds to continue opening doors and turning on lights. Literally anything other than tending to her son. Look, I know self-soothing is an important skill but he’s crying because she just walked off and is talking to the camera. He would probably like down from the high chair, if I had to guess, or he’s tired of being ignored for non-tent. Either way, it’s not relatable to film yourself walking away from a crying child. A crying child who is going to miss out on going to Fort Crock with his siblings because he is going to tag along on date night. Is he crying because he has to tag along and he really wants to go to GrAnDmOtHeR’s? I would be. You couldn’t keep me away from my grandparents’ house when I was a kid. She mixes up the two G names she gave her sons and man, Edwin would have overlapped with Austina’s name. They may stop at 4 kids just because they’re not creative enough to come up with more names. A.G. taxed their skills as it was. She finally picks up her youngest as she relates the following story with a stuffed up nose. Giddy-Up and Austina were hanging out in their parents’ bed, with their parents as A.G. started crying. Giddy-Up offered to get his brother and used the stairs that were provided for him and Austina to presumably pick up their nearly one year old brother. Once A.G. is brought in it’s apparent that he has had a diaper blowout and it was all over the bedsheets and Giddy-Up’s leg. Changes number of vlogs since they mentioned a child’s bodily function back to zero. It was a nice run. OfNostrils sticks the camera in the face of a now quiet A.G. who challenges the camera to a stare down as his mother yammers on about having to bathe the kids, wash the sheets and how gross it was. Odd flex, but okay. She turns to A.G. to say they’re all clean now and he forfeits his staring contest with the camera to look at his mother. She cuts the scene and spins around so that she and A.G. are back-lit. Nostrils is going to go get some materials for work and GrAnDmOtHeR will be there to pick up Giddy-Up and Austina. OfNostrils isn’t sure what the full date plan is, as to whether they are going to get coffee before dance class or a whole ass meal before dance class. Austina, ever the eldest daughter asks the important question of who is watching them. With an exaggerated face OfNostrils says “GrAnDmOtHeR and Pappaw”. Austina enthusiastically approves this by laughing and bouncing a bit on the balls of her feet. “Ohmigoodness” OfNostrils says, as Austina goes behind Giddy-Up who is seated on, or in, a Tonka truck. They are at the top of the hill and this should be interesting. After a push from Austina, Giddy-Up careens down the hill. Austina is sitting halfway down the hill as her mother tries to talk her daughter into riding the Tonka truck down the hill. Austina, with mismatched socks, has to hear the magic words of “rollercoaster” before she gets interested in riding the toy across the yard. Once she does, Giddy-Up sits in the truck and she pushes him again. We never see Austina ride the truck down the hill as A.G. appears in the grass and Austina picks a dandelion at his feet. Austina also has her shirt on backwards and inside out as she pushes the empty Tonka down the hill. Back inside, OfNostrils is excited because her mother-in-law is there to pick up the kids. Well, just Giddy-Up and Austina. A.G. is trapped until the next sibling is brewing. It seems he’s been yeeted off the teat so I’m not sure what the hold up is. Maybe the rule at Fort Crock is No Overnights for Non-walking Children. Idk. Either way, A.G. is third wheeling his parents’ date night. As she walks back out to the porch, Austina says “Azul” to her GrAnDmOtHeR and OfNostrils says “they’ve been watching a lot of Dora”. That’s awfully secular, n’est ce pas? It must not be because GrAnDmOtHeR drops into Spanish like she’s the Fundie version of Peggy Hill with “como estas” and teaching them how to speak Spanish. A.G. looks on quietly from his GrAnDmOtHeR’s hip as his mother asks him if he’s “found GrAnDmOtHeR”, as he looks towards the house silently. She asks him again and he stares stonily at his mother, disregarding the smacking kissy noises she tries to coax a smile out of the boy. I think he’s figured out everyone else gets to go and he has to stay. A.G. looks down at his brother, sitting on the step below him. OfNostrils asks if he is excited to stay over with his grandparents. He is busy singing a song to his GrAnDmOtHeR and she laughs along with him. Austina chatters with an older cousin, busily handing out treats. Nostrils shows up and A.G. soaks up his GrAnDmOtHeR time, still staring stonily at the camera. GrAnDmOtHeR gts given the tour of the Suburban, she deems it nice. OfNostrils sings “gonna take it on a drive woop woop”. Giddy-Up sits next to his cousin in a booster seat, not his full-blown one as Austina sits next to him in a big carseat. OfNostrils attempts to tell her offspring good bye and that she loves them, but they are too busy interacting with each other to notice her. She comments about this and says they are too excited. She can flip that Word Of The Day calendar any time now.
OfNostrils rejoins us from the passenger seat, as the Suburban rumbles almost as loudly as Nostrils’ truck did at the beginning of this vlog. A.G. is in the back strapped into his trusty Doona. “How does she drive BaBy?” OfNostrils says flirtily to her husband. 1. Ew. 2. Poor A.G. is in for a whole night of this shit. Nostrils says “really good. I was going to say ‘like a Cadillac’ but I haven’t driven a Cadillac in a long time.” Jesus Christmas, he knows that Chevy and Cadillac are both GM right? And that a Cadillac is literally a luxury Chevy? He’s literally comparing apples to organic apples here. It only gets more confusing as he says he hasn’t driven a Cadillac in so long but he thinks it might be better than a Cadillac but he can’t say because, you know, he hasn’t driven one in a while. Let me guess, NASA grandpa had a cherry Caddy DeVille that had actual meteorite in the dash inlays and he got to drive it once when he was 17 and that’s what he is basing this on. He says “let me just restart the whole thing and say ‘she drives gooooood’” and I guess that voice turns her on, it just gives me the ick. OfNostrils reels it in and starts to fasten her seatbelt. Sigh. Back to her old tricks I see. She’s sooo thankful for this car, and she shows the sunroof rolling back. She hasn’t had a sunroof since their first car when they were first married. 7 years, it’s been almost 7 years. That’s forever to not have a sunroof, however has she managed. Oh, it’s been less time than that, they had another one for a “short while” that also had a sunroof. “Anyways, we are headed to do some Putt-Putt for date night”, OfNostrils goes on. They are Putt-Putters, they love to Putt-Putt. Yeah, so did Perm and Sperm and we all remember that cursed scene. Seriously TLC should have to pay everyone who watched all the God-honoring smut every time Sperm realized people were around and he took the chance to remind everyone that Perm as his ahem…”vessel”. Apparently, Nostrils likes to call it “min-miniature golf” OfNostrils stutters out. He thinks it makes him sound more classier, or “it sounds better”. Sure, slick. If by better you mean more snobbish.
At the Putt-Putt course, the wind tries to do us a solid and drown out their voices. A.G. is probably just staring off into nothing as his parents turn all of their attention to shooting non-tent. If they re-enact The Gropening, I may just puke. OfNostrils asks Nostrils if he is ready to lose. He draws out a long hmmmm, and follows it with “I don’t think that’s what’s going to happen” then smiles at the camera. Ew. OfNostrils sticks the camera in A.G.’s face and asks if he thinks she is going to win. She takes his smile as supporting her win. OfNostrils is wearing a puffy coat, leggings and Jesus sandals and as Nostrils yells support for his wife, she smacks the ball which makes a hard left off of the brick border. She ends up very close to the cup, and it’s an easy tap in. Nostrils walks closer and says they are ready. She dispatches the vibrant dotted ball into the hole and switches places with her husband behind the camera. He swings and smacks his own vibrant dotted ball and it ricochets as OfNostrils happily chases it. It stops much further from the cup than OfNostrils’ did. She proceeds to talk some weak smack about if it’s par 2 or 3. Nostrils replies there are still a lot of strokes and he’s ahead. I’m pretty sure they are both at 2 strokes right now. He drops the neon orb into the cup then retrieves it and they are tied at 2 from what they’ve shown. “Nice putt maaaaan” OfNostrils yells over the wind. She then cuts the scene back to her and says she is doing really badly now. “It’s sad” she says before cheering on her husband as he lines up a putt. It goes past the cup and Nostrils’ saggy soggy moccasins look like they squish and splursh their way to where the ball is. “OH! OH!” she yells, as she films herself and not Nostrils next shot. She says that he is doing much better than her. Each hole has taken him 2-3 strokes, while she has had 3-4 strokes per hole. Ha. The only way she can win is if Nostrils gets 6 hits each time. I wanna know which one of them figured this out. They said they were 9 times the average family, which no. That would have been 27-36 people in one family. I don’t trust DuggarMath ^tm. At the next hole, Nostrils gives the ball a swack after saying something about how stubborn this hole will be and he miscalculates the angle off the brick edge of the hole. It flies past the cup and takes another ricochet to land across from the cup. OfNostrils cheers on her husband as she says “let’s see it, babe.” I don’t trust these people on a putt-putt course. OfNostrils decides to get a “cool shot” and gets down onto the green. Someone in the background says “it doesn’t have to be great”, and then he follows up with saying that OfNostrils is probably going to get hit with the ball. OfNostrils says “this is going to be so cool” and then Nostrils misses the shot. I mean, what are the odds? OfNostrils yells “uncool, uncool” as Nostrils taps the turf and takes another whack. His moccasins wheeze as he leans down and grabs his ball out of the cup. Multiple strollers are parked and OfNostrils whirls around to find A.G. with his bare feet out in the wind. He’s got to think his mother is a Jack in the box. She appears and disappears, she has the camera, she doesn’t have the camera. Kid is probably two weeks from treating her like a walking, talking whack a mole game. Next, Nostrils takes a turn at a “cool” shot from the ground. OfNostrils stretches her legs and gets limber. Nostrils gives his wife the ready signal as she gives the neon orb a whack. Nostrils zooms in and makes it look like the ball is coming right at him. This feature causes him to miss where the ball goes and he backs up to show who I presume is their companions. They have brought their toddler in addition to the other stroller. Nostrils gets up close for his wife’s second shot as she starts to preemptively blame the wind which only just manages to not wreck the shot. OfNostrils jumps for joy at her shot. The scene cuts to a despondent OfNostrils getting into the passenger side of her new ride. Nostrils gets in and starts to buckle his seatbelt as he reassures his wife that she didn’t do horrible like she said. She says that she lost by 11. Nostrils ignores her as he backs the car up using the backup camera. OfNostrils keeps going on about how the car is all nice and detailed, and that Nostrils didn’t do it himself, oh no, he paid someone else to do it. Nostrils continues to ignore his wife’s filming.
The next shot is of A.G. doing a happy grunt as his mother announces they just did some tango, and now it’s time for some “Roomba”. She means Rumba, which is pronounced R-uhm-ba, not Roomba. She got A.G. out for the break between dances. The camera takes up a stationary position, likely atop A.G.’s trusty Doona. OfNostrils leans out from behind Nostrils to flash a peace sign. The begin to dance to an instrumental version of “Blue Monday” by New Order, which is an odd choice for a dance class. They step back and forth across the room, OfNostrils in bare feet and Nostrils in his squishy sloggy moccasins. The instructor watches on as A.G. learns his first trade as “Camera Operator”. They continue to dance as OfNostrils lets loose a laugh to echo around the studio and the instructor later gives them more instructions that slightly reverberate with the echo. They should have fitted the Doona with a boom mic attachment.
Back in the newest McBeardsleyMobile, our dancing duo get back to business. OfNostrils hops up and says how fun it was as Nostrils quickly and widely smiles before dropping his filming face and starting the car. OfNostrils swings the camera back and forth as they say “Roomba”, “RoooooooomBah!” in varying degrees of incorrectness. OfNostrils says the instructor gave them tips on “what was it, not attitude………..what was it called……..babe?” They agree that they were being taught on their “technique”. OfNostrils’ voice battles over an alert on the car “bong”ing loudly as she says the tango is a sassy dance that they were excited to learn more steps for. She slides into a Meechy whisper and says how fun it was and how they are going to go eat.
We are thrown into a scene where someone on a 4-wheeler rides down a gravel path while the person on the 4-wheeler behind them films. The camera flips to reveal an extremely tan OfNostrils. Wait, that’s dirt on her face, she isn’t wearing a helmet. She leans in and comments how dirty her face is as she continues to drive along. Just because it’s not a Suburban and it’s not on a regular road, doesn’t mean someone can just film and drive. It’s still an activity that requires your mostly undivided attention. She wipes at her face, taking both hands off the handles. This then causes her to slow down and get rear ended by Nostrils who is driving the kids in their fancy ATV with seatbelts. She then gets back to driving and takes off after a hearty “yo” and a shot over her head. Funnily enough her shirt says “Cain” on it and is that some Fundie death metal band or something? The arrive at a picnic table and GrandNostrils pulls out a camp chair and makes himself comfortable. GrAnDmOtHeR holds A.G. and tries to get him to play up to the camera. He instead closes his extremely long and blond lashes against the sun. He finally smiles and GrAnDmOtHeR pops out his pacifier. The scene then goes right back to OfNostrils. They were riding in the Ozark National Forest, and right on cue, a child says “Mama”. If I were the cynical sort, I’d say she has trained them to interrupt for more screentime. They brought a grill and are going to have a picnic. She rubs at the dirt on her face and says she was riding behind “Mom and Dad”. Are we sure she doesn’t mean “MoThEr and Dad”? Either way she flashes the camera over to them as they smile and wave. She says every thing and every one is covered in dirt.
Next, Austina walks along a path in a yellow dress. OfNostrils asks her if she can spot the miniscule and scarce flowers under the piles of dead leaves. Austina proceeds to pick other flowers and OfNostrils suggests they can be given to GrAnDmOtHeR and Pappaw. OfNostrils tells her daughter how to pick the flowers from the bottom for more stem. They get up and walk away as Austina says the flowers need to be put in water. We then segue into a closeup of coldcut sandwiches lining the picnic table and some burgers that are miscellaneous sizes and shapes. OfNostrils cuts that shot then follows Giddy-Up and Austina down to the water and the stairs to launch small boats. The kids are told not to lean over and Giddy-Up asks about the stairs as OfNostrils goes on about “so pretty”. She then stops to explain that this was where they went kayaking “last time”. Giddy-Up doesn’t remember, but his mother assures him it happened. She then sticks the camera in A.G.’s face and asks him what he thinks about the water. She needs to be watching what he thinks about the camera. OfNostrils says A.G.’s face is dirty, and says she keeps forgetting how dirty her face is. She then follows her older children down into the water on the steps. Giddy-Up sits with his feet in the water. OfNostrils asks if it’s cool, then asks if it’s hot or cold. Giddy-Up nods yes to cool and cold. She then says A.G. wants to get in and no he’s not making any sign of that, he’s just being held and noticing the camera. Suddenly, OfNostrils yells to Nostrils that they are putting the rafts in. She then tells the children they are putting the “big boats” in. No. Kayaks, rafts and johnboats aren’t “big”. OfNostrils films A.G. on his father’s shoulders, OfNostrils says that Nostrils holding A.G.’s hands is what’s making him laugh. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t see the camera. She goes on to say that they had a nice lunch, sat by the river and she rips off her sunglasses because she has to be able to look herself in the eyes I guess. She thinks they’re going to take the back road home and not the campground road they took there. No. One. Cares. She’s ready for full-blown spring and “ah! This weather!” is so nice. She films herself 4-wheeling down the path again. She seems to be alone and good. That way she can’t cause a traffic backup on a gravel trail. She starts into the water and although I know it doesn't, I keep wishing that she hits a bump and drops her phone in the water. Nostrils comes up behind her and splashes her. I guess she started off early to film and they just caught up to her. She yells something but like Jingle she has the music so damn loud you can’t hear what she is saying. She finally manages to get an intelligible sentence when she says “he soaked my back”, and the scene cuts to a distant mountain as she rides along a dirt farm road. She whoops “whoo hoo” as she follows everyone up GrandNostrils’ driveway.
She wraps up from her bedroom, they got home and now they have company and they had to get all the kids bathed while dealing with that. She is taking the time to film her outro. What does the outro consist of? Her wishing she had filmed the bath water after the kids were bathed. No. Don’t even try that shit. Anyways she says when she was washing Austina’s hair brown dirt just kept coming off of her. Yeah, 4-wheeling isn’t a clean activity. You wear old clothes because you will get dirty. It was “SO FUN!” she excitedly says and then starts to explain the trails they usually ride on. Pack it in Rick Steves…OfNostrils is here to be everyone’s new guide to traveling by 4-wheeler. She goes on to say that they were on gravel or forest roads and sounds like she doesn’t know the difference. I can’t believe I’m about to write this next sentence but…she thinks that all of the gravel made dust and that is why they all got so dirty. I’ve seen people come back from a ride covered head to toe in mud and she’s saying the gravel is why they got dirtier than usual? If I didn’t know better, I’d wonder how many bottles of wine the company brought over. OfNostrils goes on to tell us she did get a mouthful of grit so maybe next time she won’t film while she drives. J/K it’s the beginning of camping season, she’s about to be on a 4-wheeler all the time. We next get told what time they left and what time they got back. No. One. Cares. She says she doesn’t know what the next vlogisode is but thanks us for watching this one before asking us to like and subscribe. Nope.
And there it is folks, the latest McBeardsley Power Hour. Like she said there is not a heads up for next week so we will see what happens on Friday or Saturday or whenever she gets around to posting it this week. Have a great rest of the day and a better tomorrow!

Previous
Writer's note: Things happen. Some of them bad.
Enjoy.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Murphy's heart pounded in his ears as he ran.
He'd gotten about five miles from the house. Which was about four and a half miles farther than he would've said he could run while carrying a weapon, wearing handmade moccasins, and also being as old and out of shape as he was.
He could see flashing red and blue's in the distance, most likely on the nearby dirt road. His house's security system had sent a warning to the local police, most likely the sheriff's department based on where he and Maria lived. And while it had taken them time to get here, he could tell from the lights and the helicopter above in the distance, that they'd done what they could to surround the woods.
But they weren't in the woods. At least not as far as he could tell. Of course he wasn't close enough to the source of the strobing lights to be certain.
Even if they were in the woods looking for him, they weren't as close as the thing chasing him.
He didn't know how it hadn't caught him yet. He'd literally seen a Muck Marcher clear an entire freeway in a single leap the day before. Had seen her move so fast her limbs had seemed to blur as she'd violently dispatched armed thugs as if they were made of tissue.
But this thing seemed to lumber.
Its movements were robotic even by cyborg standards. And its multi-lensed helmet panned back and forth in an almost metronome tempo.
He'd seen it only once, as he'd paused to take a breather.
It had been jogging straight at him, with a handful of the more fit thugs running beside it.
The sight had been like something out of an old Kaiju movie. This massive lumbering giant pounding through the woods in a slow, yet monstrously long, gait.
The thugs had opened fire on him then, and he'd been happy to see that the machine didn't seem to have a gun.
A salvo from the AA12, just a short burst really, had made them dive for cover as he'd torn one of them to shreds.
He'd also been happy to see the mechanical monster take cover as well. He still hadn't tested the weapon against the thing. But if its systems, whatever they were, told it that the AA12 was enough of a threat that it needed to take cover, then that was a good sign in his book.
He'd unleashed another burst before breaking into a run again.
He was still running. The motion of sprinting while overweight and carrying a massive weapon across his chest brought to mind more than a few PTSD induced memories of his time in the Corps. The main difference being that back then the extra weight had come from a bulletproof vest and not a beer gut.
Something whizzed past his head. It wasn't the familiar zing, or whip-crack of a bullet, but it was still enough to send him diving to the side to take cover behind an old, knocked over, stump of a dead tree.
Something crashed into a different tree past him like a cannon ball, sending bark and moss and bits of wood pulp exploding outward. Some of it pattered against Murphy's dirtied sweatpants.
The hell was that? He wondered.
He rolled to the side and braced the shotgun over the roots of the stump as he scanned.
He saw more of the thugs, albeit only a few now.
And he saw the thing. The not-quite-a-muck-marcher thing.
It's arm was spinning, and as a long time baseball fan Murphy recognized exactly what it was doing.
"No gun. But it has a cannon." He said to himself as he saw it release whatever it had been holding.
He dove to the side just in time for something, most likely a large rock of some kind, to punch a hole clean through the portion of stump he'd been hiding behind.
"Oh.... Fuckin' great." He said as he regained his aim.
Its arm was spinning again, and he could see and hear the thugs running to fan out around him.
He aimed the automatic shotgun at the thing's spinning shoulder.
Let's see if this thing is as big a threat as you thought it was. He said as he unleashed a salvo of frag rounds at the spinning joint.
The monster thing's systems told it what was about to happen. It could have responded, Murphy knew it could have, if it was what it looked like then it could react fast enough to do so.
But instead of trying to take cover, it stayed planted. It's arm whipped forward one last time as it released its projectile.
The large, well rounded, stone flew past the frag rounds without care, only marginally slower than they were. One of them clipped the stone, detonating early and scattering fragmentation amongst its fellow rounds. The stone deflected just a fraction of a degree.
And as Murphy saw the first flash of impact on the monstrosity's shoulder, he had only a split second to realized he'd probably misread the thing's actions earlier.
He tried to move. But he knew it was too late for that to make a difference.
Something impacted Murphy's left shoulder and pain exploded in his mind.
He didn't have time to think.
He used the spin that the impact put him into to get low, and scrambled back into a run.
And he ignored how numb his left side felt all of a sudden as he sprinted toward the red and blue lights flashing faintly in the distance.
--------------------
Many yards behind him the monster reeled as it looked down at its own severed arm.
The technician many miles away watching its feed marveled at the damage. He'd known that the detective's weapon was capable of such destruction, but it was still impressive to see.
The man had been staring down certain death. Yet instead of running or hiding to try and buy time, he'd faced D-A-M-003 and decided to fight despite his micro-expressions saying that he'd known what it was doing.
The technician saw 003's query.
[RETRIEVE LIMB?]
The tech hit the affirmative button and watched as 003 bent over and retrieved its arm from the ground. The tech input the command to initiate reattachment.
Then he watched as the tissue in the severed end of the arm reached out with tiny tendrils. 003 pressed them to similarly reaching tendrils in its damaged shoulder.
The process was gross, and practically alien in nature. But it was also the next step in combat efficiency.
The tech knew that some day RTI intended to figure out how to get HUMAN bodies to be capable of that kind of thing. Or at least soldiers and law enforcement. But it was still disturbing to see.
A few minutes later, after the limb had finished reattaching, the tech instructed 003 to recommence pursuit.
It moved to inspect the detectives location and witnessed the similarly severed limb there. The detective's arm had been severed halfway between his elbow and wrist.
It was impressive that he'd even been able to keep a hold on his weapon, or stay conscious. But he'd actually managed to get up and continue running. And with the time it took for 003 to reattach its arm, he now had a bit of a lead, assuming he didn't bleed out.
[GATHERING GENETIC MATERIAL AND CONTINUING PURSUIT]
The tech's head tilted in confusion at the first part of the message. Then they watched as 003 opened a panel in its leg and picked up the severed hand. It pressed the hand into the opening and the tech grimaced as they watched the tendrils reach out to envelop the limb before pulling it into itself.
Then 003 began moving to pursue again.
The tech turned to one of the techs overseeing the other D-A-M's that were heading to the other world.
"Hey Jeff!" He called out.
Jeff turned to look at him curiously, boredom plain on his face as he'd basically just been watching his units stand in formation as the Gate was opened up.
"Sup?" Jeff asked.
"You ever seen these things gather genetic material?"
"Get damaged?" Jeff asked. The tech nodded. "Yours is the one chasing down that cop right?" Again the tech nodded. "It's used for autonomic repair material for the damage. And it gives enhanced tracking metrics, especially if its from the target."
"Got it." The tech said. "Pretty gross."
Jeff chuckled. He'd taken a peak at the tech's station and seen the material in question. "Least it was just skin and bones. They can use grosser stuff than that."
On the screen D-A-M-003 began to jog again as it followed the detective's blood and scent trail.
----------------------------
"Our names are an anagram." The intimidating, horned, Minara Choi said as she continued to look at the paperwork on her desk.
"What?" Marina asked, surprised at the sudden outburst.
Minara, who Marina thought of as Ms. Choi because she was kind of scared of the woman, looked up at her curiously. "Our names." She said as she set the papers down and picked up a pen. "They're an anagram. You know what that is right?"
"Like the same letters but scrambled?" Marina asked as she considered it. "Yeah I guess they are."
She'd been sitting on the, admittedly very comfortable, couch nearby for nearly two hours now. The crime boss hadn't given her any instruction. But she also hadn't kicked her out or told her to stay in her room either. She'd mostly just ignored her until now, and Marina had taken to simply watching the rest of the room bustle about as they worked. She'd also kept an eye on the massive black variant drake that she'd mistaken for a wall the night before.
She'd quickly become uncomfortable as she'd noticed that, other than the general noise of people moving, the people in the room were all mainly silent unless they were speaking directly to Ms. Choi.
She'd also noticed that the door she and Eli had been escorted through in the bakery seemed to be some kind of specialized long distance Gate. She'd seen people come and go through it in clothes that suggested they were going to business meetings, tropical locations, and one person who had come in wearing cold weather gear while accompanied by snow flurries.
It also spoke, and she suspected that it might have been what she'd heard called a Mage's door, albeit a very special one.
It was as she was looking around studying things that Ms. Choi asked her another question.
"So you're a smuggler?" She asked as she typed something into her tablet.
Marina looked back at her. "Um.... not any more I don't think." She replied. "Or at least I don't think I wanna be."
"How'd you get your merchandise past the check points?" Ms. Choi asked. "Figueroa's bottomless enchantments, right?"
"Uh... yeah." Marina admitted.
"He was a very talented young man." Ms. Choi said with a nod. "If he'd been smart he'd've signed on with some magical R&D company somewhere. No ambition though."
"He was a good person." Marina said, somewhat annoyed to hear her dead friend slandered. "He liked... music. And he just wanted to make new enchantments."
"Hmm. Yes you do have a tendency to attach yourself to enchanters it seems."
Marina looked at her curiously.
"Oh, have you not asked him about that coat of his?" Ms. Choi wondered."Haven't you noticed the enchantments all over it? Detective Simmons is a world class enchanter. "Probably even better than his grandfather."
She did know about the coat, and the items he'd pulled out of it in a seemingly endless tide of tools and weapons.
"We didn't really talk about it." She replied. "We were... kinda busy trying not to get killed."
Ms. Choi nodded. It was an easy thing to understand.
"How bout you?" She asked. "Were's tend to have a bit more magic than most people, even if it's primarily sourced by lunar energy. Got any talent?"
Marina shrugged. "I've... never really tried much." She admitted with a bit of shame. "Um.... I can do this."
She focused, and as she did Minara Choi's eyebrow rose in mild curiosity.
Right before the crime boss's eyes, Marina Smith's magical presence erased itself entirely.
She held the focus for several minutes as even the other people in the room turned to look at her in wonder.
"That's... actually kind of impressive." Ms. Choi said with a nod as Marina released the magic. "I've known some people who can do that. But most of them are assassins..... or were anyways. How'd you learn to do that?"
Marina shrugged. "Figured it would be useful as a smuggler." She admitted. "Plus I used to try to sneak up on Fig whenever we met."
"Let me guess. He always caught you?"
Marina nodded. "Said I leave I blank spot."
Ms. Choi nodded. Then she waved over one of her workers. When they approached she spoke softly to them. "Please retrieve Mister Tieren. Tell him double rate if he resists." She said. The worker nodded and then moved over to use the door that seemed to lead everywhere.
Then she turned to Marina.
"Would you like to learn how to use that power fully?" She asked.

Previous / First
Writer's note: Things happen. Some of them bad.
Enjoy.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Murphy's heart pounded in his ears as he ran.
He'd gotten about five miles from the house. Which was about four and a half miles farther than he would've said he could run while carrying a weapon, wearing handmade moccasins, and also being as old and out of shape as he was.
He could see flashing red and blue's in the distance, most likely on the nearby dirt road. His house's security system had sent a warning to the local police, most likely the sheriff's department based on where he and Maria lived. And while it had taken them time to get here, he could tell from the lights and the helicopter above in the distance, that they'd done what they could to surround the woods.
But they weren't in the woods. At least not as far as he could tell. Of course he wasn't close enough to the source of the strobing lights to be certain.
Even if they were in the woods looking for him, they weren't as close as the thing chasing him.
He didn't know how it hadn't caught him yet. He'd literally seen a Muck Marcher clear an entire freeway in a single leap the day before. Had seen her move so fast her limbs had seemed to blur as she'd violently dispatched armed thugs as if they were made of tissue.
But this thing seemed to lumber.
Its movements were robotic even by cyborg standards. And its multi-lensed helmet panned back and forth in an almost metronome tempo.
He'd seen it only once, as he'd paused to take a breather.
It had been jogging straight at him, with a handful of the more fit thugs running beside it.
The sight had been like something out of an old Kaiju movie. This massive lumbering giant pounding through the woods in a slow, yet monstrously long, gait.
The thugs had opened fire on him then, and he'd been happy to see that the machine didn't seem to have a gun.
A salvo from the AA12, just a short burst really, had made them dive for cover as he'd torn one of them to shreds.
He'd also been happy to see the mechanical monster take cover as well. He still hadn't tested the weapon against the thing. But if its systems, whatever they were, told it that the AA12 was enough of a threat that it needed to take cover, then that was a good sign in his book.
He'd unleashed another burst before breaking into a run again.
He was still running. The motion of sprinting while overweight and carrying a massive weapon across his chest brought to mind more than a few PTSD induced memories of his time in the Corps. The main difference being that back then the extra weight had come from a bulletproof vest and not a beer gut.
Something whizzed past his head. It wasn't the familiar zing, or whip-crack of a bullet, but it was still enough to send him diving to the side to take cover behind an old, knocked over, stump of a dead tree.
Something crashed into a different tree past him like a cannon ball, sending bark and moss and bits of wood pulp exploding outward. Some of it pattered against Murphy's dirtied sweatpants.
The hell was that? He wondered.
He rolled to the side and braced the shotgun over the roots of the stump as he scanned.
He saw more of the thugs, albeit only a few now.
And he saw the thing. The not-quite-a-muck-marcher thing.
It's arm was spinning, and as a long time baseball fan Murphy recognized exactly what it was doing.
"No gun. But it has a cannon." He said to himself as he saw it release whatever it had been holding.
He dove to the side just in time for something, most likely a large rock of some kind, to punch a hole clean through the portion of stump he'd been hiding behind.
"Oh.... Fuckin' great." He said as he regained his aim.
Its arm was spinning again, and he could see and hear the thugs running to fan out around him.
He aimed the automatic shotgun at the thing's spinning shoulder.
Let's see if this thing is as big a threat as you thought it was. He said as he unleashed a salvo of frag rounds at the spinning joint.
The monster thing's systems told it what was about to happen. It could have responded, Murphy knew it could have, if it was what it looked like then it could react fast enough to do so.
But instead of trying to take cover, it stayed planted. It's arm whipped forward one last time as it released its projectile.
The large, well rounded, stone flew past the frag rounds without care, only marginally slower than they were. One of them clipped the stone, detonating early and scattering fragmentation amongst its fellow rounds. The stone deflected just a fraction of a degree.
And as Murphy saw the first flash of impact on the monstrosity's shoulder, he had only a split second to realized he'd probably misread the thing's actions earlier.
He tried to move. But he knew it was too late for that to make a difference.
Something impacted Murphy's left shoulder and pain exploded in his mind.
He didn't have time to think.
He used the spin that the impact put him into to get low, and scrambled back into a run.
And he ignored how numb his left side felt all of a sudden as he sprinted toward the red and blue lights flashing faintly in the distance.
--------------------
Many yards behind him the monster reeled as it looked down at its own severed arm.
The technician many miles away watching its feed marveled at the damage. He'd known that the detective's weapon was capable of such destruction, but it was still impressive to see.
The man had been staring down certain death. Yet instead of running or hiding to try and buy time, he'd faced D-A-M-003 and decided to fight despite his micro-expressions saying that he'd known what it was doing.
The technician saw 003's query.
[RETRIEVE LIMB?]
The tech hit the affirmative button and watched as 003 bent over and retrieved its arm from the ground. The tech input the command to initiate reattachment.
Then he watched as the tissue in the severed end of the arm reached out with tiny tendrils. 003 pressed them to similarly reaching tendrils in its damaged shoulder.
The process was gross, and practically alien in nature. But it was also the next step in combat efficiency.
The tech knew that some day RTI intended to figure out how to get HUMAN bodies to be capable of that kind of thing. Or at least soldiers and law enforcement. But it was still disturbing to see.
A few minutes later, after the limb had finished reattaching, the tech instructed 003 to recommence pursuit.
It moved to inspect the detectives location and witnessed the similarly severed limb there. The detective's arm had been severed halfway between his elbow and wrist.
It was impressive that he'd even been able to keep a hold on his weapon, or stay conscious. But he'd actually managed to get up and continue running. And with the time it took for 003 to reattach its arm, he now had a bit of a lead, assuming he didn't bleed out.
[GATHERING GENETIC MATERIAL AND CONTINUING PURSUIT]
The tech's head tilted in confusion at the first part of the message. Then they watched as 003 opened a panel in its leg and picked up the severed hand. It pressed the hand into the opening and the tech grimaced as they watched the tendrils reach out to envelop the limb before pulling it into itself.
Then 003 began moving to pursue again.
The tech turned to one of the techs overseeing the other D-A-M's that were heading to the other world.
"Hey Jeff!" He called out.
Jeff turned to look at him curiously, boredom plain on his face as he'd basically just been watching his units stand in formation as the Gate was opened up.
"Sup?" Jeff asked.
"You ever seen these things gather genetic material?"
"Get damaged?" Jeff asked. The tech nodded. "Yours is the one chasing down that cop right?" Again the tech nodded. "It's used for autonomic repair material for the damage. And it gives enhanced tracking metrics, especially if its from the target."
"Got it." The tech said. "Pretty gross."
Jeff chuckled. He'd taken a peak at the tech's station and seen the material in question. "Least it was just skin and bones. They can use grosser stuff than that."
On the screen D-A-M-003 began to jog again as it followed the detective's blood and scent trail.
----------------------------
"Our names are an anagram." The intimidating, horned, Minara Choi said as she continued to look at the paperwork on her desk.
"What?" Marina asked, surprised at the sudden outburst.
Minara, who Marina thought of as Ms. Choi because she was kind of scared of the woman, looked up at her curiously. "Our names." She said as she set the papers down and picked up a pen. "They're an anagram. You know what that is right?"
"Like the same letters but scrambled?" Marina asked as she considered it. "Yeah I guess they are."
She'd been sitting on the, admittedly very comfortable, couch nearby for nearly two hours now. The crime boss hadn't given her any instruction. But she also hadn't kicked her out or told her to stay in her room either. She'd mostly just ignored her until now, and Marina had taken to simply watching the rest of the room bustle about as they worked. She'd also kept an eye on the massive black variant drake that she'd mistaken for a wall the night before.
She'd quickly become uncomfortable as she'd noticed that, other than the general noise of people moving, the people in the room were all mainly silent unless they were speaking directly to Ms. Choi.
She'd also noticed that the door she and Eli had been escorted through in the bakery seemed to be some kind of specialized long distance Gate. She'd seen people come and go through it in clothes that suggested they were going to business meetings, tropical locations, and one person who had come in wearing cold weather gear while accompanied by snow flurries.
It also spoke, and she suspected that it might have been what she'd heard called a Mage's door, albeit a very special one.
It was as she was looking around studying things that Ms. Choi asked her another question.
"So you're a smuggler?" She asked as she typed something into her tablet.
Marina looked back at her. "Um.... not any more I don't think." She replied. "Or at least I don't think I wanna be."
"How'd you get your merchandise past the check points?" Ms. Choi asked. "Figueroa's bottomless enchantments, right?"
"Uh... yeah." Marina admitted.
"He was a very talented young man." Ms. Choi said with a nod. "If he'd been smart he'd've signed on with some magical R&D company somewhere. No ambition though."
"He was a good person." Marina said, somewhat annoyed to hear her dead friend slandered. "He liked... music. And he just wanted to make new enchantments."
"Hmm. Yes you do have a tendency to attach yourself to enchanters it seems."
Marina looked at her curiously.
"Oh, have you not asked him about that coat of his?" Ms. Choi wondered."Haven't you noticed the enchantments all over it? Detective Simmons is a world class enchanter. "Probably even better than his grandfather."
She did know about the coat, and the items he'd pulled out of it in a seemingly endless tide of tools and weapons.
"We didn't really talk about it." She replied. "We were... kinda busy trying not to get killed."
Ms. Choi nodded. It was an easy thing to understand.
"How bout you?" She asked. "Were's tend to have a bit more magic than most people, even if it's primarily sourced by lunar energy. Got any talent?"
Marina shrugged. "I've... never really tried much." She admitted with a bit of shame. "Um.... I can do this."
She focused, and as she did Minara Choi's eyebrow rose in mild curiosity.
Right before the crime boss's eyes, Marina Smith's magical presence erased itself entirely.
She held the focus for several minutes as even the other people in the room turned to look at her in wonder.
"That's... actually kind of impressive." Ms. Choi said with a nod as Marina released the magic. "I've known some people who can do that. But most of them are assassins..... or were anyways. How'd you learn to do that?"
Marina shrugged. "Figured it would be useful as a smuggler." She admitted. "Plus I used to try to sneak up on Fig whenever we met."
"Let me guess. He always caught you?"
Marina nodded. "Said I leave I blank spot."
Ms. Choi nodded. Then she waved over one of her workers. When they approached she spoke softly to them. "Please retrieve Mister Tieren. Tell him double rate if he resists." She said. The worker nodded and then moved over to use the door that seemed to lead everywhere.
Then she turned to Marina.
"Would you like to learn how to use that power fully?" She asked.

Because I like useless statistics, here's a list of categories that have been reused as well as what number puzzle it was used in and the words used in that category. Note: I grouped items together if they were close enough even if the categories weren't exactly the same e.g. the Baseball ones.

12 Times

Homophones of Items (#59 "Fruit", #101 "Numbers", #116 "Insects", #194 "Animals", #215 "Colors", #239 "Cities", #254 "Vegetables", #277 "Greek Letters", #321 "Names", #328 "Units of Measure", #337 "Musicals", #343 "Fruit")

LYME, MELLON, PAIR, PLUMB, ATE, FOR, TOO, WON, AUNT, BEATLE, FLEE, NAT, DEAR, HAIR, HOARSE, WAIL, BLEW, CHORAL, READ, ROWS, DELI, NIECE, ROAM, SOUL, BEAT, CHARRED, LEAK, PEE, MOO, NEW, PIE, ROW, CURT, HAIRY, KNEEL, WANE, CARROT, HURTS, JEWEL, OM, GREECE, HARE, KATZ, MAIM, BURY, CURRENT, LEACHY

7 Times

TV Shows (#58, #92, #130, #143, #166, #177, #204)

CATFISH, CRIBS, JACKASS, STATE, 24, BONES, FIREFLY, WEEDS, FARGO, FLEABAG, FLIPPER, ER, HOUSE, RATCHED, SCRUBS, ALONE, CHOPPED, SURVIVOR, CHEERS, EUPHORIA, FELICITY, GLEE, FEUD, MILLIONAIRE, PYRAMID, WHEEL

Words Beginning with Items (#228 "Body Parts", #259 "Instruments", #283 "Rock Bands", #292 "Body Parts", #299 "Metals", #308 "Weekday Abbreviations", #326 "Music Genres")

HANDSOME, HIPPO, LEGEND, LIPID, BASSINET, CELLOPHANE, HARPOON, ORGANISM, CREAMSICLE, JOURNEYMAN, KISSCAM, RUSHMORE, ARMY, COLONY, LIVERY, SHINY, GOLDILOCKS, IRONIC, LEADERSHIP, TINDER, FRIAR, MONKEY, SUNDRY, WEDDING, POPCORN, RAPTURE, ROCKETRY, SOULMATE

6 Times

Rapper Names (#6, #21 "Lil", #56 "Minus Numbers", #76 "First Words", #124 "The(e)", #206 "Minus First Letters")

COMMON, FUTURE, ICE CUBE, Q-TIP, BABY, JON, KIM, WAYNE, CENT, CHAINZ, PAC, SAVAGE, FOXY, GUCCI, KILLER, NOTORIOUS, CREATOR, DUDE, RAPPER, STALLION, 40, COLE, PAIN, TIP

Mild Oaths/Exclamations (#25, #130, #136, #185, #222, #239)

DARN, FUDGE, HECK, SHOOT, FIDDLESTICKS, FIE, FRICK, GOODNESS, HEAVENS, LORD, MERCY, ENOUGH, STOP, MERCY, UNCLE, CURSES, RATS, BROTHER, PLEASE, SHEESH

Quantity (#59, #166, #170, #208, #266, #330)

FEW, HANDFUL, SEVERAL, SOME, AMOUNT, NUMBER, QUANTITY, VOLUME, COUNT, GROSS, SUM, TOTAL, DOZEN, PAIR, SCORE, MASS, SEA, SLEW, TON, MANY

5 Times

Homophones of Each Other (#13, #84, #157, #160, #236)

GNU, KNEW, NEW, NU, EWE, U, YOU, YEW, OUI, WE, WEE, WII, PEAK, PEKE, PEEK, PIQUE, HOLEY, HOLI, HOLY, WHOLLY

BotheAnnoy (#49, #186, #208, #255, #336)

NEEDLE, POKE, RIB, TEASE, BADGER, BUG, HOUND, NAG, JOSH, KID, BADGERS, BUGS, HOUNDS, NAGS

Starts of Items (#50 "US Coins", #178 "Zodiac Signs", #284 "Planets", #297 "US States", #329 "Monsters")

DIM, NICK, QUART, PEN, CAN, GEM, LIB, TAU, EAR, MAR, MER, SAT, KENT, MARY, MASS, WASH, FRANK, MUM, VAMP, WERE

Interval of Time/Life (#66, #194, #215, #263, #333)

CENTURY, DECADE, MILLENNIUM, YEAR, PERIOD, STRETCH, SPELL, WHILE, CHAPTER, STAGE, PHASE, AGE, DAY, ERA, TIME

4 Times

Shoes (#2, #69, #250, #262)

BOOT, LOAFER, PUMP, SNEAKER, CLOG, SLIDE, WEDGE, CROC, MOCCASIN, SLIPPER, CUBAN, KITTEN, STILETTO

Magazines (#2, #23, #46, #157)

ESSENCE, PEOPLE, TIME, US, FORTUNE, ROLLING STONE, VOGUE, WIRED, ALLURE, ELLE, GLAMOUR, W, O, OK

Single Letter Homophones (#2, #145, #201, #295)

ARE, QUEUE, SEA, WHY, SEE, YOU, BEE, EX, GEE, JAY, 🐝(BEE), 🐑(EWE), 👁️(EYE), 🫖(TEA)

Countries (#10, #26, #41, #165)

CHAD, GEORGIA, JORDAN, TOGO, DENMARK, GREECE, POLAND, PORTUGAL, CUBA, JAPAN, MALTA, PALAU, TUNISIA, TURKEY

Birds (#10, #28, #43, #200)

CRANE, JAY, SWALLOW, TURKEY, EMU, KIWI, OSTRICH, PENGUIN, BOOBY, GULL, PELICAN, PUFFIN, CARDINAL, LARK, SWIFT

Silent Letters (#13 "G", #90 "L", #165 "T", #230 "W")

GNAT, GNAW, GNOCCHI, GNOME, COLONEL, SALMON, WALK, YOLK, BOUQUET, PARFAIT, RAGOUT, RAPPORT, ANSWER, TWO, WRIST, WRONG

Bands (#23, #71, #249, #325)

BEACH BOY, BEATLE, BYRD, MONKEE, GENESIS, KANSAS, YES, RUSH, BLUR, OASIS, PULP, SUEDE, ANIMAL, DOOR, KINK, SUPREME

Dances (#23, #56, #163, #223)

DOUGIE, MACARENA, MASHED POTATO, TWIST, HUSTLE, SALSA, SWING, TANGO, FLOSS, ROBOT, VOGUE, WORM, MODERN, TAP

Disney Characters (#28, #48, #49, #292)

BASHFUL, DOC, GRUMPY, HAPPY, BEAST, GENIE, SCAR, STITCH, DAISY, DEWEY, DONALD, SCROOGE, GOOFY, LADY

Cuts of Meat (#33, #77, #196, #336)

FLANK, LOIN, ROUND, SHANK, BREAST, DRUMSTICK, TENDER, WING, BELLY, CHOP, HOCK, SHOULDER, CHUCK

Extremely (#68, #220, #292, #306)

AWFUL, QUITE, SUPER, VERY, RATHER, PRETTY, REAL, MIGHTY, REALLY, HYPER, UBER, ULTRA

Pursue (#73, #184, #252, #286)

DOG, FOLLOW, TAIL, TRACK, SHADOW, TRAIL, HUNT, STALK, CHASE

Golf Terms (#77, #111, #185, #211)

DRIVER, EAGLE, HOLE, STROKE, IRON, PUTTER, WEDGE, WOOD, BUNKER, FAIRWAY, GREEN, ROUGH, CART, CLUB, TEE

Information (#93, #144, #219, #311)

DIRT, DISH, SCOOP, SKINNY, DATA, INTEL, INFO, NEWS, DOPE, WORD, INFORMATION, INTELLIGENCE, SECRETS

Division (#116, #149, #256, #276)

ARM, BRANCH, CHAPTER, WING, CAMP, DIVISION, FACTION, CLASS, RANK, TIER

Excellent/Cool (#137, #207, #226, #332)

ACES, KEEN, NEATO, NIFTY, FIRE, LIT, SICK, TIGHT, FINE, PRIME, QUALITY, STERLING, BEST, CREAM, PICK, TOP

What Letters Might Mean (#193 "I", #208 "X", #240 "O", #265 "K")

IODINE, IOTA, MYSELF, ONE, ADULT, KISS, TEN, TIMES, HUG, OF, OXYGEN, ZERO, KELVIN, OKAY, POTASSIUM, THOUSAND

3 Times

NBA Teams (#1, #45, #288)

BUCKS, HEAT, JAZZ, NETS, KING, MAGIC, SUN, THUNDER, CLIPPER, PACER, ROCKET, SPUR

Palindromes (#1, #118, #284)

KAYAK, LEVEL, MOM, RACECAR, EVE, HANNAH, OTTO, NATAN, BIB, EYE, GAG, POP

Units of Length (#2, #50, #327)

FOOT, LEAGUE, MILE, YARD, INCH, FATHOM

Eat Voraciously (#3, #164, #272)

CHOW, GOBBLE, SCARF, WOLF, GORGE, GULP, DOWN, INHALE

Dog Breeds (#3, #22, #275)

LAB, PEKE, PIT, POM, BOXER, DALMATIAN, HUSKY, POODLE, BOSTON, GOLDEN

Musicals (#4, #91, #255)

CABARET, CAROUSEL, CATS, CHICAGO, COMPANY, GREASE, HAIR, RENT, ANNIE

Condiments/Sauces (#5, #248, #324)

KETCHUP, MAYO, RELISH, TARTAR, OYSTER, PLUM, SOY, XO, AIOLI, BARBECUE, MARINARA, RANCH

Board Games (#8, #32, #76)

BACKGAMMON, CHECKERS, CHESS, GO, CLUE, RISK, SORRY, TROUBLE, TABOO

Shades of Red (#8, #112, #332)

CHERRY, FIRE TRUCK, RUBY, STOP SIGN, BEET, BRICK, CARDINAL, POPPY, BRICK, ROSE

Vegetables/Vegetables that are Actually Fruit (#9, #31, #120)

BEET, CARROT, CORN, ONION, CUCUMBER, EGGPLANT, PEPPER, TOMATO

Fruits (#10, #28, #98)

DATE, KIWI, LEMON, ORANGE, BANANA, COCONUT, MANGO, PINEAPPLE, APRICOT, FIG, GRAPE, LIME

Spices (#11, #152, #276)

CARDAMOM, CLOVE, CORIANDER, CUMIN, ANISE, DILL, NUTMEG, SAGE, FENNEL, LICORICE, TARRAGON

Animal Group Names (#12, #53, #135)

FLOCK, PACK, POD, SCHOOL, COLONY, HERD, PRIDE, SWARM

Airlines (#13, #99, #308)

FRONTIER, SPIRIT, UNITED, VIRGIN, ALASKA, SOUTHWEST, AMERICAN

Colors (#15, #221, #287)

BROWN, PINK, TURQUOISE, VIOLET, BLUE, GREEN, WHITE, YELLOW, BEIGE, CAMEL, KHAKI, TAN

TV Shows' Main Characters (#18, #99, #105)

GREY, HOUSE, HOWSER, QUINN, LASSO, MARS, ROGERS, SMART, CLEAVER, BUNKER, PARTRIDGE, TANNER

Dispute (#19, #290, #302)

ROW, QUARREL, SPAT, TIFF, FIGHT, SCRAP, CLASH, TANGLE

Facial Hair (#25, #73, #316)

HANDLEBAR, HORSESHOE, PENCIL, WALRUS, BEARD, GOATEE, MUSTACHE, STUBBLE, FUZZ, SCRUFF, SHADOW, WHISKERS

Parts of a Book (#27, #192, #198)

COVER, JACKET, PAGE, SPINE, APPENDIX, CHAPTER, INDEX, PREFACE, FOLIO, LEAF, SHEET

Fish (#29, #58, #90)

TANG, TETRA, SKATE, SOLE, CHAR, EEL, PERCH, SHARK, CARP, CATFISH, FLOUNDER, SMELT

Sandwiches (#33, #51, #331)

CLUB, CUBAN, MELT, SUB, HERO, HOAGIE, GRINDER, BUN, ROLL, WRAP

Move Quickly (#42, #200, #223)

BOLT, DASH, RACE, SPRINT, DART, ZIP, BLAZE, FLY, TEAR

States of Matter (#44, #65, #214)

GAS, LIQUID, PLASMA, SOLID

Anagrams (#44, #94, #243 "Numbers")

LEAST, SLATE, STALE, TESLA, NOPE, OPEN, PEON, PONE, EON, ETHER, NET, TOW

Transportation/Vehicles (#45, #102, #195)

BOAT, CAR, PLANE, TRAIN, BUS, MOTORCYCLE, TRUCK

Cocktails (#46, #150 "Second Words", #336 "Minus Place Names")

COMSOPOLITAN, HURRICANE, MANHATTAN, SCREWDRIVER, BREEZE, MARY, MULE, RUSSIAN, LIBRE, MAMA, SLING

Repeated Words (#47, #145, #179)

CAN, CHA, GO, NAE, HEAR, KNOCK, THERE, TUT, BOO, POM, TOM, YO

Musical Instruments (#52, #171, #289)

HARP, HORN, ORGAN, TRIANGLE, BASS, BASSOON, RECORDER

Exercises (#63, #159, #323)

CURL, LUNGE, PLANK, PRESS, DIPS, LUNGES, PLANKS, SQUATS, BRIDGE, CRUNCH, DIP, SQUAT

Look (#64, #160, #249)

CATCH, NOTICE, OBSERVE, SEE, GANDER, GLANCE, GLIMPSE, LOOK, MONITOR, SURVEY, TRACK, WATCH

Pastries (#67, #83, #165)

CAKE, COBBLER, PIE, TART, BUN, DANISH, MUFFIN, TURNOVER, PASTY

Companion (#69, #267, #316)

BUD, CHUM, MATE, PAL, ASSOCIATE, FELLOW, PARTNER, PEER

Baseball Terms (#90, #205, #229)

BALL, OUT, SAFE, STRIKE, DOUBLE, HIT, RUN, WALK, BASE, BAT, GLOVE

Connect/Connection (#100, #175, #330)

BOND, LINK, RELATION, TIE, COUPLE, HITCH, COUPLE

Decline (#104, #180, #223)

DIP, DROP, FALL, SINK, EBB, FADE, FLAG, WANE

Singers (#104, #268, #334)

KEYS, NICKS, SUMMER, SWIFT, GRANDE, MARS, STYLES, FERRY, MERCURY, PLANT

Rhymes with Each Other (#118, #234, #295)

DARREN, KAREN, SHARON, AARON, CHOIR, FIRE, LIAR, FRYER, 🧠(BRAIN), ✈️(PLANE), 🌧️(RAIN), 🚂(TRAIN)

Origin (#121, #161, #256)

GENESIS, GERM, SEED, SOURCE, BIRTH, CREATION, DAWN, START, CRADLE, FONT, ROOT

Foremost (#122, #190, #221)

HEAD, LEAD, PRIME, TOP, CHIEF, FIRST, MAIN, PRINCIPAL, PARAMOUNT, SUPREME

Balderdash (#132, #158, #314)

BALONEY, BUNK, CROCK, TRIPE, BULL, HOGWASH, NONSENSE, ROT, HORSEFEATHERS

Boldness (#138, #189, #334)

BRASS, CHEEK, GALL, NERVE, GUTS, STONES

Brief Moment (#141, #190, #302)

FLASH, HEARTBEAT, SECOND, WINK, JIFFY, JIFF

Restrict (#174, #198, #333)

CAP, CHECK, CURB, LIMIT, STEM, CONTAIN

Hit Hard (#229, #233, #242)

BLOW, LICK, SOCK, STRIKE, BANG, HAMMER, POUND, SLAM, BELT, CLOCK, DECK, SLUG

2 Times

Keyboard Keys (#1, #273)

OPTION, SHIFT, RETURN, TAB, COMMAND, CONTROL

Sneaker Brands (#4, #114)

ADIDAS, NIKE, PUMA, REEBOK, CONVERSE, JORDAN, VANS

Shades of Blue (#6, #292)

BABY, MIDNIGHT, POWDER, ROYAL, NAVY, SKY, TIFFANY

Things with Keys (#8, #255)

CRYPTOGRAPHY, FLORIDA, LOCKSMITH, PIANO, COMPUTER, SUPER, TESTS

Shirts (#9, #201)

CAMI, HALTER, TANK, TEE, CROP, POLO

Insects (#9, #29)

ANT, BEETLE, MANTIS, TERMITE, FLY, GNAT, MOTH, WASP

Zodiac Symbols (#10, #178)

FISH, GOAT, SCALES, TWINS, BULL, CRAB

Terms of Endearment (#11, #197)

BOO, HONEY, SUGAR, SWEETIE, BABY, DEAR, LOVE

Greek Letters (#13, #62)

BETA, CHI, DELTA, IOTA, MU, NU, PI, XI

Shades of Green (#16, #257)

EMERALD, FOREST, KELLY, OLIVE, LIME, MINT

NFL Teams (#18, #30)

BEAR, BILL, BROWN, COMMANDER, BRONCO, COWBOY, PACKER, RAVEN

Anti-Vampire (#19, #335)

CRUCIFIX, GARLIC, MIRROR, STAKE, CROSS, SILVER, SUN

Movie Directors (#20, #142)

BONG, FORD, LEE, STONE, ASTER, CARPENTER, CRAVEN, WAN

Music Genres (#21, #34)

JAZZ, POP, PUNK, RAP, BLUES, COUNTRY, FUNK, SOUL

Candy Bars (#24, #36)

BOUNTY, CRUNCH, HEATH, MILKY WAY, CHUNKY, MARS, MOUNDS

Band Names Minus (#24 "Numbers", #45 "Colors")

BLINK, MAROON, SUM, U, DAY, FLOYD, SABBATH, STRIPES

Names Minus Numbers (#24 "Bands", #246 "Movies")

BLINK, MAROON, SUM, U, APOLLO, CANDLES, FANTASTIC, SAMURAI

Imitate (#26, #162)

COPY, ECHO, MIMIC, PARROT, APE, MIME, MIRROR

_____Cat (#29, #42)

ALLEY, COOL, COPY, LAP, DOJA, FAT, HOUSE, JUNGLE

Pasta Shapes (#30, #296)

BOWTIE, ELBOW, SHELL, SPIRAL, TUBE, WHEEL

Heteronyms (#31, #202)

JOB, LIMA, MOBILE, POLISH, BASS, DOVE, DESERT, WIND

Parts of a Shoe (#32, #183)

HEEL, LACE, SOLE, TONGUE, EYELET

Names that are Verbs (#33, #118)

CHUCK, JOSH, ROB, SUE, DREW, MAY, ROSE, WILL

Smell (#34, #209)

AROMA, BOUQUET, FRAGRANCE, SCENT, FUNK, MUSK, ODOR, TANG

Male Animals (#34, #217)

BOAR, BUCK, BULL, JACK, TOM

Metal Elements (#35, #138)

IRON, LEAD, TIN, ZINC, COPPER, GOLD, NICKEL, SILVER

Slang for Money (#36, #295)

CHEDDAR, DOUGH, PAPER, STACKS, 🥓(BACON), 🍞(BREAD), 🧀(CHEDDACHEESE), 🥬(GREEN)

Bike Parts (#37, #73)

BRAKE, CHAIN, SADDLE, SPOKE, GEAR, HANDLEBAR, PEDAL, WHEEL

Bagel Flavors (#38, #329)

EVERYTHING, ONION, PLAIN, POPPY, EGG

Hairstyles (#39, #305)

BOB, CROP, PIXIE, SHAG, BOWL, BUZZ, CREW

Woodwinds (#40, #82)

BASSOON, CLARINET, FLUTE, OBOE, SAXOPHONE

Coverings (#40, #333)

CAP, COVER, LID, TOP, CORK, TAB

Keyboard Shortcuts (#44, #126)

COPY, CUT, PASTE, UNDO, FIND, PRINT, SAVE

Yoga Poses (#47, #244)

COBRA, LOTUS, TREE, WARRIOR, CAT, COW, MOUNTAIN, TRIANGLE

Fabrics (#48, #183)

CORDUROY, DENIM, LINEN, TWEED, CHIFFON, SATIN, SILK, VELVET

Newspapers (#59, #233)

GLOBE, JOURNAL, POST, SUN, CHRONICLE, HERALD, REGISTER

Sports Venues (#60, #186)

COURT, DIAMOND, FIELD, RANK, ARENA, BOWL, DOME

Make Happy (#60, #188)

CHARM, DELIGHT, PLEASE, TICKLE, AMUSE

Horror Movies (#60, #295)

PURGE, RING, SAW, SCREAM, 👽(ALIEN), 🧛(DRACULA), 🪚(SAW), 😱(SCREAM)

State Abbreviations (#62, #179)

CO, MA, ME, PA, HI, LA, OK

Fasteners (#63, #181)

BUCKLE, BUTTON, SNAP, ZIP, BOLT, NAIL, RIVET, SCREW

Slang for Zero (#63, #302)

JACK, NADA, NOTHING, SQUAT, LOVE, ZIP

Captains (#63, #245)

CRUNCH, KANGAROO, OBVIOUS, PLANET, AMERICA, HOOK, MORGAN, NEMO

Dog Names (#64, #237)

FIDO, LUCKY, ROVER, SPOT, FLUFFY, REX

Oomph (#65, #197)

JUICE, SPIRIT, STEAM, VIGOR, ENERGY, FIRE, ZIP

AlteFalsify (#67, #130)

DISTORT, DOCTOR, FUDGE, TWIST, FABRICATE, FAKE, FIX, FORGE

Tiny (#70, #192)

MINUTE, SLIGHT, SMALL, WEE, DINKY, LITTLE

Failures (#74, #128)

BUSTS, FLOPS, MISSES, TURKEYS, BOMB, DUD, FLOP, LEMON

Easter (#75, #267)

BUNNY, EGG, ISLAND, SUNDAY, JELLY BEAN, PEEP

Scheme (#78, #188)

CON, FAST ONE, HUSTLE, RACKET, PLOT, PLOY, RUSE, TRICK

Exit (#79, #291)

BOOK, BOUNCE, RUN, SPLIT, DEPARTED, LEFT, WENT

Imperfection (#81, #176)

CHIP, DING, NICK, SCRATCH, MARK

Football Terms (#83, #216)

FUMBLE, PUNT, SACK, SNAP, CENTER, END, SAFETY, TACKLE

Female Animals (#84, #284)

COW, DOE, HEN, MARE, EWE

Pronouns (#84, #94)

I, IT, THEY, WE, ME, THEM, US, YOU

Intelligence Operative (#87, #265)

AGENT, MOLE, PLANT, SPY, ASSET, SLEEPER

Hot Drinks (#93, #238)

CHAI, COCOA, COFFEE, TEA, MATE

Parts of the Eye (#95, #227)

IRIS, LENS, PUPIL, RETINA, CONE

Majestic (#98, #161)

DELUXE, GRAND, LAVISH, OPULENT, AUGUST, NOBLE, REGAL

What Colors Might Mean (#98 "Green", #257 "Blue")

ENVIOUS, NAIVE, FRESH, UNWELL, DEMOCRATIC, EROTIC, NOBLE, SAD

Intelligent (#99, #152)

BRIGHT, CLEVER, QUICK, SHARP, SMART

Featured in Westerns (#99, #323)

COWBOY, DRIFTER, OUTLAW, SHERIFF, BOUNTY, DUEL, SALOON

Web Browser Features (#100, #325)

BOOKMARK, HISTORY, TAB, WINDOW, FILE, VIEW

Soda Fountain Orders (#103, #181)

FLOAT, MALT, SHAKE, SUNDAE, SPLIT

Strong (#104, #235)

FIT, HEALTHY, SOUND, STRONG, BUILT, JACKED, RIPPED, SWOLE

Snakes (#107, #296)

BOA, MAMBA, PYTHON, VIPER, ADDER, MOCCASIN

Summary (#107, #321)

ABSTRACT, BRIEF, DIGEST, RUNDOWN, OUTLINE

Lacking (#111, #153)

LOW, SHORT, SHY, WANTING, LIGHT, SPARE, THIN

Phone Apps (#113, #227)

CLOCK, MAIL, MAPS, NOTES, CALCULATOR, CALENDAR, CAMERA

Chatter (#114, #284)

BLATHER, CHAT, JABBER, GAB, JAW, YAK, YAP

Things with Stripes (#115, #246)

CANDY CANE, CROSSWALK, REFEREE, TIGER, MIME, PRISONER, SAILOR

MLB Teams (#116, #159)

ANGEL, CUB, MET, RED, CARDS, JAYS, NATS, YANKS

Art Movements (#117, #260)

DADA, DECO, GOTHIC, POP, EXPRESSION, MANNER, ROMANTIC, SURREAL

Slang for Head (#120, #276)

CROWN, DOME, MELON, NOODLE, BEAN, NUT

Conceal (#123, #273)

BLOCK, COVER, HIDE, MASK, OBSCURE

Poetry Units (#124, #265)

LINE, METER, RHYME, VERSE, FOOT

Butt (#125, #274)

BOTTOM, BUNS, SEAT, TAIL, BOOTY, BUM, CAN, REAR

Workshop Tools (#126, #253)

HAMMER, FILE, LEVEL, SAW, DRILL, GRINDER, ROUTER

Pull (#126, #308)

JERK, TUG, WRENCH, YANK, RIP, TEAR

Break Contact (#128, #222)

DESERT, GHOST, IGNORE, JILT, DITCH, MAROON, STRAND

Sharp Quality (#129, #271)

BITE, KICK, TANG, ZIP, EDGE, PUNCH, SPICE

Singular Things of Pairs (#129, #217)

BOXER, GOGGLE, PANT, TONG, JEAN, SHORT, TIGHT

Acronyms/Initialisms (#132, #336)

LASER, RADAR, SCUBA, SPAM, MIA, OMG, PIN, RAM

Predicament (#133, #293)

BIND, PICKLE, SCRAPE, SPOT, BINDS, JAMS, PICKLES, SPOTS

Encourage (#134, #247)

DRIVE, INSPIRE, MOTIVATE, SPUR, EGG, GOAD, URGE

Increase (#137, #306)

BUILD, GROW, SWELL, MOUNT, BALLOON, MUSHROOM, SNOWBALL

Go Up Against (#140, #260)

CHALLENGE, CONFRONT, FACE, OPPOSE, BRAVE, MEET

Filler Words (#143, #328)

ERM, UH, UM, WELL, LIKE, LITERALLY

Training (#146, #308)

DRILL, PRACTICE, STUDY, TRAIN, EXERCISE, ROUTINE

Financial Terms (#147, #168)

BOND, CD, OPTION, STOCK, CAPITAL, EQUITY, INTEREST

Car Companies (#154, #166)

BMW, HONDA, JAGUAR, SUBARU, FIAT, MINI, RAM

Shepherd (#158, #193)

DIRECT, GUIDE, LEAD, STEER

Pretense (#160, #282)

ACT, BLUFF, CHARADE, FRONT, AFFECT, AIRS

Religious Figures (#162, #239)

CARDINAL, LAMA, MONK, PASTOR, BISHOP, PASTOR, PRIOR

Fashionable (#163, #228)

CHIC, HIP, HOT, IN, BIG, POPULAR

Criticize (#166, #278)

KNOCK, PAN, ROAST, SLAM, BLAST, TRASH

Rooms (#170, #267)

BEDROOM, DEN, KITCHEN, STUDY, HALL, LIBRARY, LOUNGE

Fill to Excess (#170, #244)

CRAM, JAM, PACK, STUFF, SQUEEZE

Allotment (#173, #311)

CUT, PIECE, SHARE, TAKE, INTEREST, PERCENTAGE, STAKE

Assure, as a Win (#176, #340)

CLINCH, GUARANTEE, LOCK, SECURE, CINCH, ICE

Jump (#182, #263)

BOUND, LEAP, SPRING, VAULT, HOP, JUMP

Comedic Performance (#191, #238)

BIT, JOKE, ROUTINE, SKETCH, ACT, SET

Words Ending with _______ (#191 "Numbers", #269 "Clothing")

CANINE, FREIGHT, OFTEN, STONE, FOXGLOVE, GUMSHOE, TURNCOAT, WINDSOCK

Little Bit (#195, #332)

DASH, DROP, PINCH, SPLASH, SPOT, SPRINKLE

Geometric Objects (#197, #325)

LINE, POINT, RAY, SEGMENT, PLANE, SOLID

Parts of a Car (#200, #215)

BUMPER, HOOD, TIRE, TRUNK, DASH, SHOCK, TANK WHEEL

Apex (#208, #231)

HEIGHT, MAX, PEAK, TOP, VERTEX, CREST, SUMMIT

Transaction Record (#217, #324)

BILL, CHECK, INVOICE, TAB, RECEIPT, STATEMENT

Deceive/Cheat (#219, #224)

CON, DUPE, FOOL, TRICK, FLEECE, HOSE, ROB, STIFF

Give Attention to (#230, #311)

GUARD, MIND, TEND, WATCH, FOLLOW, OBSERVE, REGARD

Adjusted Colors (#237 "Minus First Letters", #256 "Changed First Letters")

INK, LACK, OLD, RANGE, CLUE, FROWN, MELLOW, PREEN

Track and Field Equipment (#262, #314)

HAMMER, HURDLE, JAVELIN, POLE, BATON

Food Preservation Techniques (#271, #293)

CAN, CURE, DRY, FREEZE, CANS, CURES, SALTS, SMOKES

Previous
Writer's Note: In case you haven't figured it out; Eli's coat pocket is basically his batman utility belt. Also his primary skillset, at least magically, is enchantment. He's an enchanter.
Oh and his conversation at the end is basically a modern day example of using Thieve's Cant. Lot of D&D players don't know how to speak using Thieve's Cant. Or they think of it as a complete language. It's not. It's just using code to speak about criminal shit without saying anything a court could actually use against you.
Enjoy.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Murphy was not a small man. In fact at 6'3" he was taller than most, and at two hundred and sixty pounds he was also heavier than most.
He wasn't in denial of his beer gut. He was in his late fifties for god's sake. It would be weirder if he didn't have one. But he was proud to say that he could still pass department fitness tests and that he could still out lift most of the younger, more wiry, guys in the department.
He wasn't the most nimble guy either. A shot to the leg back in the Corps had prevented any nonexistent dreams of pursuing ballet as a career. But he could still move.
Luckily, his size and lack of grace meant very little when dealing with a bunch of amateurs in a house full of gas that only he was immune to.
He also had home field advantage, and was wearing a pair of moccasins that his oldest grand-kid had made him a few years earlier in her life-skills class. They were old and ratty. But they were comfortable. They had sentimental value. And more importantly they had the same quality that had made them the preferred footwear of Native Americans for millennia.
They were quiet.
The first thug in his view hadn't even known he was there when he'd slammed the but of his automatic shotgun into the back of their head.
The crack their skull made was almost satisfying. But he didn't have time to relish in the sensation as he had to catch them and lower them down onto the couch they'd been walking past hesitantly. He took the thug's filter mask off just in case after removing the magazine from their rifle and tossing it onto his recliner a few feet away.
He almost froze in place as he turned and saw a pair of the thugs come in from his garage on the other side of the room. He'd never had to actually USE the gas enchantment before, so it took a moment for his brain to remind him that they couldn't see him the way he could see them.
What really made him freeze was the sound of the heavy footsteps of whatever THING they'd brought with them.
"Shit man. Kinda fool has a gas trap in they own house?" One of the two new thugs asked from inside an ancient looking full face mask. The kind you might see a CDC worker wearing with a bright neon hazmat suit in a movie, only scratched and poorly fitted. "Ayo Mikey! Where you at?" The thug asked as, sure enough, they fiddled with their masks straps.
Murphy froze again as he heard the FOOTSTEPS from the kitchen. One of his cooking utensils, likely the ladle from next to the slow cooker, jumped from the impact.
"INVESTIGATOR MURPHY'S LAST LOCATION HAS BEEN DETECTED IN BASEMENT ROOM PER THEIR CELLULAR DEVICE'S GPS COORDINATES!" Came a robotic voice that boomed through the air from that same direction.
Shit. I was right to ditch the phone. Murphy thought.
He expected to hear the... THING... begin stomping his way. He was near the stairs leading down after all.
He didn't expect what happened next.
"YOU ARE NEAREST TO THE STAIRS LEADING TO THE BASEMENT! MAINTAIN POSITION!" It shouted instead.
Then a wrecking ball impacted with Murphy's home.
Or at least the was the closest thing he could compare to what happened next.
First there was a massive shift in the floor that he could feel even through his moccasins. It was like when you saw a massively overweight person get out of a car that was too small to support them and you could see the suspension system release all the tension it had been holding. Only it was the floor of his house that relaxed.
Then almost as soon as he looked down at his feet curiously, something massive, and far heavier than it had any right to be given what he knew it was, crashed into the floor of his kitchen.
And exploded through it, and into his basement.
There was a moment where Murphy wondered what had just happened.
Then the detective part of his brain kicked in. Followed very quickly by the grumpy old man part of his brain. The HUNGRY, grumpy old man part.
It just busted through my kitchen floor like some fucked up kind of Kool-Aid man. He thought as even the thugs wobbled on their feet from the impact. They couldn't see the cloud of debris wafting into the living room along with the gas the way he could. That fuckin thing probably just dumped my dinner all over the basement.
"What the fuck man!" The first thug piped up as they aimed their sub machine gun toward the catastrophe. Murphy cringed as he felt feet thudding around from upstairs as the other thugs there came rushing down.
"Man I told you we shouldn't be working with that thing!" The other thug said as they gesticulated with their sawn-off shotgun. "Knew that big spooky lookin' robot motherfucker would only fuck this up for us!"
Then, as they were saying this, two things seemed to happen almost simultaneously.
The first was that Murphy remembered one of the things Eli had told him when he'd helped a few of their "Inner-Zone" friends set up the defense enchantments for the house.
Namely that enchantments only worked properly if the item they were imbued into remained homologous.
In other words the gas enchantment would only function if his air conditioning duct system remained more or less unaltered or unbroken.
And since the "spooky lookin' robot motherfucker" had just cannon-balled its way through it, He now realized that that was no longer the case. Especially as he saw the two thugs begin waving their hands around and slowly turn towards him.
The second thing was the robot motherfucker yelling up from downstairs in the same dispassionate robotic voice.
"DETECTIVE MURPHY IS NOT PRESENT IN THE BASEMENT DESPITE RECENT CELLULAR ACTIVITY SAYING OTHERWISE!" It exclaimed. "TARGET HAS MOST LIKELY EXFILTRATED VIA THE STAIRS! SUGGEST SECURING FIRST FLOOR IMMEDIATELY!"
Murphy tapped the little enchantment rune on the side of the glasses just in time to see the thick green fog of the gas beggining to clear at roughly face height for he and the two thugs.
Then one of the ones from upstairs rounded the curve in the stairs leading down and saw him fully.
Murphy looked back at him with a raised eyebrow as he used one hand to remove his mask, and the other to switch the AA12 in his hands over to the little sticker that he'd peeled off of a plastic bottle of orange juice that said "FULL PULP".
Once a jarhead always a jarhead. He thought as he felt the little joke sticker.
"Holy shit!" The thug on the stairs said in a thick surfer accent. "That's the dude!"
Murphy smiled at him as the two thugs next to him began to react.
"Sorry fellas." He said as he felt the pressure in his finger build. "I'm afraid the pot roast has been eighty sixxed. You're gonna have to order something else." He didn't see it, but the eyes of the two thugs went wide as they saw what he was holding aimed at their guts. They froze in surprise. "Try the Beef Pate."
The surfer thug's head tilted a bit as they donned a confused expression. Almost like a dog.
Then the AA12 was barking in full auto, sending incredibly illegal twelve gauge frag rounds punching into the torsos of the two thugs in front of Murphy. And also his wife's guitar set, which was hanging from the wall behind them. He'd buy her some new ones later. If he survived this.
If the surfer thug on the stairs had been more cultured, he might have suddenly understood the Beef Pate comment. But as it was, he instead fell on his ass in surprise and began sliding down the stairs in a heap as he unconsciously tossed his pistol aside in a scared, and unsuccessful, scramble to take cover from the monstrous weapon.
As the thug fumbled his way down the last few steps, and into the last few wisps of remaining gas, Murphy began running sideways toward the blasted off remains of his front door as the murderous weapon chugged through the massive drum magazine.
And the SOMETHING that was downstairs began to move.
I really hope the stairs leading up are in as bad a shape as the home inspector said they were last year. Murphy thought desperately as the weapon in his hand continued blasting.
-------------------------
Eli woke with a start.
For a moment he forgot where he was and reached for a coat pocket that wasn't currently on him because his coat was draped over a chair a few feet away.
Something had made his instincts jump to attention, and for a second he couldn't remember if it had been something he'd been dreaming, or if it was something nearby.
He reached out with his magical senses, and didn't feel anything too out of the ordinary given their current settings.
Then the door sounds with a series of knocks again.
"Mister and Misses Masrati?" A woman's voice asks from the other side of the front door. It's got the faint lisp of someone who probably has orc tusks, though he obviously can't see them to confirm that. "There's a call for you downstairs."
"Yeah." He replies as he swings his feet down off the couch and onto the floor. He'd forgotten for a second that Masrati was the name he'd given the Tavern workers downstairs when booking the room. It was a name that was coincidentally somewhat common-ish in both worlds. Plus he was a fan of old sports cars, especially of the Old Italian variety, rare as they were nowadays. "I'll be down in a minute."
He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes as he heard the young woman outside say, "The phone is next to the kitchen door." and begin walking away.
His back was hurting again. It was mainly because of the car crash. But also because the medicine had worn off, and also because he'd slept on a strange couch for.....
He looked at his watch.
0053
It had only been about four hours.
He looked over at the bed where Miss Smith was curled up into a startlingly tight ball with part of the blanket draped over her. If it hadn't been for her size he could have been convinced that she was in fact an actual cat. The TV was still on, playing some infomercial for an in-home water recycling plant that could eliminate 99.99% of all contaminants and microplastics. Apparently this was three times better than the next best "BIG BRAND" home recycler. Though he doubted the math there.
He stood up and stretched as much as his protesting back would let him. Then he went over to the coat that he'd been trying to reach into unconsciously earlier. He put it on and reached into the inner pocket. He pulled out a small length of string and two of the numerous blank tags he kept in the jacket.
A quick bit of fire from his fingertip and the string was neatly cut in half and melted at the ends. Then he held the two tags together and focused for a moment. A bit of effort later and he had a simple paired enchantment on them. He placed one on each piece of string and tied them into loops. One he placed on his wrist, the other on the inner door handle.
Then he wrote a simple note on a piece of the rooms note paper that was on the night stand.

Making call. Be back in a second.

And he walked out the door and down toward whoever was calling.
He didn't know who it was, though he had some ideas. He and Miss Smith were a hot commodity right now. She more than him.
Plus in the QZ there were about a thousand different overlapping webs of surveillance that they'd only done the bare minimum to dance around.
So he wasn't surprised when he heard the familiar voice on the other end after picking up the phone and clicking the green button.
"Minny." He said after hearing her dragon-like growl of an agitated greeting. Normally he'd show a lot more deference to the QZ's Queen of the underground. But he also knew she didn't like potential eaves droppers knowing she was the one on the phone. "Didn't expect to hear from you again after such a short time. Though it isn't the MOST surprising thing ever." He admitted.
He listened for a little bit.
"I assume you know that I've been suspended AND grounded. Correct?" He asked.
He nodded as he listened a bit more.
"For now my priority is ensuring that my pet cat is properly taken care of in my absence." He said, only barely coding his meaning. Again, there was no knowing how secure this line of communication was. "She's an innocent little thing. She doesn't deserve to get neglected or put down for my screw ups. Or anyone else's for that matter."
Again he listened.
"I will one hundred percent admit that what you said was accurate." He said with a light chuckle. "Hell. I think we both wish you'd been wrong. And I'm sure your cousin would say the same given what happened with him when he went tearin' out of there."
He nodded a bit.
"Yeah well. Any port in a storm." He said after listening to her curse up a storm for a bit. "Look. I'm off the line on my end. But... this shit clearly aint gettin' any cleaner without some deep scrubbing. And something tells me that my FELLOW.... officers don't exactly do this kind of cleaning." He listened for only half a second before cutting her off. He'd pay for that. But he needed to get off the phone and get moving again. "Let me drop her off with you and I'll hop skip and jump over to your uncle's house and see if I can get more answers from your cousin."
She asked him a few questions.
"Meet her first." He said. "I think you'll understand what I'm tryin' to protect. Like I said. The little cat doesn't deserve any of this at all. Just bad luck."
Then he listened as Minara Choi informed him of something that made his heart seize up for a moment.
But it was news he could do nothing about. Especially right now.
"Well." He said after a few long moments of thinking. "He's a marine. If anyone can pull their ass out of that kinda shit-fest. It's him." And he meant it. Though he still wondered at just what kind of trouble the other side had brought down on his partner this time.
He listened as she gave him a time and place.
"Got it." He said. "I'll grab a shower and a bite real quick and we'll be there."
She said a few more things.
"Oh and Minny" He said. "Thanks. This time I'll be the one to owe you a favor."
He hung up the phone and then went over to the bar to see what kind of food they could slop together at just before one in the morning.
It was going to be another loooong day. He just knew it.
[Next]

Previous / First
Writer's Note: In case you haven't figured it out; Eli's coat pocket is basically his batman utility belt. Also his primary skillset, at least magically, is enchantment. He's an enchanter.
Oh and his conversation at the end is basically a modern day example of using Thieve's Cant. Lot of D&D players don't know how to speak using Thieve's Cant. Or they think of it as a complete language. It's not. It's just using code to speak about criminal shit without saying anything a court could actually use against you.
Enjoy.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Murphy was not a small man. In fact at 6'3" he was taller than most, and at two hundred and sixty pounds he was also heavier than most.
He wasn't in denial of his beer gut. He was in his late fifties for god's sake. It would be weirder if he didn't have one. But he was proud to say that he could still pass department fitness tests and that he could still out lift most of the younger, more wiry, guys in the department.
He wasn't the most nimble guy either. A shot to the leg back in the Corps had prevented any nonexistent dreams of pursuing ballet as a career. But he could still move.
Luckily, his size and lack of grace meant very little when dealing with a bunch of amateurs in a house full of gas that only he was immune to.
He also had home field advantage, and was wearing a pair of moccasins that his oldest grand-kid had made him a few years earlier in her life-skills class. They were old and ratty. But they were comfortable. They had sentimental value. And more importantly they had the same quality that had made them the preferred footwear of Native Americans for millennia.
They were quiet.
The first thug in his view hadn't even known he was there when he'd slammed the but of his automatic shotgun into the back of their head.
The crack their skull made was almost satisfying. But he didn't have time to relish in the sensation as he had to catch them and lower them down onto the couch they'd been walking past hesitantly. He took the thug's filter mask off just in case after removing the magazine from their rifle and tossing it onto his recliner a few feet away.
He almost froze in place as he turned and saw a pair of the thugs come in from his garage on the other side of the room. He'd never had to actually USE the gas enchantment before, so it took a moment for his brain to remind him that they couldn't see him the way he could see them.
What really made him freeze was the sound of the heavy footsteps of whatever THING they'd brought with them.
"Shit man. Kinda fool has a gas trap in they own house?" One of the two new thugs asked from inside an ancient looking full face mask. The kind you might see a CDC worker wearing with a bright neon hazmat suit in a movie, only scratched and poorly fitted. "Ayo Mikey! Where you at?" The thug asked as, sure enough, they fiddled with their masks straps.
Murphy froze again as he heard the FOOTSTEPS from the kitchen. One of his cooking utensils, likely the ladle from next to the slow cooker, jumped from the impact.
"INVESTIGATOR MURPHY'S LAST LOCATION HAS BEEN DETECTED IN BASEMENT ROOM PER THEIR CELLULAR DEVICE'S GPS COORDINATES!" Came a robotic voice that boomed through the air from that same direction.
Shit. I was right to ditch the phone. Murphy thought.
He expected to hear the... THING... begin stomping his way. He was near the stairs leading down after all.
He didn't expect what happened next.
"YOU ARE NEAREST TO THE STAIRS LEADING TO THE BASEMENT! MAINTAIN POSITION!" It shouted instead.
Then a wrecking ball impacted with Murphy's home.
Or at least the was the closest thing he could compare to what happened next.
First there was a massive shift in the floor that he could feel even through his moccasins. It was like when you saw a massively overweight person get out of a car that was too small to support them and you could see the suspension system release all the tension it had been holding. Only it was the floor of his house that relaxed.
Then almost as soon as he looked down at his feet curiously, something massive, and far heavier than it had any right to be given what he knew it was, crashed into the floor of his kitchen.
And exploded through it, and into his basement.
There was a moment where Murphy wondered what had just happened.
Then the detective part of his brain kicked in. Followed very quickly by the grumpy old man part of his brain. The HUNGRY, grumpy old man part.
It just busted through my kitchen floor like some fucked up kind of Kool-Aid man. He thought as even the thugs wobbled on their feet from the impact. They couldn't see the cloud of debris wafting into the living room along with the gas the way he could. That fuckin thing probably just dumped my dinner all over the basement.
"What the fuck man!" The first thug piped up as they aimed their sub machine gun toward the catastrophe. Murphy cringed as he felt feet thudding around from upstairs as the other thugs there came rushing down.
"Man I told you we shouldn't be working with that thing!" The other thug said as they gesticulated with their sawn-off shotgun. "Knew that big spooky lookin' robot motherfucker would only fuck this up for us!"
Then, as they were saying this, two things seemed to happen almost simultaneously.
The first was that Murphy remembered one of the things Eli had told him when he'd helped a few of their "Inner-Zone" friends set up the defense enchantments for the house.
Namely that enchantments only worked properly if the item they were imbued into remained homologous.
In other words the gas enchantment would only function if his air conditioning duct system remained more or less unaltered or unbroken.
And since the "spooky lookin' robot motherfucker" had just cannon-balled its way through it, He now realized that that was no longer the case. Especially as he saw the two thugs begin waving their hands around and slowly turn towards him.
The second thing was the robot motherfucker yelling up from downstairs in the same dispassionate robotic voice.
"DETECTIVE MURPHY IS NOT PRESENT IN THE BASEMENT DESPITE RECENT CELLULAR ACTIVITY SAYING OTHERWISE!" It exclaimed. "TARGET HAS MOST LIKELY EXFILTRATED VIA THE STAIRS! SUGGEST SECURING FIRST FLOOR IMMEDIATELY!"
Murphy tapped the little enchantment rune on the side of the glasses just in time to see the thick green fog of the gas beggining to clear at roughly face height for he and the two thugs.
Then one of the ones from upstairs rounded the curve in the stairs leading down and saw him fully.
Murphy looked back at him with a raised eyebrow as he used one hand to remove his mask, and the other to switch the AA12 in his hands over to the little sticker that he'd peeled off of a plastic bottle of orange juice that said "FULL PULP".
Once a jarhead always a jarhead. He thought as he felt the little joke sticker.
"Holy shit!" The thug on the stairs said in a thick surfer accent. "That's the dude!"
Murphy smiled at him as the two thugs next to him began to react.
"Sorry fellas." He said as he felt the pressure in his finger build. "I'm afraid the pot roast has been eighty sixxed. You're gonna have to order something else." He didn't see it, but the eyes of the two thugs went wide as they saw what he was holding aimed at their guts. They froze in surprise. "Try the Beef Pate."
The surfer thug's head tilted a bit as they donned a confused expression. Almost like a dog.
Then the AA12 was barking in full auto, sending incredibly illegal twelve gauge frag rounds punching into the torsos of the two thugs in front of Murphy. And also his wife's guitar set, which was hanging from the wall behind them. He'd buy her some new ones later. If he survived this.
If the surfer thug on the stairs had been more cultured, he might have suddenly understood the Beef Pate comment. But as it was, he instead fell on his ass in surprise and began sliding down the stairs in a heap as he unconsciously tossed his pistol aside in a scared, and unsuccessful, scramble to take cover from the monstrous weapon.
As the thug fumbled his way down the last few steps, and into the last few wisps of remaining gas, Murphy began running sideways toward the blasted off remains of his front door as the murderous weapon chugged through the massive drum magazine.
And the SOMETHING that was downstairs began to move.
I really hope the stairs leading up are in as bad a shape as the home inspector said they were last year. Murphy thought desperately as the weapon in his hand continued blasting.
-------------------------
Eli woke with a start.
For a moment he forgot where he was and reached for a coat pocket that wasn't currently on him because his coat was draped over a chair a few feet away.
Something had made his instincts jump to attention, and for a second he couldn't remember if it had been something he'd been dreaming, or if it was something nearby.
He reached out with his magical senses, and didn't feel anything too out of the ordinary given their current settings.
Then the door sounds with a series of knocks again.
"Mister and Misses Masrati?" A woman's voice asks from the other side of the front door. It's got the faint lisp of someone who probably has orc tusks, though he obviously can't see them to confirm that. "There's a call for you downstairs."
"Yeah." He replies as he swings his feet down off the couch and onto the floor. He'd forgotten for a second that Masrati was the name he'd given the Tavern workers downstairs when booking the room. It was a name that was coincidentally somewhat common-ish in both worlds. Plus he was a fan of old sports cars, especially of the Old Italian variety, rare as they were nowadays. "I'll be down in a minute."
He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes as he heard the young woman outside say, "The phone is next to the kitchen door." and begin walking away.
His back was hurting again. It was mainly because of the car crash. But also because the medicine had worn off, and also because he'd slept on a strange couch for.....
He looked at his watch.
0053
It had only been about four hours.
He looked over at the bed where Miss Smith was curled up into a startlingly tight ball with part of the blanket draped over her. If it hadn't been for her size he could have been convinced that she was in fact an actual cat. The TV was still on, playing some infomercial for an in-home water recycling plant that could eliminate 99.99% of all contaminants and microplastics. Apparently this was three times better than the next best "BIG BRAND" home recycler. Though he doubted the math there.
He stood up and stretched as much as his protesting back would let him. Then he went over to the coat that he'd been trying to reach into unconsciously earlier. He put it on and reached into the inner pocket. He pulled out a small length of string and two of the numerous blank tags he kept in the jacket.
A quick bit of fire from his fingertip and the string was neatly cut in half and melted at the ends. Then he held the two tags together and focused for a moment. A bit of effort later and he had a simple paired enchantment on them. He placed one on each piece of string and tied them into loops. One he placed on his wrist, the other on the inner door handle.
Then he wrote a simple note on a piece of the rooms note paper that was on the night stand.

Making call. Be back in a second.

And he walked out the door and down toward whoever was calling.
He didn't know who it was, though he had some ideas. He and Miss Smith were a hot commodity right now. She more than him.
Plus in the QZ there were about a thousand different overlapping webs of surveillance that they'd only done the bare minimum to dance around.
So he wasn't surprised when he heard the familiar voice on the other end after picking up the phone and clicking the green button.
"Minny." He said after hearing her dragon-like growl of an agitated greeting. Normally he'd show a lot more deference to the QZ's Queen of the underground. But he also knew she didn't like potential eaves droppers knowing she was the one on the phone. "Didn't expect to hear from you again after such a short time. Though it isn't the MOST surprising thing ever." He admitted.
He listened for a little bit.
"I assume you know that I've been suspended AND grounded. Correct?" He asked.
He nodded as he listened a bit more.
"For now my priority is ensuring that my pet cat is properly taken care of in my absence." He said, only barely coding his meaning. Again, there was no knowing how secure this line of communication was. "She's an innocent little thing. She doesn't deserve to get neglected or put down for my screw ups. Or anyone else's for that matter."
Again he listened.
"I will one hundred percent admit that what you said was accurate." He said with a light chuckle. "Hell. I think we both wish you'd been wrong. And I'm sure your cousin would say the same given what happened with him when he went tearin' out of there."
He nodded a bit.
"Yeah well. Any port in a storm." He said after listening to her curse up a storm for a bit. "Look. I'm off the line on my end. But... this shit clearly aint gettin' any cleaner without some deep scrubbing. And something tells me that my FELLOW.... officers don't exactly do this kind of cleaning." He listened for only half a second before cutting her off. He'd pay for that. But he needed to get off the phone and get moving again. "Let me drop her off with you and I'll hop skip and jump over to your uncle's house and see if I can get more answers from your cousin."
She asked him a few questions.
"Meet her first." He said. "I think you'll understand what I'm tryin' to protect. Like I said. The little cat doesn't deserve any of this at all. Just bad luck."
Then he listened as Minara Choi informed him of something that made his heart seize up for a moment.
But it was news he could do nothing about. Especially right now.
"Well." He said after a few long moments of thinking. "He's a marine. If anyone can pull their ass out of that kinda shit-fest. It's him." And he meant it. Though he still wondered at just what kind of trouble the other side had brought down on his partner this time.
He listened as she gave him a time and place.
"Got it." He said. "I'll grab a shower and a bite real quick and we'll be there."
She said a few more things.
"Oh and Minny" He said. "Thanks. This time I'll be the one to owe you a favor."
He hung up the phone and then went over to the bar to see what kind of food they could slop together at just before one in the morning.
It was going to be another loooong day. He just knew it.
[Next]

Here is a link to a still image of who I believe is the killer of Annie K appearing in Episode 1 (warning contains spoilers):
https://i.imgur.com/bLV8Qnl.jpg
Justification (contains spoilers): This guy is leaving the mine, so must be associated with it in some way. This instantly makes him an adversary of Annie K, who was an activist lobbying against the mine. This man is quite tall, and by theory is that he is completely bald under his hat.
Earlier in the episode, we see Chief Danvers searching Tsalal Station and finding a copy of the book "Blood Meridian."
The bad guy in Blood Meridian is Judge Holden:
>! "a man of gigantic size who rejoiced in the name of Holden, called “Judge” Holden of Texas. Who or what he was no one knew but a cooler blooded villain never went unhung; he stood six feet six in his moccasins, had a large fleshy frame, a dull tallow colored face destitute of hair and all expression. But when a quarrel took place and blood shed, his hog-like eyes would gleam with a sullen ferocity worthy of the countenance of a fiend. His desires was blood and women, and terrible stories were circulated in camp of horrid crimes committed by him when bearing another name, in the Cherokee nation and Texas; and before we left Fronteras a little girl of ten years was found in the chapperal, foully violated and murdered. The mark of a huge hand on her little throat pointed him out as the ravisher as no other man had such a hand, but though all suspected, no one charged him with the crime. !<
Holden was by far the best educated man in northern Mexico; he conversed with all in their own language, spoke in several Indian lingos, at a fandango would take the Harp or the Guitar from the hands of the musicians and charm all with his wonderful performance and out-waltz any poblana of the ball. He was “plum center” with a rifle or revolver, a daring horseman, acquainted with the nature of all the strange plants and their botanical names, great in geology and mineralogy, in short another Admirable Crichton, and with all an arrant coward.
Not but that he possessed enough courage to fight Indians and Mexicans or anyone else where he had the advantage in strength, skill, and weapons. But where the combat would be equal, he would avoid it if possible. I hated him at first sight and he knew it, yet nothing could be more gentle and kind than his deportment towards me: He would often seek conversation with me and speak of Massachusetts and to my astonishment I found he knew more about Boston than I did."

Part 28
I never ever in a million years thought I would ever say this, or anything like it, but I am so glad I stuck my dick through (no, not just "in", please don't ask) that tiny Inanna.
That being said, I still never ever want to do that again.
I managed to get my hips up and my legs wrapped around Gary's waist, using instincts I hadn't had until ten minutes earlier. I arched my back as he reached for my neck with tough, knobby fingers. All he could get was the neck of my shirt, so he grabbed that as I planted both arms flat on the floor for leverage and twisted to take him off balance.
Except I forgot that he outweighed me by a hundred pounds.
My twist did nothing except make him turn a bit. He tightened his grip on my shirt, then forced a knee up under my raised back. I didn't know what he was doing. It wasn't any of the thousands of viable unarmed combat techniques rolling around in my mind, so I reacted generically, pulling his hips down and hitting him in the face with a right cross. He laughed.
Oh shit.
"Not bad," he growled, then showed me what the knee was for as he leveraged that leg and rose back to his feet, bodily lifting me up with him. Oh yeah, now I get it. I knew this, I just hadn't thought of it because it only really works on someone smaller and lighter than you, and only if you're pretty strong. Which Gary was, and I most certainly wasn't.
Before he could heave me up and bellyflop me right back to the ground, which would possibly have broken my spine, and would at least give me a nasty concussion, I arced forward again. With neither hand needed for leverage, I hit him with more crosses, left and right, as fast as I could swing them. I could see he was getting knocked around, because I actually knew how to throw them properly (well, now, at least), but I just wasn't strong enough or in a good enough angle to really hurt him.
He brought a hammerfist down in the narrow gap between us that slammed into my groin with an explosion of agony. I screeched like a little girl who just had her lollipop snatched away. I pulled in tighter to him, to stop him from hitting me there again, and then I realized my opportunity.
I whipped my head and shoulders to my left, snaked my right arm around his neck, and then pulled it down right as he pushed off the ground. Curled up like I was, I took the impact on my back, which hurt, but nowhere near as much as my balls did. Gary, on the other hand, took the impact on the top of his head.
He let go of me and I quickly scrambled out from under him. Before I could get both legs free, he grabbed my nuts.
I howled at the top of my lungs as iron fingers clamped down on my sensitive, already-injured fruitbasket. He hauled me back towards him, so before I lost the chance, I cocked my left leg and kicked him in the face. He let go and I managed to get to my feet.
"Sarisa!" I cried. "Where's the door!"
I turned to find her, but before I could spot her in what looked like a whirlwind of bodies, Gary slammed into me. He came from the side this time and got his legs on top of me, pushing me back down.
Both of us began punching at once. I was faster than him, throwing three blows for every two that he threw, but he was a lot stronger than me, and had the better angle. Our arms interfered with each other, meaning only one in five or six punches landed, and we proceeded to simply beat the crap out of each other.
I'll give you three guesses how that went.
I'm a hundred and sixty pounds, soaking wet. I don't have the muscles to match my fighting instincts, and I didn't have any real experience fighting with the muscles I did have. Gary, on the other hand, is burly and strong, with years of experience. I stopped throwing punches after the first two dozen or so, because my arms simply stopped working. Gary hit me a few more times, the blows feeling different as my face began to swell up. My vision went dark around the edges, my ears were ringing and I began to find this whole situation confusing. I started to disassociate and realized that no amount of good instincts could have prepared me to fight someone like this.
But then, suddenly, Gary was gone. I lay there for what seemed like half an hour, catching my breath and wishing wistfully for some sweet Valkyrie to appear and usher me off to the halls of Valhalla, because hey, I died in battle, right?
I had no such luck. My face and my nuts and my back only began to hurt worse as I lay there, so eventually I picked my head up to see Inanna block a pair of lighting-fast haymakers and then surge forward to hit Gary with enough force to send him flying. His back hit one of the pillars. I gasped at the blow, because it was like something out of a movie.
Except he didn't sink to the ground like they always did in the movies. The instant his back slammed into the pillar, he drew a gun from his hip and fired four rounds right into Inanna's chest.
I gasped, but Inanna barely reacted. She strode forward, arm's up in a boxing stance.
Gary feinted with a jab of the gun in his right hand, then kicked her right knee, making her stumble, and brought the butt of the gun down towards her head. She got an arm up to catch the gun, but then he slugged her in the face with his left. Her head rocked back, and I caught a quick glimpse of a grin as it came back in line. She whipped her head forward into his face, and I saw a spray of blood appear on his armor as she broke the blood vessels in his nose and simultaneously gave them a hard squeeze.
He still wasn't out of the fight, though. He got his gun angled at her head and pulled the trigger, but that only managed to produce a blinding golden light that left me blinking.
I didn't see what happened for a few seconds. When my eyes finally cleared, Inanna was executing some crouched, spinning kick that took Gary's feet right out from under him. He slammed into the ground, and she brought a fist down right on his solar plexus. He wheezed out a hoarse croak, and then she cocked the same fist back, tilted her head sideways in a quick, jerky motion, then punched him in his bloody, broken nose once. He dropped his head onto the floor, senseless.
I watched for a few heartbeats, until I was sure he wasn't going to immediately attack again, and then I looked around.
The men Gary had brought with him were crumpled in heaps, lying in small pools of blood or rolling around, groaning and cradling their ribs.
I found Sarisa, Aaina and Kathy in one of the corners, just staring at everything, mouths open in surprise.
"Stars and stones Inanna," Sarisa said. "I forgot what watching you fight is like."
Inanna grinned and flicked a strand of curly black hair out of her face. "It's been a while since I had a good one, to be honest. The rest of them were pretty meh, but that Gary's a real hardass."
"What th'actual fuck?" Gary groaned. I jumped in surprise.
"Whose truck was that?" he went on. "It hadda been a Mack, but fuck me iffen I got the tag..."
Inanna bent down and quickly removed his weapons, then grabbed his arms and put a pair of plastic cuffs on him, then pulled him upright. He shook his head a few times, like he was trying and failing to shake something loose.
"God," he grumbled.
"You'll be alright," Inanna said. "I was very precise about that last punch. Just enough to knock you out, not enough to cause any permanent brain damage. Well, any noticeable permanent brain damage, anyways."
"Sheeit..." Gary drawled. "Who th'fuck are ya, anyways?"
"I'm Inanna, goddess of war," she said, grinning at him. "And you're a pretty fucking special warrior, Gary."
"Not special enough," he said, looking down at his bound wrists.
"Well, you're only human," Inanna said, patting him on the shoulder as she straightened up and walked over to offer me a hand. I took it, and she pulled me to my feet in a puff of agony.
"Everything hurts," I said.
"Welcome to combat," she replied. I heard running footsteps and looked over just in time for Sarisa to hug me. I felt the healing magic right away and relaxed into her arms. She had no trouble holding me up.
----
Inanna got the rest of the men trussed up, then Sarisa made the rounds, healing their injuries as well. She did Gary last, because that fucking Terminator on steroids seemed to need it the least. When she was all done, she returned to me, a pair of pants appearing in her hands.
"Here," she said. "Just changed right here in front of everyone, it doesn't matter and we need to keep moving."
"Uh, what for?" I asked, noticing a pair of underwear in them. She pointed down and I followed her gesture to see that my pants were soaked around the waist.
Oh.
My cheeks burning with embarrassment, I quickly changed and Sarisa made the pee-stained garments vanished.
"I thought I was actually being brave," I grumbled as I pulled the new pants on.
"You were, but Gary really did a number on your testicles," Sarisa said. "It was the pain, not the fear that made you piss yourself."
"Oh, well, that's good, I guess." She chuckled and kissed me on the cheek.
"Okay, everybody take hands," she called out. "I'll shift us into the tunnel."
"Wait!" Gary said. We all turned to look at him.
"Take me," he said.
"What?" I asked, incredulous.
"Take me with ya. I need to know what all these visions is about, kid. I ain't going to my grave, writing them off as just another mystery, especially..." He sniffed and my mouth dropped in surprise.
There were tears on his cheek.
"Some o' the visions," he said, working hard to control his voice and just barely scraping by. "There's someone in 'em. Someone I used t'know." He coughed loudly and shook his head.
"You were trying to stop us," I pointed out.
He shrugged. "I got orders, son. I thought maybe, iffen I took ya in, you could do jes' what I said. Convince the analysts you're f'real, shed some light on what's happenin', then maybe... Maybe I could, uh... Figgur it out."
"You want to know if you'll see her again," Inanna said, peering at Gary with black eyes. "I can read it on your heart- No, you want to know if you'll see him again."
"Uh, what?" I asked. Inanna ignored me.
"I jes'..." Gary said. "I jes' wanna know if there's anythin' to it, yanno? Like, the visions is real. I wanna know. I gotta know, cuz if they are, then I know there's something... Some world out there where he ain't gone."
"What's happening?" I asked Sarisa. She whispered back. "Gary lost a lover. Almost certainly died. His echoes have been showing him that his lover's still alive in the other timeline. That's why he was so hesitant just a bit ago.
"Listen," Gary said. "It's clear I can't stop ya. Damn, lady, I ain't never been hit like that, and I ain't never seen anyone just tank four rounds to the chest, or whatever it was you did when I shot ya in the head. I can admit when I'm beat, and you got me beat, dead to rights. I can't do my job."
He paused and sucked in a deep breath.
"So I can't beat ya, I can join ya," he said on the exhale. "I give ya ma word, I won't do nothing t'stop ya, or get in yer way, until it's all done. And I'll give ya the chance t'talk to me, first. Like civilized folk. Swear t'god." He held up both hands in a pleading gesture.
"What do you think?" Inanna asked Sarisa, looking over. I looked at Sarisa, who remained silent. Then, with a start, I realized Inanna was asking me.
"Oh, shit! Sorry. Uh, I don't know. Can we trust him?"
"He's a warrior, not a spy," Inanna said. "And he's torn up about these visions. That's true. I think he can be trusted."
"Okay like, will you watch him, then? If he tries anything, you can..." I made a punching gesture. Inanna snorted back a laugh. "Yeah, I got it, Jerry."
"What do you think?" I asked Sarisa.
"I think it was inevitable that he would come with us," she said.
I sighed and nodded. Inanna brought him to the line of sitting guards, then walked away while he spoke to one of them. I could hear his instructions.
"Call Astrid. Tell her that takin' 'em in is off the table. Shit, killin' 'em prolly is, too. Tell 'er I went with 'em, an' I'll be reporting as soon as I'm able."
"You sure about this?" the lead guy said. He pulled his helmet off, revealing a stripe of blue-dyed hair running down the crown of his head, and a beard that matched Gary's, only without all the gray. Gary nodded.
"I been watching 'em for long enough to get a good feel, an' I'm confident that, whatever they're up to, it ain't too malevolent." He glanced back at us, then helped the man stand up.
"I'm gon' find out what's up," he said. "It ain't the plan, but it accomplishes the goal."
"Be careful, old man," the blue-haired fellow said.
----
I hesitated with three keys in the door and the fourth in my hand. Sarisa stood next to me, and per her advice, Aaina, Kathy and Gary were ten feet back, with Inanna halfway between, prepared to shield them with magic if necessary.
"What's wrong?" Sarisa asked.
"I'm scared," I said. "I'm terrified, really. I heard you explaining to Aaina how you plan for us to survive, but Fulla's words are still haunting me. She said I would have to become the thing I most fear."
Sarisa nodded thoughtfully. "What is it that you most fear?" she asked, her voice quiet.
I thought the answer was obvious, but I gave it some thought anyways. I considered my words carefully, before and as I spoke them.
"The other version of me, I think."
"The other version of you is a hero, Jerry," Sarisa said.
"He's not, though. He's a monster. I've been inside his head, seen the thoughts he has. He's a pervert who indulges all of his fantasies, egged on by Inanna. They use magic to uh... 'Spice things up', I guess."
Sarisa smirked. "I'm not a particularly sexual being, Jerry, but even I can assure you that anything happening between consenting adults is no good cause to judge them."
"It's not just that, though. He thinks a lot about killing people. Like, a lot. He makes plans for all sorts of things, including killing the people closest to him. He knows, in his heart, that he's the biggest, baddest motherfucker around, yet he puts on this facade of humility. That wouldn't be so bad, except... Man, the insecurities. His insecurities are wild. He's always expecting to fail everything he does, he's always expecting people to betray him, to say 'no' whenever he asks them anything. So he doesn't really ask anything from anyone. He just puts his nose down, sinks into himself and does stuff, usually without talking to anyone beforehand.
"He's constantly playing with dangerous stuff, too. I had an echo where he was working on a spell that will like, kill anyone. And I remember him giggling to himself as he named it the 'fuck you' spell, as if snatching someone's life away was just a funny little joke. Haha, fuck you, now everything you've ever done, been, wanted or dreamed of is just gone. No big deal, it's just a prank, bro.
"And whats worst of all, is that he's got this guilt he's been carrying around. Guilt for a lot of things, and it's eating at him. But even worse than that, I'm pretty sure some of that guilt comes from killing you. You can't say you haven't noticed that you're not getting echoes like everyone else. I think that's because you're dead. And the other me killed you."
I took a deep breath before continuing.
"Can you imagine what all of that is going to do to a person? He's desensitized to violence and death. He's got the power to kill with a word, and he knows it. He's used to presenting himself as something he's not. And he's torn up by guilt and fears and insecurities. How can someone like that be anything but a monster? He's a ticking time bomb. He's already done horrible things and managed to live with them. It's just a matter of time before he does more horrible things."
Inanna stepped forward, having been listening to the whole conversation, no doubt.
"You're being a bigot, Jerry," she said. I rounded on her in surprise.
"Sarisa might not be experiencing the echoes the way you have, but I have. That other Jerry has been through some shit. He's lost loved ones, he's seen firsthand the people who were harmed by the machinations of others. And you're not being entirely honest with yourself, are you? I don't believe you couldn't see the vow he took. The promise he made to himself, to never kill anyone unless absolutely necessary."
I shook my head. "He was on a mission to kill someone at the end there. Not to stop them, or bring them to justice. There was some wizard, and he was going to kill that wizard. I know what you're talking about, but what good is a promise from someone who will so easily break that promise?"
"You don't know how easily he came to that decision, Jerry. I'll tell you what I see when I've had these echoes. I see a man who pissed his pants the first time he found himself in danger. And the second and third times. I see a man who wanted nothing more than to be you, to settle down and teach history to young people. I see a man who was forced by circumstances and the machinations of the gods to become a hero, and who stepped into that role reluctantly. I see a man who has put his life on the line to save others countless times. A man who works tirelessly in an effort to improve the world, to make it a better place, whenever he's not being called on to save it from the latest mustache-twirling menace to swim out of the arcane soup. I see a man who watched his whole family die, and when someone stood in the path of his revenge and tried to stop him, the man I saw still came short of killing them. I see a man who can pivot on a dime. A man whose every mistake spurred him on, driving him to be better."
She sighed deeply and put a hand on my shoulder. "And it's not really in his heart, where he knows what he's capable of, is it? If it was, those insecurities wouldn't be there. It's his mind that knows what he's capable of. But in his heart..."
I sighed back, realizing she was right. I gave voice to the words that echoed through the other me's soul. "In his heart, he's just some guy." I knew that's what he thought of himself. That he was in over his head. That much, at least, I could completely understand. But it didn't really change things.
Inanna turned and beckoned the others forward.
"When you get those echoes, and you see Jerry, tell me what you see," she asked them. Aaina spoke first, never hesitating.
"He rescued me. I don't know what from, but I know it frightened me so badly that even remembering it left me in tears. And then he took me in without a moment's hesitation, brought me into his home and introduced me to his daughter. He called her my sister. I remember you," she turned to Inanna, "You are my mother. he is my father." She suddenly laughed and met my eyes.
"You taught me to use a tampon. You showed me, using your fingers and a glove, how to insert it. I remember Mom saying to ask you, because you had to teach her, too. You tutored me in school. You vetted the boys I liked when I was older. You were always there to hug me when I needed it, and to share 'don't tell mom' moments."
"Dude," Kathy added. "The other you is the other me's hero. I really don't know what else to say. I was caught in some kind of hell, and I got rescued by a band of heroes. And one of those heroes was the only one to talk to me like an equal. He was the only one to ask me how I was doing. He was just some guy, easy to talk to, passionate about history and languages, but at the same time, he was hanging and banging with literal gods."
She ended with a shrug. Everybody looked at Gary, who'd been untied, though we hadn't given him his weapons back. He was probably plenty dangerous without them. My balls gave me a twinge in memory of that fight.
He shrugged. "Fucker was a natural sharpshooter," he said. "Sweet little feller, heart o' gold, but he had the gumption to growl with the big dogs. Dunno what else I'm supposed t'say, really. I'm pretty sure I liked him plenty."
"I've had some echoes," Sarisa said quietly. "I know the other you carries the guilt of killing me. I also know that the other you had no choice. I never gave him a choice. I also know that the other me loved that version of you. As much as I love you, my wonderful man." She kissed me gently on the cheek and hugged me, laying her head on my shoulder.
"Maybe you will change. But I promise you that you won't change into someone I don't love."
I sighed and hugged Sarisa back.
"Maybe you're right," I said. "Maybe it'll be temporary. Maybe you're all right, and the other me isn't so bad. But I don't think it really matters. I think we have to do this, that it's the only chance we have to save the lives we have, and even if we fail to save that, maybe what we do save is worth it."
Sarisa let go of me and I turned and, before I could second-guess myself, I stuck the key in the door. I left my hand on it and took another as Sarisa grabbed the other two keys.
"On three," she said. "One, two, three."
As one, we turned each key. There was a flash of light, and then I found myself standing on a hillside, looking over an idyllic valley. A river ran down through it with some rapids not far from where I stood. The mountains hemming in the valley were tall, with snow-capped peaks reflecting the golden light of the sunset. Forests filled the valley below, giving way to grassy hills with the occasional copse closer to me. Birds sang, the rippling sound of the river chattered happily, and I could see little columns of white smoke emerging from a few points scattered throughout the woods below.
"Where are we?" I asked, but as I turned, there was nobody there.
"Sarisa?" I called. "Inanna? Aaina? Kathy?"
Nobody answered. I began to panic. "Gary?"
I spun, looking for anyone. After about two full circuits, I finally spotted someone. I thought it was Gary, at first, because he was big and burly and bearded. But as he drew nearer, I realized this wasn't him. This guy was younger, and -if possible- even more muscular. He was topless, and wore a simple pair of leather breaches over moccasin-like shoes. He had no weapons that I could see, and as he began to make his way up the hill, I could see that he was smiling.
And that he was just ridiculously handsome. I could see that even with the beard covering half his face. I was kinda jealous.
He reached the top and stopped, putting both hands on his hips and looking at me, as if I had been the object of a long journey.
"I finally found you," he said.
"Uh, who are you?"
"I'm Yarm," he said, his voice a resonant baritone that bordered on the basso. "You're Jerry. You know me, though you don't know it yet. Hell, the only reason I know is because I'm dead."
"Uh..." I said, and I stand by it. There was nothing better I could possibly have said at that moment.
He grinned broadly. "Come on," he said with a toss of his head. "There's someone else who wants to meet you. We can wait at my house. I've got mead and ale and my wife gives the best blowjobs."
I stared, aghast as he turned and began to walk back down the hill. A few steps away, he stopped.
"Oh, he's here!" he said as an eldritch monstrosity of flailing tentacles and roiling black smoke boiled out the treeline and rushed me at Mach stupid. I screamed as the monster slammed into me, cognizant of dozens of snapping maws and blinking eyestalks and skittering, spider-like legs surrounding me. I felt another echo coming on, but I was about to be eaten by a nightmare come to life, so I just kept screaming.
Part 30

A mere trifle. Pathetic. Amateurish. Those are the thoughts crossing the demon's mind at the sight of such a display of protective sigils. Intricate and layered as the barrier might be, to him, the puzzle couldn't be plainer or more obvious. In other words: boring; and his expression displays that fact.
Blue eyes, gleaming like the purest sapphires, are half-closed as the heavy eyelids fall like shutters, reflecting the utter disdain he feels for the flawed creation.
"Not a challenge. A speedbump. Humans..." Monotone are his words as well as his face, though, at the same time, there's an unnaturally sweet melody to his tone as if his vocal cords had the acoustics of a majestic cathedral.
Pride was and still is his greatest sin, of course. Yet, who are the prideful in Hell if not the powerful? In this accursed realm where might makes right, pride is a luxury few can afford, yet one he has to spare.
The demon's head slowly turns, causing his silky golden hair to slide off his shoulders and down his back, caressing his immaculate, pure white suit. His face remains the same: unamused, neutral, dull.
Weren't it for his somber air and grimness, the demon's beauty would shine above all. For creation hasn't seen a semblance bearing such perfection since the dawn of time. His overall features are slightly effeminate, and a tad androgynous, but every single characteristic of his visage appears taken straight from the very concept of allure, of the very canons of grace and charm ingrained in our most primitive instincts.
"There you are..."
Following a heavy sigh, his hand, open, slowly raises, and the snap of his fingers succeeds the gentle flick of his wrist.
The massive mystical barrier comes unraveling as one sigil after another fizzles out of existence in a cascade failure, toppling like a house of cards, or more accurately, blown away by the inexorable storm standing before it like a shinning beacon dressed in pearly white.
"Not angelic... not demonic... No." He shakes his head, unamused yet slightly annoyed. "Humans couldn't possibly come up with this. No..."
How can there be something he doesn't know about? He dismissed the mere idea as unthinkable; barely worth a pause besides the stray thought of curiosity. His attention is now focused on the next obstacle.
Past the former arcane bulwark lies a very real and physical barrier of smooth matte grey and uniform material. This is as close as any demon has come to the impregnable walls of the citadel. Meters thick of reinforced concrete layered with steel plate and composite armor protect the Paladins inside from even the most destructive powers imaginable.
Unfortunately for them, he falls outside that particular category.
It takes but a gentle touch, his palm setting on the cool stone, like a lover caressing his dear. It's faint, but for a second, an avid onlooker could notice a slight smile of satisfaction on the demon's face.
There's no pomp or fanfare, no grand rumbling or grand display of power, bearing destruction. There is no collapse, no noise aside from the whistling wind. Instead, there's dust, cradled away by the same breeze, slowly fading into the air until all that's left is one perfectly round hole as if machine-bored or, more accurately, as if it's always been there as part of the original structure.
Rather than the usual surge of excitement following the overcoming of a trial most would experience, disappointment is the main feeling coursing through him.
"How... crude. And this is what held my legions at bay for so long? Incompetent, bumbling fools."
Of course, The Citadel goes beyond a mere wall. Humanity's bastion in the very bowels of hell sticks like a sore thumb on the ravaged landscape. The massive monolithic structure can almost be described as a holy temple, one dedicated to the worship of warfare, that is.
Built as the epitome of fortresses, the Paladins' stronghold puts the Maginot line to shame and packs enough artillery to rival entire nations. Yet, for some reason, the guns stay silent where once they roared day and night, keeping the vast hordes of hellish abominations away under threat of explosive and gruesome demise. Not that such fact ever dissuaded the cruel taskmasters and merciless overlords from driving their troops to the slaughter with a crack of the whip, hoping to clog those cannons and drown their ceaseless barrage with a relentless tide of meat and blood.
Strange that, in the end, their victory never realized in the way they envisioned. It merely happened that one day the whistling of the shells piercing the air simply stopped, and the crackle that once was a constant reminder of humanity's defiance became a whisper and faded away.
Why? They all wondered. A ruse?
Ironically enough, when demons once charged recklessly into the deadly curtain of detonations and shrapnel, none dared take a step this time. To them, it made no sense, and that was disconcerting enough to make them pause.
Not all of them.
The hollow reverberations of his moccasins stomping on the newly-created tunnel echoed in the air. By this point, he expected a response, any response. By all rights and logic, a battalion of heavily armed Paladins in full power armor should be swarming him now, yet still, he walks unimpeded past the wall and into the citadel grounds.
All defensive positions have been abandoned. The towers, trenches, bunkers, and secondary walls, every single parapet, hole, and firing post, the barracks, the machinegun nests; there's nothing, no sign of the defenders. Even the automated turrets and CWIS are offline.
"Is this how Hell wins its battles? By default?!" Annoyance slowly shimmered into anger. This is not his vision. This is not part of his perfect plan.
Slowly he continues and begins climbing the main staircase leading to doors that have not ever welcomed a single denizen of Hell. Massive as they might be, they open with ease. They are not even closed nor secured.
Inside, there's no barricade, no desperate last stand, no hail of bullets to welcome him. He expected to make a grandiose entrance followed by an overwhelming display of unstoppable force, but instead, only the empty halls and the darkness remained to greet him.
Could this be a trap? Another jail? Humans would never sacrifice the gateways, or so he believes.
"Father, this is not how I wanted our reunion to be..."
Alone, he continues. He's pictured his victory, his ascension to the gates, in his mind a million times. Not once he envisioned this outcome, yet, at this point, does it even matter? Heaven is but a door away. It matters to him. This is an insult! Millennia of machinations of gathering legions of followers, of accumulating power, hoarding the souls of the sinners, all for what? The madness, the torture, the twisting, it was all for a triumphant victory over humanity, over the hosts of heaven.
To him, there is no greater affront than denying him a glorious battle - his inevitable triumph.
Beauty is now soured with a frown of displeasure, one he sees reflected on the polished metal of the final door. It's sickening to be forced into such an unbefitting expression.
In a fit of anger, he blasts the doors open, tearing the bolts and hinges of the concrete walls and sending them flying, twisted and shredded, into the room, causing a strident boom followed by the clattering metal as it bounces off the concrete floor and slams into the reinforced walls at the end of the room.
As the dust settles, he's met with a sight he's almost forgotten: the gateway to heaven. The vision is followed by the awakening of a sensation he's not felt since Creation, surging from deep within and spreading like wildfire. It is debilitating and compelling, like that of an addict seing what he craves the most dangling in front of his eyes ripe for taking.
His hand shakes, and slowly, he raises it into view to observe - three parts awestruck and one part irate - as his own limb betrays his iron will. This is the power of Heaven, and he's still not even crossed the threshold. Annoyed, he wiggles his fingers as he turns his hand around for full display, then clenches it into a fist, digging his nails into the flesh with enough force that, were he human, it'd draw blood.
The pain is enough to drown the torrent of fervor and devotion seeping like poison into his mind in an attempt to ply it back into that of the flock where he belongs.
"It was open, you know? Or is this how you typically knock? Quite the entrance in any case."
The mocking masculine voice arises from one side of the room and is followed by a set of approaching footsteps. From behind a set of pillars, an obscure figure in dark robes and a hood comes forth and reveals himself. A male on his 40s, military type with a clean shave and short hair and a stern look on his face.
Normally, he wouldn't bother with the buzzing of such a lowly mosquito, but this one not only dares to stand in his way but does so alone. Preposterous!
"I know you. I've seen your darkness." The demon spills the words out his mouth with utter disdain as if spitting foul, viscous ichor while his facial expression twists into a spiteful grimace.
"Well, I am flattered... Morningstar."
Slowly, a predatory toothy grin forms on the demon's face, unnaturally wide and far beyond anything a human could hope to emulate. It's a Cheshire smile and one filled with anticipation.
"Please, Lucifer would suffice, Gatekeeper. Are you all humanity can muster? What a pitiful last line of defense. And I thought pride was my sin. Be a good boy... that sidearm... draw it. Press it against your temple and KILL YOURSELF."
There's the melodious tone once again, sweet, soothing, yet those were not mere words, nor insult nor threat, but a holy command, coming from the former angel, twisted and horrendous as it might be, one that would compel most mortals into obedience.
Much to Lucifer's dismay, the Gatekeeper remained motionless and unfaced, staring back at him as if the last few seconds had never happened, as if Lucifer's words had never reached him. The fallen angel cocks his head and smirks.
"You had to try. I would be disappointed if you didn't. Yet, is that all the Great Deceiver can achieve?"
Lucifer bursts into childish laughter in an almost forced, comical manner, then he suddenly falls silent as his head slowly tilts to the side, and his grin returns.
"Bloody harvest of the '97. Maria, wasn't she? I thought so."
The Gatekeeper's face twitches, if only slightly. Though brief, it's a cue Lucifer easily picks up.
"What a pretty face. Even prettier with my cock between her lips. Everything in Hell is my plaything, and if you die here, even the pious mortals are trapped in my domain. But, I could be persuaded to return her if you don't mind the slight use. All you have to do is answer my questions and stand aside. Do we have a deal?"
Flashing his brightest car-dealer smile, Lucifer extends his hand. Thought tempting as it might be, the Gatekeeper stoically shakes his head, brushing the offer aside.
"You misunderstand, Lucifer. I am not here to stop you. I am humanity's messenger, not its protector. It was always my duty to answer."
Enraged, the aura around the fallen angel shifts, and likewise, so does the environment around, as if reality itself were warping or, more accurately, overlapping with a different dimension, like a broken record skipping back and forth or an old television with a faulty antenna.
Shadows of a myriad of black wings emerge from Lucifer and extend to cover the walls they are cast upon, while simultaneously, his face alternates between the pure beauty of an angel and the terrifying snarling visage of a horned, toothy monstrosity bearing a broken halo, shattered to pieces that now orbit around those horns like a planet's rings.
"Pathetic vermin! You dare condescend ME in my OWN domain?! Humans still don't know their place. You are still pawns of heaven and ants under my boot. You were created as a vanity project with no other purpose but to love your creator, and not even that you can do right. I'll give you a new purpose. KNEEL!"
The vile, hoarse cacophony of an echoing unholy chorus presses deeply on the entire stance as if gravity had intensified a hundredfold, causing the entire room to shake and creak under the strain. The gatekeeper, a mere human, cannot hope to overcome the power of the Morningstar, not even with his training in the arcane, and yields, bending the knee with a pained grunt and gritting his teeth not to give Lucifer the satisfaction of begging.
As the situation returns to normal, Lucifer, back to his usual beauty, puffs heavily and runs his hand over his head, rearranging his golden flowing hair. He smiles again, but this time it is a cocky smirk of superiority and satisfaction.
"I must admit that even ants can be entertaining from time to time and, simultaneously, so fickle. One needs a magnifying glass to observe them correctly, but doing so ends up burning them to a crisp. Now, where were we? Ah!" Lucifer lifts his index and wiggles it around. "You were about to tell me the meaning of all this. Have the Paladins finally given up on their holy crusade? Are you finally tired of suckling my dad's cock?"
The Gatekeeper can't help but chuckle, though the pain still lingers, and so does the damage of Lucifer's previous stunt. A wet cough interrupts the mild laughter, followed by a gurgle and a glob of blood spit out of the Gatekeeper's mouth. Slowly, he raises his head and locks eyes with the fallen angel.
"He's dead..."
Lucifer pauses mid-breath as the news reaches his ears. His face turns into a puzzle of emotions, with anger and disbelief both plastered on his expression in equal measure.
"Blasphemous little cunt, I-" Lucifer advances with eyes full of fury, hand risen, as if to discipline a misbehaving child.
"Congratulations. You killed the old man. You got your revenge, and you didn't even know it."
Lucifer halts. For once, the great deceiver and master manipulator is at a loss for words, perhaps for the first time in millennia. The fallen angel now recoils, taking a step back. His facial expression twitches, unable to decide for which emotion to settle.
"Is this how you celebrate your victory? Although, it's not your victory, isn't it? He killed himself because of you - eons ago - after casting you to hell. Noble until the end, right? He thought that, with him gone, there would be no more discord, no more source of strife. Ah, but I forgot to answer your question. Do you wish to know where our main force is located?"
Nonchalantly, the Gatekeeper points with his thumb at the gateway to Heaven.
Lucifer's eyes widen at the revelation, though he still doesn't believe a single word. The Deceiver cannot be lied to, or so he thinks. This is a trap, a trick to get him to cross the portal. They are working with his Father to jail him again. They are all waiting at the other side, ready to jump him, angels, Paladins, and The Almighty himself.
It's a trap, it's a trap, it's a trap. The words floated in his mind, repeating like a mantra, yet Lucifer still moves forward as if compelled to do so. The fallen angel brushes the Gatekeeper aside without uttering a word or giving him a second glance, gently, without force, simply meaning to pass. The demon's movements are hesitant, slow, and fearful. He is afraid that the Gatekeeper might be lying but terrified that he might be telling the truth. Lucifer needs to see it with his own eyes, no matter the outcome.
The portal is as bright and blinding as the sun, a circle of pure white light, the closer you are to it. For a mortal to get too close or even cross it without the adequate magical charms, it'd spell doom and demise, but Lucifer, he's crossed it before, many times during his service to heaven, and one last time as he fell. His hand extends to caress the event horizon. The sensation is warm and welcoming, and it's calling for him. It takes but one step, and it's over.
Lucifer's eyes remain closed as he enters his Father's domain, his former home, something that once meant everything to him. The sensation is familiar, so soothing and comfortable, one that wraps around one's soul like a blanket, but something is not right.
As Lucifer's eyes open, what they witness is not the Heaven he remembered but a charred battlefield littered with corpses of both angels and humans. The Pearly Gates have been breached, torn asunder, and everything around it has been utterly smoldered or turned to glass. Ash and smoke fill the air, alongside something else, a lingering energy, foul and destructive.
In the distance, he spots one of the mightiest and largest angels giving battle. It's one of the seraphim, a being of pure energy, of fiery wings, and insurmountable power, and one Lucifer knows well.
"Agiel..."
For the incarnation of wisdom to engage in combat, it's not something Lucifer remembers since his rebellion.
In the distance, the seraph smites the enemy mechanized battalion with beams of pure light and balls of scorching fire, but her attacks do not remain unchallenged for long. A pair of guided missiles surge from bellow, thundering in the direction of the mighty creature and striking her on the flanks, detonating with a tremendous force far beyond that of any conventional explosive. The conflagration itself is unnatural and reverberates all across the battlefield to the point Lucifer, miles away from the conflict, feels the debilitating and nauseating effects.
Agiel wails in pain with a high-pitched scream as her flaming wings are slowly extinguished, and she's forced to land, where she's met with the intense pounding of tank cannons and artillery until her cries are muffled under the barrage of explosions.
"No! What is this?! It can't be?!"
"It had to be done, Lucifer."
Behind the fallen angel, the Gatekeeper stands, staring at him with pity in his eyes. Lucifer is at a loss for the first time in eons and does not know how to reply or what to do. All his plans have unraveled before him in a matter of minutes. Millennia of his grand design has been for naught. All his effort, all his cunning, had led him exactly where he wanted, back to heaven, ready to change the order, but the outcome was something he could have never predicted, all because he considered humans to be beneath him.
Slowly, silently, he turns to the Gatekeeper for answers. His face is practically begging at this point.
"They were planning to bring him back, sacrificing all of creation; an artificial God composed of all the souls, past and present. We had to stop them."
"I see..."

Ellen Lloyd – MessageToEagle.com – Treasure hunters who visited a canyon hidden deep in Southeastern Arizona near the Mexican border say that they saw strange lights in the sky and stones falling from the heavens. Most intriguing about their story, is that they encountered a mysterious stone archway that can alter time at random. Is a time portal hidden in the Arizona Mountains?
The following story was reported by treasure hunter Ron Quinn who together will his friends visited the mysterious canyon.
This fascinating journey into the unknown began in early 1956 and still remains an unsolved mystery today.
It all began during a two-year adventure into Southern Arizona in search of lost mines and hidden Spanish treasures. High among the rugged terrain bordering Mexico, my brother Chuck and I discovered a location where time itself is altered. This natural freak of nature lies deep within a region seldom visited by modern man.
The reason I’m bringing this tale to light after all this time is because something in the works might effect this interesting place. Tucson Electric Power Company plans on building a 345,000-watt high-voltage transmission line from Tucson to Nogales. The line could come quite close to this site.
When this line becomes active, what, if anything, will this enormous voltage do to this delicate location? Enhance the natural energy already lurking within it, or nothing? Only time will tell.
The following stories all took place around this mysterious location.

Lights in the Sky

This all began after my release from the military. My brother Chuck asked if I’d be interested in taking an extended trip to Arizona to search for several of the legendary lost treasures allegedly hidden during the Spanish occupation.
This ignited my adventurous spirit, so plans were made. We saved enough capital, with the help of our parents, for two years. I was 23; Chuck was 26.
We left Tacoma, Wash., on March 20, 1956. Our final destination was Arivaca, Ariz., a small desert hamlet of perhaps 70 residents. This old adobe village was located squarely in the center of the country harboring some of these well-known hidden treasures.
About three weeks into this treasure game, Chuck and I were relaxing at camp one evening. Towards the south, the craggy peaks of the Tumacacori Mountains were silhouetted against the darkening sky.
Our attention was directed toward two large balls of blue-green lights slowly descending behind the mountains several miles away. They were not flares, as no sound of aircraft broke the silence of the night. Both vanished within minutes.
The following night at precisely the same time, 8:05 p.m., the lights appeared once again near the identical location. These also disappeared behind the peaks.
Several days later, Louie Romero, a local cowboy who rode for the Arivaca Ranch, stopped by. Over several weeks, we became friends and learned a great deal of the history about the area from him. While in Arivaca, we heard from the locals that if Louie tells you something, you can bet your life it’s the truth.
During one of his weekly visits, Louie told us many stories centering around the nearby mountains. Several bordered on the paranormal. After describing the odd lights we had seen, he smiled, saying he and others have spotted them since 1939 in the same location. Over the months, we saw them several more times.

Doorway to the Gods

One day, as we were returning to Arivaca, we spotted an old truck parked beside the road with a flat tire. Not having a spare, the gentleman stood beside his vehicle trying to hitch a ride to the nearest service station. We picked him up and soon arrived at the Kinsley Ranch and gas station. After having the tire repaired, we returned John, an Indian, to his truck where we mounted the tire for him. John couldn’t thank us enough, as not many white men had shown him such kindness.
A month or so later at camp, we spotted a rider approaching–and were surprised to see it was John. He told us he was working temporarily for a local ranch, checking the fence lines.
While talking in general about the surrounding country, Chuck mentioned we were treasure hunting. As a boy, John said he heard many of the tales of lost mission gold and silver. He also believed some of the tales were true, as treasure was found in 1907 near Nogales.
Later, John told us about a mysterious stone archway. Roy told him we came across such a formation south of camp. John’s first words were, “Did you walk through its opening?”
Walt answered, “No. We noticed it while descending a slope, but paid little attention to the oddity.”
John told us around the 1800s, three Indians were hunting and upon returning to their village, discovered a stone archway. Being in a jubilant mood, they began chasing one another through the opening in a playful manner.
Moments later, one jumped through but never emerged from the opposite side. Fearing they had entered some sacred ground of the gods, the remaining two fled the scene. Arriving at the village, they told the medicine man how their friend had vanished before their eyes.
As the story spread, others journeyed to the high plateau to gaze upon the stone structure. Rocks and other items were tossed through, but nothing occurred–until an elderly woman approached. Tossing in a live rabbit, it suddenly vanished. The Indians backed off in fear and spread the story of this “Doorway to the Gods,” as it came to be known.
John himself has been to the site on many occasions. The only time he witnessed anything strange was around 1948. A big storm had blown in, and the sky was filled with dark clouds in all directions. As he rode past the archway, he noticed the sky through its opening was blue–no clouds were visible. Dismounting, he walked cautiously toward the formation and peered through. The mountains on the other side hadn’t changed, but the sky was clear. Looking around the corner of the structure, the sky was once again covered with dark clouds. Fear gripped him and he rode off.
Some believe John was looking into another time period through the portal. We asked John: If the story was indeed true, why hadn’t it been investigated? He replied that only his people knew of the story, as it had never been mentioned outside the tribe. The only reason he told us was because we had shown him kindness while stranded beside the highway.
Curious, we decided to make another trip to the remote site with Roy Purdie and Walter Fisher–two fellow treasure hunters who were camping with us. It’s a rugged climb, and the torturous, craggy mountains play no favorites. Enter their domain, make an error, and you’ll be added to the list of the injured and missing.
This mysterious area is covered with windswept rock formations that dot the landscape. Searching further, we discovered an enormous deposit of geodes. The ground was littered with them. Some had broken open, revealing their crystal-lined interiors.
As we approached the archway, the structure took on a menacing appearance. It stood beside a rocky slope, and was perhaps 7 feet high by 5 feet in width. Its columns measured approximately 15 inches in diameter and were made of andesite.
Chuck jokingly tossed several rocks through, but nothing happened. Next, I placed my arm in. Roy, the superstitious member of our foursome, said I was flirting with danger if the story was true. Knowing his nature towards the unknown, I decided to play a joke. I suddenly yelled, like something was pulling me through. Jumping back, I began laughing as Roy cussed me out. By now, we were all close friends, so no offense was taken.
After several hours we departed this interesting location, carrying a number of geodes. I remember glancing back at this lonely part of the world, wondering if there was truly something within the area that could alter time at random. Was it just the archway itself, or were other unknown natural forces at play?
We would definitely discover the answer–at least to the time-altering question.

Horses From Beyond

It was roundup time on the Arivaca Ranch. That evening, Louie and several others were camping beside the corral just north of the mountains to get an early start the following morning. As they sat around having coffee and making small talk, Louie noticed how still the night was. Most evenings, one could hear the night sounds of the desert. But this time it was unusually quiet, and the livestock seemed restless.
As they were about to bed down, they suddenly heard the rumbling of approaching horses. As the sound grew closer, one could hear the clattering of hoofs among the rocks accompanied by the whinnying of many horses. As the sound increased, the boys dove for cover, expecting to see a herd of horses stampeding through camp. But as the rumbling reached the opposite side of a nearby canyon, it abruptly ended.
The following morning, they searched, but found no evidence of horses. Louie mentioned wild horses once roamed the country around the turn of the century. Were Louie and the others caught on the outer edge of some time change?
It turns out they were near our mysterious archway.
(Before continuing, I’d like to set forth a theory told to us by a party well-versed in the field of the strange and paranormal: Perhaps an enormous deposit of geodes beneath the surface might be effecting time in some mysterious manner. When all the natural elements –the vibration of the crystals, the electricity in the atmosphere and the magnetic fields in the earth–come together at the precise moment, laws of nature are turned topsy-turvy, and things occur beyond our understanding. It could be like dropping a stone into a pool of calm water–the archway being the stone and the waves expanding outward could be the natural forces. These might reach anywhere from several yards to a mile. Depending upon the activation, everything within this radiating circle could be thrown into a different period of time. When it fades, things return to normal.)

Ghostly Padre

This story was told by a reliable rancher and also took place within the shadows of the puzzling archway. It involves the appearance of a Spanish padre long since dead: a ghost–or perhaps not. Several hundred years earlier, a Jesuit priest, whose name has long since been forgotten, built a small mission east of Arivaca. The residents gave their most treasured possessions to him for safe-keeping, as they feared robbery. These were hidden somewhere near the church grounds.
One morning, a Mexican woodchopper found the elderly padre dead. After he was put to rest, the villagers suddenly realized he was the only one who knew the location of their valuables. They searched, but nothing was ever found.
Over the years, many cowboys and others have reported seeing a dark-robed figure walking near the site of the old mission, which has long since crumbled back into the dry earth. The description given resembles that of a Spanish padre. One rancher told us quite frankly, “Nobody will ever convince me otherwise. I know what I saw that afternoon. The figure wasn’t any ghost. It walked across a wash disturbing the gravel and casting a long shadow.”
The figure slowly became transparent, shimmered several times then vanished.
Again, was the witness caught in another trick of time produced by the site? Or was he himself back in the 18th century, watching the padre going about his daily rounds? Too bad our rancher didn’t see the mission. That would be hard evidence he wasn’t in his own time.

Spanish Soldiers

Another mind-boggling story involves two cowboys out searching for a sick bull. Both separated and rode off in different directions. One rider paused atop a hill searching the country below with his binoculars. Suddenly, he felt a stone bounce off his hat. Turning, he expected to find his companion had tossed it jokingly, but nobody was there. Another stone hit his arm, but once again nothing was seen. While scanning the terrain again, he spotted his friend several hundred yards below. In the distance, he saw the bull. Waving, he shouted to his partner signaling to him which direction to go.
While descending the hill, he spotted a group of six riders traveling eastward. They rode in single file and were about half a mile off.
Stopping, he looked through his field glasses–and was amazed at what he saw. His description of the horsemen resembled pictures he had seen of Spanish soldiers with tunics, lances and helmets. He followed their movements until the scene “shimmered” and faded.
Once again, this occurred near the archway’s realm. A column of soldiers traveling east? The only fort in that direction was the presidio located at Tubac during the Spanish occupation.

Indian Revisited

During the mid-1940s, Louie and another ranch hand came upon the skeletal remains of what appeared to be that of an ancient Indian. Beside the body was a rotted bow. The Indian’s clothing was of animal skins, and a leather moccasin clung to one foot. The skull and one leg were missing. Could this have been the Indian who vanished so long ago? The body was discovered less than a mile south of our strange location. They buried the remains nearby, marking the grave with several large rocks. Louie noted that the body didn’t resemble 200-year-old remains.
Before hearing the above tale, I often wondered what became of the Indian allegedly swallowed by the archway. If the portal was visible from the opposite side, why didn’t he come back through? He might have never noticed a change and, to him, his friends had disappeared. Not finding them, he eventually returned to his village and perhaps also found it missing. Perhaps he was somehow transported forward in time, and for some unknown reason, died on that lonely hillside, only to be found by Louie years later.

The Shimmer

One day, Walt and Roy had their own weird experience near the stone portal. They returned there because Walt wanted to collect some geodes for friends in Tucson. Looking toward the archway, both saw it appear to shimmer. According to Walt, this lasted several minutes before it slowly faded. During this period, both felt a strange pressure within their ears.
Roy said, “That’s it Walt. I’m outta here.” After gathering a number of geodes, both left with Roy leading the way–rather fast.
During the summer months, temperatures can reach 110 degrees. The heat waves dancing off a flat surface can make objects appear to shimmer while looking through them. But this was mid-January and the temperature was around 60 or so.
Old Roy would never again return to the site, no matter how we tried to persuade him.
Was the shimmering and ear sensation the beginning of some activation that never reached its full potential? Seeing the expression on Roy’s face after he returned to camp–take my word, it happened.

Ghost Camp

A number of individuals have disappeared from the unfriendly rugged hills over the years. Did some make the unfortunate mistake of entering the portal at the wrong time? The following suggests that possibility. While the four of us were checking out an old silver workings, we came upon a deserted miners camp that Louie had told us about weeks earlier. Everything was left behind–rotted clothing, tools, drill steel, old blankets and cooking utensils. Everything was there to maintain a functional camp. By the looks of several items, I’d say the site was active during the 1930s.
It looked as though somebody just walked away and never returned–or couldn’t. The camp was almost a mile from the bizarre site high above. Did this party fall victim to it, or did he become discouraged with mining and abandon camp? I find this highly unlikely.
We also heard a story about a lone prospector who arrived each October and remained until spring. This continued for several years. One day, he vanished, leaving his horse, wagon and camp behind. It was located near a saddle in the mountains–just north of you know what. A body was never found.
We visited this site and found a deep shaft nearby with numerous open cuts on a hill. Was he prospecting or treasure hunting? It was rumored that some bandit’s loot–two bags of gold coins–was buried within this area.
Stories like this keep people like us searching.

Stones From the Heavens

Another close encounter occurred about 14 months into our treasure game, a game that seemed to be going nowhere. While in Arivaca picking up needed supplies, we met three other treasure hunters. They were in the area for a month seeking the famous “Lost Treasure of Carreta Canyon” hidden by the fleeing padres from the Tumacacori Mission during the great Pima uprising of 1751.
We invited them to stop by camp and gave them directions. Several weeks later, they arrived and had an interesting story to tell. By chance, while traveling overland, they camped near the mouth of the canyon leading to the strange area. We discovered this when one pointed to their campsite on his map.
While relaxing one evening after a long, tiring search for this elusive treasure, they heard a sound like rain hitting the tent. Stepping outside, they saw the sky was clear. All at once a shower of hundreds of small stones came cascading down around them. Most were the size of a large pea, were reddish brown and resembled hematite, an iron ore.
Picking several up, they noticed they were quite warm to the touch. Their camp wasn’t located near any high cliffs where the stones could have originated. George, a member of the group, jokingly said: “Perhaps we’re camping on some ancient Indian burial ground and the spirits want us to leave.” He had read an article about an incident similar to this occurring on a burial ground somewhere in the Midwest.
By now, one has to admit something quite out of the ordinary encircles this strange site. I won’t definitely say their encounter with the warm stones had anything to do with our odd out-of-time region. Indian spirits or not, something weird occurred while they sat relaxing in their tent.

My Encounter

After our two-year adventure ended without finding buried gold or lost mines, we returned to Washington State for almost a year. We then moved to Arizona, making Tucson our home. Most of our adult lives have been one long adventure after the other. If Roy and Walt arrived at our door with some wild treasure lead, we’d be off with them the next day. To live such a lifestyle, we all remained single. We were one big happy family of devil-may-care adventurers.
The strange experience I had occurred on Oct. 14, 1973. During one of our two-week adventures, I found myself near the canyon that leads towards that oddball site. Not having been there in almost four years, I decided to pay it a visit. The canyon was just as rugged as ever. After climbing and slipping among the boulders, I finally arrived at the steep hill leading to the site above.
It’s a long, weary climb, so I paused for a breather half way up. I sat on the slope facing north. Too my left (west), the steep hill followed the canyon perhaps a mile, but something was definitely wrong. Below to my left was a canyon–where none had existed. Curious, I made my way down, entering it from the eastside, so I thought.
I soon discovered I was in the same canyon that led toward the hill I had just scaled. I was more than 250 yards back down the canyon on a different slope and now I was facing south–I had mysteriously been transported to the new location. Thinking I was looking west, I was really looking east seeing the canyon I had just hiked.
There was no way on earth I could have reached this other slope while climbing the original hill. Knowing where I was, suddenly I knew why this had happened. Any skepticism I had about this crazy site vanished.
I was apprehensive about continuing and should have departed the area immediately. But curiosity led me on. I made the grueling climb once again, passing the spot where minutes before I had been resting.

The Magic Gifts
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A certain man left his tribesmen and traveled away with his wife and three children to a new hunting ground.
After a time they ran short of food, and the father left camp one morning during a heavy snowstorm to look for game.
He had not traveled far when he came upon fresh snowshoe tracks.
He wondered whose they could be for he knew of no one else hunting in that district.
He followed them all day expecting every moment to overtake the stranger; but it was almost dark before he sighted smoke rising from the edge of a plain not far ahead.
Cautiously he approached.
There sat an old man, stripped to the waist, warming his back at a fire under the shelter of some brush, and roasting a lynx at the flame.
“Strange, how quickly he has arranged his camp and undressed”, the hunter thought.
He was still more astonished when the old man called without even looking round at him, “Make a bed for yourself on the other side of my fire. You are a long way from home, and it is too late now to return or to go on.”
And he added, as he drew the lynx off its stake, “Take half this meat to your side of the fire and eat”.
The hunter ate part of his meat and arranged a bed for himself.
Everything had happened so strangely, and his companion seemed so friendly, that he felt nervous and yet he dared not show any suspicion.
Before lying down, however, he placed his spare clothing under his head for a pillow, and his snowshoes below the bundle.
Then about midnight he rose, took down his moccasins, which had been drying beside the fire, and placed them also under his head.
Even so he felt uneasy and cautiously remained awake.
Not long after he had lain down for the second time the old man rose, took from the line what were really his own moccasins, though he thought they were his guest’s, and pushed them into the hollow of a burning log.
Next he placed his own snowshoes on the fire mistaking them for his guest’s.
Then he too lay down again.
The hunter rose at daybreak, put on his moccasins, ate some of his lynx meat, adjusted his snowshoes, and prepared to leave.
Meanwhile the old man was looking in vain for his own moccasins and snowshoes.
Presently he cried, “I can’t find my moccasins or my snowshoes.”
“Of course you can’t”, answered the hunter.
“Don’t you know that I never go to sleep in a strange camp.
With my own eyes I say you burn them.”
“Alas, it was a unfortunate mistake I made.
Now I am in trouble.
Let my buy the spare pair of moccasins you are carrying, and the extra filling for your snowshoes.”
“I am willing to sell them to you but what will you pay for them?”
“For your moccasins I’ll give you a round piece of fat, not large, but very wonderful and for your snowshoe filling I’ll give you two marvelous arrows.”
Skeptically the hunter answered, “Show me first how marvelous the arrows are.”
The old man extracted two arrows from his quiver, and said, “One of these is a male arrow, the other a female.
Notch the male arrow to your bowstring and I will chant a song.”
The hunter notched the arrow to his bow, while the old man chanted, “I sit on a tree – I sit on a tree”.
Immediately a male lynx climbed a tree nearby.
“Shoot,” cried the old man.
The hunter shot, and the lynx fell dead.
“I’ll buy this arrow.”
“Notch the female arrow now,” the old man said. And he chanted, “We sit on the tree – we sit on the tree”.
A female lynx climbed the tree, carrying a young one.
The hunter shot the arrow and killed them also.
“They are wonderful arrows”, he said, greatly pleased with his good fortune.
“I’ll buy them both.
But tell me, what is the marvelous power that resides in your ball of fat?”
“That is more wonderful than the arrows”, answered the old man.
“You must wrap it away out of sight and never show it to anyone.
Also you must never eat it, though you are starving. But whenever you are in dire straits for food, take it to a lake beside a mountain, arm your brothers with sharp spears, and station them on either side of a gulch that leads down to the water.
Then, if you point your ball of fat at the mountain and chant, ‘Come to us, O mother of fat’, something will roll down from the mountain.
Spear it, but do not touch what falls into the lake.”
After the hunter had handed over his snowshoe filling and the spare pair of moccasins, he went home with the two arrows and the ball of fat.
Without telling anyone of his adventure, he concealed the magic weapons until he needed them.
Finally, a winter came when famine overtook his family and his kinsmen.
Remembering his magic gifts, he led the hunters to a lake, stationed them on either side of a gulch, and pointed his ball of fat at the mountain above, chanting, “Come to us, O mother of fat.”
Down the mountainside rolled a gigantic ball of fat.
The hunters struck it with their spears and broke off all except one small portion, which rolled into the lake.
That piece they made no effort to recover, remembering the old man’s warning, but with the rest they filled all their packs and returned to camp.
The fat nourished them for many days, but at last they ran short of food again.
From time to time the man would bring in two lynxes, shot with his magic arrows, so that they did not starve.
But one day his three children, tired of the constant lynx meat, opened his bag and ate his magic ball of fat.
Then their bodies swelled prodigiously, and they died.

2015, I lived in Perth & one Sunday morning I was walking to the station to catch a train. Outer the blue a young blonde in a classic dress & moccasins approached me asking for a lighter. I noticed she'd been crying had a blue with her bf & walked off by herself.
She was 20, pretty, very white hair, white skin she actually reminded of the old dolls from back in the day in NZ. Me being I consoled her, gave her a lighter, couple smokes, got her a fizzy drink & we chatted for abit. My train was bout to go, she said your so kind & your so hot! I hesitated to walk away & thought fuck I'ma shoot my shot!
Cut along story short we walked back to the IGA & I got us box of bourbon & we sat in the park n flirted. Her phone rang, it was her bf & she had to go. I said yeah ok 😁 it was nice to meet u & she said yeah u to I wish I could stay longer. With that I asked, do u mind if I give u a kiss? She grinned & said ok. So I did & she hesitantly walked off. I was kicking myself saying stop her deckhead just ask her. With that I said hey hun! R u keen on a quick fuck lol. She smirks and says yeah but where?
I grabbed her hand & led her to side of the Kwinana stream down a bank. R u ok, r u sure and she said yuup I'm keen. I laid my hi Viz down & lowered her down on it, tongue kissing her with a hand full of her hair, kissed her neck as I palmed her thigh sliding it up under her dress 2 her rainbow coloured cotton panties, my juju's slurping up each of her tiny wee stiff nipples whilst a ninja softly rubbed her hot little love muscle I could tell she was liking it as her panties started to wet through. I fucking attacked her inner thighs first kissing n licking em before yanking her knickers to one side & fuck what a sweet lil pink panther bonny had. I suck kissed on her hoodie covered money bean a few times, boo was sticky creamy & loving being eaten out. I pushed up her hoodie, tongue flicked her Ball bearing & pashed her tiny pink pussy lips, pushed a digit inside her boo was tight asf.. my cock was super big hard as an axe handle as It flung out my footy shorts I seen her. Eyes size me up! Fuck your huge was her exact words, I kissed her & rubbed my head all over her oyster & pushed in her she was tight & half of me slow fucking her & she came so I drove in deeper & hit it with puroose her moans whimpers were loud I was long dicking her really piping some young cunts hot lil Mrs, I coming again oh yeah fuck me, untill I whipped it out & she sat up took it in wee hand wanking it & catching my wad of sperm in her mouth.
We laughed & I rolled her over into doggy. Lifted up her dress my cock still full of blood. I loved watching her lil asshole as I spread her cheeks to put my blade in balls deep. Fuck she was tight, wet & I fucked her hard n fast while she DJ'd & scratched her record till she came again "oh fuuck I'm coming again keep fucking me like that" I was calling her a naughty lil slut, telling her I'm gonna empty my nuts inside yr pussy to take home to yr bf & I swear I blew up like water balloon flooding her guts mmmmmm felt so good getting sum young pussy mmmmmmm pulled out & pushed back in a few times enjoying it gaping for leaking of kiwi fertilizer untill she flopped on her stomach giggles and breathing heavily!
We ended up swapping #, I tried txt her to no avail. Untill a month later she txtd me. We met up & fucked like rabbits for a month, in his car, at my flat, on her pool table & at her mates house. We ended up in a relationship 3 yrs & broke up after a ffm 3 sum in our ensuite with her sexy wee friend. Churrr chch guy keen on sum pussy if anyone wants sum D