As far back as I can remember, I had always been passionate about the great outdoors. My love for the wilderness began when I joined the scouts, exploring the diverse landscapes of Southern California, Nevada, Arizona, and Utah. I was never a huge fan of the dry, barren landscapes, but camping provided a much-needed escape from the monotony of Orange County suburbia.
The first time I visited the Pacific Northwest, I was enchanted. The scenery was breathtaking—majestic mountains, lush fields, and meandering rivers. It was clear that anyone who praised the desert's beauty had never laid eyes on the Cascades. Seeing grass and wildflowers growing without irrigation was practically a revelation.
When I was old enough, I moved to Washington state, immersing myself in nature every weekend. My adventures took me hiking through dense forests, camping by serene lakes, and occasionally taking mushrooms under peaceful waterfalls.
I joined several online forums dedicated to outdoor enthusiasts. One community that particularly fascinated me was the Northwest Tomb Raiders. This group of history buffs and thrill-seekers was dedicated to uncovering artifacts, whether Native American relics or treasures hidden in modern ruins. Many members were collectors, fencing their finds to museums and archaeologists, which made it a rather profitable side gig, should you be lucky enough.
In the fall of 2009, an intriguing post appeared on the forum. A user named Lokk claimed to have discovered a cache of artifacts with Scandinavian origins. He couldn't carry everything back due to the treacherous terrain and his age, so he shared the coordinates, hoping someone else could retrieve the items. I scrolled down to see a few posts of people planning to loot it in the Spring, when the paths have reopened. One user, Patagooner, planned on going as early as possible.
Excited by the prospect, I gathered my two friends, Carl and Noah, for the expedition. They weren't as enthusiastic about camping as I was, but after I told them how much a single arrowhead goes for on the black market, they were on board. It was the start of winter now, which had its advantages and disadvantages. On the plus side, the rangers would have a harder time spotting us. On the downside, the harsh conditions posed a serious challenge for two inexperienced hikers.
I must’ve blown about four grand at REI on gear for them, justifying it with the knowledge of how much more I would make with two extra packs. That is of course assuming there really were as many artifacts as Lokk had said, and Patagooner hadn’t beaten me there.
The journey began like any other. We met in the pre-dawn darkness and went over our supplies, ensuring we had everything we needed. By mid-morning, we were on our way, my pickup truck winding up the mountain paths. The roads of Olympic National Park were the epitome of the raw, untamed beauty of the Pacific Northwest.
They snake through ancient forests, where towering Douglas firs and Western hemlocks create a verdant canopy overhead. Mist clings to the trees, giving the landscape an ethereal quality. Occasionally, the forest would open up to reveal breathtaking vistas of snow-capped peaks and deep, shadowy valleys.
As we climbed higher, the landscape grew increasingly desolate. The dense forest thinned out, replaced by rugged terrain and jagged rock formations. The air grew colder, and the first flurries of snow began to fall, dusting the ground in a thin, white layer. The road became narrower and more treacherous, winding precariously along the edge of steep cliffs.
Finally, a road closure blockade signaled the end of our journey in the truck. We unloaded three dirt bikes—one mine, two rentals—and continued up the trail. The bikes roared to life, carrying us several more miles into the wilderness. The trail twisted and turned, cutting through dense underbrush and over fallen logs. The snow began to fall more heavily, blanketing the forest floor and muffling the sound of our engines. The world around us grew quieter, more isolated.
Eventually, the snow became too deep to traverse by bike. We dismounted and prepared to continue on foot. The silence of the forest was profound, broken only by the occasional rustle of branches in the wind. I checked my modern GPS, its screen displaying the coordinates and a relief map of our destination.
The cold air bit into our cheeks as we trudged through the snow-laden forest. The silence was almost oppressive, broken only by the crunch of our footsteps and the occasional call of distant wildlife. The GPS indicated we were close to our destination, but the dense underbrush and uneven terrain made progress slow.
Suddenly, Carl's excited whisper cut through the stillness. "Hey, look at that!"
He pointed to a small, furry creature ambling through the trees. It took a moment to realize what it was—a bear cub, innocently exploring its surroundings.
My heart sank. "Carl, get back," I hissed, my voice low but urgent. "Where there's a cub, there's a..."
Before I could finish, a massive shape exploded from the trees. The mother bear, easily three times the size of the cub, charged at Carl with a ferocity. She was a blur of dark fur and powerful muscles, her roar echoing through the forest.
"Run!" I yelled, but it was too late. The bear was upon Carl, swiping at him with her massive paws. He screamed as he fell to the ground, the bear towering over him. Desperation and adrenaline surged through me. I grabbed the nearest heavy branch and swung it at the bear, hoping to distract her.
Noah joined in, shouting and waving his arms. We had to be careful; one wrong move and she would turn on us. The bear snarled, turning her attention away from Carl for just a moment. It was enough for him to scramble backwards, clutching his bleeding arm.
"We have to get him out of here," I shouted to Noah, who nodded, fear etched on his face. The bear, still enraged, seemed torn between attacking us and protecting her cub.
Using the brief respite, we hauled Carl to his feet. His face was white, and he was clearly in shock. Blood soaked his sleeve, dripping onto the snow. "There's a ranger station about two miles from here," I said, my voice shaking. "We need to get him there. Now."
We half-carried, half-dragged Carl through the forest, every shadow and sound heightening our paranoia.
Finally, after what felt like forever, the small, wooden structure of the ranger station came into view. We had been avoiding the rangers to keep our expedition secret, but now it was our only hope.
Pounding on the door, I prayed for a quick response. The door creaked open, and a weathered face appeared. "What happened?" the ranger demanded, taking in the sight of Carl's bloodied form.
"Bear attack," I gasped. "We need help."
The ranger's expression shifted from suspicion to urgency. "Get him inside. We've got a first aid kit and a radio."
As we eased Carl onto a makeshift bed, the ranger inspected his wounds. "You're lucky," he said after a moment. "The cuts are deep, but they missed any major arteries. He'll need stitches, but we can handle that here. No need for an airlift."
The ranger's face darkened as he turned to me. "What the hell are you boys doing out here?”
I hesitated, "We... we were just exploring."
The ranger's eyes narrowed, his anger palpable. "Exploring? In a restricted area? In the middle of winter? Are you out of your minds?"
He worked quickly and efficiently, cleaning and stitching Carl's wounds. Carl winced but stayed silent, his eyes closed in pain.
"Do you have any idea how dangerous it is out here?" the ranger continued, his voice rising. "The storm, the wildlife... This area is off-limits for a reason! You should have known better." he said, pushing a finger into my chest.
"We'll stay here for the night," he continued, "The storm's getting worse, and it's too dangerous to move him now. We'll reassess in the morning. And count yourself lucky I don't arrest your asses."
Night fell quickly, the storm outside growing more ferocious with each passing minute. The howling wind battered the small ranger station, and the walls creaked under the pressure. We huddled in the main room, the tension thick in the air.
The ranger looked at us sternly. "I need to check the perimeter and make sure everything is secure. There are things out there you don’t want to encounter, especially in this storm."
"Things? What do you mean?" Noah asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
The ranger's expression hardened. "Just stay put. No matter what you see or hear, do not leave this cabin. Understood?"
We nodded, the seriousness in his tone leaving no room for argument. "We'll stay put," I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt.
The ranger grabbed his coat and shotgun. "I'll be back in an hour. Do not leave this cabin." With that, he opened the door and stepped into the raging storm, disappearing into the darkness.
As soon as the door closed, I turned to Noah. "We need to go. Now."
Noah's eyes widened. "Are you crazy? He said to stay put."
"If we wait until morning, we'll be escorted out of here and lose our chance. This might be our only opportunity to find those artifacts."
Noah hesitated with uncertainty "But... what about Carl?"
"He'll be fine here. The ranger can take care of him. We have to do this now."
Reluctantly, Noah nodded. "Alright. Let's take what we can and go."
We quickly looted extra gear from the cabin. I checked the GPS one last time before we slipped out into the storm, the cold wind battering us.
The snow fell heavily, obscuring our vision as we slogged through the forest. The ranger was nowhere in sight as we made our way towards the our destination, each step filled with trepidatious excitement.
The storm began to die down as we approached the coordinates. We stepped into a clearing where the undisturbed snow lay like a pristine white blanket. In the center stood an ancient, weathered stone altar, encircled by intricate wooden carvings, delicate metalwork, and beautifully crafted statues. The sight was breathtaking, a treasure trove, a veritable museum of paganism.
Noah and I exchanged glances, our eyes wide with amazement. "Do you see this?" I whispered, barely able to contain my excitement.
"We're going to be rich," Noah replied, his voice trembling with awe. "These must be worth a fortune!"
We approached cautiously, as if the vision before us might disappear. The craftsmanship was stunning. I reached out to touch a carved wooden idol, marveling at the detail. "This is incredible," I said, my voice barely audible.
We began to load our packs with as many artifacts as we could carry, each one more exquisite than the last. It was beyond our wildest dreams. We were so engrossed in our task that we didn't notice the small figure watching us from the ridge.
It wasn't until I turned to leave that I saw her. A young girl, maybe eight years old, stood there, her blue eyes wide with curiosity. She was dressed in simple, rustic clothing, her blonde straight hair blowing gently in the wind. For a moment, we just stared at each other.
"Noah," I whispered urgently, nudging him. "Look."
He turned, his eyes following my gaze. "What the...?" he muttered, his voice trailing off.
The girl took a tentative step forward, her eyes fixed on the items in our hands. There was no fear in her gaze, only a quiet intensity that made my skin crawl.
"Who are you?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
She tilted her head slightly. "My name is Sigyn."
"What are you doing out here, Sigyn?" Noah asked, his voice shaky.
"I live here,"
"You live here?" I echoed, incredulous. "Is there anyone else around?"
"Yes," she whispered.
"Where?" Noah demanded, looking around nervously.
"Everywhere," she said with a giggle.
The way she said it, so matter-of-factly, bothered me deeply. Noah and I exchanged a look, both of us trying to figure out what to do next.
"We can't take her back to the ranger," Noah started, "We'll lose everything."
I nodded, my mind racing. "Sigyn," I said slowly, "we need to know who else is here. Can you help us?"
She looked at me with her piercing blue eyes, then said, "I'm sorry."
"For what?" Noah asked.
"For what's going to happen to you," she replied, her voice tinged with sadness.
"You need to tell us what's going on," Noah said, grabbing her arm roughly. "Why are you out here alone?"
She looked up at him, unperturbed. "I am not alone," she said softly.
Before we could press her further, a loud, guttural mooing sound echoed through the clearing. We turned towards the direction the girl had come from, and there, emerging from the shadows, was the silhouette of an elk. As it approached, my stomach dropped. Its body was a grotesque amalgamation of life and decay. Its skull was fully exposed, the eye sockets dark and empty. Large patches of its ribs were visible, the flesh around them rotted away.
The elk's movements were slow and deliberate, its head swaying as if in a trance. It walked directly towards us, its hollow eyes fixed on Sigyn. The closer it got, the more the stench of death filled the air—a nauseating mix of decay and earth. I fought the urge to retch.
Sigyn stood up, her expression calm. The monster sniffed her gently, its nostrils flaring. Without a word, she climbed onto its back, mounting it like a horse. It was a surreal and horrifying scene ripped straight from a nightmare.
As she settled onto the elk, she looked back at us, "A thief in the night shall reap what he sows," she said, her voice carrying an otherworldly echo. "Beware the price of stolen dreams."
With that, the beast turned and began to walk away, Sigyn riding it into the shadows of the forest. We stood there, frozen in place. The realization that we were in far over our heads began to sink in. This started to feel like a trap.
We need to get out of here," My voice trembling. "Now."
We turned to leave, our packs heavy with the pilfered goods. But as we took our first steps, the forest around us seemed to come alive. Shadows moved among the trees, and whispers floated on the wind. I quickened my pace, glancing nervously over my shoulder.
"Did you hear that?" Noah asked sharply,
"Just keep moving," I commanded.
A figure emerged from the shadows, blocking our path. It was a man, tall and gaunt, his eyes burning with an intense light. "Where do you think you're going?" he asked, his voice cold and menacing.
"We're leaving," I stammered. "We didn't mean any harm."
The man smirked, and with a swift motion, he raised his hand. More figures appeared, closing in on us from all sides. We were surrounded.
"Run!" I shouted, shoving Noah forward.
We sprinted through the forest, branches whipping at our faces and legs. The figures pursued us, their footsteps silent and relentless.
Noah stumbled and fell, his pack spilling open. Statues scattered across the ground, glinting in the moonlight. "Help!" he cried, scrambling to gather the items.
"Leave them!" I shouted, pulling him to his feet. "We have to keep moving!"
But it was too late, their hands seizing us. I struggled, kicking and thrashing, but their grips were too strong. They forced us to the ground, binding our hands with rough, coarse ropes.
"Please," I begged, "Don't hurt us."
The man who had first appeared stepped forward, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "A thief in the night," he mocked.
They dragged us through the forest, the trees closing in around us like a cage. We were at their mercy.
In the distance, I could see the elk standing at the edge of the clearing, Sigyn still astride its back. Her eyes met mine, and for a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of pity. But then they turned away, disappearing into the shadows once more.
We were dragged into the heart of the forest, our struggles futile against the unyielding grip of our captors. As we broke through the treeline, a massive bonfire came into view, its flames licking the night sky. Shadows danced around the clearing, cast by the flickering light. A woman stood at the forefront, her presence commanding.
Her eyes were milk white, devoid of pupils, and her long, flowing white hair cascaded down her back. She was completely naked, her skin pale and marked with intricate symbols. Atop her head, she wore an elk skull, its antlers extending like eerie, skeletal fingers. She beat a drum emblazoned with more of the same cryptic symbols, each thud resonating deep within my chest.
Around the fire, about two dozen people stood, all drinking from crude, horned cups. Their faces were solemn, eyes fixed on the woman as she led them in a haunting chant. The atmosphere was thick with a mix of reverence and intoxication.
We were forced to our knees before the woman, who paused her drumming to look down at us. Her gaze was haunting, as if she could see into the very depths of our souls.
"Who are you?" Noah demanded, his voice trembling.
The woman ignored him, raising her arms to the sky. The chanting grew louder, the rhythm of the drum faster and more frenzied. The air around us seemed to vibrate with energy, the flames of the bonfire growing higher and more intense.
I glanced at Noah, fear mirrored in his eyes. The woman began to speak, her voice low and melodic, but filled with power, in a language I couldn't understand. Suddenly, she stopped, lowering her arms. The chanting ceased, and an silence fell over the clearing. She looked directly at me, her white eyes unblinking.
En tjuv i natten skördar vad han sår, akta dig för drömmar som du stjäl och får.
Hans skratt bevakar lundens gömda stig, där skuggor sveper över skogens liv.
För varje stulet andetag och svek, måste en tjuv möta sitt smärtsamma ödelek.
Tricksterns vilja, vår ande här, så i hans nåd, våra liv bär.
I was terrified and confused. She started again, softer, in a way I could understand.
A thief in the night shall reap what he sows, beware the price of stolen dreams.
His laughter guards our hidden groves, where shadows cloak the forest's seams.
For every stolen breath and lie, a thief must meet his painful end.
The tricksters will, our spirits tie, so in his grace, our lives suspend.
The crowd surged forward, grabbing Noah first. He screamed, his terror echoing through the trees as they pulled him towards a makeshift altar beside the bonfire. The woman chanted louder, her voice rising in a hypnotic rhythm as they began their gruesome work.
They stripped him of his shirt and bound his arms to a wooden frame. I tried to move, to help him, but the grip on my shoulders tightened, pinning me to the ground.
The woman approached Noah, holding a knife with a blade that gleamed in the firelight. She started to slice into his back, her movements deliberate and unhurried. Noah's screams pierced the night as she methodically carved the shape of wings into his flesh.
Blood poured from the wounds, soaking the ground beneath him. The crowd's chant grew louder, almost drowning out his cries. I watched in horror as the woman reached into the incisions, breaking the ribs and pulling them outward, creating a parody of wings.
Noah's agony was unbearable to witness. His screams turned to whimpers, his body convulsing in pain. The woman didn't stop until the work was complete, his lungs exposed and hanging grotesquely from his back.
They lifted Noah's broken body and placed him over the fire. The smell of burning flesh filled the air, making me gag. His life ebbed away as the flames consumed him, the once vibrant light in his eyes fading to nothing.
The woman turned to me, her expression devoid of mercy. "You will meet the same fate," she said, "He demands it."
The smell of burning flesh and the sight of his broken body over the fire was seared into my mind. Despair settled over me as I closed my eyes.
A deafening blast shattered the night. My eyes flew open to see the shaman stumbling backward, a gaping wound in her chest. She collapsed to the ground, her white eyes staring lifelessly into the void.
The villagers turned in shock as another shot rang out, this time hitting one of the men holding me. I twisted free from their grasp and saw the park ranger standing at the edge of the clearing, a pump-action shotgun in his hands. He fired again, the sound echoing through the forest, before one of them tackled him to the ground.
"Run!" he shouted, his voice raw and desperate. "Get the hell out of here!"
I didn't need to be told twice. I sprinted into the darkness, the chaos of the clearing fading behind me. Branches whipped at my face, and the snow underfoot made every step a struggle. I could hear the sounds of fighting and gunshots, but I forced myself to keep moving.
The cold air burned in my lungs, but adrenaline pushed me forward. I didn't stop until I reached the station, my legs threatening to give out from under me. I burst through the door and slammed it behind me.
Inside, Carl lay where we had left him, his face pale and twisted in pain. I stumbled to the radio, my hands trembling as I fumbled with the controls.
"Mayday, mayday!" I yelled into the microphone. "This is an emergency! We need help! Please, someone, come quickly!"
Static filled the room, punctuated by my ragged breaths. I repeated the call, my voice growing more frantic with each passing second. Finally, a voice crackled through the speaker. "This is Ranger Station Bravo. What's your location? Over."
I could barely form the words. "Olympic National Park! The ranger station near mount Christie! We're under attack! Please, send help!"
"Copy that. Help is on the way. Stay put and stay safe. Over."
I collapsed to the floor, my body trembling with exhaustion and fear. Carl moaned softly, his eyes fluttering open. "What… What happened? Where's Noah?”
Tears streamed down my face and I found myself choked up. “He’s gone, man. Help is coming.”
The minutes stretched into an eternity as we waited. The wind howled around the station, and every creak and groan of the structure set my nerves on edge. I couldn't shake the feeling that we were being watched, that the forest itself was closing in on us.
The radio crackled again, this time with a different voice. "Helicopter en route, ETA fifteen minutes. Prepare for extraction."
I glanced at Carl, his eyes filled with confusion. "Hang on. We're getting out of here."
As the minutes ticked by, I couldn't help but think about the ranger. He had saved my life, but he hadn't made it back. My mind conjured up images of what might have happened to him, the cultists overwhelming him in the darkness. A sense of guilt gnawed at me, knowing he had sacrificed himself for us.
The sound of rotors cut through the night, growing louder as the helicopter approached. I ran to the window and saw its searchlight piercing the treetops, scanning for the station.
I helped Carl to his feet, supporting his weight as we made our way to the hatch. The helicopter hovered above, lowering a rescue basket. The wind from the rotors whipped the snow into a frenzy, but I didn't care. Salvation was finally here.
We secured Carl in the basket first, and I watched as he was hoisted up, disappearing into the safety of the helicopter. My turn was next. I realized that I was now alone and exposed. Fear coursing through me as I scanned around the edge of the forest, expecting to be grabbed and taken seconds before my rescue. But the moment never came. As I gripped the rope, I took one last look at the forest below. The flames of the bonfire still flickered in the distance.
I was lifted into the air, the ground falling away beneath me. The helicopter's crew pulled me inside, and I collapsed onto the floor still holding onto my pack, my body finally giving in to exhaustion. The doors closed, and the helicopter banked away, leaving the horrors of the park behind.
Weeks had passed since the harrowing events, but the memories clung to me like the bitter cold. I had returned to civilization, seeking solace in the familiar chaos of the city. I found a wealthy collector through a network of contacts. The artifacts fetched a price tenfold the cost of gear. The money was substantial, but as I held the cash, it felt like a hollow victory.
Noah's absence weighed heavily on me. His disappearance was chalked up as a missing persons case, and despite my best efforts to explain what had happened, no one believed me. The authorities conducted a search of the area, but they found no trace of the cult, the artifacts, or the clearing. It was as if the forest had swallowed up all the evidence.
I returned to the site where we had parked the truck. The dirt bikes were gone, stolen by opportunistic thieves, but the truck remained. I drove back in silence, the road winding through the dense forest. For a moment, I thought I saw the girl watching me from atop a ridge until I realized it was just paranoia. I stepped on the gas a little harder.
Back home, I checked the Tomb Raiders forum again. The post that had led us into the forest was gone, deleted without a trace. I messaged the mods, but apparently, they don’t keep records to maintain confidentiality. I wrote about our experience, detailing every terrifying moment, but the responses were skeptical at best. Most dismissed it as a work of fiction or a desperate cry for attention.
Time passed, and I tried to return to a semblance of normalcy. Yet, the wilderness called to me stronger than ever. It was my sanctuary, the only place where I could find peace amidst the turmoil. I spent more and more time outdoors than ever before, but now it always felt like I was just running from something.
Determined to prove what had happened, I returned to the forest with a camera and recording equipment. This time, I documented every step, capturing footage of the trees, the snow, and the eerie silence that hung in the air. I retraced our path, hoping to find the clearing again. But each night, as I reviewed the footage, something strange would happen. The files would be corrupted or entire segments missing.
I pressed on. I found the site where Noah had fallen, the ground still bearing faint traces of what had happened. I set up the camera and began to speak, recounting the events in detail. As I spoke, a cold wind swept through the clearing, and the camera's screen flickered. I finished my account and turned to check the recording, only to find the file corrupted once again, the footage replaced by static and a faint, mocking laughter.
I returned home, defeated and exhausted. My attempts to share what I had experienced were met with disbelief and ridicule. The files I managed to save were corrupted beyond recognition. It was as if the forest itself was conspiring against me.
Almost exactly one year later, as I browsed the forums, a new post caught my eye. It was cryptic, eerily similar to the one that had led us into the nightmare. It spoke of another trove of artifacts, hidden deep within the wilderness, waiting to be claimed.
The post was signed with a new name: Skygge. Different handle, same style. Another trap. They had taken so much from me, left scars that would never heal. I opened my drawer, my fingers brushing over the cold metal of my weapons. This was the moment I had been waiting for. This time, I'll be ready.
The forest’s secrets won't remain hidden forever.

Club Vlad sat near the confluence of Central Avenue and Washington Avenue, Albany’s two main thoroughfares. Two stories with blackout windows and a box office from when it used to be a movie theater, it was swarmed with people when Dom first spotted it ahead. He was somewhat familiar with it: He passed it every day on his way to work, and it was always busy around his time of evening, even on weeknights. Part of him always wanted to go inside and be a part of the scene, but he never did.
The man in sunglasses - his name was Joe - led Dom toward the club, and even before Joe spoke, Dom somehow knew that it was their destination. “There,” Joe said. “We’ll go around back.”
Dom and Joe had been walking for what seemed like an hour but couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes. Dom stuck as close to Joe as possible as if for protection, and had become accustomed to his pungent smell. It was noticeable only at extremely close range, part sickly sweet and part…something else, something Dom could not place but still somehow recognized. They were two blocks from the club, maybe three, and Dom could hear the pulsing techo/house/whatever music as clearly as if he were standing in the middle of the dancefloor. He could hear the chatter of the people inside, or at least he imagined he could. He could smell them too: Beneath the odors of perfume, desperation, and spiritual rot was something richer, something blissful. Dom realized for the first time that he was parched - so parched - and drool filled his mouth.
A crowd of people waited outside Club Vlad, talking and laughing; some vaped, some stared down at their cellphones like Gollum with his precious ring. Dom’s first reaction was to avoid them. Perhaps sensing this…or perhaps feeling it himself…Joe ducked into an alleyway two doors down from the club. “We’ll go in the back,” Joe explained.
The back entrance to Club Vlad was a single door underneath a bare bulb. The music was so loud that Dom’s head began to throb. Inside, a dark hallway terminated in an archway filled with throbbing white light. Dread filled Dom as they approached it - he didn’t want to be around people - but thankfully they went into a room off the hall instead. An office. A cramped desk, a filing cabinet. A set of stairs disappeared into shadows.
“Sit,” Joe said.
Dom obeyed, sitting in the swivel chair.
Joe went up the stairs and Dom was alone. The deep coldness that had long settled into his bones made itself known again, and Dom leaned forward, wrapping his arms around his chest for warmth. The muffled music vibrated in his skull, setting his teeth on edge, and the various smells wafting in from the main room assaulted his senses. He was alternately repulsed and aroused by the crashing din of scents: The good, the bad, and the mouth watering. A sharp pain cut through his stomach like the killing edge of a knife, and Dom hugged himself tighter. Had his throat always been this dry? His throat felt like sandpaper; his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth and getting it unstuck hurt so badly that tears sprang to his eyes.
Dom rubbed his arms with his hands and tried to still his chattering teeth. He looked around for a blanket, a discarded jacket, something to cover himself with, but there was nothing. Only drifts of glitter on the floor and walls. He supposed it came from a party or something. He’d never been to a night club but it seemed fitting.
A sound drew his attention to the door leading back into the hall. A woman - no older than a girl - stood there, looking confused and unsteady. She was dressed in black, wore glow sticks around her wrists and neck, and held a red solo cup. “I have to pee,” she said drunkenly and laughed. “I thought this was the bathroom.”
A cold wind washed over Dom, and Joe was standing next to him. “The bathroom’s up here,” he said.
“Oh, good,” the girl laughed, “I thought it was here but I didn’t know. This is my first time here.” She held her cup aloft. “Take me to it.”
Joe glanced at Dom. “Come on.”
They formed a party as they climbed the stairs, Dom in the tear and Joe at the head. The girl stumbled and held onto the railing, talking incessantly. Her voice hurt Dom’s head, but the hot smell wafting from her was intoxicating. Drool coursed down his chin and his breathing came in short, hot bursts. Another sharp pain rent his stomach, and he winced.
At the top of the stairs, where the lights were cold and white, a woman in black stood by a doorway, her back ramrod straight and her eyes vacant. Her face was gaunt, her white flesh pulled tight across her skull. She wore a black dress and her black hair long and straight. Dom only caught a glance at her before looking away again.
She looked like a ghost.
“Show her the bathroom,” Joe said.
The woman’s eyes slowly, ponderles, went from Joe to the drunk girl. Her expression, like Joe’s, was dead. She had no expression. “This way.”
She and the drunk girl disappeared down the hall, and Joe led Dom into a room. Though it was pitch black, Dom could still see; not very well…but he could see. Suddenly, a blinding white light flicked on in front of him, causing him to stop and fall back a step. Ahead, through an archway, sat a vaulted chamber, at the center of which sat a man. To Dom’s light dazzled eyes, he seemed a proud king perched upon a throne, the skulls of his many enemies piled around him. Dom blinked and turned his head slightly to the side. His eyes began to adjust, and the world came into focus.
The man was not, as it had first seemed, sitting on a throne. Instead, he was esconded in a motorized wheelchair. The piles of skulls were actually various pieces of machinery, the kind you’d find in a hospital room. A clear tube extended from one of them to the side of the man’s neck: Yellow liquid flowed from the machine and into the man. Another tube, this one in the other side of his neck, filtered out a mixture of what looked like yellow pus and black sludge. An infected malodor filled the air, and the machines whirred softly as they worked.
As for the man himself, his appearance was normal at first glance, Dressed in a flowing red velvet robe, a blue and green blanket with a plaid pattern draped over his shoulders, he was portly, about fifty, and had shoulder length grayish hair with a bald spot in the middle. If the local theater put on a production of Hamilton, they could cast a worse Ben Franklin than him.
On closer inspection, he was not normal at all. His complexion was yellow and waxy, like a statue, and his body was lumpy, misshapen, resembling an overfilled trash bag stuffed with cotton. His eyes were sick and yellow, and something about his posture seemed…off. It didn’t make sense, but the only thing Dom could think was: He looks impossible.
Joe stopped at the edge of the shadows, where the line between light and darkness lay. He seemed to stand up a little straighter, a general greeting his king. “Here he is,” Joe said.
The man squinted slightly against the glare of the light and motioned with one gnarled hand. “Step into the light,” he said. His voice was soft and kind, that of a senile though loving grandmother. Dom imagined he felt a pull toward the man, and did as he was bidden, wincing as the light stung his eyes.
For a moment, the man stared at him, his waxen features frozen fast as stone. Then, a subtle look of compassion flickered across his face. Dom did not believe in God, but he suddenly felt like a man standing before God, his every thought, feeling, and transgression laid bare. He had never felt so naked in his life, so exposed. He had the sense that the man before him could see everything, knew everything.
“You’ve been through a lot,” the man said. It was not a question, but a statement.
Everything Dom had been through over the past couple of days came back to him in a rush, and hot tears filled his eyes. He nodded.
The man nodded slightly, more to himself than to Dom. “Kneel down,” he said, “I want to look at you.”
Dom knelt without question.
The man lifted one hand and touched Dom’s face, tilting Dom’s head from one side to the other like a farmer appraising a horse. His fingers were long and bony, his nails ragged and unkempt; his touch was like ice. He brushed his knuckles over the purple bruise on Dom’s cheek, and there was such gentleness in that one act that Dom broke down sobbing. He leaned into the man’s touch like a cat and gave voice to his misery.
“Shhh,” the man said, “it’s all over now.”
“W-What’s happening to me?” Dom asked.
In his heart of hearts, however, he already knew.
“You died,” the man said patiently. “And you came back.”
Hearing it stated so plainly, Dom cried even harder.
“Only a handful of people throughout history can claim to have defeated death,” the man said, stroking Dom’s hair, “and you’re one of them. You should be proud.”
“How?” Dom asked between sobs. “What am I?”
The man stroked Dom’s cheek. “You’re the same thing I am.”
At that, Dom looked up at the man. “What are you?” he asked.
A little, knowing smile touched the man’s lips, and when he spoke, his canine teeth were longer and sharper than before. “I’m a vampire.”
“No,” Dom moaned and shook his head, “no, no, no.” He grabbed the man’s hand and held tight, his tears coming faster. He trembled like a frightened animal and squeezed his eyes closed, as if by doing so he could escape the hell his life had become.
But there was no escape.
“You have a lot of questions,” the man said, monologuing now rather than speaking directly to Dom, “I had the same questions when I was your age. I have spent the last forty-two years of my life trying to answer them, but every answer I find leads me to still more questions. There’s one thing I’m certain of, though.”
Dom blinked the tears from his eyes. The last of them had been squeezed from his dead tear ducts and he had no more to give. He simply stared into space, trying to come to grips with his situation.
“There is freedom in death,” the man said. “Death is easy. It’s simple. Once it’s over, you feel no pain, no sadness, no grief. It’s living that’s hard.”
As he spoke, he brushed his long nails across Dom’s scalp. It was a soothing feeling, and served to calm him. “People have so many troubles.” A note of revulsion crept into his voice. “So many needs, so many desires. People are complex but we’re not. We’re easy to please. A vampire wants only two things: A little blood and one more night.”
The combination of his touch and his voice had pacified Dom to the point of almost tranquility. “I’m scared,” Dom heard himself mumble.
Nodding almost reluctantly, the man said, “Fear is one of the only emotions a vampire can’t escape. Everything feels fear. Do you want to know a secret?”
Dom nodded.
“I’m afraid too,” the man confessed. “I’m afraid of death. Well…death as it were. I’m terrified that my body will rot away and leave me a pile of bones somewhere, unable to move but still aware”
A shudder went through Dom.
“As I’m sure you’ve seen yourself, the movies lied. We rot just like any other dead thing. Our flesh decays, our organs turn to sludge, and we go from rational men to monsters whose only thought is feeding.”
Now it was his turn to shiver.
“But…you’re not like that,: Dom said.’
The man smiled. “I’m lucky, I guess” A thin yellow fluid began to drip from his nostrils. He did not seem to notice. “What is your name?”
“Dominick,” Dom said.
“I’m Merrick,” the man said, “and this is my family.”
Dom realized that they were now surrounded by others, ten in all. They stood ramrod straight, their eyes vacant and their faces devoid of humanity. They were mainly men, though one was a woman. Some were pale, others were blue or black, and one was little more than a skeleton clad in withered brown skin, a white button up and jeans hanging from its frame.
A thought occurred to Dom. “You said my brain was going to rot…”
“Not necessarily,” Merrick cautioned, “though it’s possible.”
“Am I going to be…?”
“Like them?” Merrick asked. “Braindead and staring?”
Sheepishly, Dom nodded.
“Maybe,” Merrick allowed. “But these people are free of everything that troubles humanity. You were human just a short time ago. I’m sure you remember all too well what it was like. The constant politics, the moral quandaries, the philosophical pontificating. Human beings - and make no mistake, we are humans - were not meant for all of that. We’re animals. We were made to hunt, fuck, and sleep. Somewhere along the way, we got pretentious and started complicating things.” He looked at Dom, sizing him up, seeming to read him. “Things that animals take for granted, people work their entire lives to achieve. If an animal wants to fornicate, it fornicates. If a man wants to fornicate, he needs to be tall, handsome, rich, funny, progressive when it suits women but traditional when it doesn’t. If a man wants a home, he has to work thirty years for it. An animal has only to dig a hole in the ground.”
Every word struck a chord with Dom.
Because every word was true.
“Unfortunately, the living won’t allow us to live that freely, so we have to hide. These people here - my children - need a guiding hand, a protector, someone who can lead them. And I, an old man, need help.” Here he smiled playfully and patted his bulging stomach. “My body is mostly sawdust and cotton balls at this point, so I can’t do much. I share my wisdom and my knowledge with them, and they take care of me.”
“Why haven’t you…rotted?” Dom asked.
“Embalming fluid,” Merrick said. “Blood doesn’t sustain you. Embalming fluid does.” He smiled at Dom. “It can sustain you as well. If you’ll stay with us. We’re not the most attractive bunch, but we’re a family, and we really wish you’d join us.”
A family.
Dom’s parents had broken up and he lived with his mother. He had never had a family before, and had always wanted one, a real one, like in the movies. Even as a grown man, he sought the love, acceptance, and belonging that a family brings. He sought it in the wrong ways, but that - and not sex, not romantic love - is what he had really wanted all along.
This is what he had wanted all along.
“I want to,” Dom said.
Working quickly, Merrick slashed his wrist open with his thumbnail. An ugly mixture of stale blood, siphoned from someone else, and embalming fluid leaked out. “If you choose to drink, my blood will be in you. You will be my son and I will be your father. You will obey me as your father. You will do whatever is asked of you for this family, as this family will do for you. You will not reveal the secrets of this family to anyone outside of it. You will protect this family from all threats, both inside and out. Do you accept?”
He held his bleeding wrist out to Dom.
Dom did not question, nor did he hesitate. He grabbed the hand of his father, brought it to his mouth, and drank from the seeping wound. The fluid was cold, thick, and vile.
It tasted like belonging.
“Have you fed yet?”
“No,” Dom said.
“Before you do, I have a question for you. Who did this to you? Who made you?”
Dom thought. Everything was hazy. “Was it someone in this room?” Merrick asked.
Dom shook his head. “Her name is…” he wracked his brain. “Heather.”
Merrick nodded. “So there’s another out there.” He looked at Joe. “Did you turn her?”
“Yes,” Joe said.
Merrick looked annoyed. “I’ve told you not to go out and feed on your own. You have no self-control. You drink too much and create others, which creates headaches for the family. Tomorrow night, I want you and Dom to find her and bring her here.” “Okay,” Joe said.
Merrick looked over Dom’s shoulder. “Jess? Can you come here?”
The black haired woman from earlier came out of the shadows, the drunk girl with her, arms tied behind her back. The girl looked dazed. “Max,” Merrick said to the skeletal corpse-thing, “help her.”
Max, Jessie, and another vampire named Matt tied chains around the girl’s ankles and hoisted her aloft via a pulley system. Upside down, she swung back and forth. Merrick instructed the others to leave the room. “Max,” he said.
On his way out, the corpse-thing produced a knife and dragged it across the girl’s throat, slicing her skin; blood spurted out. Max leaned in to taste it, but Merrick shooed him away. When he and Dom were alone, Merrick told Dom, “Go to her.”
But Dom was already on his feet, his eyes transfixed by the crimson life flowing from her pumping throat. The hot, rich smell filled his nostrils and tantalized his senses. Saliva filled his mouth and his stomach panged with hunger. Some small, human part of his decaying brain screamed at him to stop, but he did not listen to it. He had been human for almost thirty years, and he had been miserable. Now, in this chamber of the undead, he gave himself over to his dark thirst. Like a man in a dream, he shuffled to her, inhaled the sweet scent of her blood, and shivered. He was so lost in lust that he hardly noticed the strange, cumbersome feeling of his descended fangs.
“Drink,” Merrick said.
Opening his mouth wide, Dom sank his teeth into the girl’s neck. Her blood filled his mouth and splashed down his throat. Warmth thawed the ice in his marrow and spread through him. His dead heart began to flutter, then to pound. His knees shook, his body trembled, and his mind rolled away on a tide of ecstasy.
As it was his first meal, he couldn’t drink much. Before long, his stomach was hard and distended and his body burned with fire. He collapsed to a heap on the floor and twitched as random nerve endings, stimulated by the blood, began to misfire. He felt full, warm, and drunk. He closed his eyes and let himself drift.
Dominick Mason had died.
And this…
This was heaven.
***
With all that was happening in the city of Albany, the last thing Bruce Kenner needed on Thursday morning was a visit from Bertha the bitch, but that’s exactly what he got. She flew into his office like she owned the place and instantly started in on him. Young man this and have you talked to Joe Rossi that. You’d think she was his boss. And if she were his boss, he’d quit and find another line of work. He heard McDonald’s was hiring.
Bruce almost snapped at her. He’d been up most of last night riding around Albany and looking for Dominick Mason. He and Vanessa expected him to drop dead somewhere close to the medical examiner’s office, but if he had, he’d done so in a super secret location.
“I’ve been busy,” Bruce said, “but I’m going to go by his place of work today.”
Tired and still confused over that bullshit from last night, he had no energy to argue with the old crone. He could spare a few minutes to talk to Joe Rossi, he figured. He assumed that Jessie was safe but he owed it to her to check. If he found the girl, he’d take her back to her grandmother (sorry, kid, really) and try to avoid arresting the guy. Unless he came off as a creep, then he’d bust his ass. See, people assumed that an older guy with a younger girlfriend was some master manipulator hell bent on evil deeds. Sometimes they were, but hell, his grandparents married when his grandpa was twenty-one and his grandma sixteen. They were married for fifty-five years and loved each other to the end. Maybe it was innocent, maybe not. It wasn’t his job to judge either way. Just gimme the girl so I can get her grandma off my back and no one gets hurt.
“It’s about time you started doing your job,” Bertha said, “I heard on the police scanner last night that you people lost a body. What kind of town is this? Your coroner is a drunk who makes up stories about bodies walking away. He probably sold it to black people.”
Bruce couldn’t help it; he snorted laughter.
“Now what would black people want with a dead body?”
“Probably to use it as a prop in one of their rap videos.”
Bruce didn’t know much about music videos, but he was pretty sure that the people who made them didn’t like the smell of corpse any more than the rest of us. “I’ll be sure to round up all the local rappers for questioning. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
Luckily for him, there was not, and Bertha left shortly thereafter. Alone and able to hear himself think, Bruce sat back in his chair and went over his mental checklist for the day. First order of business, go to Club Vlad. Second, find Dominick Mason. There were others, but that was the most important. He wanted the body found so someone could get to work explaining this whole weird thing. There had to be an explanation. The thought that there wasn’t, that a dead guy literally rose from the grave and disappeared into the night, deeply disturbed Bruce, and the more this whole thing remained ongoing, the more disturbed he would become.
Needing some fresh air, he decided to hit up Club Vlad.
Outside, the day was hot and sunny. Waves of heat shimmered from the pavement and not a single breath of air stirred in the whole world. Bruce slipped on a pair of sunglasses and drove over to Club Vlad. It occurred to him that the place might be closed during the day; it was the only place Joe Rossi was associated with. His address in the computer system was Glens Falls, far to the north. The messages he sent Jessie indicated that he lived onsite at Club Vlad.
The build, wedged between a corner store and a check cashing place, was as grimy and dumpy looking as it had always been. The front windows were blacked out and covered with posters and fliers for punk concerts, house bands, and far left political organizations: The Albany Social Justice Center, something called Bash the Fash 2025, and Bruce’s favorite. ACAB. He caught some kid spraying that on the side of the police station once, and under extreme police torture (ie, a good tongue lashing), the kid told him it meant All Cops Are Barnacleheads.
Bruce shot the kid on the spot and planted a gun on him.
How's that for barnaclehead?
Calm down, he didn’t really do that. He made him clean the graffiti off with a toothbrush. LOL he was out there for hours.
The sidewalk in front of the former theater was empty save for some little. The box office was abandoned. There was no open sigh, but then again, there was no closed sign either. He parked his cruiser at the curb, killed the engine, and got out, sweat instantly springing to his brow.
To his surprise, the door opened. Inside, a couple steps led down to a dance floor. A bar lined the wall to his right, and a couple more sets led up to a railed platform filled with tables. Above, a huge balcony looked down on him. A giant disco ball hung from the ceiling like a pair of glittery nuts and there were cages here and there. Presumably where girls danced go-go style. Oh yeah, nothing hotter than a woman behind bars. Why do you think Bruce became a cop in the first place?
Speaking of glittery nuts, there was glitter everywhere. On the floor, on the tables, on the bar. It twinkled like flecks of diamond and swirled around your feet when you walked. Bruce imagined big buckets of the stuff raining down on the dance floor at midnight and he shuddered. Imagine having glitter stuck in your hair. That shit would never come out.
Music played from the sound system, not as loud as it would be during operating hours. It sounded like ‘80s metal, not exactly what he expected from a place like this.
Some say life she's a lady
Kinda soft, kinda shady
I can tell you life is rich
She's no lady, she's a bitch
Being morning, the place was deserted except for a man behind the bar, busy at cleaning the countertop in anticipation for the night’s events. He was tall, Hispanic or Italian, and feminine, with a single earring and a tank top.
Bruce moseyed over to the bar and the barkeep looked up, missing a beat when he realized the fuzz was here. He sat down his rag and walked over. “Can I help you?” he asked in a whispy voice.
“Yeah,” Bruce said, “I’m looking for Joe Rossi. Is he here?”
“I don’t know,” the bartender said. He looked nervous. “I can check.”
Before Bruce could answer, he scurried off, leaving him alone.
They suck my body out
But friend there is no doubt
I'm gonna pay the devil his dues
Cause I'm sick of being abused
Bruce looked around, his fingers absently drumming on the countertop. Club Vlad was a clashing mix of grunge and glam that made his head hurt. He imagined what the place must be like at midnight, packed and noisy, and nodded to himself. Yeah, this was the spot, he guessed, the place all the cool kids went, if they went anywhere anymore. Hell, if he was thirty years younger, he might come here.
He had been waiting for almost twenty minutes when a voice spoke behind him. He turned with a start, and beheld the strangest man he had ever seen in his life. Short and plump - lumpy, even - he sat in a wheelchair, a red blanket draped over his shoulders and his hands resting on his knees. He was about fifty with sparse gray hair falling to his shoulders and a plastic-looking face. He looked like a wax statue of Ben Franklin come to life, and a deep sense of disquiet stirred in the pit of Bruce’s stomach.
Just can't fight the temptation
It's become my inspiration
Gonna get myself an axe
Break some heads, break some backs
It was only then that Bruce noticed the sickly sweet smell of death.
It seemed to come from the man in waves.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” the man said, “my name is Merrick Garvis and I own Club Vlad. Maybe I can be of assistance.”
Bruce grew up in the south where manners and saving face were paramount. His mother and his grandmother both taught him that it was impolite to stare. Maybe he'd been in New York so long that he’d forgotten himself, or maybe Merrick Garvis was just the strangest looking man in the world. Either way, Bruce couldn’t help gaping at his strange appearance. Recovering, he shook his head. “I’m sorry, I -”
Merrick smiled and waved one hand. Why was it so goddamn skeletal? “Don’t worry. I was injured in a fire a long time ago and this is the best they could do for me. To be honest, I’d stare too. What can I help you with, officer?”
“I’d like to talk to Joe Rossi,” Bruce said. “I understand he works for you.”
“He did,” Merrick said, “but I had to let him go. Did he do something wrong?”
Bruce sighed. “Well, yeah, he’s shacked up with a sixteen year old runaway.”
A look of concern crossed Merrick’s features, such as they were. “Oh, my, that is concerning. I haven’t seen him in several days. I assume he went home. He lives in Glens Falls.”
Bruce nodded, his mind working. If Rossi really was in Glens Falls, that meant the whole mess was someone else’s problem. He could send Bertha up there to bother some other poor barnacle head and be rid of her. Yet…he didn’t think Rossi was in Glens Falls. Bruce had a knack for knowing when people were lying, and he was certain that Merrick Garvis was doing just that. It couldn’t be a facial tick, as his features were largely unmoving, like clay. Maybe it was something in his cloudy eyes. Maybe it was the tone of his voice. Or maybe Bruce had the shining and knew things just for the hell of it. In any event, the certainty that Merrick Garvis was lying grew stronger with each passing second.
“Why’d you fire him?”
“He got drunk and hit one of the customers.”
“What did he do?” Bruce asked. “What was his position?”
“He was a bouncer.”
“Aren’t bouncers supposed to hit people?”
Merrick fumbled. “Well…not to punch them in the face for bumping into them.”
“How long did he work for you?”
“Six months.”
“Did you ever see him with an underage girl?”
“Of course not,” Merrick said, “you have to be twenty-one to get in. I make sure everyone’s ID is checked at the door.”
“What if she had a fake ID?”
“Then I guess she’d get in, but I’d assume she was of legal age.”
“You said he shoved someone, when did this happen?”
“Last week,” Merrick said.
“I thought you said he hit someone.”
Merrick again fumbled. “I did.” Now his face seemed to darken a little. A strange yellowish liquid, too thin to be snot, began to drip from his nostrils. Bruce barely suppressed a smear of disgust. “I understand you have a job to do but playing mind games with me isn’t going to solve anything. I can give you his address. Other than that, I can’t help you further.”
“Fair enough,” Bruce said. “But I’d like to see your ID please.”
Merrick glared at him. “I suppose you want my name, rank, and serial number as well.”
“Actually, yeah, I’d love that.”
Merrick drew a deep sigh. “Okay.”
In five minutes, Bruce had Merrick’s ID, social, and all other relevant information. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have bothered, even though he was well within his rights to ask for this information from someone he was questioning. But something about Merrick Garvis was off, and not just his weird face or strangely bulbous body. Bruce was just smart enough to realize that something was going on here, but not quite smart enough to even begin to imagine what.
When he had everything he needed and saw no reason to stick around, Bruce bid Merrick farewell and left the club. Before he could do anything else, he got a call from dispatch: Officer needed assistance in Pine Hills. Bruce slipped behind the wheel and went forth to help, momentarily putting Merrick Garvis out of his mind.
But soon or later, he would get back to him.
Oh yes he would.

I want to install lth on my 06 mustang gt and was wondering if an engine hoist would be worth getting. I alr have the tools to do it without one but if a hoist can save me a huge pain in the ass I wouldn’t mind having one

I was building Satsuma and my engine was on the hoist and the engine fell off of the hoist while it was still hanging, I dont know how that even was possible, but I was not able to unscrew the screws from the hoist nor the engin, If similar things has happened to you pls help!

Link for all the chapters available here: Engines of Arachnea on Royal Road
High above in her hiding spot, Zildiz had heard enough. The Leapers were her kindred’s most hated of adversaries, and she could not allow them to gain even a fraction of the grey behemoth’s awesome might. An apocalyptic vision arose in her mind of titanic Leaper variants towering over the rooftops of Chthonis, setting the Parchment City alight with beams of all-destroying light emanating from their many eyes.
Four against one. Those were slim odds even under the best of circumstances. Still, she had the element of surprise, and ambush predators were often unaccustomed to being preyed upon themselves. But Leapers were notoriously difficult opponents to sneak up on as they literally had eyes on the backs of their heads. But Zildiz was a veteran of countless border skirmishes, and had learned of a small blind spot in their vision. It was above and slightly behind the axis of their posterior lateral median eyes. But many Gallivants who had tried to make their first kill that way did not survive to tell the tale—the flutter of their wings gave them away. She would have to drop straight down on her first target. No hesitation, no second chances.
She saw the alpha Leaper lean down to extract the prey-form’s gilt helix, and saw her opening.
Rene heard a branch snap somewhere above him and felt a gust of wind blow across his neck, bearing with it droplets of moisture that pattered lightly against the visor of his mask. His first thought was that it had started to rain. He glanced up at the monster to find that it had extruded a new mouthpart, some manner of sharp, serrated tongue whose tip oozed a wet and viscous fluid. Rene flinched reflexively, expecting at any moment to feel the point punching through his skull before draining out its contents like a straw. But then the blade twisted sharply, wrenching its way out of the back of the monster’s head and drenching Rene’s mask in a shower of gore, the four-eyed devil letting out a wet gurgle as it slumped over in a twitching heap.
Pawing at his mask with his bound wrists, Rene peered through his smeared vision and saw a figure standing atop the corpse that, if anything, possessed an even less lovely countenance than his erstwhile interlocutor. A bulbous compound eye stared back Rene like a shattered mirror, a thousand miniscule reflections of himself repeating across its scaly lenses.
Rene recognized the creature as one of the harpies from earlier. One of its broad wings was missing. It drew its bloodstained blade across its mandibles, casually licking the weapon clean as an eight-limbed devil leapt at the harpy from behind, letting loose a bloodcurdling scream. But the harpy did not even turn at the sound, merely pointing its other blade arm behind it and letting its attacker impale itself upon it, clean through. With its dying spasms the devil pulled itself up the length of the blade in an effort to reach the harpy, even as its two kin recovered from their surprise and pounced at the harpy from either side. What followed was a blur of movement almost too quick for the human eye to follow as the harpy spun in place, cleaving the monster on the left halfway through its sternum. In the same movement it turned the devil stuck on the end of its blade into the path of the attacker on the right, using it as a living shield. The impact still bowled the harpy over, all four of the combatants rolling on the ground in a ball of threshing limbs and furious struggle.
The din was horrendous. Siezing the golden opportunity which had presented itself, Rene reached once more for the sword of the ancients, stretching his sinews for all they were worth. It was just enough to let him pinch the pommel-button between his middle and forefingers. Raising it up in spite of his trembling, sweat-slick grip, Rene coaxed the hilt into palm of his waiting hand, then pounded the button against his chest, feeling the sword come alive in his hands. As the fight raged on behind him, Rene sliced his legs free. He tucked in his head as he hit the ground, rolling onto his arse and reversing his grip on the sword, swiftly cutting the bonds around his wrists. When he tried to stand, however, he found that his legs were still unresponsive, all the blood within them having flowed up to his torso during his time spent hanging upside down. Pounding the life back into the clammy flesh of his calves with his fist, Rene looked anxiously around and discovered that the battle had since moved elsewhere, leaving two black-furred corpses in its wake. Cries of rage and a frenzied shaking among the bushes allowed him to guess where the other monsters were. He hoisted himself to his feet, picked up the safety kit and staggered away from the sounds of fighting, pins and needles still numbing the soles of his feet.
As he stepped over the dead bodies in his path, Rene was just about to congratulate himself on a smooth escape when his toes snagged on something and he tripped, going down heavily on his side. Rene felt a powerful yank on his ankle and looked to see the previously impaled monster glaring up at him. It wriggled on its belly and pulled him closer with one hand while it held in its spilled guts with the other three. By the ancestors, was it strong! Rene hacked at the hand holding his foot and lopped it off at the forearm, feeling only the slightest tug of resistance as the edge sheared through bone and meat alike. The hand was still clamped shut about his ankle with a death grip as he stood back up.
The fiend’s back arched as it brought its vile hump of flesh to the fore, dozens of sucking orifices on its misshapen surface spreading open wide.
Thwip! Thwip!
Jets of silk flew out of the spinnerets, the monster using its claws to grasp the threads and shuttering them back and forth like the shuttles of a loom. Cords flicked out and ensnared Rene’s sword arm, pinning it to his side while the weaver applied a lightning-fast field dressing on its abdominal wound, closing off both ends with wads of its makeshift bandage. Rene strained mightily against the loops of silk, but they never budged an inch. Meanwhile, the monster raked him with its claws, opening bright lines of agony across his chest and shoulder. Rene bit back a scream and dropped the sword point-first into the soil. It sank quivering up to its hilt, leaving him completely defenseless as the monster jumped and snatched him up in its gangly embrace. Rene fell to one knee as its weight bore him to the earth, reaching out with his free hand to draw the sword out of the ground and cleave through its rows of hairy legs.
Severed limbs went rolling every which way, the black devil tottering. Yet as it fell its outer mouthparts seized Rene by the temples and pinned him in place as it bit right into his face. Venomed fangs skittered across the transparent surface of his mask, scoring it with deep scratches. To his amazement the crystal held strong and did not shatter—once more the materials of the ancients had proven their incredible durability. Rene worked his arm clear and chopped wildly at the monster’s arms, felt its hold on him slacken as they fell away, leaving only spurting stumps. The butchered devil fell on its humped back and began shrieking its head off.
Rene raised his sword to deliver the coup de grace but was interrupted by the sudden reemergence of the other combatants who burst back onto the scene. The harpy was grappling with one of the devils, quickly being overpowered by its brute strength. As the devil sank its fangs into the bulging pair of compound eyes and tore off the top of the harpy’s head, the latter found an opening and slipped both its blades through in tight uppercutting motions, ramming them under the devil’s chin and out the other end. Ripping outwards and across with its arms the harpy tore its enemy’s head apart and sent the soggy chunks scattering into the treetops.
Reeling in obvious pain, it kicked the body aside and took off with a shutter of its wings, attempting an escape. A feral scream split the air as, the last devil leapt up to intercept it, entrails dangling in the place of its missing lower body. Devoid of sanity or self-preservation, it tacked the rising harpy and sent both of them crashing into a stout branch. They fell back to the earth with a bone-crunching thump, followed by a confetti-shower of dead leaves shaken from their stems.
Rene looked back at his enemy and saw the devil stubbornly gathering itself up for another spring. All it had left were a single arm and leg apiece, that and a merciless glitter in its eyes.
“You can’t be serious,” he complained, and put an end to its efforts by splitting its head right down the middle. Rene shook his head in disbelief and went over to polish off the other two, snipping his webbed arm loose as he did. He found the bisected devil crawling on its elbows and mewling with pain as it wriggled towards the unmoving body of the harpy, clearly intending to finish what it had started.
There were eyes on the back of its head, Rene now noticed. Four of them, the same number as on the front. It saw him coming and rolled over, raising its arms to shield itself.
Rene’s boot came stomping down all the same. He felt its head crunching under his heel as he squashed it into a flattened pie and was nauseated. Rene then approached the harpy, eyeing its blade arms warily and giving it a wide berth. He didn’t want to get anywhere near those frightful things, not after what he’d seen. Instead he went over to a fallen log and cut himself an oversized club from one of its boughs. Sticking the sword back into the ground, he hefted the length of wood over the harpy, intending to smash its head in from a distance.
He felt strangely squeamish at prospect of another head going splat. A wave of dizziness came over him and he had to take a moment to collect himself, doubling over and beginning to dry heave. Leaning heavily on the bough like a staff, he examined the harpy and thought that it looked sufficiently dead. Through the gaping holes in its face he saw the gooey interior of its head. Was that its brain poking through the cracks in the armored hide? Blimey, it had a big one. Equal parts revolted and intrigued, Rene reached over with the branch and prodded at it, testing for a reflex.
Nothing. Better to be safe than sorry, though. Rene raised the bough on high and steeled himself to do the deed once and for all.
A piece of the head fell away, and Rene gasped. Abandoning common sense, he threw aside the club and squatted over the body, frantically tearing off the rest of its cranial casing, plunging his fingers into the sticky mess and pulling out clumps of armored flesh until what lay beneath was finally revealed.
Rene clutched at his forehead as if it was about to explode. Backing away with a sense of dawning horror, he repeated over and over to himself: “It can’t be. It can’t be, it can’t! That’s not possible! It’s…it’s…”
Beautiful.
That was what Rene had meant to say. But the word felt so utterly absurd given the context that it took all his will to keep from bursting into a fit of deranged laughter. And who could have blamed him?
For beneath the ruined visage of flesh, the creature wore the face of a woman.
Link for all the chapters available here: Engines of Arachnea on Royal Road

Edit: Clarity ~
Yo. Love this car. It has some quirks I'm interested in understanding though.
Before that though, the car is a 2011 Jazz GE8 Vti, Manual transmission. Its got about 90,000k on the clock (55,000-ish Miles).

• 1. Is there a speed lock on shifting down to 2nd ~and 1st? (I'm not downshifting to 1st at 30k I'm not insane)~. I cannot down shift when going anything over around 30kph / 18-ish MPH. If I try to force it I get grinding. Never had any other manual car do this when downshifting...

From what I've seen when researching this it could be a plethora of things; worn clutch disk, worn out synchros, air in the clutch fluid, etc.
Because of the cars history and low odometer I can't see it being a wear & tear issue, the clutch oil is a fair bit dark though so that's going to get seen to anyway. Apart from that I've no idea... Anyone else?

• 2nd. The fan blower resistor has blown. I'm not sure I trust the cheap Chinese replacements to not have way to much solder to break when overloaded and start a fire in my car...

Would like to know if anyone has had any experience with them though. The OEM resistor is 4x the price.

• 3rd. I've got a slight grind/rattle when accelerating around 2k RPM. Took it to a family member with a hoist and we noticed a little rotational (not radial thankfully) play in the CV axle on the front+left side. Apparently the sound is fairly common with most MT Honda's of this year range.

Wondering if anyone else had similar experiences. The sound only happens at 2k RPM under medium load, but I'm sure it's not the engine lugging. The sound is very directional and doesn't not happen when accelerating below 2k RPM (which I'm not setting out to do mind you I know what RPM the engine is happy at.)
That's about it. If anyone here has answers for any of these questions I'm eager to listen. I've got a month left on my dealership warranty so I'd like to get any unusual service work done before that expires.
Thanks!

Use to love their content and a regular viewer 5-10 years ago, admittedly I don’t watch nearly as often but feels like whenever I actually do it’s sorta the same shit as most automotive youtubers, everything overhype and “mr-beastified”.
It bothers me slightly that MCM seem to regularly push the idea that they’re just 2 ordinary blokes enjoying a hobby. Except they conveniently leave out the part that they are well established with brand sponsors, industry connections, heaps of subscribers and a 15+ year Youtube legacy.
Yes, they didn’t have access to a hoist in their dedicated hobby location, but seem to have every other Ryobi tool under the sun (they even had their photo on the actual WD40 cans several years ago), heaps of mates to dedicate unlimited time and resources to helping them drive up their content. It’s the same vibe like how multi millionaires walk around in a grey T Shirt so they can push the whole “see, we’re just like you” idea.
Most recent example in the “$1000 per hour” car flip which is obviously clickbait. Look, i’m no expert but I flipped several cars as a side hustle few years ago. I can tell you first hand this wouldn’t work in the real world if you counted all the time stuffing around with finding the car, the normal back and forth bullshit on facebook marketplace, the rego paperwork / rego transfer (possibly also Roadworthy inspection + repairs if you’re in VIC), add travel time to the wreckers and anywhere else collecting parts and then you still need a good buddy who is also an expert spray painter.
You also can’t tell the buyer you’re flipping or they’ll lose all interest unless they really wanted that car so much.
Every ordinary AF grocery getter nugget they touch suddenly skyrockets in price because nobody gave a fuck about insert model of car here till the automotive influencers overhype it, like the Yaris engine swap.
What the hell happened to installing stereos and springs in a suburban driveway?

Car is heading to the scrapper soon (frame rot) and I’m considering pulling the motor and trans first for some extra money since it runs and shifts so well still. How bad of a job is it? I’m not expecting it to be easy but I’ve also never pulled a motor before and am really just wondering if it will be worth the hassle. I do have a friend with an engine hoist. Thanks!

If you're looking for a job in College Station, Texas, please reach out to me. No relay experience needed. No degree needed. Thanks.
Probably starts around $35 per hour. Full Time - $31.41 - $44.93 Hourly
TitleElectric Relay TechnicianNumber2402189LocationCollege StationYesDescriptionUnder the supervision of the Electric Metering and Relay Supervisor, the Electric Relay Technician is involved in the installation, maintenance, replacement, testing, documentation, and programming of relays and equipment involved in substation transmission and distribution protection; monitoring and controls; and security while ensuring work meets all North American Electric Reliability Corporation (NERC) compliance guidelines.Principal Duties

1. Install, commission, test, calibrate, maintain, and program protective relaying equipment used in substation transmission and distribution systems.
2. Implement and update protection settings as developed by relay engineers. Document all system modifications and changes.
3. Troubleshoot and analyze system failures.
4. Assist the Substation Technicians in substation maintenance and improvements.
5. Work with SCADA, Operations, Transmission and Distribution, Compliance, and Substation/Metering divisions, along with outside consultants, contractors, and other electric utilities to ensure the electric system meets all regulatory compliance requirements (NERC, FERC, ERCOT).
6. Assist in the review of schematics and blueprints to verify relay functionality and integration with other protection and control components such as RTUs, test devices, and other utility companies’ relays.
7. Aid in development of written standards for commissioning, acceptance testing and maintenance procedures for protective relaying using manufacturer’s technical manuals and NERC requirements.
8. Perform federally mandated (NERC) testing on protection systems according to NERC PRC-005 standards and document results. Perform end-to-end relay testing using test equipment. Verify protective relay logic through the function testing of the relaying systems.
9. Assist the Supervisor in the performance of his/her duties as delegated; make recommendations to improve work and system processes. Act on behalf of the Supervisor when needed.
10. Perform other duties as assigned.

Qualifications Required: Two (2) year technical degree in related field or High School Diploma/G.E.D. and two (2) years of experience as an electric utility technician or related position. Valid Texas Driver License. Must maintain a residence within a 40-minute response time of the Utility Service Center within 6 months of accepting position. Available to work on-call, emergency response, weekends, and evenings. Ability to use and have knowledge of tools, equipment, and operational details required to properly accomplish the duties associated with this position. Ability to progress through skill plan program within specified period of time as defined per department’s skill plan policy. Ability to perform essential duties in an environment that entails a variety of weather conditions and extreme temperatures; working at heights of up to 30' above ground level; frequent standing, walking, sitting, bending, stooping, climbing, and pushing/pulling; using hoist and dollies to lift and move heavy objects; and physically lifting and moving objects weighing up to 50 lbs. Preferred: Four (4) year degree in Electrical Engineering or Engineering Technology. Experience with Doble Relay Testing Software (RTS) and SEL AcSELerator (SEL 5030).Supplemental Information SPECIAL REQUIREMENTS: Drug Screening: Due to the safety and/or security sensitive nature of this position, individuals shall be subject to pre-employment or pre-placement drug and/or controlled substance testing as outlined in City policy. Position open until filled or closing date.

[FIRST][LAST]
After Action Report - Venlil Colonial Defense Force
Subject : Captain Farva
A gentle giggle rose from the foot of my bed. I curl up in my blankets at first not willing to be woken by the kids; Whatever they were up to; my mind still foggy from morning dreariness. I heard chief Donu exchanging excitedly with someone not far away in engineering speak, my tired brain could not parse. The tones of synthetic beeps, and electrical humming slowly entered my awareness. I raised my paw to wipe the morning dew from my eyes but I felt some kind of resistance to my paw. I sit up confused, I am not in my bedroom, or my quarters aboard my ship.
I am on a soft bed, with a soft blanket made of a finely woven material draped off my form. Around me is a curtain wall hung off of a curved metal pole which encompasses the entire bed, and I am flanked on both sides by medical equipment. Boxy screens display what I assume to be my vital signs accompanied by a strange blocky alien script. Inspecting my arm I notice an IV drip is inserted into the vein. Feeling a fading headache I reach up to my forehead where I feel a bandage covering a tender wound. Where Did I….
A sharp meep escapes my mouth. I am on the predator ship!
I quickly begin to tear at the IV line, not wanting whatever poisons the predators are feeding me to further enter my body. The room goes quiet, the curtain wall is disturbed, I focus on tearing away the bandage, panicking my coordination falters but I almost have it out when a paw reaches out to stop me. A cream colored venlil has rushed to my bed frantically batting at my arms in an attempt to stop me from saving myself.
“Captain, please let me help. I don't want you to hurt yourself!”
Not thinking, in full stampede mode I back hand the interloper with my paw.
A startle meep escapes her lips.
The IV is ripped out with the sudden motion.
Orange Blood begins to drip from the improperly removed IV.
This site further raises my heart rate.
The Venlil Recovers and I recognize her.
“Nurse Fila, What are you doing? what's going on?!”
“Farva you need to calm down, your going to be alright let me look at that arm”
“NO!”
I pulled my injured arm away. Jumping up to stand on the bed. Why was Fila working with the predators? What had they injected into my body?
“What are they holding over you! Why are you working with the predators! Where's Nyan?!”
“Captain Farva please calm down, These predators are different, they don't want to hurt us, you need to believe me”
It must have been some mind altering drug, these predators clearly have her under their spell! I needed to get out of here. I couldn't force her to come with me. I needed to escape and regroup, and pray to whatever gods will listen that I could get off this ship somehow.
I bolted from the bed crashing through the curtains, they did not move out of the way fast enough and my mass caused the curtain rods to be hoisted from their housings. I collapsed upon the floor, my movement hindered by the tangled mass of predatory linens. I struggled against the vile curtain entrapment. I had to use my claws to tear my way free of them. I looked up, predatory growls of surprise, and startled meeps echoed out from all around me.
My peripheral vision was filled with images of both predator and prey alike, I was surrounded on all sides. Nurse Fila was behind me stunned by my sudden actions. Donu looked towards me with concern, and I looked to the far end of the room to see Nyan, In the clutches of a blond haired predator. Digging her claws into his young flesh.
Donu gets up gesturing with her tail in a placating motion. “Easy now Farva, don’t do anything rash!” Donu speaks.
They have her too!
I bolt past her and the massive predator standing next to her. I go to grab Nyan, but he is pulled from my reach! The large predator turns her body to shield me from her catch.
“Hey easy now!” It barks, holding Nyan away from me.
Nyan reaches his paw out past the predator. A horrified look in his eyes.
With only the frantic strength a mother could conjure, I grasp his outstretched paw and pull him from the predator's grasp. With him once again in my arms I see the door to the pen we are in begin to open. Wasting no time, I bolt full sprint from the door. Only to be met by a large black mass. A tall impenetrable wall of muscle, cloaked in foot to shoulder black artificial pelts. Holding a colorful pink box, no doubt gaining that color from being caked in the blood of innocent prey animals. I raise my paw not holding Nyan to swipe at him, to rip my way past him. But before I can make contact my arm is grabbed by the predator's meaty digits. It holds me tight just below the paw where the wound from the ripped out IV sits. Blood dripped from the wound, no doubt triggering its bloodlust. I drop Nyan to free my other paw, I go to swipe the predator to free my arm but again I am stopped. I look to my right to see Donu restraining my arm.
“Donu let go!” I scream. “You're not of your own mind!”
“My mind is fine thank you!” She replies.
I turn to kick her away, striking her twice with quick kicks. Desperately trying to free myself from her deranged clutches. I wind up to kick a third time only for Nyan to wrap his whole body around my legs.
“Nyan Stop” I cry, my heart beating at a million light years per hour.
“Please…Don't hurt Teal’c and Donu” Nyan pleads.
I frantically wiggle my body desperately trying to regain autonomy from my traitorous captors.
“Im going to sedate her” proclaims my former ship nurse Fila.
Grabbing a Needle she stalks towards me, eager and willing to deliver me into the jaws of her captors.
“That will not be necessary” says the large predator holding my arm. He sets his package upon a nearby bed, and grabs my other arm from Donu, and then easily flips me around. And holds my arms behind my head, he then proceeds to kick my legs out from under me and forces me to the ground in a vice-like headlock.
“BE CALM CAPTAIN FARVA” It bellows “Further resistance will only cause more harm to yourself, and more worry from your crew, listen to them”
“Captain please just relax your safe, if they wanted to hurt you they could have a long time ago” Donu almost seems to try and trick me to the predator's side. But I see her glancing nervously towards the cut on my arms. Deep down I think she knows what that means. Nyan also pleads with me to listen. It's at this I begin to tear up at the hopelessness of it all. I wail out in despair frantically thrashing to free myself from the predator's death grip but to no avail.
I sit here once again, bested by predators, having failed those I love, but instead of rotting in a cattle pen or in the belly of an Arxurs stomach. They lie in a different kind of pen, their minds’ no longer theirs, as they fall victim to the predator's spell. Brainwashed to serve as the perfect compliant cattle.
Nurse Fila approaches a needle in her hand.
“I'm going to sedate her I need to look at that wound”
“Hold up a second” speaks the blond predator, she seems to be calming down.
The truth is I have no will left to fight, I have been bested time and again, there is only sorrow left and self pity. I only wish for a swift end now. I don't wish to live with the weight of this long string of failures weighing on my mind any longer. I go limp in the predator's arms.
“Please just… make it quick predator” I manage to say, sobbing making it hard to talk as I get out the words between snuffling breaths.
“It's okay Farva, please don't be sad” Nyan pleads as he clings tightly to my waist.
The predator holding me growls quietly into my ear. “I am going to release you now, do not attempt to harm nurse Fila as she is trying to help you now, do you understand?”. I tilt my ears in the affirmative, nothing happens for a moment until Donu signals to the predator who I guess whose name is Teal’c that I responded in the affirmative. My arms are slowly brought to my side. My left arm is released but not the wounded right one. Teal’c displaying some knowledge in medical etiquette seems to be intentionally applying pressure to the wound to prevent bleeding, I am led back to the bed.
Nurse Fila is about to attempt to fix my wound but is stopped by the blond predator.
“Allow me, this should go a lot more smoothly with this.” The blond predator produces a strange golden metal device, it appears like a strange wiry gauntlet, with metal claws and a strange crystal in the center. It emits a strange pulsing sound that I cringe at, but I am held firm by nurse fila, I can't look away as the strange glow it emits passes over my arms. The curtain of despair lifts for a moment, replaced by incredulousness as before my eyes the wounded artery in my arms miraculously seals itself, as elegantly as a flight suit being zipped up. My arm is left feeling slightly warm which soon fades, any sign of the wound is gone.
Fila speaks in an incredulous tone.
“It is endlessly baffling how your medical bay is stocked with simple alcohol based disinfectants and primitive bandages and sutures. Like something I'd see in a primitive yotul field hospital, while simultaneously containing healing tools so advanced they would make the finest Zurulian theoretical medical engineers sell their own tail.”
The blond predator lets out a high pitched broken chortle, which my translator pings as laughter. “I don’t know what a Zurulian is but compared to what we've seen this is nothing, this is a miniature version of the same technology used in a Goa'uld sarcophagus, which can reanimate dead tissue, bringing people back to life even after complete brain death.”
“Fascinating” Donu replied “what is the nature of this radiation”
“That technology itself is actually derivative of an ancient healing device created by our distant primordial ancestors the Alterans, which emitted subspace based healing radiation. We currently have the original device back in our home dimension being reverse engineered back in area 51” Spoke a third predator, who was standing up against the far wall.
He seemed to be holding onto himself quite fiercely, perhaps he struggled to hold in his bloodlust, unlike the two predators currently at my side.
“For predators they have such wondrous technology Farva” Donu says as she takes my paw and massages it gently in an attempt to ease my anxiety. “I almost wouldn't believe it if not for what they have shown us so far. Tell me, do you know how they got us off of our ship?”
A wave of realization washed over me as I sat dumbfounded in the bed. How did they get us off this ship? My brain had been in nonstop flight mode since the battle. I had been so occupied with survival I never stopped to contextualize my mere presence, on this ship, in one piece, why had we all seemingly awoken in this ship's hangar bay. No wait we didn't awaken, most of us were standing. Maybe we were drugged and removed, with no memory of the lost time. But that couldn’t be right. I was looking at the countdown to the core explosion. It had hit zero. I saw the flash myself.
“I was on the bridge holding Nyan in my arms, but after that I remember being in that hangar bay, with Nyan, in the exact same position.”
“The humans have a technology that allows them to break down matter at the atomic level, transfer it via an electromagnetic molecular confinement beam, and reassemble it at a different location completely remotely!” Donu excitedly proclaimed.
“You were teleported directly from the bridge to our ships hangar bay with your crew, and Donu to our infirmary due to her severe radiation poisoning.” Commented the blond predator.
Nyan finished crawling up the bed and snuggled into my side. “They fixed Donu, Samantha fixed her with her healing glove!” Nyan excitedly brayed, his tail wagging uncontrollably.
My stomach dropped, how had I forgotten, how did I let that slip my mind, Donu was subjected to at least 3.6 standard units of gamma radiation. Her presence here was a miracle. I hugged her tightly, my guilt for my actions only increased, how could I neglect the damage done to one of my oldest friends. Was I so predator diseased that I forgot to think of my herd?
The predator whose name was Samantha spoke ”Yeh sorry it took us so long, we cut it a lot closer than we wanted, but we had to adjust our transporter lock to account for the radiation flooding the ship, the levels experienced were harmless for the most part, but enough to cause problems.”
The fear chemicals were slowly draining from my mind, my head became clearer as I started to consider the actions of these predators so far. They had offered to help my ship while risking their own vessel, they had tried for peace before throwing themselves into battle, they had little reason to help us and little reason to try and take our technology as their capabilities seem to surpass ours in many ways so far.
I looked towards the blond haired predator, towards Samantha.
“Why did you help us? What do you hope to gain?”
She responded ”Well now we would like to maybe get some intel about this local region of space, we are not from around here and frankly we could do with some help securing some parts. But with that in mind we didn't really expect anything out of you when we first got your hail. We helped because you were in trouble, and your situation sounded dire.”
“And I'm just supposed to believe that! Prey ships would be waging pros and cons before even thinking about helping another ship under attack, especially with not knowing anything at all about the other ships capabilities”
Donu squeezed my paw and interjected. "These humans aren’t like normal predators, they are pack predators, they are very social, and even appear to feel genuine empathy, they even eat plants, they have been feeding us from their own reserves!”
“How is that possible?” I ask, having never heard of such a thing.
“Well where we come from” Samantah responded ”Omnivorous life is extremely common, not just on our home planet but nearly every one of the thousands of habitable planets we have visited contain omnivorous life in some form or another, It is an incredibly beneficial evolutionary trait.”
“Thousands! How can that be, our scientist have never encountered such a thing”
“That's the thing, they're not from this galaxy Farva, they're not even from this dimension!”
Donu gets into explaining the technical aspects of the Daedalus's faithful journey to our dimension, while Nyan, an always hungry growing boy, runs off during her explanation, to approach the large predator known as Teal’c.
“Can I have another donut?” he asks, pointing to the box that I now realize is not covered in blood but instead merely painted a gaudy pink.
“You may, but only after you have completed your grooming rituals, it is important for little ones such as yourself to learn and maintain proper hygiene practices” Teal’c spoke, his growls almost seeming to take up a fatherly aura.
He looks disappointed slightly but then his ears and tail perks up as he runs behind Samantha and out of sight, he remerges with a hairbrush and plops himself down on the predator's lap. To which she responds by snarling at him intensely.
“Donu” I shriek, interrupting the third predator's speech on the volatile nature of fourth dimensional space. Shocked at how quickly the predator could go from civility to volatility so rapidly. I was quickly calmed by Donu and Fila assuring me that this was merely an odd habit of the humans. The upturned teeth baring signaled happiness to them. Samantha made it clear to me that since her jaw was not clenched it did not indicate aggression. Her explanation sounded dubious, but after further observation, her following actions did not seem to indicate she wanted to harm the boy. Nyan offers her the brush once he sees that I am finished panicking.
She gives and odd closed mouth smile. "You have an almost PHD level knowledge of physics! don't tell me you don't know how to brush your own fur”
His tail gives a meek wag. ”I like when you do it, you have such nice flat nails and warm fingers!”
He makes his eyes go wide like a pup pleading for attention. The predator’s resolve immediately falters. ”Awh how could I say no to such a cute little angel”.
Samantha begins to help the boy detangle his fur, running her long grasping appendages through his fur in combination with the brush to gently pull apart the knots. He’s already clean from the grime that was present on him from when we were back on the heavily damaged ship, speaking of which I gesture to nurse Kila.
“Kila, how is the crew? How are they holding up? why aren't they here?”
“17 survivors including yourself, the humans have set up a triage center in their hangar bay, keeping the crew together and trying to give them some space, their stable but many of them are bedridden. They're quite scared naturally but,“ nurse Kila gives a look towards the humans “but I think we are going to be alright.”
“So what happens now?” I asked, “you aren't from this dimension and you said you were having drive problems, can you fix those? What are your plans for this dimension?”
The third predator stalked out from his isolated corner to address the room in a posture that emphasized the obvious restraint that was required to contain his instincts around us. “Hi ummm.. My name is Doctor Rodney Mckay, I think I can help with that question, simply put, our drive system uses a specialized quantum subspace field generator to warp 4th dimensional space in a way that allows us to track and catalog dimensional eddies as we call them, and track their specific frequencies which allow us to…….”
------- one long boring explanation later ------
“Ah So I see, you came to this dimension by mistake and need a replacement part that you cannot manufacture yourself to return home, but you think we might be able to manufacture a replacement with our industry?” I asked for clarification from Rodney.
“I discussed with your chief engineer earlier, we should be able to reproduce the part we need at what Donu described as a hyper fabricator, the meta materials available in your dimension you use for warp travel should be sufficient to recreate the part we need”
“In exchange I believe we can help you with your little arxur problem.” Spoke Samantha, running her grasping appendages through the fur of a contented Nyan, who was happily munching away at the strange circular Staryu-like treat the human Teal'c had presented him. Samantha proclaiming it to be sourced from his personal stash.
I was taken back by the revelation that they wanted to offer further assistance, when the predators first mentioned their damaged drive system, I thought they might try to leverage our place as rescued survivors as a means to get access to the part they needed to repair their damaged vessel. But now they were offering further assistance in exchange?
“I don’t understand, you've already done so much? Why would you help us more and risk more damage to your vessel?”
“Well if you want the reason we are going to put on paper, “Samantha said, ”it's to gather intel about a potential threat, and to ensure trust and cooperation of the locals to better expedite the procurement of mission critical drive components. If you want our real reason, its that no one deserves what has been done to you, we can't stay because we have responsibilities in our home dimension, but we don't see why we can’t help you while we are here.”
“So wait, are you proposing what I think you're proposing?”
“I am, from what we learned from your crew the arxur take a large portion of their abductees as cattle, we can track your subspace trails quite quickly and we think we have a good chance of hunting down the arxur transport ships.”
Nyan angled his head to look at both me and the human. Hope in his eyes, the idea of getting my family back would normally seem like an impossible dream, but here I was being comforted by predators, offering to risk their lives for a very lopsided trade in our favor. An ember of hope for the first time in many claws went alight in my chest.
I looked to Donu, who while trying to hide it, looked forlornly in Nyans direction. He was so happy to hear about a rescue plan and excited by all the predators' incredible technology, but while my family was young and fertile enough to be taken as cattle and potentially rescued. I had little doubt that if his family wasn't eaten, or killed in the bombing of the colony, the arxur would have no reason to hold a couple of such advanced age as cattle.
While I myself was a meek prey and a hopeless failure of a military officer, these Humans, despite obviously being fierce predators, had shown off an odd compassion. If anyone could; stand up to the arxur, and hunt them in return it was them.
I would help them anyway I could, they were unfamiliar with our foe, but they have shown themselves to be quite adaptable so far. Working together, we just maybe had a chance at making up for my failures. To set things right, and to save innocent prey from a fate worse than death.
“I think I may have to take you up on your offer kind predator”
Officer Report - Captain Caldwell
CLEARANCE LEVEL 5
Our interim chief engineer Dr.Mckay has successfully clamped open the 4th dimensional hole in space ; as he calls it; so we are clear to jump through this dimension freely without losing our path back to our home dimension. While my first impulse would be to jump to Earth, Unfortunately it seems that this dimension’s earth cold war went hot and it is currently a bombed out waste land. That being said carter and Mckay have struck a deal with the captain of the destroyed venlil defense frigate, in exchange for aiding in the rescue of captured civilians, they are willing to grant us access to the advanced manufacturing equipment needed to repair our Quantum drive.
While the antagonistic cannibalistic arxur are certainly an intimidating foe, they are not invincible and our ship stacks up favorably against theirs when specialized techniques are employed. The problem they cause for us is more unique. Carnivores are rare in this dimension and seemingly more so are omnivores. The Herbivore species known as the venlil are quite afraid of us, having dealt with these arxur for so long, and also due to a seemingly quite intense biological fear response, have been very wary to deal with us. Fortunately due to our admittedly unusually charismatic crew, and their admirable diplomatic efforts, we seem to have gotten them to calm down a lot since we initially transported them onto our ship. I am going to check up on the venlil crew and captain in the Medbay now, as they will be the most essential venlil to our efforts going forward.
As I walk in it seems that captain Farva is fast asleep, while Rodney appears to be using a Donut to explain the workings of a stargate to the aliens engineers.
“Okay so the stargate, you see this donut, imagine it's about 10 venlil tall, and made of metal” Rodney picks up another donut and hands it to the Child named Nyan. ”Okay first off don't eat that, secondly imagine you are a ancient alien race, and you want to get to point A to point B as fast as possible. Ftl isn’t quite fast enough so what if you could instead skip the trip and skip to the end. The stargate network allowed the ancient alternans to simply walk from planet to planet” Rodney used his finger to gesture from donut to donut in his explanation of the stargates, speaking about their functions as well as their dangers, mentioning some notable accidents associated with their use, like unwanted time travel, stellar poisoning and dimension hopping, the ladder being a large part of why we were here in this dimension to begin with. Most concerningly however, the venlil Nyan took a bite out of the donut when rodney finished his explanation.
Samantha was working quietly with nurse Fila and looked up from some chemical diagrams when she noticed I had entered the room. I asked if I could have a word, and took Her, Rodney, and Teal'c aside to have a meeting with them. We left the room due to the venlil’s exceptional hearing, as we had previously discovered when various medics made some inappropriate comments on how the venlil were “cute enough to eat '' thinking they were out of earshot.
Having taken them aside I spoke up. “I have already told this to Shepard and our medical staff in the hangar bay, and I would like to congratulate you on your remarkable progress on bridging the gap with the venlil. Going from shoot on sight in the hangar bay to literally eating out of your hands in a matter of hours represents some major diplomatic prowess.”
“Thank you captain” Samantha Said.
“There behavior is indeed most unusual” followed Teal’c
“But seemingly quite understandable given what they have been through with the wraith, Sorry! Arxur, Freudian slip.” chimed rodney.
“I would love to look at the biosphere of one of their planets, their ecology seems preposterous judging by the way they describe it. But they are a space faring species so they presumably know what they are talking about.” added Samantha.
“I myself am curious based on what you reported general, their dimension is quite odd but I suppose ours would be weird to them as well, but we have responsibilities back home.” I responded curtly. “I do have a question for you all though, The Venlil are a herbivorous species with intense emotional reactions and societal values pertaining to the consumption of meat, including animal products correct?”
Samantha answered ”We have been avoiding the subject of meat consumption as much as possible, focusing on our plant based foods for the venlil’s comfort, and they have been happy to keep that topic to a minimum after the initial introductions, but I don't believe they would respond well to the idea of consumption of…..” Samantha trails off with a worried look. “Oh god wait, please don’t tell me”
Teal’c looks confused, Rodney facepalms.
“You do know that donuts have eggs in them? Don't you.”

First Chapter Previous Chapter
The weighty thud of a suitcase hitting the floor snapped Mrs. Vilonte from her thoughts. She reached for a shot glass and filled it with scotch, her eyes drifting towards the staircase where her husband stood, ready to depart, his coat and hat in hand, suitcase beside him.
“Such a fine example of a gentleman,” she quipped, before knocking back the shot, the fiery liquid stoking her bitterness while at the same time loosening up the tension in her muscles.
“Shattering our marriage and leaving your family behind. Bravo, truly the epitome of manliness, Philip!”
“I need to go away for a little while for my own sake.”
“Sure, just a little while,” she retorted with a tone dripping in disdain.
“I'll be on my own staying at a hotel downtown. I need to be alone to think about things.”
“Alone? Oh, please. I could smell that cunt’s juice lingering on your breath from here.”
“I already told you that I'm not sleeping around!”
Mrs. Vilonte scoffed incredulously, knowing that wasn't true. While running through the surreal forest in search of escape, she stumbled upon a field of mirrors. There, reflected back at her, she saw him and that... bitch (she couldn't bring herself to say her name).
“You disgust me,” she spat.
“I disgust you? Look around you! Our family is now broken! There's nothing much to salvage. I don't know why I've stayed this long with you.”
Her husband spread his arms, indicating to their sparsely furnished home, a stark contrast to its former opulence, once boasting luxurious chairs, sofas, tables, and an assortment of porcelain and gold souvenirs gathered from various corners of the world. After Mrs. Vilonte's recent release from the hospital, they resorted to selling off belongings to alleviate their mounting debts.
Gabrielle remained missing, and the once fervent public support for their search had dwindled. Instead, attention now fixated on their son George, who had been arrested for a heinous crime, a revelation that shook Mrs. Vilonte to her core, questioning if his profession as a pediatrician concealed darker truths.
As if their troubles weren't enough, the Vilontes faced another blow as their son-in-law Eric de Leon announced that once Gabrielle was found, he would sever ties following a leaked video of his wife's affair. At first, Mrs. Vilonte dismissed the rumors, convinced of their falsehood until the relentless gossip and media scrutiny left her with no choice but to see it for herself.
Despite her belief that they were mistaken, the disturbing reality sneered at her in the video. It wasn't just her daughter losing herself in the throes of passion that upset her, but the sickening revelation was that the man was none other than the young-looking Salerno. He stood there, drenched in sweat, gasping for air, a triumphant grin plastered across his face as he stared directly into the camera.
The sight was seared into her mind, a repulsive image she longed to erase and obliterate from her memory.
She poured another generous measure of scotch, the amber liquid glinting in the dim light. Downing it in one motion, she clenched her eyes shut, feeling the sting of hot tears welling behind her eyelids.
The once vibrant family photographs that were hung on the walls now seemed to mock the present reality. They were moments of happiness and togetherness that felt distant and unattainable.
Their meals together had become silent affairs, punctuated only by the clinking of cutlery and the heavy sighs of resignation. Love had been replaced by apathy, joy by melancholy. They had become strangers to each other.
“This isn't the life I envisioned for our family,” she murmured, her voice tinged with regret. “Do you ever wonder what got us to this level of wealth? How we have managed to come this far?”
“Because of our children, of course. And Gabrielle had been the one to give us so much.”
With a mischievous glint in her eyes, she erupted into laughter, her hand finding its place over her heart as if to contain the cynicism and bitterness bursting within. Her head swayed from side to side in disagreement.
“Oh, Philip, you don't know anything.”
Exasperated, Mr. Vilonte released a heavy sigh, his gaze narrowing with frustration as he focused on her. “That's because you never tell me anything. You always keep me in the dark.”
“You wouldn't like the truth. If you knew, trust me, you'd despise yourself.”
“I just want the truth.”
Perhaps fueled by the scotch coursing through her veins, she felt a surge of excitement, finally ready to shove the raw truth in her husband's face. “Everything you've ever enjoyed—the house, our children's successes, the money—they’re all because of me!”
“You? Just you alone?” he dismissed with a snort.
“I may have had a little help from beyond.”
“Beyond? What does that even mean?”
“I made a deal with some…with something…” her voice trailed off, the words hard to admit. “When Gabby lost her role as First Chair violinist at the beginning of her senior year, I felt I had no choice but to intervene. I did what needed to be done.”
Mr. Vilonte's voice carried a weight of seriousness as he asked, “What did you do?”
“I offered sacrifices. Victoria was the first, and Gabby was the second.”
Mrs. Vilonte stood up, her legs unsteady from the scotch's effects.
With careful steps, she walked over to a table and picked up Gabby's violin which had been believed to have been destroyed at the concert hall, yet it mysteriously reappeared by her bedside one morning.
She shoved the instrument into her husband's hands. “This violin is Victoria.”
“You mean that you stole this from the Sullivan girl?” He blinked at her, taken aback.
“No, I didn’t steal it. What I'm saying is, this violin is made out of her.”
Mr. Vilonte drew in a sharp breath through clenched teeth. “Isabella, really now! You're talking nonsense.”
He returned the violin to her, wiping his hands with a handkerchief as if ridding them of something unclean. Mrs. Vilonte then pulled out the bow from the case and showed him its auburn hairs.
“Do you remember that she had hair like this?” she asked. “Dark red hair. This is her hair. And the wood of the violin and bow… not real wood but bones. Her bones!”
Mr. Vilonte scowled. “Stop it! Stop talking!”
But she pressed on, her voice escalating in fervor. “You need to understand. I wasn't just in a coma at the hospital; I was transported elsewhere, to another realm entirely. It was a shadowy forest, seemingly lifeless except for the tree surrounding me. They were alive. They stood bare, devoid of leaves or undergrowth. Then this monstrous creature appeared and felled one of the trees. The tree let out a cry. It screamed. I believe those trees were souls. The creature crafted string instruments from them, but Gabby's violin is unique. Hers was made not just from Victoria's soul, but from her very flesh and bones.”
Mr. Vilonte stood in stunned silence, only to be snapped out of it by a car horn blaring from their driveway. He cleared his throat, donned his hat and coat, and grabbed his suitcase.
“That's my ride,” he said.
“Didn't you hear anything I just said?”
“I... I'm at a loss for words, Isabella.”
“Don't go, Philip! Please, stay.”
“And why should I?”
“Because... because…” Her voice trailed off, unable to find a compelling reason.
“I need to leave,” he sighed, pausing at the door. Turning to his wife, he added, "Please, Isabella, seek help. I beg of you.”
Mrs. Vilonte moved to the window, drawing back the curtains just enough to see her traitorous former assistant in the driver's seat. Anger welled up inside her, fueling a sudden craving for another sip of scotch.
XXXXX
“You’re quiet. Is there something wrong?” Sara asked, quickly glancing over at him. Mr. Vilonte sighed as he gazed out the window. “It's just... I'm amazed at how fast my life has turned upside down within a matter of weeks.”
“Did you tell her about us? Are you having regrets?”
“No regrets about us,” he reassured her, “and somehow, she already knew about us. I'm not sure how, but she did.” He reached over, placing a comforting hand on her thigh and gently stroking it.
“Good! I was starting to think you were going to ask me to turn this car around and drive you back to that devil woman!”
“Oh, definitely not! You know much I would rather be with you. I can't wait until we get to the hotel.”
Sara smiled and pushed the gas pedal, but as she crossed the train tracks, the car suddenly stopped. Despite pressing the gas again, the car remained immobile, the car remained stuck in place.
XXXXX
Her hands glided over the violin's smooth surface, fingers delicately plucking the strings. The sound swelled, filling the quiet house. She reached once more for her scotch, taking another sip.
She tried to make sense of the chaos that had become her life. It was as if a storm had swept away everything she held dear, leaving behind only wreckage and ruin.
XXXXX
The engine hummed, and the wheels screeched against the railroad tracks, but the car wouldn't budge. Sara switched off the engine, then restarted it, pressing the gas again.
“Why isn't it moving?” Mr. Vilonte questioned.
Sara slammed her palm against the steering wheel, exclaiming, “I have no idea!”
As the warning bell sounded and the barriers lowered, he yelled at her to hit the gas—the train was nearing. With the car still stuck, Mr. Vilonte suggested they ditch it and run to safety.
However, when he pressed the ejection button, his seat belt tightened around him, holding Sara back as well. Panic surged through them. They frantically pulled at their seatbelts and pressed the ejection button with growing desperation.
Mr. Vilonte glanced out the window, his eyes widening in alarm as the freight train drew nearer, its horn blaring loudly.
XXXXX
The shot glass tumbled from her fingers, hitting the wooden floor with a clang and rolling away, leaving a trace of spilled scotch. Gripping the violin tightly with both hands, her hold grew stronger, fueled by a rage that heated her blood.
She opened her mouth, unleashing a guttural scream that echoed through the room. Clutching the violin by its delicate neck, she hoisted it high and forcefully slammed it onto the table with all her might. The instrument shattered upon impact, with strings snapping and splinters scattering in all directions.
Tears welled in her eyes. She raised the broken instrument and flung it against the wall. Moving to the scattered pieces, she lifted her foot and stomped down on the pieces, envisioning each stomp as a blow to her husband's face.
“Fucking bastard! You and your trash whore!”
When she was lost in the field of mirrors, each mirror presented a window into a potential future. She had watched their entangled figures in bed, and overcome by the sight, she took a rock and shattered the glass. But the pieces reassembled on their own, replaying the scene before her again.
In one mirror, a different scene played before. George appeared smart in his suit, yet his hands were bound behind him as he was led into court. The judge pronounced him guilty, struggling to keep his composure as he read aloud the details of the horrific crime. His voice was thick with revulsion.
Then in another, she witnessed her granddaughter growing up without a father, while her mother was lost in profound depression. Friends and neighbors turned their backs on the family, and as school bullying and financial problems escalated, they were forced to move from house to apartment, ultimately finding themselves living out of their car.
Victoria's cackling laughter surrounded her. “See what will become of your family.” Mrs. Vilonte covered her ears, pleading. “Stop it! Stop laughing! I don't want to hear it!”
“Oh, but look, not all of your future is bleak. Sometimes, there's a glimmer of sunshine after the rain.”
“Lies!”
“Look in that mirror. Open your eyes. See for yourself.”
She turned to see a mirror revealing Gabrielle in bed, restless and tossing. Her eyes clenched shut, sweat glistening on her brow as she cried out for her mother. Beside her was a small red creature, with thin arms and legs, bearing the face and tusks of a swine.
The sight was deeply unsettling. The mere sight of the creature filled her with an overwhelming sense of disgust, as she gazed upon an abomination that defied nature itself.
XXXXX
The crash happened in an instant. As the train barreled forward, the car was crushed beneath its force metal twisting and bending, windows exploding into shards. The deafening noise of metal grinding and glass shattering overwhelmed him.
A powerful force hurled him into the air. Then, as fast as it had all happened, his vision darkened to black. When he finally came to, he was upside down, held in place by the seat belt. He glanced towards Sara, but she appeared as a red blur; his vision still clearing.
Tentatively reaching out, he felt her warm, soft skin, which was damp. Bringing his hand closer, he saw his fingers were covered in blood mingled with fragments of flesh.
The air thickened around him as the devastating realization washed over him like a tidal wave, leaving him numb. His fingers clenched into fists, nails digging into his palms as he struggled to hold back his grief.
In that moment, Mr. Vilonte felt his soul enveloped by a darkness so deep that it seemed impossible to find his way back to the surface. But, suddenly, the stink of gasoline blended with burning metal and rubber reached him, pulling him back to reality.
He knew he had to escape the car immediately. His fingers fumbled for the ejection button, but hesitated when the ground started to shake and he spotted the hooves of what appeared to be a large goat approaching.
XXXXX
Her breath came in ragged, uneven gasps, each one a struggle as she grappled with the overwhelming emotions that threatened to eat her up. She steadied herself against the wall before bending down to gather the broken violin pieces. She tossed them one by one into the fireplace, dousing them with lighter fluid and setting them ablaze.
As the fire consumed the wood, it crackled and hissed, releasing tiny embers that spiraled upwards like fiery spirits seeking escape. The varnish on the violin began to bubble and blister, turning from a glossy sheen to a charred, matte texture.
Victoria's bones began to smolder, its fibers unraveling and curling as they were consumed by the heat. The scent that filled the room was a mix of burning bones and melting varnish, a pungent aroma that stung the nostrils and lingered in the air.
She sank into the sofa chair, taking a swig directly from the scotch bottle. A blend of relief and closure washed over her as she watched the flames reduce the violin to ashes.

First Chapter Previous Chapter
The weighty thud of a suitcase hitting the floor snapped Mrs. Vilonte from her thoughts. She reached for a shot glass and filled it with scotch, her eyes drifting towards the staircase where her husband stood, ready to depart, his coat and hat in hand, suitcase beside him.
“Such a fine example of a gentleman,” she quipped, before knocking back the shot, the fiery liquid stoking her bitterness while at the same time loosening up the tension in her muscles.
“Shattering our marriage and leaving your family behind. Bravo, truly the epitome of manliness, Philip!”
“I need to go away for a little while for my own sake.”
“Sure, just a little while,” she retorted with a tone dripping in disdain.
“I'll be on my own staying at a hotel downtown. I need to be alone to think about things.”
“Alone? Oh, please. I could smell that cunt’s juice lingering on your breath from here.”
“I already told you that I'm not sleeping around!”
Mrs. Vilonte scoffed incredulously, knowing that wasn't true. While running through the surreal forest in search of escape, she stumbled upon a field of mirrors. There, reflected back at her, she saw him and that... bitch (she couldn't bring herself to say her name).
“You disgust me,” she spat.
“I disgust you? Look around you! Our family is now broken! There's nothing much to salvage. I don't know why I've stayed this long with you.”
Her husband spread his arms, indicating to their sparsely furnished home, a stark contrast to its former opulence, once boasting luxurious chairs, sofas, tables, and an assortment of porcelain and gold souvenirs gathered from various corners of the world. After Mrs. Vilonte's recent release from the hospital, they resorted to selling off belongings to alleviate their mounting debts.
Gabrielle remained missing, and the once fervent public support for their search had dwindled. Instead, attention now fixated on their son George, who had been arrested for a heinous crime, a revelation that shook Mrs. Vilonte to her core, questioning if his profession as a pediatrician concealed darker truths.
As if their troubles weren't enough, the Vilontes faced another blow as their son-in-law Eric de Leon announced that once Gabrielle was found, he would sever ties following a leaked video of his wife's affair. At first, Mrs. Vilonte dismissed the rumors, convinced of their falsehood until the relentless gossip and media scrutiny left her with no choice but to see it for herself.
Despite her belief that they were mistaken, the disturbing reality sneered at her in the video. It wasn't just her daughter losing herself in the throes of passion that upset her, but the sickening revelation was that the man was none other than the young-looking Salerno. He stood there, drenched in sweat, gasping for air, a triumphant grin plastered across his face as he stared directly into the camera.
The sight was seared into her mind, a repulsive image she longed to erase and obliterate from her memory.
She poured another generous measure of scotch, the amber liquid glinting in the dim light. Downing it in one motion, she clenched her eyes shut, feeling the sting of hot tears welling behind her eyelids.
The once vibrant family photographs that were hung on the walls now seemed to mock the present reality. They were moments of happiness and togetherness that felt distant and unattainable.
Their meals together had become silent affairs, punctuated only by the clinking of cutlery and the heavy sighs of resignation. Love had been replaced by apathy, joy by melancholy. They had become strangers to each other.
“This isn't the life I envisioned for our family,” she murmured, her voice tinged with regret. “Do you ever wonder what got us to this level of wealth? How we have managed to come this far?”
“Because of our children, of course. And Gabrielle had been the one to give us so much.”
With a mischievous glint in her eyes, she erupted into laughter, her hand finding its place over her heart as if to contain the cynicism and bitterness bursting within. Her head swayed from side to side in disagreement.
“Oh, Philip, you don't know anything.”
Exasperated, Mr. Vilonte released a heavy sigh, his gaze narrowing with frustration as he focused on her. “That's because you never tell me anything. You always keep me in the dark.”
“You wouldn't like the truth. If you knew, trust me, you'd despise yourself.”
“I just want the truth.”
Perhaps fueled by the scotch coursing through her veins, she felt a surge of excitement, finally ready to shove the raw truth in her husband's face. “Everything you've ever enjoyed—the house, our children's successes, the money—they’re all because of me!”
“You? Just you alone?” he dismissed with a snort.
“I may have had a little help from beyond.”
“Beyond? What does that even mean?”
“I made a deal with some…with something…” her voice trailed off, the words hard to admit. “When Gabby lost her role as First Chair violinist at the beginning of her senior year, I felt I had no choice but to intervene. I did what needed to be done.”
Mr. Vilonte's voice carried a weight of seriousness as he asked, “What did you do?”
“I offered sacrifices. Victoria was the first, and Gabby was the second.”
Mrs. Vilonte stood up, her legs unsteady from the scotch's effects.
With careful steps, she walked over to a table and picked up Gabby's violin which had been believed to have been destroyed at the concert hall, yet it mysteriously reappeared by her bedside one morning.
She shoved the instrument into her husband's hands. “This violin is Victoria.”
“You mean that you stole this from the Sullivan girl?” He blinked at her, taken aback.
“No, I didn’t steal it. What I'm saying is, this violin is made out of her.”
Mr. Vilonte drew in a sharp breath through clenched teeth. “Isabella, really now! You're talking nonsense.”
He returned the violin to her, wiping his hands with a handkerchief as if ridding them of something unclean. Mrs. Vilonte then pulled out the bow from the case and showed him its auburn hairs.
“Do you remember that she had hair like this?” she asked. “Dark red hair. This is her hair. And the wood of the violin and bow… not real wood but bones. Her bones!”
Mr. Vilonte scowled. “Stop it! Stop talking!”
But she pressed on, her voice escalating in fervor. “You need to understand. I wasn't just in a coma at the hospital; I was transported elsewhere, to another realm entirely. It was a shadowy forest, seemingly lifeless except for the tree surrounding me. They were alive. They stood bare, devoid of leaves or undergrowth. Then this monstrous creature appeared and felled one of the trees. The tree let out a cry. It screamed. I believe those trees were souls. The creature crafted string instruments from them, but Gabby's violin is unique. Hers was made not just from Victoria's soul, but from her very flesh and bones.”
Mr. Vilonte stood in stunned silence, only to be snapped out of it by a car horn blaring from their driveway. He cleared his throat, donned his hat and coat, and grabbed his suitcase.
“That's my ride,” he said.
“Didn't you hear anything I just said?”
“I... I'm at a loss for words, Isabella.”
“Don't go, Philip! Please, stay.”
“And why should I?”
“Because... because…” Her voice trailed off, unable to find a compelling reason.
“I need to leave,” he sighed, pausing at the door. Turning to his wife, he added, "Please, Isabella, seek help. I beg of you.”
Mrs. Vilonte moved to the window, drawing back the curtains just enough to see her traitorous former assistant in the driver's seat. Anger welled up inside her, fueling a sudden craving for another sip of scotch.
XXXXX
“You’re quiet. Is there something wrong?” Sara asked, quickly glancing over at him. Mr. Vilonte sighed as he gazed out the window. “It's just... I'm amazed at how fast my life has turned upside down within a matter of weeks.”
“Did you tell her about us? Are you having regrets?”
“No regrets about us,” he reassured her, “and somehow, she already knew about us. I'm not sure how, but she did.” He reached over, placing a comforting hand on her thigh and gently stroking it.
“Good! I was starting to think you were going to ask me to turn this car around and drive you back to that devil woman!”
“Oh, definitely not! You know much I would rather be with you. I can't wait until we get to the hotel.”
Sara smiled and pushed the gas pedal, but as she crossed the train tracks, the car suddenly stopped. Despite pressing the gas again, the car remained immobile, the car remained stuck in place.
XXXXX
Her hands glided over the violin's smooth surface, fingers delicately plucking the strings. The sound swelled, filling the quiet house. She reached once more for her scotch, taking another sip.
She tried to make sense of the chaos that had become her life. It was as if a storm had swept away everything she held dear, leaving behind only wreckage and ruin.
XXXXX
The engine hummed, and the wheels screeched against the railroad tracks, but the car wouldn't budge. Sara switched off the engine, then restarted it, pressing the gas again.
“Why isn't it moving?” Mr. Vilonte questioned.
Sara slammed her palm against the steering wheel, exclaiming, “I have no idea!”
As the warning bell sounded and the barriers lowered, he yelled at her to hit the gas—the train was nearing. With the car still stuck, Mr. Vilonte suggested they ditch it and run to safety.
However, when he pressed the ejection button, his seat belt tightened around him, holding Sara back as well. Panic surged through them. They frantically pulled at their seatbelts and pressed the ejection button with growing desperation.
Mr. Vilonte glanced out the window, his eyes widening in alarm as the freight train drew nearer, its horn blaring loudly.
XXXXX
The shot glass tumbled from her fingers, hitting the wooden floor with a clang and rolling away, leaving a trace of spilled scotch. Gripping the violin tightly with both hands, her hold grew stronger, fueled by a rage that heated her blood.
She opened her mouth, unleashing a guttural scream that echoed through the room. Clutching the violin by its delicate neck, she hoisted it high and forcefully slammed it onto the table with all her might. The instrument shattered upon impact, with strings snapping and splinters scattering in all directions.
Tears welled in her eyes. She raised the broken instrument and flung it against the wall. Moving to the scattered pieces, she lifted her foot and stomped down on the pieces, envisioning each stomp as a blow to her husband's face.
“Fucking bastard! You and your trash whore!”
When she was lost in the field of mirrors, each mirror presented a window into a potential future. She had watched their entangled figures in bed, and overcome by the sight, she took a rock and shattered the glass. But the pieces reassembled on their own, replaying the scene before her again.
In one mirror, a different scene played before. George appeared smart in his suit, yet his hands were bound behind him as he was led into court. The judge pronounced him guilty, struggling to keep his composure as he read aloud the details of the horrific crime. His voice was thick with revulsion.
Then in another, she witnessed her granddaughter growing up without a father, while her mother was lost in profound depression. Friends and neighbors turned their backs on the family, and as school bullying and financial problems escalated, they were forced to move from house to apartment, ultimately finding themselves living out of their car.
Victoria's cackling laughter surrounded her. “See what will become of your family.” Mrs. Vilonte covered her ears, pleading. “Stop it! Stop laughing! I don't want to hear it!”
“Oh, but look, not all of your future is bleak. Sometimes, there's a glimmer of sunshine after the rain.”
“Lies!”
“Look in that mirror. Open your eyes. See for yourself.”
She turned to see a mirror revealing Gabrielle in bed, restless and tossing. Her eyes clenched shut, sweat glistening on her brow as she cried out for her mother. Beside her was a small red creature, with thin arms and legs, bearing the face and tusks of a swine.
The sight was deeply unsettling. The mere sight of the creature filled her with an overwhelming sense of disgust, as she gazed upon an abomination that defied nature itself.
XXXXX
The crash happened in an instant. As the train barreled forward, the car was crushed beneath its force metal twisting and bending, windows exploding into shards. The deafening noise of metal grinding and glass shattering overwhelmed him.
A powerful force hurled him into the air. Then, as fast as it had all happened, his vision darkened to black. When he finally came to, he was upside down, held in place by the seat belt. He glanced towards Sara, but she appeared as a red blur; his vision still clearing.
Tentatively reaching out, he felt her warm, soft skin, which was damp. Bringing his hand closer, he saw his fingers were covered in blood mingled with fragments of flesh.
The air thickened around him as the devastating realization washed over him like a tidal wave, leaving him numb. His fingers clenched into fists, nails digging into his palms as he struggled to hold back his grief.
In that moment, Mr. Vilonte felt his soul enveloped by a darkness so deep that it seemed impossible to find his way back to the surface. But, suddenly, the stink of gasoline blended with burning metal and rubber reached him, pulling him back to reality.
He knew he had to escape the car immediately. His fingers fumbled for the ejection button, but hesitated when the ground started to shake and he spotted the hooves of what appeared to be a large goat approaching.
XXXXX
Her breath came in ragged, uneven gasps, each one a struggle as she grappled with the overwhelming emotions that threatened to eat her up. She steadied herself against the wall before bending down to gather the broken violin pieces. She tossed them one by one into the fireplace, dousing them with lighter fluid and setting them ablaze.
As the fire consumed the wood, it crackled and hissed, releasing tiny embers that spiraled upwards like fiery spirits seeking escape. The varnish on the violin began to bubble and blister, turning from a glossy sheen to a charred, matte texture.
Victoria's bones began to smolder, its fibers unraveling and curling as they were consumed by the heat. The scent that filled the room was a mix of burning bones and melting varnish, a pungent aroma that stung the nostrils and lingered in the air.
She sank into the sofa chair, taking a swig directly from the scotch bottle. A blend of relief and closure washed over her as she watched the flames reduce the violin to ashes.

Blurb: Stranded on the hell-planet of Arachnea, the last remnants of the human Fleet fight to survive in a world overrun by insectoid monsters and a sentient ecosystem gone mad. It is a war they are destined to lose, as with every century that passes, more of the ancient science lies forgotten, replaced by myth and superstition. That is, until assistant navigator Rene stumbles the mightiest weapon of the ancestor-gods...
Link for more chapters available here!: Engines of Arachnea on Royal Road
Into the depths of the endless green Rene plunged forward. His breath was labored yet steady, his pace swift but measured. He could not allow terror to steal his breath away. For he was a man pursued, and as quick as he was, they were quicker still.
He fumbled at his breast pocket, took out a brass whistle and snatched it to his lips. He blew hard, two piercing notes that cut through the foliage and curved round the flanks of the surrounding hills, echoing into the distance.
He listened. From far away there came an answering cry, faint and urgent. He dashed off towards it without wasting a moment, trampling ferns and dead leaves beneath his boots.
It came again, louder and more insistent. His eyes darted about the eerie stillness of the trees, lips pulled back unconsciously into a rictus grin of fear.
The signal sounded for a final time, rising to a high-pitched note of terror that was brutally cut short. Rene stopped in his tracks. There was a pause pregnant with tension, and then he turned and fled in the opposite direction.
He had discovered the mistake on the third day of reconnaissance, as they had toiled up the slopes of a yet another narrow trail. He had been near the rear of the column, while behind him Lethway panted with exertion, weighed down like a mule with the excess baggage.
“What’s all this about then?” Lethway had asked Rene through the harsh rasping that issued from his mask as he gasped through the valves of his intake tube. He was moving heavily beneath the thick skin of his sealant suit, rubber-lined canvas creaking beneath the straps of the heavy packs he bore on his broad back.
“What’s all what about, Lethway?”
“All this. Give us a hand, would you?”
Rene reached down and helped his friend hoist himself over a boulder slick with moss.
“Well ostensibly,” he said, grunting as his arms took the weight, “The point is to establish the supremacy of the human race, and claim this world that is our irrevocable birthright, as decreed by the ancestors.”
“This world? Hah! They can keep it. Bastard place is too wet for my liking.”
Their journey had been greeted at the outset by pouring rain and intractable mud. Crossing the gorge, they had become mired so deep they’d been forced to abandon their pack animals in a hurry, hence Lethway’s discomfort. Finding a way through the place was nothing short of a nightmare. The karst hillsides were a wilderness of monolithic stone pillars overgrown with greenery, chess pieces arranged on a board without thought or reason. Every turn in the road carried the risk of becoming hopelessly confused, as surroundings shifted and landmarks were lost to view.
They reached a section of level ground and paused to take a breath. Rene cleared away the thick dew that had settled over his lenses with a grimy sleeve. About them a feverish mist had risen until the entire forest of stunted trees and dense shrubs that covered the hillsides seemed to perspire in unison with the twenty weary, footsore men. Looking out across the alien landscape, he began to wonder if there was truth after all to the myths of old, of the shaping of the world of Arachnea by the ancestor--gods. The stories spoke of Divine Engines striding about, tearing up the mountains by their roots and stomping the valleys into existence, drinking deep from the oceans and belching forth plumes of life-giving air.
But Rene knew differently. The strangely geometric proportions of the karst hills were merely the result of millennia of rainwater carving the soft stone to its present shape. Just as the stalactites at home shrank with each drip and drop that fell in the caves, everything could be explained by the action and consequence of the laws of nature.
As for the ancestor—-gods, they belonged to an age of myth. Their wonderous works were long gone, if they had ever truly existed. Their children would have to make do with what they had. Which, admittedly, was not much.
Rene took out his compass, holding it in his cupped hands and frowning.
“How’s the old girl treating you?” asked Lethway.
“Oh, you know. The usual. Silly thing can’t make up its mind where to point.”
He tapped irritably at the glass casing, watched the lodestone needle within bobbing upon the film of oil that kept it afloat. It wasn’t like he could complain about its quality. Each man in the unit was outfitted with the best equipment the settlement could produce. They wore sleek sealant suits tailored for easier movement and carried state-of-the-art flintlock firearms fresh from the Fleet gunsmiths. Even their masks were a step above the ordinary and used a highly sophisticated arrangement of intake valves and filters rather than the primitive recycler systems used by civilians.
All of this belied the importance Command placed on their mission. They wanted to push northwards again, deep into enemy territory. Why was anyone’s guess, but this was the first of a series of actions taken against what the biological division had designated as Mound Euler. For some inscrutable reason their superiors had decided it had to go, and so once again the 3^rd Pathfinder Regiment would lead the way for the iron shod boot that would come crashing down.
“Crewman Rene!”
“Aye sir!” He ran up to the head of the column. The advance had been stalled for some time now. The men had begun to fidget, sliding packs from their aching shoulders or fiddling with the clasps on their sealant suits.
The navigator stood waiting, one foot leaning against the roots of a tree, a sour, pensive look on his face. Deschane was a lean man with a balding pate and dour appearance, and a personality to match it. Rene drew up, said:
“What’s the matter, sir?”
The navigator scowled and unfolded a disheveled map.
“Look,” he stabbed at it with a finger, “this was where we passed the river and took a right. Assuming we’ve been making the same time as yesterday, that should’ve brought us right about there,” he encircled a segment already cluttered with scrawls and arrowheads, “Correct?”
Rene swallowed hard and nodded.
“Care to fill in the rest?”
“Certainly, sir,” he stammered, “We proceeded north about eleven kilometers and paused to take bearings of several locations of interest. We would have gone further but our path was obstructed by the landslide on the southern slopes. For the past five hours we’ve taken a nor-nor eastern heading.”
“Where would that put us, crewman Rene?”
“Right about here, lord navigator.” He pointed with reluctance.
The navigator grabbed the compass twined around Rene’s neck and shook it in his face.
“And does here look even close to resembling that?” he snarled.
Rene had been tasked with occasionally peering down the compass’ pinhole sight and taking readings from one of the many peaks around them. Working together, using the same reference points, he and the navigator had aimed to chart a safe course through the endless karst hills that would steer them well around the ominous grey mountain that dominated the center of their maps. But the method was not without its difficulties. Their compasses, usually so obedient, had begun to act eccentric. The obstinate things refused to point out exactly where true north lay, tending instead to stray by six to eight degrees. The navigator hadn’t noticed the magnetic declination until recently, but by then they had already strayed from the intended path by a considerable margin. The phenomenon was caused, they had supposed, by massive amounts of iron deposits hidden somewhere beneath the area. But Rene had his doubts. At times it seemed to him that the place itself was deliberately leading them astray.
“We should be clear of it by now. We passed by the last feeder tower yesterday, yes? And yet there they are again!” Deschane gestured in disgust. Rene saw nothing at first, for the heavy precipitation was playing tricks with the lighting of the place. Huge blocks of stone raised their craggy heads above a veil of morning mists, some cast in shadow, others verdant and bright with foliage. It was only when the navigator had shoved a pair of binoculars into his hands that he finally caught sight of them.
Hidden amongst the columns of limestone were several tall, fluted structures so slender they almost faded into the background. Their ominous snouts reared hundreds of meters high and seemed so fragile that a stiff breeze could snap them in half. Far too graceful to be the result of natural process. A shiver of fear ran down his spine.
The mists were clearing, and in his mind’s eye he could trace the outline of the mound at the base of the towers, broad and dark and girdled with menace, stretching a full third of the horizon.
Dimly he was aware of Deschane taking the table of readings from his unresisting hands, the navigator mumbling as he compared it with his own set of measurements.
“Hmph,” he looked from one table to the other, and frowned at the map. “That’s odd.” he said with hesitation.
“Sir?” said Rene, numbly.
“Our readings are in agreement. Which means either both of us are completely wrong, or once again we’ve been led astray by our friends in military intelligence. Military intelligence,” Deschane snorted. “A contradiction in terms.”
A week before a squadron of balloons had been sent over to reconnoiter the territory, their swaying canvases pumped full of refined swamp gas. Some had been lost with all hands, smashed against the cliff faces by the wild winds that brewed in this tropical clime. The rest of the aircraft had been grounded by worsening weather conditions. Hence the need to send a foot patrol.
It was from these flights that they’d acquired the first rough sketches of Mound Euler and its surroundings. Now Rene knew how little those flight missions had really accomplished.
Rene stooped low and spoke urgently into his ear.
“Sir, those aren’t the same towers we saw yesterday.”
“What? Nonsense.”
He handed the binoculars back to Deschane and the navigator peered, unconvinced. At last he lowered the binoculars, clearly shaken.
“You mean to say they’re offshoots?”
“Aye sir. Tributaries of the main spine.”
The navigator riffled through the papers and found the charcoal sketches of the enemy structure. The artist depicted a trio of massive towers atop the Mound, a forbidding array of horns crowning a malevolent beast: the primary ventilation systems of the mound. They were clearly conical, as opposed to the cylindrical secondary structures that loomed before them now.
Oh yes, Rene thought, the aerial maps were wrong alright. Their actual position was several kilometers further from the Mound. Not that it mattered of course, because they had made another crucial mistake, one that would be the death of them all.
“Ridiculous,” Deschane looked sharply behind him—­—the men were uneasy and had begun to eavesdrop­—­—then continued in a whisper, “That would make Mound Euler at least three times larger than our estimates.”
“Yes sir. I’m afraid so.”
“But that would mean that the pheromone trails radiate outward for tens of kilometers.”
“We probably tripped it hours ago and never realized it,” Rene said hoarsely, “They know we’re here, sir.”
It was the Deschane’s turn to swallow this time. The navigator took a moment to gather himself, then nodded to himself and began to slowly fold his papers. Rene thought he was making an admirable effort not to show the panic that both now felt.
“We have to get back,” Deschane said through tight lips, “No matter what happens to us now, Fleet Command must hear of this. A colony of this magnitude...they must call off the offensive. Rene, what’s the shortest route back to friendly lines?”
Rene pored over the maps, sweat coating his palms.
“There is an inhabited mound around eighty kilometers south west. Shouldn’t take more than a day’s travel.”
He tapped a small grey spot east of the river.
“A settlement? This far north?”
“Not quite. It’s only a forward operating base--Mound 13, according to the legend on the map.”
“It will have to do,” the uncertainty had gone from his superior’s demeanor, replaced by a layer of cold efficiency. “Column, about face!” he bellowed to the rest of the men, “We’re heading home on the double!”
There were dire mutterings, and strings of curses levelled at the officer, the mud and the mission in general.
“None of that lip, your dogs!” bellowed Lieutenant Jensen, snatching up his pistol.
The murmurs died down, but a few stuck out their chins and let their voices be heard.
“What about the mission, sir?” someone asked.
“We were tasked with making a reconnaissance in force. The way I see it, we came, we saw, and we reconnoitered. Mission accomplished, as far as I’m concerned. You’re welcome to stick around if you like.”
Without another word Deschane began marching down the path from which they had come. Rene caught up to him, satchel bouncing on the back of his knees.
“Sir, is it wise to keep this a secret from the men?”
“What, that we’ve just stumbled upon the largest mound on this side of creation? That they could be nesting under our feet at this very moment? If I told them that we’ve been walking in the kill-radius for the past few hours, they’d go to pieces. Better an orderly retreat than a rout. Button up your lip if you know what’s good for you.”
“Very good sir,” Rene whispered. He fell back into place, his heart hammering in his chest.
The going was easier than earlier, since they were no longer travelling uphill, but that was little comfort as Deschane rode them hard all the way down the slopes.
The men swore as they tripped over the butts of their muskets, the clay clinging to them every inch of the way.
“What the hell have you gotten us into?” hissed Lethway as he went past, sliding on his behind. But Rene only shook his head.
“Fine then. But even a fool like me can see that something’s got you and the navigator spooked.”
“Deschane knows his business,” said Jensen, the lieutenant, “Keep your eyes peeled and tread softly. If there’s trouble, we’ll deal with it the usual way.” He patted a hatchet he kept on a leather sheathe by his side. Rene knew Jensen wouldn’t be so cocky if he knew the extent of their troubles.
What had been intended as a long, wayward route safely beyond the deadly kill-radius had instead cut deep into enemy territory, across dozens of invisible biochemical tripwires, laid by their adversaries in the hopes of detecting prey, which they now undoubtedly were.
As they passed through a defile between two low hillocks, they heard up ahead of them a stone clattering sharply over a bare cliffside. Rene drew back in apprehension. The others saw his reaction and paused to look at one another.
“Keep a steady pace, men!” growled Deschane. He glared at Rene. By sheer force of will he kept rest of them kept going, though they glanced all about them in trepidation.
“Right. They’ve found us. You all know the drill. Load and half-cock.”
“How?” whispered Lethway. The bags began to slip from his nerveless fingers. “We walked all the way around-”
“Never mind how! Pick that up right now, or I swear on ship and crew I’ll shoot you first!”
The men unslung their muskets and tore off the water-proof jackets. As they plodded forward, they hastily rammed paper cartridges down the muzzles and set their percussion caps.
“That’s right. Keep walking, easy does it now,” Deschane said in the same low voice, “Don’t let on that we know. Find your partners and form ranks.”
They exited the defile and fanned out cautiously into a wide semi-circle.
“Listen to me now,” Deschane proclaimed, “The survival of our species rests on your shoulders. Whatever happens now, at least one of us must return there and tell Fleet Command the following message: Mound Euler is an omega-class colony. Call off the offensive. The north is closed to us.”
“Remember the message. And may Sol, star of the ancestor--gods, shine upon you all.”
By unconscious consensus they all slowed to halt. There was the sound of muffled clicks as thumbs found hammers and coaxed them gently back into full cock. The lord navigator raised his pistol. Rene licked his lips--all the moisture had suddenly been sucked from his mouth.
They saw nothing before them but the ruddy faces of the cliffs. A nervous gust of wind shook the hanging vines and sent a shiver through the leaves. Rene held his breath for one long and agonizing moment, waiting for the inevitable.
And then Deschane stepped forward and fired into the shadows, and all at once the world erupted into violence.
Link for more chapters available here!: Engines of Arachnea on Royal Road

82k miles, pretty tight kept maintenence by myself, obviously driving it a bit hard at times cause its fun. Transmisison had 0 issues up till today. Clutch flew to the floor and had to be pumped to get it back to being useable. Was able to make it home and saw it was pouring fluid after pumping the clutch back into being usable. Did a bit of digging, narrowed things down to needing to replace the slave bearing in the transmission. I know theres someone on here who has done this replacement, so wondering if that person or anyone else can give any pointers as to what I should be prepared for on DIY replacing this thing. Not going to bring it anywhere, i have solid mechanical knowledge and a semi decent area to actually work on it, and time is not a problem because I have alternative vehicles to use in the meantime, but my rolla is my daily and my baby so shes gotta be fixed asap.
Any tools i should look into getting as well? I'm guessing ill pick up a transmission lift from harbor frieght (the transmission cant be more than 450 can it be?) and possibly an engine hoist if needed? Any cautions or words of advice anyone can give?

First Chapter Previous Chapter
The weighty thud of a suitcase hitting the floor snapped Mrs. Vilonte from her thoughts. She reached for a shot glass and filled it with scotch, her eyes drifting towards the staircase where her husband stood, ready to depart, his coat and hat in hand, suitcase beside him.
“Such a fine example of a gentleman,” she quipped, before knocking back the shot, the fiery liquid stoking her bitterness while at the same time loosening up the tension in her muscles.
“Shattering our marriage and leaving your family behind. Bravo, truly the epitome of manliness, Philip!”
“I need to go away for a little while for my own sake.”
“Sure, just a little while,” she retorted with a tone dripping in disdain.
“I'll be on my own staying at a hotel downtown. I need to be alone to think about things.”
“Alone? Oh, please. I could smell that cunt’s juice lingering on your breath from here.”
“I already told you that I'm not sleeping around!”
Mrs. Vilonte scoffed incredulously, knowing that wasn't true. While running through the surreal forest in search of escape, she stumbled upon a field of mirrors. There, reflected back at her, she saw him and that... bitch (she couldn't bring herself to say her name).
“You disgust me,” she spat.
“I disgust you? Look around you! Our family is now broken! There's nothing much to salvage. I don't know why I've stayed this long with you.”
Her husband spread his arms, indicating to their sparsely furnished home, a stark contrast to its former opulence, once boasting luxurious chairs, sofas, tables, and an assortment of porcelain and gold souvenirs gathered from various corners of the world. After Mrs. Vilonte's recent release from the hospital, they resorted to selling off belongings to alleviate their mounting debts.
Gabrielle remained missing, and the once fervent public support for their search had dwindled. Instead, attention now fixated on their son George, who had been arrested for a heinous crime, a revelation that shook Mrs. Vilonte to her core, questioning if his profession as a pediatrician concealed darker truths.
As if their troubles weren't enough, the Vilontes faced another blow as their son-in-law Eric de Leon announced that once Gabrielle was found, he would sever ties following a leaked video of his wife's affair. At first, Mrs. Vilonte dismissed the rumors, convinced of their falsehood until the relentless gossip and media scrutiny left her with no choice but to see it for herself.
Despite her belief that they were mistaken, the disturbing reality sneered at her in the video. It wasn't just her daughter losing herself in the throes of passion that upset her, but the sickening revelation was that the man was none other than the young-looking Salerno. He stood there, drenched in sweat, gasping for air, a triumphant grin plastered across his face as he stared directly into the camera.
The sight was seared into her mind, a repulsive image she longed to erase and obliterate from her memory.
She poured another generous measure of scotch, the amber liquid glinting in the dim light. Downing it in one motion, she clenched her eyes shut, feeling the sting of hot tears welling behind her eyelids.
The once vibrant family photographs that were hung on the walls now seemed to mock the present reality. They were moments of happiness and togetherness that felt distant and unattainable.
Their meals together had become silent affairs, punctuated only by the clinking of cutlery and the heavy sighs of resignation. Love had been replaced by apathy, joy by melancholy. They had become strangers to each other.
“This isn't the life I envisioned for our family,” she murmured, her voice tinged with regret. “Do you ever wonder what got us to this level of wealth? How we have managed to come this far?”
“Because of our children, of course. And Gabrielle had been the one to give us so much.”
With a mischievous glint in her eyes, she erupted into laughter, her hand finding its place over her heart as if to contain the cynicism and bitterness bursting within. Her head swayed from side to side in disagreement.
“Oh, Philip, you don't know anything.”
Exasperated, Mr. Vilonte released a heavy sigh, his gaze narrowing with frustration as he focused on her. “That's because you never tell me anything. You always keep me in the dark.”
“You wouldn't like the truth. If you knew, trust me, you'd despise yourself.”
“I just want the truth.”
Perhaps fueled by the scotch coursing through her veins, she felt a surge of excitement, finally ready to shove the raw truth in her husband's face. “Everything you've ever enjoyed—the house, our children's successes, the money—they’re all because of me!”
“You? Just you alone?” he dismissed with a snort.
“I may have had a little help from beyond.”
“Beyond? What does that even mean?”
“I made a deal with some…with something…” her voice trailed off, the words hard to admit. “When Gabby lost her role as First Chair violinist at the beginning of her senior year, I felt I had no choice but to intervene. I did what needed to be done.”
Mr. Vilonte's voice carried a weight of seriousness as he asked, “What did you do?”
“I offered sacrifices. Victoria was the first, and Gabby was the second.”
Mrs. Vilonte stood up, her legs unsteady from the scotch's effects.
With careful steps, she walked over to a table and picked up Gabby's violin which had been believed to have been destroyed at the concert hall, yet it mysteriously reappeared by her bedside one morning.
She shoved the instrument into her husband's hands. “This violin is Victoria.”
“You mean that you stole this from the Sullivan girl?” He blinked at her, taken aback.
“No, I didn’t steal it. What I'm saying is, this violin is made out of her.”
Mr. Vilonte drew in a sharp breath through clenched teeth. “Isabella, really now! You're talking nonsense.”
He returned the violin to her, wiping his hands with a handkerchief as if ridding them of something unclean. Mrs. Vilonte then pulled out the bow from the case and showed him its auburn hairs.
“Do you remember that she had hair like this?” she asked. “Dark red hair. This is her hair. And the wood of the violin and bow… not real wood but bones. Her bones!”
Mr. Vilonte scowled. “Stop it! Stop talking!”
But she pressed on, her voice escalating in fervor. “You need to understand. I wasn't just in a coma at the hospital; I was transported elsewhere, to another realm entirely. It was a shadowy forest, seemingly lifeless except for the tree surrounding me. They were alive. They stood bare, devoid of leaves or undergrowth. Then this monstrous creature appeared and felled one of the trees. The tree let out a cry. It screamed. I believe those trees were souls. The creature crafted string instruments from them, but Gabby's violin is unique. Hers was made not just from Victoria's soul, but from her very flesh and bones.”
Mr. Vilonte stood in stunned silence, only to be snapped out of it by a car horn blaring from their driveway. He cleared his throat, donned his hat and coat, and grabbed his suitcase.
“That's my ride,” he said.
“Didn't you hear anything I just said?”
“I... I'm at a loss for words, Isabella.”
“Don't go, Philip! Please, stay.”
“And why should I?”
“Because... because…” Her voice trailed off, unable to find a compelling reason.
“I need to leave,” he sighed, pausing at the door. Turning to his wife, he added, "Please, Isabella, seek help. I beg of you.”
Mrs. Vilonte moved to the window, drawing back the curtains just enough to see her traitorous former assistant in the driver's seat. Anger welled up inside her, fueling a sudden craving for another sip of scotch.
XXXXX
“You’re quiet. Is there something wrong?” Sara asked, quickly glancing over at him. Mr. Vilonte sighed as he gazed out the window. “It's just... I'm amazed at how fast my life has turned upside down within a matter of weeks.”
“Did you tell her about us? Are you having regrets?”
“No regrets about us,” he reassured her, “and somehow, she already knew about us. I'm not sure how, but she did.” He reached over, placing a comforting hand on her thigh and gently stroking it.
“Good! I was starting to think you were going to ask me to turn this car around and drive you back to that devil woman!”
“Oh, definitely not! You know much I would rather be with you. I can't wait until we get to the hotel.”
Sara smiled and pushed the gas pedal, but as she crossed the train tracks, the car suddenly stopped. Despite pressing the gas again, the car remained immobile, the car remained stuck in place.
XXXXX
Her hands glided over the violin's smooth surface, fingers delicately plucking the strings. The sound swelled, filling the quiet house. She reached once more for her scotch, taking another sip.
She tried to make sense of the chaos that had become her life. It was as if a storm had swept away everything she held dear, leaving behind only wreckage and ruin.
XXXXX
The engine hummed, and the wheels screeched against the railroad tracks, but the car wouldn't budge. Sara switched off the engine, then restarted it, pressing the gas again.
“Why isn't it moving?” Mr. Vilonte questioned.
Sara slammed her palm against the steering wheel, exclaiming, “I have no idea!”
As the warning bell sounded and the barriers lowered, he yelled at her to hit the gas—the train was nearing. With the car still stuck, Mr. Vilonte suggested they ditch it and run to safety.
However, when he pressed the ejection button, his seat belt tightened around him, holding Sara back as well. Panic surged through them. They frantically pulled at their seatbelts and pressed the ejection button with growing desperation.
Mr. Vilonte glanced out the window, his eyes widening in alarm as the freight train drew nearer, its horn blaring loudly.
XXXXX
The shot glass tumbled from her fingers, hitting the wooden floor with a clang and rolling away, leaving a trace of spilled scotch. Gripping the violin tightly with both hands, her hold grew stronger, fueled by a rage that heated her blood.
She opened her mouth, unleashing a guttural scream that echoed through the room. Clutching the violin by its delicate neck, she hoisted it high and forcefully slammed it onto the table with all her might. The instrument shattered upon impact, with strings snapping and splinters scattering in all directions.
Tears welled in her eyes. She raised the broken instrument and flung it against the wall. Moving to the scattered pieces, she lifted her foot and stomped down on the pieces, envisioning each stomp as a blow to her husband's face.
“Fucking bastard! You and your trash whore!”
When she was lost in the field of mirrors, each mirror presented a window into a potential future. She had watched their entangled figures in bed, and overcome by the sight, she took a rock and shattered the glass. But the pieces reassembled on their own, replaying the scene before her again.
In one mirror, a different scene played before. George appeared smart in his suit, yet his hands were bound behind him as he was led into court. The judge pronounced him guilty, struggling to keep his composure as he read aloud the details of the horrific crime. His voice was thick with revulsion.
Then in another, she witnessed her granddaughter growing up without a father, while her mother was lost in profound depression. Friends and neighbors turned their backs on the family, and as school bullying and financial problems escalated, they were forced to move from house to apartment, ultimately finding themselves living out of their car.
Victoria's cackling laughter surrounded her. “See what will become of your family.” Mrs. Vilonte covered her ears, pleading. “Stop it! Stop laughing! I don't want to hear it!”
“Oh, but look, not all of your future is bleak. Sometimes, there's a glimmer of sunshine after the rain.”
“Lies!”
“Look in that mirror. Open your eyes. See for yourself.”
She turned to see a mirror revealing Gabrielle in bed, restless and tossing. Her eyes clenched shut, sweat glistening on her brow as she cried out for her mother. Beside her was a small red creature, with thin arms and legs, bearing the face and tusks of a swine.
The sight was deeply unsettling. The mere sight of the creature filled her with an overwhelming sense of disgust, as she gazed upon an abomination that defied nature itself.
XXXXX
The crash happened in an instant. As the train barreled forward, the car was crushed beneath its force metal twisting and bending, windows exploding into shards. The deafening noise of metal grinding and glass shattering overwhelmed him.
A powerful force hurled him into the air. Then, as fast as it had all happened, his vision darkened to black. When he finally came to, he was upside down, held in place by the seat belt. He glanced towards Sara, but she appeared as a red blur; his vision still clearing.
Tentatively reaching out, he felt her warm, soft skin, which was damp. Bringing his hand closer, he saw his fingers were covered in blood mingled with fragments of flesh.
The air thickened around him as the devastating realization washed over him like a tidal wave, leaving him numb. His fingers clenched into fists, nails digging into his palms as he struggled to hold back his grief.
In that moment, Mr. Vilonte felt his soul enveloped by a darkness so deep that it seemed impossible to find his way back to the surface. But, suddenly, the stink of gasoline blended with burning metal and rubber reached him, pulling him back to reality.
He knew he had to escape the car immediately. His fingers fumbled for the ejection button, but hesitated when the ground started to shake and he spotted the hooves of what appeared to be a large goat approaching.
XXXXX
Her breath came in ragged, uneven gasps, each one a struggle as she grappled with the overwhelming emotions that threatened to eat her up. She steadied herself against the wall before bending down to gather the broken violin pieces. She tossed them one by one into the fireplace, dousing them with lighter fluid and setting them ablaze.
As the fire consumed the wood, it crackled and hissed, releasing tiny embers that spiraled upwards like fiery spirits seeking escape. The varnish on the violin began to bubble and blister, turning from a glossy sheen to a charred, matte texture.
Victoria's bones began to smolder, its fibers unraveling and curling as they were consumed by the heat. The scent that filled the room was a mix of burning bones and melting varnish, a pungent aroma that stung the nostrils and lingered in the air.
She sank into the sofa chair, taking a swig directly from the scotch bottle. A blend of relief and closure washed over her as she watched the flames reduce the violin to ashes.
Next Chapter

I plan on pulling an engine soon but don’t want to invest $250 into a hoist im really only going to use twice (once pulling motor, twice putting motor in). Is it a bad idea to try and return the hoist if/when I use it?
I bought a jack last week and used it a hand full of times, clearly used if you look at the wheels but I got a full refund for it after a week. Only reason I returned it was because there was a cheaper coupon deal for a better jack the day after I bought it.
What is your opinion? If I end up buying, I’ll probably resell if I can’t return

Navigating the Stars and Stripes: Understanding Flag Codes
The American flag stands as a symbol of unity, pride, and freedom. Yet, the etiquette surrounding its display goes unnoticed or disregarded. Understanding flag codes is a gesture of respect and reflects our appreciation for the values they represent.
According to the United States Flag Code, a set of federal laws guiding the proper display and handling of the flag, there are several essential rules to follow. Here's a concise list of these rules:

1. Display: The flag should be displayed daily, especially on national holidays, from sunrise to sunset. If displayed at night, it should be adequately illuminated. 2. Positioning: When displayed with other flags, the American flag should be placed above them and to the observer's left. It should also be hoisted first and lowered last. 3. Respect: The flag should never touch the ground or anything beneath it. It should also never be used as apparel, bedding, or drapery. 4. Salute: During the Pledge of Allegiance or the national anthem, individuals should face the flag, stand at attention, and place their right hand over their heart. 5. Half-Staff: The flag should be flown at half-staff during national mourning or as directed by the President. 6. Disposal: When worn or tattered, the flag should be ceremoniously burned dignifiedly. 

However, despite the clarity of these regulations, adherence to flag etiquette remains inconsistent. Many Trump supporters, for instance, have been observed flouting these rules, using the flag for political messaging or displaying it improperly. This deviation undermines the flag's solemnity and reflects a broader disregard for traditional protocols.
Moreover, it's not just individuals who sometimes fall short in upholding flag etiquette. Even businesses, like the Ford dealership close to have been noted for failing to follow flag codes in their display practices. Such oversights remind us of the importance of educating ourselves and others about properly handling our national symbol.
One fascinating aspect often overlooked is the display of the American flag at Disney Parks. While these parks proudly showcase numerous flags, a keen observer may notice a subtle deviation from the standard design. Interestingly, each flag is missing either one star or one stripe, engineered explicitly so they do not require illumination at night. This creative adaptation allows for a beautiful display during the day without the added expense of nighttime lighting.
In conclusion, understanding and adhering to flag codes shows respect for our nation's emblem and our commitment to its enduring values. By following these guidelines, we honor the sacrifices of those who have defended our freedoms and ensure that the flag continues to serve as a beacon of hope and unity for future generations.

Man, this is probably a dumb question. I'm new to the ls motor and fuel injection in general. On carb motors I just put a plate on the intake and lift, pretty easy. Best idea I have on my lq4 and 4l80 is using head bolts, front passenger and rear drivers side with a spreader bar, but for some reason feel like other people probably have better ways to lift the motor and transmission. So I'm curious how other people are doing it. Thanks