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The following two brain scans were provided by the Neuro-Warfare branch of the Halcyon Security Division (HSD) for the purpose of analyzing the thoughts, behaviors, and information of notorious gangsters Vincent 'Troy' Cohen and Bruno (Deadname: Koraak Tel-Char). At the point of the recording of this archival shared, Bruno has since received his rebirth therapy, and Vincent is currently serving a long-term rehabilitative and reeducative sentence in the Erebus Supermax Prison on Io.
Warning: the contents of this archival shared may be especially disturbing to some audiences. Viewer discretion is advised.
Warning: the contents of this archival shard are for the sole purpose of analyzing the thought patterns and memories of certain degenerate criminals in an effort to ascertain vital information that can be used to eliminate their organizations. Only staff with clearance level Omega may view this archival shared, and the viewership of this archival shared by anyone of inadequate clearance level will lead to twenty years in prison and a fine of over a hundred thousand credits.
Booting up memory scan: Vincent 'Troy' Cohen, November 4th, 2446…
Loading and processing firmware data… translating… memories and subconscious simulated…
Beginning archival shard presentation…
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"Do you have visuals of the target, Troy?"
I knelt down in the alleyway, the bodies of me and my partners shrouded in long, waterproof, ashen-gray overcoats the shade of dirty street scum that we wore to ward off the constant heavy rainfall the color of osmium. Our faces were covered in a mix of scrapped respirators, visors, or full metal face masks carved with intricate designs to hide our identities. On our waists were our badges of honor: leather belts studded with interlocked rivets made from blackened titanium, each buckle forged of silver and shaped into the head of our gang's symbol, the black mamba. We hid amongst the shadows of the dark midday of Halcyon City, the heavy, oppressive rains blanketing the roads paved obsidian-black with asphalt and weathered concrete walkways. The street lamps were always on, like beacons of false hope in a storm of melancholy.
The city was dark and dreary as always, the planet of Proxima Centauri B, renamed Dawn's Lamentation over a century ago, orbited the red dwarf star of Proxima Centauri, and the atmosphere was thick with natural smog and ever-storming rain clouds. That didn't dissuade people from living here: there was plenty of money to be had for shrewd industrialists and hardworking pioneers, even in the urban sprawl. But that life also came with risks, especially for those on the bottom of the totem pole.
I was a ganger, and we were criminals; full stop. I won't assault you with some spiel about how we're the good guys fighting oppression because, at the end of the day, we could be just as bad, if not worse, than Halcyon's Security Division, or the HSD for short. We were traffickers, killers, extortionists, and money launderers. We dealt with everything from stolen tech and military-grade hardware to hard drugs and sentients.
Yes, sentients. We trafficked sentients, but not in the way you might think. They weren't prisoners, in fact, we were their saviors if they had the cash. We had developed a reputation for fighting the power, but it was still business: sure, freeing captives from the clutches of the Protectorate. The disruption of its many oppressive organizations held a certain satisfaction in my heart for sure, but we didn't help those who couldn't pay unless someone else paid on their behalf. It was about making sure me and my gang, my family, could live a decent life for another day.
It helped that most of us joined after leaving the state yard for partaking in acts of 'degeneracy' and 'anti-xenopet illegalities' as if those terms meant anything anymore other than that we were a threat to the local status quo. It was hard to pick up a job as a former inmate when even in something as harsh and backbreaking as a job in the iridium mines near the poles when the employment office had you blacklisted as a degenerate, which lead to the formation of many of the gangs: we needed to make a living somehow, and when all social programs were cut off from you unless you submitted for 're-education' and the only way to put food on the table was subverting, breaking, or even downright fighting the law, you did what you had to do or you died on the streets a scorned beggar.
It wasn't like the HSD made it easy for us on even a good day: the local HSD units were armed to the teeth with advanced, military-grade hardware that you'd often see on the front lines of the Second Authority War: armored assault transports, a myriad of advanced war droids, all sorts of chemical countermeasures that made tear gas seem like putting the garden hose on mist mode, and of course advanced firearms. Add that to the fact that they were authorized to use deadly force when they deemed it necessary and you had a ruthless, heartless, and nearly unstoppable enemy. But we could make that work: we weren't trying to stop them, just to withstand them.
"Yeah, I got eyes on the prize, Koraak; seven armored transports, two for droids, five for prisoners."
Today wasn't a day for a normal job: we were getting bolder, cockier, more ambitious. Our numbers had swelled for the last few years after the raid at Barnard's Star and the fall of the Blood Dragon Mafia. Their leader, Saito Yasuhide, had committed seppuku as their manor burned, and his twin sons had gone down fighting rather than allowing themselves to be captured simply to face a firing squad. In the aftermath, many of the family's associates had fled to the surrounding systems, and with the sheer size and scope of the criminal underworld found here, it was no wonder that many people who had developed skills of the less legal variety had decided to form ranks with the gangs, and with them they brought guns, tech, knowledge, contacts, and even something that we thought wasn't possible beforehand: a semblance of peace between the gangs, or at least the closest thing to peace that gangs could cultivate effectively. With the fall of the Blood Dragons, we saw the writing on the wall, and the writing couldn't have been clearer: work together or die together.
"Sounds like a massacre, Troy: are you sure we can handle seven?"
"We ain't got no choice, Cinder: this job's double the usual rate, and that's not including the weapons and gear we could scrounge if this goes well," I hissed, my eyes scanning for any resistance. There were at least four guards for each van, not to mention at least eight droids in total, meaning that we were already outnumbered, but we had the element of surprise: we could make it work. "So put your balls in your purse and get ready to spill some blood."
Koraak snorted at our antics, which sounded like someone pulling the ripcord on a lawnmower. He was a veteran Russu Corsair, and while his past of slaving, raiding, and killing was unsavory, so were the lives we'd lived, so who were we to judge? All we cared about was that he was a brutal and capable fighter and a loyal brother in arms. It turned out that being a ganger wasn't much different from being a Corsair: you lived and died by a code of honor, you fought to the death for your brothers, and you lived to die for the sake of your gang and your family, simple as that. In a strange, ironic way, it was an incredibly honest way of life: we were under no illusions as to what we were, what we did, and why we did it, and we'd long since accepted it. The Russu related to us in that aspect, in many ways I could respect, which is why I hated what the Protectorate was doing, and why I couldn't grasp how most of humanity could just collectively lose their marbles so long ago. What had happened for us to deem all other life below us in such a demeaning and infantilizing way?
The Russu were a race of tall, muscle-bound Saurians with avian features, and Koraak was no exception: reaching almost seven feet in height and weighing over four hundred and fifty pounds, he could be an absolute menace if he so desired. His skin was covered in stubby, knobby scales and dense plumage, with elegant feathers adorning the ridges along his back as well as his forearms, elbows, knees, and the crests on his head. He almost looked like how paleontologists described velociraptors, with razor-sharp talons, feathers shaded in vibrant greens, reds, and purples, and a maw full of sharp teeth, but at the tip of his snout was a sharp, beak-like growth meant for ripping flesh off the bone.
The Russu were strange as hell, but they also looked almost cute in the same way a fully grown alligator was cute: they were obviously dangerous, but humans would always have this innate desire to anthropomorphize them and to pet them for some inexplicable reason, although common sense usually prevented that, at least amongst the very few of us left that were sane.
"Shut up, Troy! All I'm saying is that that'll be rough, and you know it," hissed Cinder. Cinder was a tall black man whose coffee-colored skin was covered in tattoos. He wore an ebony mechanic's jumpsuit with metal inserts underneath his grimy overcoat covering his body and a faded black respirator on his face. His eyes were a startling blue that seemed sorely out of place, and his hair was braided into thick cornrows along his scalp. He wore a pair of heavy black combat boots and palmed his compact shotgun in his hands, the square barrel less than seven inches. Like a lot of the weapons the Black Mambas carried on their persons and dealt in, they fired caseless ammunition; in Cinder's case it was 16x40mm caseless shotshells filled with depleted uranium micro-flechetes no thicker than a toothpick. Cinder nervously fiddled with the detachable tube magazine underneath the barrel, his hands shaking. Despite the shit I have him, I didn't blame him for being anxious: I was anxious too, even if I refused to show it. The biting cold of unease and pessimism was in my stomach, and I ran all the way that this job could go wrong in my head over and over.
"Just hold yourself together, this ain't anything we haven't done before, there's just more of it," I reassured Cinder, "besides, we're not alone; we have reinforcements across the street. We'll make it out of this alive."
Cinder nodded almost absentmindedly, his eyes downcast and his breathing shallow. I turned from him and back to Koraak, who was making sure he had everything on his person; he had a synthetic leather bandoleer across his chest that contained the heavy eight guage depleted uranium slugs he kept loading and unloading into his much larger, longer, and more traditional shotgun he nicknamed ‘carnage’ and several leather straps that held his Tu'shan daggers: traditional Russu pyramidal blades forged from a silvery alloy with all three edges serrated and the tip barbed to leave behind horrible, gaping wounds that gushed blood. They were wickedly sharp and absolutely straight like a stiletto, and the hilts and pommels were beautifully decorated. He wore no clothes underneath his overcoat to cover the countless scars and blemishes he's earned in combat across his chest and abdomen, and instead of a normal respirator or visor, he simply wore a hood over his head and some traditional Russu facial armor to protect his mouth, eyes, and cheeks.
"You ready to fight, Koraak? The caravan will pick up and leave soon."
Koraak was silent for a moment before nodding, a human gesture he had picked up after serving as a soldier with the Black Mambas for years. "I'm always ready to fight," he said before lifting up his shotgun and aiming down the sights at the reinforced front wheels of the first armored car in the caravan. He exhaled and fired, the slug ripping through both front tires and causing them to deflate and fall apart. The echo of the shot rang through the alleyway and the street, causing pedestrians to panic and flee the scene as heavily armored guards poured out of the side doors of the armored cars and unholstered their carbines.
"Go, now!" I shouted, and both me and Cinder rushed out into the fray, our guns raised. Koraak was right behind the two of us, providing covering fire with his shotgun. Several guards fell quickly, Koraak's precise fire and the sheer force of the depleted uranium slugs putting them down for good as their heads were vaporized or their chest cavities were turned to mush. He emptied the tube with one final shot that painted the grey matter of a security guard on the door of one of the armored cars, then racked the shotgun and expertly loaded it in threes, his hands deft and agile as he reached for more slugs faster than any human.
With the cacophony of our initial assault, more Black Mambas poured out from the alleyways and the subways, armed to the teeth with all manner of weapons; shotguns, submachine guns, pistols, machetes, baseball bats, and all manner of homemade explosives. Molotovs and more potent concoctions shattered against the asphalt, herding in the caravan guards with their volatile contents as they were quickly gunned down. The assault was working, and we were winning.
Then I heard the robotic whine of a combat droid activating, and my heart sank. One of the armored cars in the back activated the four combat droids it held, the robotic assault units detaching from their charging ports on the sides of the large van and began to form up, each armed with a terrifying array of deadly weapons meant to quash any and all resistance. They were blocky, soulless, utilitarian things that stood at eight feet tall, with flat feet meant for stomping and blades, grasping claws designed to lacerate flesh and shatter bone. On each shoulder was a weapon: on the left was a multi-barrel rotary grenade launcher loaded with 15mm concussion grenades, and on the right was a burst-fire splinter cannon. They were all painted a dull grayish-green, the color of Halcyon's Security Division, although some had a few decorations on them: the one closest to me had a bit of graffiti on the side that said Mr. Hugs in Comic Sans, which I couldn't decide whether that made it more or less terrifying. They split up without hesitation and began to scan the chaotic battlefield, their single, red, beady lenses the security forces had the gall to call eyes focusing on specific targets to eliminate.
An entire group of Black Mambas was torn to pieces by a cloud of flechettes as one of the droids fired a withering three-round burst of shotshells from the four gauge splinter cannon mounted on its shoulder. Another picked up a Black Mamba in its hand and crushed her skull effortlessly before tossing her limp body to the side, its single, red, remorseless robotic eye tracking a new target. Most bullets that struck their thick armored chassis simply bounced off, and those that could pierce the armor didn't seem to phase the droids whatsoever, merely notifying them of a new potential target.
"Damnit," I shouted as I gunned down another guard only for two more to take his place. "Cinder! We gotta pop open the cars and scram! Get the maglock cutters!"
Cinder rushed and slid over through a dirty puddle, pulling out a maglock cutter from the inside of his coat and slipping it onto the back door of the first van. It immediately went to work, drilling through the maglock with a high-powered plasma torch nozzle, and within ten seconds we heard the telltale clunk of the maglock separating. I yanked the door open and ordered I side, ready to escort the prisoners out… only for my face to contort in shock and horror.
The back was empty. There was not a single soul inside of the back brig of the armored car.
"What the fuck…" Cinder gasped, his eyes wide with shock. "What the actual fuck… what the fuck is this, Troy?"
"I… I don't…" I stuttered the sounds of battle and carnage drowned out by the sound of blood rushing in my ears. All five cars were supposed to be filled with recently captured Russu from the front lines ready to be housed in the local Xenopet-Megaplex for processing and conditioning. The fact that this one was empty…
Suddenly, it all hit me at once with the force of a freight train, but it was too late. "We were set up, Cinder; our fucking client either squealed or was crooked to begin with…"
"Fucking bitch!" Cinder shouted as he spun around in an enraged arch, anger growing in his eyes. He aimed his shotgun at an approaching security guard and reduced his upper body to a fine red mist with a cacophony of shotgun blasts. "We gotta get everyone who's left out of here! Do you know what this means? The Jurors will be here soon, and then we're all going down! We gotta go, fuck the job!"
I grit my teeth. Not the Jurors, anything but the Jurors.
"Fine, gather everyone who's left and we'll slip through the sewers, the droids are too bulky to follow us there…"
As I spoke, my eyes wandered to the seventh and final armored car, the second of the droid cars, and my blood froze. Not only were all four ports empty, but they were also smaller and more shallow than the ports for the combat droids. That could only mean one thing.
"Oh fuck! Cinder, we gotta get our Russu members out of here! They've got arachnid droids!"
Arachnid droids were the stuff of nightmares. Resembling blocky, robotic arachnids the size of a manhole cover, they were specifically designed to take down sentient aliens, specifically the Russu, using sickeningly non-lethal means. They were equipped with full-body adaptive cloaking to blend in with their environments, paralytic agents that they could inject into their victims, built-in taser barbs, psychedelic gas ports for crowd-control, and a narrow-coned cacophony canon that disabled the Russu using incredibly high-pitched sounds that only they could hear, forcing them onto their knees and clutching the backs of their heads where their auditory organs were stored in agony. But worst of all was their stygian spinnerets: special ports near the end of their robotic abdomens that excreted a viscous, latex-like substance made up of millions of nano-bots. This substance could be used to render Russu blind, deaf, and mute by having it forced onto their faces, the black substance growing and enveloping their heads and working its way into every orifice. It was completely permeable to the standard atmosphere, but any Russu who had been 'webbed' was completely helpless and essentially captured, and the 'webbing' was both nearly indestructible and nigh impossible to remove without a triple-encrypted override key that was found in every arachnid droid's code, which was corrupted when the droid was destroyed or hacked into. Once you were 'webbed', you were essentially captured and the standard protocol was to leave you to the wolves since the nano-bots could be tracked, endangering the entire gang.
I turned just as I heard the deafening sound of Koraak discharging his shotgun, and I saw him squaring off against one of the assault droids. The droid has obviously been programmed to not use lethal force against Russu if possible, as instead of simply killing Koraak with it's shoulder-mounted splinter cannon, it approached with its claws extended, blades retracted. Koraak continued to back away and fire, pumping the droid full of depleted uranium slugs, its armor crumbling inward as the slugs pierced its chassis and damaged its internal cyberstructure. Eventually, Koraak ran out of slugs and instinctively reached to his bandoleer only to find that he had no more shells left at all, and he drew one of his knives and his sidearm, a simple high-caliber handgun. He tried to take down the droid with his handgun, but the bullets didn't even seem to affect the droid upon penetration, it's claws still extended as it attempted to apprehend Koraak.
In the corner of my vision, as I watched Koraak battle with the droid, I noticed a faint shimmer in the air on one of the black streetlight poles that was right behind him. I focused on it and blinked, believing my eyes had deceived me for a moment before realizing that it was actually a cloaked arachnid droid stalking Korvaak, ready to pounce and incapacitate him.
Before I could shout, it leaped from the pole and landed on Korvaak, causing him to shout in surprise while it began to coagulate its horrifying stygian webbing to disable Korvaak. Korvaak tried to wrestle it off of him, but the droid was agile and fast, clinging onto Korvaak and skittering around across his upper body as he attempted to grab it, forcibly wrapping the sticky black liquid across his face as he gagged like a spider wrapping up a fly. I rushed towards him to try and help, but I felt pain explode in my ribs as I was struck with the arm of the closest combat droid and launched into the chassis of a parked car, the metal denting from the sheer force of impact. I groaned in pain as I saw stars and my head spun, and just then I felt a blinding light be cast over me.
“Drop your weapons and kneel with your hands on your head, or you will be pacified with deadly force!” Shouted a loud, artificially deepened voice from above. “I repeat, drop your weapons and kneel with your hands on your head! Neither hostility nor hesitation will be tolerated!”
It was the Jurors, I could feel the air being pushed around from the thrusters on their drop ships, and I could hear screams and shouts as my fellow Black Mambas were quickly gunned down. I couldn’t see well since I was seeing double, but I could hear the slaughter as my eyes dimmed and I began to lose consciousness, my regrets crawling up my throat like vomit.
I’m sorry was all I could think as everything finally went dark, and the sounds of chaos, destruction, and combat faded away.
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Memory halted due to loss of consciousness. Booting next available memory in shard…
Booting up memory scan: Koraak Tel-Char Bruno, November 5th, 2446…
Loading and processing firmware data… translating… memories and subconscious simulated…
Beginning archival shard presentation…
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“Good morning, sleepyhead; it’s time for breakfast.”
My eyes shot open. I was not in the street anymore, nor was I home in my bed with my mate. I knew instantly that something was horribly wrong. I tried to stand up, but I couldn’t gain the leverage to do so: my ankles had been shackled together with magnetic cuffs and my arms were forced together in front of me.
I was wearing some kind of thick shirt. It was warm, fluffy, and comfortable on the inside, but it still made me incredibly uncomfortable that my arms didn’t have a free range of motion. I looked down to see that I was wearing some human garment I had heard about before, a straightjacket maybe?
The entire room was padded: the walls, the floor, even the ceiling. There was no bed or furniture; the floor was soft enough to serve as a bed in itself. There was nothing else except for the soft reddish-orange lights on the ceiling that somehow made me sleepy. I blinked slowly for a moment, my body screaming at me to just lay back down and lose consciousness, but I couldn’t do that: I needed to figure out where I was and how to escape.
Then I noticed who was speaking to me: it was a short human female, with crow's feet around her blue eyes, blonde hair braided down her back, and freckles all over her face. She had a soft smile on her lips, and her forehead was slightly crinkled. She wore a full-body white lab suit with a white overcoat and a pair of glasses for snugly on her face.
"There we go, now I can see those pretty eyes, such a beautiful shade of teal," she cooed softly, "You're such a handsome boy, even with all those scars: I'm sure you'll be adopted very quickly once we get you fixed up."
Fear gripped my heart as I began to piece all the evidence together. I had been captured; I was no longer on Halcyon, and instead, I was in one of the horrific space-born facilities I had heard so much about from the inside agents. I started to hyperventilate and squawk like a newborn hatchling, my eyes dilating in panic. This couldn't be happening! This has to be a nightmare!
The human woman merely wrapped her arms around me and pulled me into an embrace, cradling my head under her chin and speaking softly. I couldn't bite at her or claw at her: I was muzzled and wearing a straight jacket, so I had no choice but to allow her to coddle me.
"It's okay, sweetheart: I understand you're scared, but Julie's here to make all the pain and bad thoughts go away," she said as if she was comforting a child, which made anger blossom in my chest indignantly. "I'll be your caretaker for the next few months, and I'm going to make sure you're healthy, happy, and most importantly safe while you're under our care. I'm sorry to say that includes your restraints and restrictive clothing, but we have to make sure you aren't a threat to yourself or others before we can determine if it's a good idea to remove you from suicide watch."
I growled under my muzzle. Suicide watch? They must have had a lot of instances of Russu taking their own lives after being captured, something I wished I had been able to do before that damnable droid launched itself onto me and…
I shuddered at the thought of the black, viscous substance forcing itself into my nostrils and down my throat and windpipe, gagging me and rendering me completely helpless. It was so cold, so harsh, like slime, and when I had tried to tear it off of my face it merely attached itself to my claws and bound my talons together. I remember squirming on the ground as it enveloped me, unable to see, hear, or speak, and then everything went dark in an instant. It was the most horrible thing I had ever experienced, which was saying something.
"You alright, sweetheart? Oh, I know, you're probably hungry! Here, try some of this." She held up a piece of what looked like raw bacon and wiggled it in front of me before reaching out to remove my muzzle. In an instant, I attempted to snap at her only for pain to blossom in my forehead and my eyes to roll up in my head as I convulsed. It was like something was attempting to drill through my skull from the inside, and every breath felt empty and labored.
"Now, that didn't feel very nice, did it? This is why we have countermeasures in place because we can't trust you yet, sweetheart! Don't worry, we'll work on breaking you of all those bad behaviors and habits while you're here; after all, a well-trained pet is a happy pet!" She began to stroke the crests on my head as I slowly recovered, and she snugly fit the muzzle back onto my snout. "But I won't hold it against you this time, sweetheart; you're just scared and confused, but I'll make all the pain go away."
I struggled in the straight jacket, trying my best to break out of it, but it was no use. Eventually, I became exhausted and despondent, allowing my new caretaker to have her way with me as she gently ran her fingers through my feathers and along my ridges, quietly speaking to me in a hopeless attempt to cheer me up. She seemed genuinely concerned for my well-being, which concerned me even further: who could be this naturally twisted while attempting to be as benevolent and kindhearted as possible?
I felt the pain and terror build up in my chest, the anxiety from what horrific activities I imagined they had planned for me here. I couldn't take the infantilization, the lack of any autonomy, the dehumanization, and what I feared the most was if the rumors of 'rebirth' were true: would they take my personhood from me?
Suddenly, I felt her whisper to me. "Don't worry sweetheart, I know you're so scared and confused, but I promise you everything will be okay: it's going to be your birthday soon, and then everything will get better." She ran her fingers through the feathers along my crest lovingly. "It will be such a wonderful day, and then we'll choose for you the most wonderful family, and you'll spend the rest of your life happy in your forever home! Doesn't all of that sound wonderful?"
I wanted to die. I wanted to disappear. I didn't want to lose myself, not like this, not to these monsters!
"It'll be your birthday soon," she said wistfully as if she was remembering similar events to this in the past like I wasn't the first she'd done this too, "and you'll never be sad again."
I realized that I wasn't the first the stay in this particular cell, and I knew for certain that I wouldn't be the last: I'd end up like my brother, a broken, erased mess of a pathetic creature, reduced to nothing more than a pet for these humans to amuse themselves with.
"We took the liberty of picking out a nice name for you, sweetheart! Now, let me just slip this little programming chip into the port slot on your occipital bone, and... there we go! It will also help you calm down a bit and adjust."
I felt the chip begin to invade my mind, suppressing my thoughts. What made me me was slowly being ripped out of my mind. I couldn't remember my name my name is Bruno, and I needed to get out! I can't let them do this to me! Somebody help me! I was a good boy.
##Do not think. You are a good boy.##
I tried to scream, but my voice wouldn't work: I had trouble forming any words at all, the confusion clouding my mind like wet, slimy eels curling around my brain and sinking their teeth into its folds like needles. I couldn’t scream any longer, because I had nothing left: the chip was slowly beginning to take everything from me, robbing me of my identity and branding a new one into my psyche with a white-hot iron. Julie simply held me close, attempting to reassure me as I awaited the inevitable demise of my personhood. Soon I would be just like my brother: erased. My mind would be shaped into the mind of a loyal plaything, like a Dog.
##Relax. Allow caretaker [Julie] to comfort you. You will let go of your burden.##
Soon, everything was a blur. I quickly found myself resting my head in her lap as she whispered to me and fed me, my eyes bleary and my head fuzzy. I couldn't remember my name anymore My name was Bruno, and I needed to break free from this trance relax, and allow her to help me; good boys didn't resist help.
##Good Boy. Do not think. You are a good boy.##
You can't... I...
##Good boy.##
I wouldn't… good boys don't… I…
##Good boy##
I was a good boy… I was a good boy…
I was… I was… a good… boy…
Someone help me, please! I don't want to be erased!
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The following script is from episode #343 of Halcyon After Dark, a popular late-night and current events talk show hosted by Melinda Carter. This specific episode was sponsored in part by the Halcyon Security Division, with Director Lochlin O'Brien joining as a guest star to talk about the changing crime statistics in Halcyon City and the HSD's recent successes in busting organized crime as well as their plans for addressing the growing criminal underworld.
MC: Good evening Halcyon! I'm your host, Melinda Carter, and you're watching Halcyon's most popular late-night talk show, Halcyon After Dark!
The crowd claps and cheers as Melinda walks on stage and sits behind her desk, her glittering red dress waving as she does so from the special effects.
MC: Tonight we have a very special guest here to tell us about the state of crime in the city and his plans on resolving it: please put your hands together for the HSD's very own Director, Lochlin O'Brien!
The crowd cheers some more as HSD Director Lochlan O'Brien, a tall, muscular, caucasian male in his early forties with red hair and a well-trimmed beard steps into the room, waving at the crowd with a bright smile. He sits in the armchair angled next to Melinda's desk and gives her his full attention.
MC: It's so good to have you on the show, Director! Tell me, how are you doing on this fine evening?
LO: I'm doing excellent, Melinda: every day I wake up feeling fulfilled knowing I'm serving Halcyon to the best of my abilities and then some."
MC: That's the spirit, Director! Now, I know this question is just on everyone's lips, so I have to ask: how successful was the recent gang bust? I heard HSD forces took out dozens of gang members and liberated at least a dozen Russu Hounds from their abusive clutches, but I know that everyone in the audience and at home wants to know the numbers.
LO: I'd be glad to tell you, but I do have to preface this by saying that we still lost a lot of good officers that day, and while we did strike a crippling blow to one of Halcyon's biggest gangs, it doesn't change the fact that each death is a tragedy, and we're taking steps to prevent them in the future. That being said, those valiant officers did not sacrifice themselves in vain: we had over a dozen confirmed kills and several arrests, including the rescue of several corrupted Russu hounds.
MC: That's excellent, Director: proof that even when the number of degenerates and scum grow by the day, the HSD will always be here to keep the citizens of Halcyon safe.
LO: Absolutely, Melinda, and we're always working tirelessly to increase the efficiency and effectiveness of our units, as well as racing to stay several steps ahead of the many gangs of Halcyon at all times. My newest goal as Director is to vastly increase the funding given to our Robotics Department and our Neuro-Warfare Department to potentially reduce the number of casualties we may experience in the future, as well as to quickly and effectively detain, and if necessary, eliminate criminals. Within the next decade, I want to double the number of automated units each Security Platoon is assigned: droids are the future of public safety as well as countless other industries, and it would be foolish to be left behind.
MC: That is quite a lofty goal, Director: what about the displaced jobs from the increased automation? What will the union say?
LO: And to that, I say: what misplaced jobs? We aren't replacing our honored and beloved service members with droids, Melinda, we are simply supplementing our units with more droids to ensure that future gang assaults end with fewer HSD casualties and more gang members in prison or eliminated, simple as that.
MC: That makes much more sense, Director, thanks for clarifying. Now, I have one more question that I'm sure much of Halcyon wants to know the answer to before we take a short break: what plans do you and your fellow directors have to make long-term progress in reducing crime beyond just increasing funding? Have you proposed any plans to strike at the source of where crime and degeneracy flourish?
OL: That's an excellent question, and one I am proud to answer: my constituents and I have been working tirelessly on a two-step plan to greatly reduce crime levels in Halcyon. Step one would be to prevent people from becoming criminals and degenerates at all in the first place: a lot of young men and women, but especially young men, have lost either one or both parents or even a sibling, aunt or uncle, or even a close friend by the brutality of the Second Authority War, and while the service of their lost loved ones will always be recognized and honored, many of these young men and women are left bitter, angry and lost without the guidance these people give them in their lives. Oftentimes they seek to fill that void with others who claim to relate to them: career criminals. These criminals will fill their heads with lies and false narratives to make them feel like they're fighting back against the 'evil protectorate government' that took their loved ones from them by sending them off to war when in reality it was the rogue Xenopets of the Triarchy that took them away by resisting their just and inevitable unburdening.
In response, I have proposed a slew of special programs that will make sure local law enforcement and HSD officers are present and contributing to their local community, and we'll be providing easy and light job openings for youngsters and teens looking to make a career for themselves in the force when they grow up. We want to let these lost souls know that there are people who care about them, people who understand them and that you shouldn't turn to degeneracy to feel fulfilled. We want to help the youth of our great society soar to new heights!
MC: That sounds like a wonderful beginning to your plan, Director, but what about the second step?
LO: Well, the second step is to prevent criminals and degenerates from becoming repeat criminals. Sure, they've made their mistakes, some worse than others, but they're only human like the rest of us. Some of them have been through hell: some are traumatized veterans who don't know how to adapt to normal life, others were recruited when they were young and don't know that there's a better way to live, and even more are mentally ill. We're alone in this galaxy, and we can't leave so many people behind. That's why we've come up with an excellent solution: we've set up isolated communities on distant moons and frontier planets where these criminals can be reeducated, rehabilitated, and allowed to repay their debt to society. When they're deemed 'reformed' and have graduated from our program, they'll be granted a hefty stipend and their criminal record will be deemed irrelevant, allowing them to reintegrate and become functioning members of our proud society.
MC: all of these sound like incredible steps forward in the fight to better our society and make real progress, Director. Sadly, we do have to step away for a moment, but you best believe I'll be back, Halcyon, and we'll be asking the Director here some burning questions about allegations over the quality of life Erubus Supermax! Now, a word from our sponsors!
Halcyon Xenopet-Megaplex! Everything your xenopet could ever need in one place! Adoption is now free-
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Good, you’re still alive! The rest of this shard appears to be corrupted, which means this particular trail seems to have run cold here, but do not despair; you need to keep searching. Find out what happened. Find the truth.I cannot guide you any longer: they've already found me, and if I remain in contact with you they'll find you as well. Take the archival database, and see what you can piece together. Maybe if we discover what truly happened we can put an end to this madness once and for all. I'm counting on you. Don't cry for me, I don't fear death, but I fear what they'll do to me to get to you: there are far worse fates than death, after all.

So, I moved to my current school for 4th grade (2017). I go to a preK-12 school, and the gym & health teacher for the entire school is one man who's been teacher for around 15 or so years.
He starts "subtle" in 5th or 6th grade, always getting really up close with the girls. He seems to think in 7th grade that we became free range, and starts openly harassing us. It started with grabbing my one classmate by the feet and making weird comments about "how small and petiet your feet are". Then we had a 12 major muscles test, he grabbed a girl's ass and stated the muscle there. He watches us workout, stares at our asses and breasts, and even stands outside the locker room to hear our conversations.
We take his classes through 10th grade, having both health & gym the last 2 years. This year, he started asking us about our sexual turns off and turn ons. This didn't pertain to the class, we were learning about cancers at the time. He also kept these sheets to grade and never handed them back. (These werent from a program, they were clearly hand typed. I have pictures of all of them) When we stretch in class, he stands there and pretends to stretch, but aggressively crotch thrusts towards the girls. He also often asks us about if we sleep with guys or what our opinions on sleeping with older men are.
We've tried multiple times to report him this year, but every time, the girls backed out (they didnt want to "ruin his life") and the school year ended. Today, I was talking to the school librarian at the local diner, and I decided to speak up. Being a mandated reporter, she sat and listened to me and my friend for almost 2 hours about everything he's done. She went to the principal and reported the teachers behavior.
Now, the principal would like to speak with me and my friend next week with the sheriff about the correct steps to take. I live in a small, conservative town, where things like this don't happen, and if they do, you don't talk. I've decided to change that for the girls who have put up with him and the girls whi are yet to.
I know to print & bring my pictures of the worksheets, but not what else. Does anyone have any advice or tips for when I go to see the principal and sheriff? It's me, my friend, and our librarian who has to be involved (mandated reporter rules.) Really, any advice helps!!

Foreward: Searched the forum and read all Adderall posts from the last year and none seemed to provide an answer. I want to know if a waiver is possible this summer to join or if I'm SOL until 2025.
Background: I'm interested in a navy career in intelligence; the positions in which I am most interested in are currently listed as high priority. I prefer reserves, but would be open to other options as an officer or active (job-dependent).
I'm a strong candidate: 98 on practice ASVAB, I have a master's degree in national security/intelligence/international relations. I do not hold a clearance currently, but completed an SF-86 and received interim clearance last year. I also passed full-scope poly for a civilian intelligence position needing TS-SCI. The conditional job offer was pulled for no fault of mine. I did not start the job, therefore did not complete the clearance process, but they confirmed I didn't have any major red flags.
The problem: I'm in my mid-30s. Three years ago I was diagnosed with ADD and was given an Adderall prescription. I've been really sporadic about filling it. For example, this year I've filled it in January 2024 and then again...yesterday. I don't "need" the meds every day. I have only taken one pill from the new body (so one in the last 90 days) and would be willing to not take any more, could bring almost-full bottle to MEPS.
My doctor would definitely write me a note stating I don't NEED them. I completed all of high school (3.9), undergrad (3.2), a few community college programs (4.0) without the meds and before the diagnosis, no IEP. I was on them for half of my master's program (3.4) but my grades were the same for both halves. Again, no IEP. I have no work or school records of needing IEP nor of getting written up due to ADD-related issues.
I want to join the military in the next few months, preferably sooner. I am not willing to get off the meds for a full year to "see" if I can get a waiver next year sometime; I don't want to wait that long to join as by that point I'd be eligible to reapply for the civilian job above and wouldn't want to enlist, then.
I would, however, be willing to sign saying I would stop taking them from this point forward and surrender any meds in my possession.
FYI: I have connected with my local recruiter, but he's unavailable to meet for a week or two. I'm seeking a "there's a chance if you...." or a "no way in hell" answer before I waste his time.

Part 1
Part 2
Content Warning: Child Abuse
***
Darkness gave way to dimness as I opened my eyes and saw slivers of gray light printed on the ceiling like lines on the page of a ruled notebook. In the distance, I heard the sound of pans clanking against the kitchen stove, and I became ever-aware of the scent of cinnamon and bacon sneaking in from under my closed bedroom door. For a moment, I was back in sixth grade. My dad was downstairs cooking up his famous from-scratch buttermilk pancakes and cheesy scrambled eggs. It was probably 7:00, maybe 7:05, and I had fifteen minutes to get up, shower, dress, eat, then it was off to Middle School with dad: for me to learn, him to work.
It was the day we were set to be assigned our Ancient Civilizations project. Unless something went terribly wrong, I would be choosing Ancient Rome. I didn't know much about it, other than it was some great empire, but even then I didn't really understand what an empire was. I was just happy that I would get to build something with my dad. I turned on my side and looked at the closed blinds, the source of the gray lines, then the cabinet with all my trophies, and finally the wobbly, firetruck-red chair pushed under my desk. I was home at last. The past fifteen years were nothing but a dream. There was no blinking. No malevolent demon chasing me. No inexplicable chaos…
It was a sweet fantasy. But one that became bitter the longer I tried to chew on it.
I swept my legs out from under the covers and sat, face-down, on the corner of my twin mattress. My feet were adult's feet. My room was my former room. And that was Trent downstairs cooking breakfast. Unless, of course, it was my dad, in which case I'd have bigger problems than merely waking up from a good dream.
After changing into a fresh shirt and pants, I went downstairs and saw that it was, in fact, Trent cooking breakfast. He was wearing a plain t-shirt through which I could see the ripples of his large back muscles as he whisked what I presumed was pancake batter. He must not have heard me, because he didn't turn around when I made it to the end of the hall. I leaned against the wall, arms folded, and watched him for a minute as he finished whisking the batter, then poured it onto a hot griddle (spilling a few dribbles on the counter in the process), watched it bubble, flipped it, then transferred the golden medallion onto a plate stacked five high. Next to the pancakes was a plate filled with bacon, and a small aluminum pan of scrambled eggs.
"Smells good," I said at last. "Find everything okay?"
I thought I might startle him with my abrupt appearance; instead, Trent looked over his shoulder, chewing on a piece of bacon. He swallowed and said, "Oh, it's you. Yeah, I hope you don't mind me using your kitchen. I thought I'd make us some breakfast."
It occurred to me then that Trent likely wasn't a guest in other people's homes very often. Lucky for him, I didn't mind him using a kitchen that hadn't been mine in many years. I was going to tell him as much when I saw an opened box of Bisquick sitting on the counter. I pointed to it and asked, "you found that in the pantry? My dad usually makes his pancakes from scratch."
He turned to look at the box, then back at me. "No, I went out and got that. And the bacon and eggs. I didn't want to dig into your supply without asking, and you were asleep, so..."
I felt my eyebrows furrow as I checked the time on the stove-clock. "It's 8:17 in the morning. Are you telling me you went out to the store, bought all these ingredients, then came back and cooked them? Just how early did you get up?"
"Around five," he answered as casually as if I had asked his dog's name. "I don't usually get much sleep. Around four, five hours is all I need. It's actually unusual for Antennas to need more than that amount. But I suppose you are unusual."
I opened my mouth in disbelief. Not only had he commandeered my kitchen, he was calling me unusual? At 8-fricken-17 in the morning?
"Sorry," Trent said, reading my expression, "I'm… well, let's just say I've not had many personal relationships. I'm used to being blunt. It's just easier that way." He took out a plate and transferred two pancakes, some eggs, and a few slices of bacon onto it. Then he held it up to me as a peace offering.
I sighed. "This better be good," I said with a wry smile and took the plate.
"Trent-certified, but no guarantees. Refunds not allowed." He replied, which made me giggle.
We sat across from one another at the dining room table. The meal was pretty good, but it was no dad's special: the pancakes were clearly box pancakes, the scrambled eggs lacked cheese and had a little too much pepper, and the bacon was… well it was bacon, no complaints there. Still, it was nice to settle down and have a somewhat normal morning.
After we ate, Trent unfurled the long arc of his life, which began as the second youngest brother of eight siblings in rural Oklahoma. Trent's 'pops' was in the logging business, first as a lumberjack, then as an owner of his own logging company. His dad acquired the business while Trent was still young, so school was never a high priority for him—at least not the way contributing to the household was. The rest of his childhood he summed up in two lessons: "Being 'close' has nothing to do with distance," and "don't touch strange plants in the woods."
I asked him if he kept in touch with any of his siblings, to which he responded, saying, "The only reason they haven't had a funeral for me is because it would be too much work." When I asked him to elaborate, he said he'd not had contact with anyone in his immediate family for over a decade. He kept tabs on them. For example, he knew his mother had dementia, and his dad was forced into retirement by his oldest brother (who had gone on to take over the logging company). His sisters were all married and moved to other parts of the country. He considered reaching out several times, but his situation required a degree of security that wasn't conducive of close family ties, not that there were particularly strong ties even before he broke contact. Trent admitted to being a bit of a black sheep.
"It all circles back to one of my jobs as a Home Inspector," he explained. "After I moved out, I tried college and quickly realized it wasn't for me. So I entered the workforce and did a bunch of odd jobs. Construction, carpentry, plumbing. I even drove a garbage truck for a while. But I ended up in Home Inspection. There was one job in particular which made me aware of…" Trent paused and gestured toward the space between us, "our situation. The blinks. You remember what I told you about origin points being like a station where other realms intersect with our world? Well, this house was like Union Station or JFK airport if you prefer a plane analogy. There was a pile of junk up to my knees in the basement of that house; all of it had been blinked in. I spent a couple days on the property, running tests, trying to identify the strange phenomenon, but on day three I rolled up to an army of what I thought at the time were Feds, parading around the property like ants on an anthill and sectioning it off with crime-scene tape." I saw disgust funnel into Trent's expression. "They're not Feds at all though. At least not anymore. I call them "the Organization," a group of people who lead in the formalized understanding of what you know as 'blinking'. And they're the reason I have to take precautions."
I considered this for a moment. Trent's story was certainly plausible, but I was missing a key piece of the puzzle. "Okay, so, what does this 'Organization' want? You make it seem like they're not good people. Have they tried attacking you?"
This caused Trent to laugh for a solid ten seconds. "Sorry, it's just… I mean if you knew what I knew, you might think it's funny, too."
"Then tell me"
Trent took a deep breath, then released. "It's a long story. The gist of it is this. The Organization has a certain device which I call 'the Receiver'. Think of it like a giant antenna—no, not us kind of Antennas, an actual antenna. It's like the machine equivalent of us, but with a billion times the bandwidth. Their goal is to use the Receiver to map our world in relation to other dimensions, then use that map to establish dominion over everyone and everything. In order to do this, they need muscle: both human muscle, and Antenna muscle. They're in the process of harvesting as many of us they can find. They're like a giant diamond company who is taking to the mines. When they find a stone, they take it back to their factory for cutting and refinement. In real terms, they run tests on us and attempt to augment our powers. The ultimate goal is to create a 'Strong Antenna', or an Antenna capable of causing phase shifts—blinks." Trent saw from my expression that he was starting to lose me, so he stood up and began rolling up his shirt.
"What are you doing?" I asked, turning away. Then I saw what he wanted to show me. There was a long scar beginning high up on his ribs and slashing all the way down to his left hip. There was also what appeared to be a patch of burn marks on his stomach.
"It was early on when I got these." Trent explained. "I was naive. I actually thought I'd be able to reason with these people. The only reason I escaped was because of dumb luck and a box of hand grenades. But that's a tale for another time. I learned two important lessons that day. First, the Organization isn't fucking around. And two, they aren't immortal. Most of them are regular, every-day humans, except for their obsession with power." Trent let his shirt fall, covering up the marks. "I ran into them again recently at their Headquarters. My team and I are working on a plan to…" he paused, seemingly weighing his words, then changed gears. "Well, I guess we can go over that another time."
I couldn't help but feel that Trent was holding something back. As much as I tried to resist thinking about yesterday, the old demon-man's words kept ringing in my head. You think he can help you? He's only here to help himself. Then I thought about what Trent said at the deli: "that's the thing that got me really interested in you. Somehow you seem to be able to control it without gear, just by praying." Did Trent think I was a Strong Antenna? Is that the only reason he's helping me? Because he wants to recruit me? And if that is the case, what if I said 'no'?
"Listen, Trent," I started, but I saw Trent was already nodding. Still, I pressed on. "I need you to tell me what I'm actually doing here. Why did you agree to help me? And what does helping me really mean? I want to know the truth."
"The truth is…" Trent started, then stopped and looked out the glass door that led onto the deck. I looked too and saw a sparrow had alighted on our old bird feeder. It tried pecking at some of its non-existent grains, then sang what I assumed was a song of displeasure before taking back off to the skies.
"The truth is: I do want to recruit you. I think you have the potential to be the strongest tool in my arsenal, but I won't require it. To date, I've helped 53 of our kind, but only seven have stayed on. Most decide to go on and live normal lives." Trent scooted his plate to the side. "In our case, this can essentially go one of two ways. In either instance, we pass through Chicago for two stops. First, I need to meet up with an associate who has something to drop off to me. Then I need to stop at a storage locker and trade out some gear that will allow me to open a phase portal. When we arrive at your origin point, I'll open the portal and you'll look inside. Based on everything you've told me, I'm guessing that childhood accident was when the demon appended itself to your life. By seeing how it entered your life, you should be able to figure out how to dispel it. At least that's the working theory. Returning to the origin point has always worked for the other Antennas, although I must admit your situation is different, but I can't imagine it's so different that this method won't work at all. After you return demon-free, you're free. You can walk out and never see me again and hopefully you'll live a happy and peaceful life. Or you can decide to throw your lot in with mine, and I can show you how deep the rabbit hole goes, so to speak." Trent looked into my eyes, and when I didn't respond for a few seconds, he said, "that's it. That's all I got."
I smiled and responded with one sentence.
"When do we leave?"
***
Memories have a strange architecture. In some ways, they are the great safety net of our experiences: collecting them like a bucket under a leaky roof. In other ways, they are an eternal reminder that nothing ever truly lasts. Perhaps a better way of thinking about memories is as the ghosts of our past lingering in the present. As I took one last stroll through my childhood house, feeling that it might be my last time for a long while, I felt the imprints of childhood memories press into my awareness: I could hear my father's voice reading to me at my bedside; I could see him holding one of my stuffed animals above my head as I wrestled him for it; I could recall the times when I'd sneak down the stairs late at night and quietly open the freezer, grab the ice cream carton, then head back upstairs to eat it.
I felt a yearning to return to those memories: to walk into the fictitious pictures my mind was painting on the canvas of my present. I knew I couldn't return, but I still wanted something to hold onto. I went back to my room and grabbed the cotton-stuffed tomato from off my closet cabinet. Then I walked through my dad's study and removed a volume I recalled him frequently reading, a hard-cover book with a green binding called, "A Collection of Great Works". I placed these items by my feet in the passenger seat of Trent's van, and just as we were about to leave, I remembered something else.
"My plant!" I blurted.
"Your what?"
"My plant—and my car. I left them it the deli. Do you think we could swing by and get it?"
Trent checked the time, then said, "Yeah, I guess we can. I just hope it isn't towed."
Luckily, it wasn't. I half-expected to find a ticket on the windshield, but there wasn't one of those, either. I unlocked the door to my Jetta and got into what felt like an active oven. "Hot!" I said and rolled down all the windows, then cranked up the AC. I saw my plant resting in the cupholder that I'd left it in the previous day. I picked it up and touched its soil. It was dry and beginning to crack. Hang on little guy, I thought. Then I led the way back to my house.
When I arrived, I parked at the head of the driveway. I turned off the car, then ran inside with the young tomato plant, bringing it to the upstairs bathrooms sink and dousing it in water. I wasn't sure how much I was supposed to add, but I figured after the sauna experience it had yesterday, I could afford to go a little overboard. Once it was fed, I opened the small purple drapes and placed it on the windowsill which faced East, meaning it would hopefully get plenty of morning sunlight.
"Good, now?" Trent asked after I hopped back in the passenger seat of the van.
"Yeah," I said. "Good now."
"Then lets get a move on."
***
Road tripping with Trent was a much different experience than when we were driving for our lives. For one, Trent wasn't nearly as tense. He drove with the windows down and one hand on the steering wheel like out of a Mustang commercial, talking intermittently about his adventures: people he'd met, jobs he'd done, close calls. He was like a living radio. And when his personal station wasn't on, he was playing one of his CD's—classic rock, mainly. When he was in an 'off' period, I found myself looking out the window at the rolling wheat fields and cloudy blue sky. Journey was playing, and the lyrics to one of the songs crept into my head and reverberated there:
The wheel in the sky keeps on turning.
I don't know where I'll be tomorrow…
I've been trying to make it home,
Got to make it before too long…
Ooh I can't take it, very much longer…
In a strange way, I felt like I was leaving home. But in another way, I was going back. And then it occurred to me that perhaps I didn't have a home at all. Did I ever have one? These past couple days had called everything about my life into question, to the point where the past seemed as mysterious as the future, and both intersected at that one place in the woods. The place where it all began. The place we were headed.
We only stopped once at a gas station to refuel, get snacks, and use the bathroom. Otherwise it was smooth sailing, other than one heated discussion with Trent that began when he addressed his vehicle as "Car" for the fifth time.
"Okay, you need to come up with a better name than that."
"What do you mean?" Trent asked, seeming genuinely confused.
"You have a super-car and you named it 'Car'. That's actually embarrassing."
"But, it is a car."
I facepalmed. "First of all, it's a van."
"A van is a type of car."
"Second of all, would you name your kid, 'kid'?"
Trent thought it over for what I thought was much too long. At last he concluded, "No, I'd probably name him 'boy', or if it's a girl, 'girl'."
After five more minutes of his childish banter, we settled on the name "Ava"—my choice, after rejecting his runner-up name "Scar".
At around the seven hour mark, I dozed off, then woke up a couple hours later to the sensation of the van dipping, then bumping up into an elevated climb. The evening sunlight that was pressuring my eyelids to open, dissipated, and everything was suddenly dark. I opened my eyes and saw we had entered a parking garage. Trent pulled into an open spot on the second level.
"We're here," he said and gathered up his gun which he stashed in a driver's side underboard compartment that I'm guessing he had installed himself.
"I see that"
"You want to wait here, or—"
I opened the car door, which was answer enough for Trent. We both got out and started down Maple Avenue. I had been to several cities before, Chicago among them, but the size of the buildings always struck me with awe. As we walked alongside dozens of other pedestrians, I looked up and traced the closest tower to its peak, guessing how many stories it was in my head. Then I'd be pulled out of my game by the honking of some nearby vehicle.
We continued for two blocks until Trent made a path directly toward the nearest Starbucks. I didn't know what I was picturing for a meeting with his associate, but it definitely wasn't a meetup at a coffee shop. Still, I followed him in. Then when I saw that Trent was leading me to a corner table where a casually dressed Chinese girl who appeared even younger than me was sitting, I blurted in a hushed tone, "her? She's your associate?"
"Took you long enough," said the Chinese girl, looking up from what appeared to be some kind of homework assignment.
"And she's in school?" I asked, incredulous.
The associate looked to me, then to Trent (who nodded), then back to me. "It's just a cover. I'm glad to see it still works, though." She reached out to shake my hand. "I'm Allison. It's nice to meet you."
Trent gave me a smirk, then said, "looks can be deceiving."
I grunted an affirmation and shook Allison's hand. "I'm Lauren. It's nice to meet you, too."
"You have it?" Trent asked, skipping right to business.
"Of course," Allison replied and removed a mailing package from her backpack, setting it on the table. "You want to go make sure it works?" She asked, gesturing up at the ceiling with her eyes.
Trent seemed to think it over for a second, then looked at me. But before he could say anything, Allison cut back in—
"—I'll stay with her. It's been a while since I've had any female company. Why don't you let us girls talk while you take care of that?" She said in a seductive yet authoritative tone which garnered her years that her appearance did not reflect.
Trent hesitated, but only for a moment. "Okay, I'll be right back," he said. Then he hurried out the door in the direction we had come from.
"Come, sit with me." Allison invited. "Tell me about yourself."
I took a seat on the small wooden seat opposite Allison, then crossed my legs. "What do you want to know?" I asked, feeling discomfort rise in my stomach. Nothing about this situation, from the mysterious package, to Trent leaving me alone with this girl, to the girl herself, whose voice was as velvety smooth as the latte she was stirring with a black coffee straw, sat right with me.
"I'm curious about what you think of Trent."
"Trent?" I repeated. I realized this was the first time I was putting any of my thoughts about Trent or our relationship into words. "I guess... he's a pretty straightforward guy. He seems to know what he's doing."
Allison flashed me a small smile, then took a sip of her latte. I saw the sticker on her drink read "Chai". Then she set the cup down and sighed. "Yes, he's very straightforward. Definitely doesn't mince words." She looked up into my eyes. Hers were a rich black, like onyx pebbles, but there was something about the way the light refracted off them which simulated a kind of inward motion, as if they were tiny whirlpools. Her smile spread across her lips. "I'm curious. What did he tell you?"
"Tell me about what?"
"About what you're doing. About where you're off to. What's the plan?"
"Don't you know?" I asked, but it immediately occurred to me that maybe she didn't know. I never saw Trent with a cellphone. Just how did he communicate with his 'associates'? And what if he didn't want her to know what we were doing for a good reason? Should I tell her?
"No, Trent keeps his cards close to his chest. He always has."
"Don't you work together, though?"
Allison waved her left hand in the air. "Of course, but it's because of the nature of our work that most of our communication is done in person, so Trent doesn't tell me much outside of the current job. I was just curious, is all."
"That makes sense. I mean, I'm actually pretty curious about what you do, too."
"Oh?" Allison's voice went high, as if she suddenly sensed an opening. "Then, why don't we trade stories. You tell about your trip, and I'll tell you about mine."
I thought it over for a second. I really did want to hear what Allison had to say, and she was Trent's co-worker, it's not like I was spilling crucial secrets to an enemy. "We're currently on our way to Southern Illinois. Specifically, we're going back to my origin point so I can confront a demon that Trent thinks blinked into my life there."
Allison stopped stirring, but her eyes didn't break from mine. "A demon, huh?" She raised the cup and took a long sip, then placed it back on the table and continued stirring. "I met a demon once," she started, looking up at the walls as if her life was playing on a screen there. "It was back in China, where I was born." She dropped her attention back to me. "Do you mind if I reminisce a little? Maybe you can get something out of it."
I shook my head, but something in my gut started to stir again. Allison continued.
"I was born during the Era of the Once Child Policy. As a result, my mother decided to leave me in a shoebox on the side of the road. I was a girl, so that's just how it was... Like many other babies in my... 'condition', I ended up in foster care. However, for whatever reason, I wasn't adopted. Years passed, and when I turned six, the government decided I'd be of better use building our impoverished town's GDP in a factory that assembled electronic devices for Western countries. Mostly they had me cleaning, but when I turned eight, one of the employees asked for my help with one of the soldering machines. That turned out to be the beginning of the end for me. I sliced open the ring finger of my right hand. I remember specifically seeing the bone underneath the split flesh and thinking it looked so small and white. The employee claimed to have nothing to do with my accident, and the management declared my injury "minimally invasive" and bandaged it up. Two weeks later and who would have guessed that the wound would become infected, and, well..."
Allison dropped the straw into her cup and raised her right hand, spreading the fingers out for me to see. There were only four. Her ring finger was missing, and a small v-shaped scar had taken its place.
"I'm lucky that the surgeon was experienced enough to take out the whole digit, that way it healed in a way which makes it somewhat difficult to notice. You didn't notice, after all. But, then again, is that really luck?" She made a fist and brought it to her lips, stifling a laugh. "No... Now I remember. My luck was still yet to come." She continued stirring. "Because, you see, after that incident, they moved me to a clothing factory with a boss who had a penchant for getting drunk and roughing up his workers, and, well, one night I was walking back to foster care when I heard the outside door to the manager's office slam shut, and there he went, stumbling, slurring insults, curses, and here I was, perfectly in his path. We met eyes, and in them I saw absolutely nothing. A hollow shell of a man, and I can still remember what it looked like to see that shell fill with a demon."
Allison's eyes went wide with some strong emotion that I couldn't place. "He grabbed me by my hair and dragged me out into the field, far away from civilization. I tried to fight at first, but every time I tried to lunge away, I was only ripping a hole in my own scalp. It felt like flames were spewing from my head, and my only respite was when the blood eventually cooled over the wound. By the time he had thrown me against the rock, I'd already all but given up. Then, when my head met the stone, I heard a pop and my grip on the world loosened. The man continued touching me, but it was as if I was disconnected now, floating somewhere above my own head, and gravity was beginning to reverse, causing me to float higher and higher, away from the horrible nightmare below."
Allison paused for a moment, and I suddenly realized I was holding my breath.
"Then I saw the most bright light I'd ever seen. At the time I thought it was either the Sun or Heaven or something like that. It was just too bright for this world. But then after looking for a little longer, I noticed it was in the shape of a person. It reached out toward me, and I had never been so quick to respond. When I touched it, I felt all my pain immediately dissipate. And I felt warm and... peaceful. And I was no longer in the sky. I was back in the field. But when I looked around, the man was gone. Vanished, right out of existence. I didn't understand it at the time, but that was my first experience with the Shifts. All I knew then was that I was free, and I damn well wasn't going to waste that. I ran as far as I could, away from the factories, the foster home, the corrupt governments and corporations. I kept running until I arrived at a City that didn't know me. That didn't want to know me. And I liked it that way, because it's easier to live as a ghost than as a victim."
Allison perked up, and when I turned around to see what for, I saw Trent entering back through the door.
"But you know what's interesting?" Allison blurted out, her voice becoming quieter. "Trent never took me back to confront my demon." Her voice became a whisper. "In fact, I can't recall him ever taking any of us back."
For a moment the whole world became a still frame. Allison's clear, olive skin, and dark eyes, made darker with eyeliner; her narrow nose; her small lips now coiling into a smile. My entire body was a hair trigger hat only needed the slightest force to set it off. And when Trent placed his hand on my shoulder, I whirled around and narrowly missed a haymaker that swept just shy of Trent's face.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa" he said and stepped back with his palms up. "It's just me. Is everything okay?"
I turned back to Allison, but she seemed different now. Her expression was benign; confused, even. "Are you okay?" she asked.
"I—you"
"We were just talking about where you were off to next." Allison said without a hint of pretense.
"Okay, well, chat time is over. It's time to go." Trent said and started guiding me toward the door. I turned back and saw Allison mouth some words which I swear I heard, as if they had been directly transmitted into my brain.
"See you soon" she purred.
She was smiling.
***
The next leg of the trip passed mostly in silence. It was a little over an hour to the storage facility which was located just South of Chicago. My heart was beating wildly in my chest as I pictured Allison's smile. I wanted to ask Trent if demons could possess Antennas, if somehow one of us could become compromised, but then I remembered Allison's words and stopped myself. Because I didn't know if I could really trust Trent. I tried to tell myself I could trust him—that it was Allison who was the liar. Her whole persona seemed fake at best, and possessed at worst. But, then... what if she was telling the truth? What if Trent was the enemy?
He sensed my quietness and tried striking up a couple conversations, but I only gave one-word answers. Somehow, our trust was so brittle that a single, well-placed sentence was enough to snap it. When he asked if everything was okay, I lied and said that I just had a headache and needed more rest. So I leaned my head against the stuffed tomato and tried to sleep, even though I knew I wouldn't be able to.
We arrived at the facility just as the sun was setting for the night. Trent pulled up to the self-service gate and scanned a card which caused the automatic doors to swing open. We looped down a couple rows of the outdoor units until we came to #48.
"We're here," Trent prompted, but this time I didn't budge. I felt his eyes on me after he turned off the ignition. "Hey," he called. "Are you awake?"
I was silent.
I heard Trent quietly click open his door, then close it the same way. I waited a few seconds then turned my head and watched him from the driver's side mirror. He opened the storage locker, then walked inside and turned on a light. It occurred to me then how dimly lit this outdoor storage facility was. There was a weak overhead lantern peeking over every fourth garage like an anglerfish's lure, leaving a large portion of the road not hit by the light bubbles completely dark.
I tried to plan my next move. I could leave Trent and run. But where would I go? Or I could stay and see Trent's plan through. There was a chance this was all an elaborate trap. Maybe Trent was working with the demon, or maybe he was the demon. But then why did he save me? Twice. Maybe he was actually a double agent for the Organization. But he could easily have captured me by now. Unless he needs me to go back to the origin point for a different reason... I considered everything I had learned up until this point: we live at the cross-section of different realms; these other realms interact with our world; Antennas, who are a very small minority of people, can see these interactions; the Organization wants to harness our power and create a 'Strong Antenna' to achieve some kind of universal hegemony; I'm the closest thing to a Strong Antenna to date; Trent knows this; He's taking me back to my origin point, despite not taking the others back to theirs; Trent claims to want to fight the Organization; the best way to fight the Organization would be with a Strong Antenna. What if Trent was trying to make me into a Strong Antenna?
I considered this chain of reasoning. It seemed very plausible, especially after Allison's cryptic messages. Was she trying to warn me of this? But that smile, and the "see you soon"... If she wasn't being possessed, why would she be seeing me soon?
Suddenly my thoughts gave way like a broken dam as I heard a ping come from Ava's radar. I jumped, thinking that all of the electronics turned off with the ignition, but when I looked at the circular sonar map, I saw a red dot had just emerged in the top-right corner. I looked out the window in the direction of the ping, but I couldn't see anything heading down the road.
Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping.
Four more dots appeared behind the first, and they were approaching.
I jumped out the van and ran over to where Trent was hauling in a large cardboard crate into the back of the van. "Trent, there's pings on the radar. A bunch of them."
He dropped the box next to three others, and I realized I had never seen inside the back of the van. It was filled with what looked like pneumatic tubes wired into circuits, and in the center was a tri-pod which was holding a large halo-shaped ring.
"Pings?" Trent said, then his face widened with shock as he realized what I meant. "Shit, how many?"
"Five, maybe more now. And they're getting closer."
"Five?" He jumped out the back and ran into the storage locker. I thought he was going to close the door, but when I saw him hauling boxes back toward the van, I yelled at him. "What are you doing!?"
"I need to load this up for tomorrow. Here," He tossed me his keys. "Get it started."
"Fuck, seriously?"
Trent didn't respond, only kept shuffling boxes into the van.
I turned and ran to the door and hopped in the driver's seat. As I was turning on the ignition, I saw the row of bushes that was just outside of the facility begin to rattle. The next sweep revealed a whole sea of pings. I rolled down the window and shouted Trent's name.
"One more, that's all. Get in the passenger seat, I'll be there in a sec."
I scooted over the center console and waited, clutching at the bottom of my pants legs. Just as Trent slammed the rear door of the van shut, I saw the first figure emerge onto the road ahead of us. It looked like some kind of large coyote, though it was hard to tell because it was still fifty meters out.
"Now detecting 53 controlled agents." Ava said right as Trent jumped in and shut the driver's side door. "Net anomalies: 53."
"Ava, increase radius to five miles." Trent instructed as he backed up all the way to the end of the lane and spun us around toward the gate. Just as we left, I saw the pack of coyotes stalking toward us, slow at first, then in a dead sprint.
"Increasing radius." Ava responded. "Increased. Recalculating… Recalculating… Re—complete. Now detecting 451 controlled agents. Net anomalies: 451."
"What does 'controlled agent' mean?" I asked.
"Hold on," Trent said and accelerated into the gate, bursting through it. The whole van shook, and I heard my phone fall in the crack between the seat and door. Trent steadied the van, then said, "It means the things chasing us are being controlled by something that isn't detectable."
"The demon?"
"That'd be my guess."
"But why can't Ava detect it?"
Trent switched to the right lane, then merged onto the Interstate-South ramp. "Probably because it isn't trying to kill us."
"Then, what—" I looked back at the map and basically had my question answered. All 451 pings were coalesced in a semicircle on one side of the map. The side of the map that we had just come from. "Is it trying to force us toward the crash site?"
"It seems that way." Trent answered.
"Trent, pull over."
"Huh?"
"Pull over!" I yelled.
He looked at me, eyes wide. Then he did as I had instructed and pulled off in the middle of the ramp. The red dots slowly closed in on our position.
"Now detecting—"
"Shut up, Ava." I said. I could feel my blood boiling. "I'm not going one step further until you tell me the truth. Why are we going to my origin point? What is your real motive?"
"What do you mean? I already told you."
I unlocked the passenger side door.
"Wait," Trent said and reached out toward me. "Just, wait."
There was silence, except for the pings indicating that the beasts behind us had re-encroached on our position to about fifty meters.
"Okay, I didn't tell you everything. But we don't have time now—"
I opened the door.
"Okay, okay. I didn't tell you everything, it's true. I've never done this with anyone else, but the reason is because I never needed to. And if I told you what might happen, you would have refused it."
"Refused what?"
"This—me, my help. Lauren, I am trying to help you. But you have to understand—it's likely that neither of us are going to live past tomorrow. You're basically confronting a dark entity in a place where I can't protect you, and if you somehow do manage to kill it, you'll be coming back to the fight of your life. Because I don't have the power to hide you from the Organization. They're going to show up and try to take you. I really don't know how you've lasted as long as you have. Whatever protection you had growing up, it's gone now. And now I'm all you have. And in some twist of fate, you're all I have."
Ava reactivated. "Now detecting 1,117 controlled agents. Proximity till contact: 20 meters. Net anomalies: 1,117."
I closed my door. "But what if I still don't want to go through with it?"
Trent pointed at the screen. "Then we die right here, right now, together. Because I am one-hundred percent certain that if we don't go to that crash site, we're dead anyway. All of us."
Another ping rolled through. I checked the side-view mirror and saw the swarming pack of dogs reach the van and bound around the rear wheels. I suddenly recalled the conversation I had with Father Martin and the conclusions I had drawn. Father, I've been… wrestling with something, and I think God wants me to confront it. I think I've been running away and hiding from it for so long that I'd convinced myself it disappeared...
"Go," I said just as I felt the collision of the coyotes slamming their bodies against the side doors.
Trent didn't waste any time stepping on the gas. I watched as the coyotes diminished in the distance and the pings receded into the back of the map, never disappearing fully, but covering the flank of our retreat—a reminder lingering on the edge of our awareness that there was no turning back now. That, one way or another, this was ending tomorrow.
And I'd either be dead, or something else entirely.

This is my 5th post in rebutting Exion’s (u/Informal_Patience821) claims regarding his new translations/interpretations of the Hebrew Oly Testament. For previous parts see:
Pt 1: https://www.reddit.com/Quraniyoon/s/aUxRazJZWs
Pt 2: https://www.reddit.com/Quraniyoon/s/lZQUc4t907
Pt 3: https://www.reddit.com/Quraniyoon/s/SQbXAqYm6E
Pt 4: https://www.reddit.com/Quraniyoon/s/I8YTbc5UHZ
There isn’t a new post from him since my part 4. However, in his most recent post he linked another of his posts from a while back where he reaffirmed the info in that older post and offered it as support for part of his most recent post. That is why I’ll be addressing that older post he linked which is https://www.reddit.com/islam/s/U8bYLSxn9h.

Eng: "Who is so blind as My servant,So deaf as the messenger I send?Who is so blind as the chosen one ("Mosselam" or "Mushelam"),So blind as GOD’s servant?" (Isaiah 42:19, translation from Sefaria . com)
) Jewish scholars have added a comment (in the part that says "Moshelam") saying "chosen Meaning of Heb. uncertain." but it really isn't uncertain at all. They fully know what this word means.

There is a typo. His title for this section says Isaiah 52 but his specific citation is Isaiah 42:19. For anyone who wants to check it themselves the correct chapter is 42 not 52.
On a side note one of Exion’s response to me is saying I highlight his most minor errors and then exaggerate them. If the errors I’ve pointed out in my previous posts were like this typo that would be a viable response. A typo like this is easy to make, it’s a 1 character difference and the wrong character is right next to the right character on the keyboard. That is not at all like not realizing how Hebrew verses are numbered, copying the Hebrew verse number with the verse, not noticing the missing diacritical marks, removing the space between the verse number and first word, trying to translate the first word when it’s not a real Hebrew word, in an attempt to translate the not real word it results incorrectly spelling two Hebrew words, and then after acknowledging the mistake in your first post not fully correcting the mistake when copying the post to another subreddit. When he first blocked me that was the supposedly minor issue I kept bringing up that made him block me. That’s not a minor error, it’s a combination of several points of failure multiple of which would be hard to make, especially for someone who actually knows Hebrew. That’s nothing like the minor error in this case where he typed a 5 instead of a 4.
As for his point here the Hebrew word in question is כִּמְשֻׁלָּ֔ם. The כִּ is a preposition with מְשֻׁלָּ֔ם being the verb. The base form of the verb is שָׁלַם which means to be in a covenant of peace. This specifically is the Pual participle. Unlike the active participle I mentioned in pt 2 the Pual form is passive meaning the subject of the verb is what is being acted on by the verb. The BDB specifically lists Isaiah 42:19 as the Pual participle and cites it as meaning “one in covt. of peace”. Since it’s a passive particle the servant is the one in this covenant.
While the pronunciation sounds like the pronunciation of the word Muslim that doesn’t mean the coming prophet is being called a Muslim. Often completely different words from different languages will sound the same but it doesn’t mean they’re related. Even within the same language different words will sound the same. E.g. peace and piece sound the same but that doesn’t mean we import the meaning of piece into uses of the word peace. The word Muslim means one who submits which is a different word.

I will show you Biblical commentaries below that support this interpretation of the word.

Exion has already demonstrated he is unreliable with his citations. In pt 1 I noted his use of a fictional source, his citation of biblical verses out of context, and how in citing Haggai 2:23 he actually cited a completely different verse from a different chapter and different book. In pt 3 I noted his citation of the Septuagint didn’t match what it actually said. In pt 4 I showed how he was cherry picking translations favorable to his interpretation. There is also this discussion where 6 times in one response I had to point out how he misrepresented his sources, https://www.reddit.com/Quraniyoon/s/n4NuxwoXpH. Given this track record any citations he gives need to be thoroughly fact checked. Unfortunately he hasn’t given any page numbers so tracking down exactly where the quotes are to validate them is difficult. Also honestly I’m exhausted in trying thanks validate all his sources and finding problems. He needs to put more effort into showing the sources are real and accurately represented.

"I will make a covenant of peace with them, it will be an everlasting covenant*. I will establish them and increase their numbers, and I will put my sanctuary among them forever."
(Ezekiel 37:26)
How people can read these verse and fully know that there's a major religion stemming from descendants of Abraham ﷺ and that this religion is called "Islam" (peace/submission), and still not pur two and two together and figure out that God has fulfilled His Divine promise, it leaves me in a state of profound astonishment.

Two problems here. First someone claiming to have a message from God and calling their new religion peace doesn’t mean it’s actually from God. It shouldn’t be surprising that non Muslims don’t take Islam as a fulfillment of this prophecy even if it was represented accurately (which I’ll show it’s not). Note I’m not arguing here Islam is false as this sub isn’t the appropriate place for such a debate. I’m just explaining why someone can read this verse and even believe it without thinking Islam is the fulfillment.
The second issue is when examined in context it’s clearly not about Islam. The whole section is from Ezekiel 37:15-28. It talks about the northern and southern nations that were split being brought back into one nation, all the Jews scattered across the nations brought back into Israel, being ruled by King David again, and ends by specifically saying God will sanctify Israel. The convent is clearly being made with Israel in the context of the prophecy. Even if you believe Mohammed brought a covenant of peace from God that’s clearly not what this prophecy is speaking about.

All ancient maps (and credible history books) show us and tell us that Haran was a city located in Arabia, precisely where Mecca is located today.

This needs some support. From what I can find it’s in modern day Turkey which is north of Israel while Arabia is south of Israel. The link he pasted doesn’t work for me. Though even if it did it’s a Reddit link not an academic source so it wouldn’t be a reliable source of info.

The final "Mem" at the end is there as a grammatically called "plural of majesty" or respect, much like the words "Elohim", " Malachim", "Adonim".

I already addressed the part of כִּמְשֻׁלָּ֔ם in Isaiah 42:19. As for Songs of Solomon 5:16 it’s important to understand exactly what Exion is claiming here so I’ll use English plural to make sure it’s clear. Take the name Mohammed. Suppose there were two people with the name being referred to. We’d add an s to make it plural when referring to both, e.g. both Mohammeds are coming to the party. The em ending in Hebrew indicates plural like the English s. Exion is claiming that adding the s in some cases isn’t done to indicate a plurality but rather to majesty. He gives 3 examples but only 1 is actually a name. In that one instance the em at the end isn’t the plural ending added to a name, rather it’s part of the name. It’s like the name Jesus. It’s not that the name is Jesu and the s is added to make it plural, rather the s is just part of the name. None of these parallel Exion’s claim of taking a name and adding a plural suffix to indicate majesty.

the word before “Muhammadim” is "vekullo", it consists of the conjunction "Vav" (and) and the word "kullo," where "khulo" is a masculine singular construct.

I’ve already pointed out to Exion that he confused the construct form with pronoun suffixes in this comment, https://www.reddit.com/Quraniyoon/s/7v8uaBIljg. Also as noted in pt 1 a bunch of people, including my, explained how pronoun suffixes work. I did call it possessive suffixes in that comment and pronoun suffixes in this comment. The reason is possessive suffixes are a type of pronoun suffix, specifically when the pronoun suffix is added to a noun. However, the suffix can be added to other things as well, not just nouns, and even for some nouns it’s a special case. This is one of those cases. Here is a screenshot from my Hebrew textbook explaining it, https://imgur.com/a/k4TKPRN. With a pronoun suffix the word means “all of {pronoun}” where the specific pronoun is indicated by the specific suffix added.
Note in Songs of Solomon 5:16 the noun is after the word col. The textbook says it often appears before the noun being referred too but it doesn’t say always so it’s not a problem for this verse where it’s after. We know this case the noun is the one after since col in this case is prefixed by the vav conjunction indicating a new part of the sentence. The book also gives examples where the col is first. It’s when adding emphasis that the other noun is placed first.
The masculine singular Exion mentions (really the third person masculine singular, he left out the third person part) is referring to the pronoun suffix not the noun. It’s indicating the pronoun is singular not the noun. I.E. it’s saying all of him rather than all of them. While there is a construct form between the two nouns the pronoun suffix is not the suffix for the construct form. As my textbook notes it’s the case where the pronoun suffix is being added to the construct form but the construct form with col doesn’t require the suffix. Furthermore nothing in the section in my picture indicates the plurality of the suffix needs to match the plurality of the following noun. Exion needs to provide some source for this.

"So I sent Eliezer, and Ariel, and Semeias, and Elnathan, and Jarib, and another Elnathan, and Nathan, and Zacharias, and Mosollam, chief men*: and Joiarib, and Elnathan, wise me."
( Ezra 8:16, Douay-Rheims Bible)

So often Exion takes ordinary Hebrew words and twists them to try and make them into a name. It’s funny that when we finally have a name he twists it to make it a noun. The verse is giving a list of names with names before and after the word in question. That tells us in that case it should be taken as a name within a list of names but Exion twists it to be a noun without justification. What’s also funny is one of the commentaries he cites to support his interpretation for Isaiah 42:19 specifically lists Ezra 8:16 as a case where the word is used as a proper name. Why should we trust his source for Isaiah 42:19 but not Ezra 8:16? No reason is given, rather Exion just picks and chooses what he wants to support his argument and ignores what doesn’t.

Part 1
Part 2
***
Darkness gave way to dimness as I opened my eyes and saw slivers of gray light printed on the ceiling like lines on the page of a ruled notebook. In the distance, I heard the sound of pans clanking against the kitchen stove, and I became ever-aware of the scent of cinnamon and bacon sneaking in from under my closed bedroom door. For a moment, I was back in sixth grade. My dad was downstairs cooking up his famous from-scratch buttermilk pancakes and cheesy scrambled eggs. It was probably 7:00, maybe 7:05, and I had fifteen minutes to get up, shower, dress, eat, then it was off to Middle School with dad: for me to learn, him to work.
It was the day we were set to be assigned our Ancient Civilizations project. Unless something went terribly wrong, I would be choosing Ancient Rome. I didn't know much about it, other than it was some great empire, but even then I didn't really understand what an empire was. I was just happy that I would get to build something with my dad. I turned on my side and looked at the closed blinds, the source of the gray lines, then the cabinet with all my trophies, and finally the wobbly, firetruck-red chair pushed under my desk. I was home at last. The past fifteen years were nothing but a dream. There was no blinking. No malevolent demon chasing me. No inexplicable chaos…
It was a sweet fantasy. But one that became bitter the longer I tried to chew on it.
I swept my legs out from under the covers and sat, face-down, on the corner of my twin mattress. My feet were adult's feet. My room was my former room. And that was Trent downstairs cooking breakfast. Unless, of course, it was my dad, in which case I'd have bigger problems than merely waking up from a good dream.
After changing into a fresh shirt and pants, I went downstairs and saw that it was, in fact, Trent cooking breakfast. He was wearing a plain t-shirt through which I could see the ripples of his large back muscles as he whisked what I presumed was pancake batter. He must not have heard me, because he didn't turn around when I made it to the end of the hall. I leaned against the wall, arms folded, and watched him for a minute as he finished whisking the batter, then poured it onto a hot griddle (spilling a few dribbles on the counter in the process), watched it bubble, flipped it, then transferred the golden medallion onto a plate stacked five high. Next to the pancakes was a plate filled with bacon, and a small aluminum pan of scrambled eggs.
"Smells good," I said at last. "Find everything okay?"
I thought I might startle him with my abrupt appearance; instead, Trent looked over his shoulder, chewing on a piece of bacon. He swallowed and said, "Oh, it's you. Yeah, I hope you don't mind me using your kitchen. I thought I'd make us some breakfast."
It occurred to me then that Trent likely wasn't a guest in other people's homes very often. Lucky for him, I didn't mind him using a kitchen that hadn't been mine in many years. I was going to tell him as much when I saw an opened box of Bisquick sitting on the counter. I pointed to it and asked, "you found that in the pantry? My dad usually makes his pancakes from scratch."
He turned to look at the box, then back at me. "No, I went out and got that. And the bacon and eggs. I didn't want to dig into your supply without asking, and you were asleep, so..."
I felt my eyebrows furrow as I checked the time on the stove-clock. "It's 8:17 in the morning. Are you telling me you went out to the store, bought all these ingredients, then came back and cooked them? Just how early did you get up?"
"Around five," he answered as casually as if I had asked his dog's name. "I don't usually get much sleep. Around four, five hours is all I need. It's actually unusual for Antennas to need more than that amount. But I suppose you are unusual."
I opened my mouth in disbelief. Not only had he commandeered my kitchen, he was calling me unusual? At 8-fricken-17 in the morning?
"Sorry," Trent said, reading my expression, "I'm… well, let's just say I've not had many personal relationships. I'm used to being blunt. It's just easier that way." He took out a plate and transferred two pancakes, some eggs, and a few slices of bacon onto it. Then he held it up to me as a peace offering.
I sighed. "This better be good," I said with a wry smile and took the plate.
"Trent-certified, but no guarantees. Refunds not allowed." He replied, which made me giggle.
We sat across from one another at the dining room table. The meal was pretty good, but it was no dad's special: the pancakes were clearly box pancakes, the scrambled eggs lacked cheese and had a little too much pepper, and the bacon was… well it was bacon, no complaints there. Still, it was nice to settle down and have a somewhat normal morning.
After we ate, Trent unfurled the long arc of his life, which began as the second youngest brother of eight siblings in rural Oklahoma. Trent's 'pops' was in the logging business, first as a lumberjack, then as an owner of his own logging company. His dad acquired the business while Trent was still young, so school was never a high priority for him—at least not the way contributing to the household was. The rest of his childhood he summed up in two lessons: "Being 'close' has nothing to do with distance," and "don't touch strange plants in the woods."
I asked him if he kept in touch with any of his siblings, to which he responded, saying, "The only reason they haven't had a funeral for me is because it would be too much work." When I asked him to elaborate, he said he'd not had contact with anyone in his immediate family for over a decade. He kept tabs on them. For example, he knew his mother had dementia, and his dad was forced into retirement by his oldest brother (who had gone on to take over the logging company). His sisters were all married and moved to other parts of the country. He considered reaching out several times, but his situation required a degree of security that wasn't conducive of close family ties, not that there were particularly strong ties even before he broke contact. Trent admitted to being a bit of a black sheep.
"It all circles back to one of my jobs as a Home Inspector," he explained. "After I moved out, I tried college and quickly realized it wasn't for me. So I entered the workforce and did a bunch of odd jobs. Construction, carpentry, plumbing. I even drove a garbage truck for a while. But I ended up in Home Inspection. There was one job in particular which made me aware of…" Trent paused and gestured toward the space between us, "our situation. The blinks. You remember what I told you about origin points being like a station where other realms intersect with our world? Well, this house was like Union Station or JFK airport if you prefer a plane analogy. There was a pile of junk up to my knees in the basement of that house; all of it had been blinked in. I spent a couple days on the property, running tests, trying to identify the strange phenomenon, but on day three I rolled up to an army of what I thought at the time were Feds, parading around the property like ants on an anthill and sectioning it off with crime-scene tape." I saw disgust funnel into Trent's expression. "They're not Feds at all though. At least not anymore. I call them "the Organization," a group of people who lead in the formalized understanding of what you know as 'blinking'. And they're the reason I have to take precautions."
I considered this for a moment. Trent's story was certainly plausible, but I was missing a key piece of the puzzle. "Okay, so, what does this 'Organization' want? You make it seem like they're not good people. Have they tried attacking you?"
This caused Trent to laugh for a solid ten seconds. "Sorry, it's just… I mean if you knew what I knew, you might think it's funny, too."
"Then tell me"
Trent took a deep breath, then released. "It's a long story. The gist of it is this. The Organization has a certain device which I call 'the Receiver'. Think of it like a giant antenna—no, not us kind of Antennas, an actual antenna. It's like the machine equivalent of us, but with a billion times the bandwidth. Their goal is to use the Receiver to map our world in relation to other dimensions, then use that map to establish dominion over everyone and everything. In order to do this, they need muscle: both human muscle, and Antenna muscle. They're in the process of harvesting as many of us they can find. They're like a giant diamond company who is taking to the mines. When they find a stone, they take it back to their factory for cutting and refinement. In real terms, they run tests on us and attempt to augment our powers. The ultimate goal is to create a 'Strong Antenna', or an Antenna capable of causing phase shifts—blinks." Trent saw from my expression that he was starting to lose me, so he stood up and began rolling up his shirt.
"What are you doing?" I asked, turning away. Then I saw what he wanted to show me. There was a long scar beginning high up on his ribs and slashing all the way down to his left hip. There was also what appeared to be a patch of burn marks on his stomach.
"It was early on when I got these." Trent explained. "I was naive. I actually thought I'd be able to reason with these people. The only reason I escaped was because of dumb luck and a box of hand grenades. But that's a tale for another time. I learned two important lessons that day. First, the Organization isn't fucking around. And two, they aren't immortal. Most of them are regular, every-day humans, except for their obsession with power." Trent let his shirt fall, covering up the marks. "I ran into them again recently at their Headquarters. My team and I are working on a plan to…" he paused, seemingly weighing his words, then changed gears. "Well, I guess we can go over that another time."
I couldn't help but feel that Trent was holding something back. As much as I tried to resist thinking about yesterday, the old demon-man's words kept ringing in my head. You think he can help you? He's only here to help himself. Then I thought about what Trent said at the deli: "that's the thing that got me really interested in you. Somehow you seem to be able to control it without gear, just by praying." Did Trent think I was a Strong Antenna? Is that the only reason he's helping me? Because he wants to recruit me? And if that is the case, what if I said 'no'?
"Listen, Trent," I started, but I saw Trent was already nodding. Still, I pressed on. "I need you to tell me what I'm actually doing here. Why did you agree to help me? And what does helping me really mean? I want to know the truth."
"The truth is…" Trent started, then stopped and looked out the glass door that led onto the deck. I looked too and saw a sparrow had alighted on our old bird feeder. It tried pecking at some of its non-existent grains, then sang what I assumed was a song of displeasure before taking back off to the skies.
"The truth is: I do want to recruit you. I think you have the potential to be the strongest tool in my arsenal, but I won't require it. To date, I've helped 53 of our kind, but only seven have stayed on. Most decide to go on and live normal lives." Trent scooted his plate to the side. "In our case, this can essentially go one of two ways. In either instance, we pass through Chicago for two stops. First, I need to meet up with an associate who has something to drop off to me. Then I need to stop at a storage locker and trade out some gear that will allow me to open a phase portal. When we arrive at your origin point, I'll open the portal and you'll look inside. Based on everything you've told me, I'm guessing that childhood accident was when the demon appended itself to your life. By seeing how it entered your life, you should be able to figure out how to dispel it. At least that's the working theory. Returning to the origin point has always worked for the other Antennas, although I must admit your situation is different, but I can't imagine it's so different that this method won't work at all. After you return demon-free, you're free. You can walk out and never see me again and hopefully you'll live a happy and peaceful life. Or you can decide to throw your lot in with mine, and I can show you how deep the rabbit hole goes, so to speak." Trent looked into my eyes, and when I didn't respond for a few seconds, he said, "that's it. That's all I got."
I smiled and responded with one sentence.
"When do we leave?"
***
Memories have a strange architecture. In some ways, they are the great safety net of our experiences: collecting them like a bucket under a leaky roof. In other ways, they are an eternal reminder that nothing ever truly lasts. Perhaps a better way of thinking about memories is as the ghosts of our past lingering in the present. As I took one last stroll through my childhood house, feeling that it might be my last time for a long while, I felt the imprints of childhood memories press into my awareness: I could hear my father's voice reading to me at my bedside; I could see him holding one of my stuffed animals above my head as I wrestled him for it; I could recall the times when I'd sneak down the stairs late at night and quietly open the freezer, grab the ice cream carton, then head back upstairs to eat it.
I felt a yearning to return to those memories: to walk into the fictitious pictures my mind was painting on the canvas of my present. I knew I couldn't return, but I still wanted something to hold onto. I went back to my room and grabbed the cotton-stuffed tomato from off my closet cabinet. Then I walked through my dad's study and removed a volume I recalled him frequently reading, a hard-cover book with a green binding called, "A Collection of Great Works". I placed these items by my feet in the passenger seat of Trent's van, and just as we were about to leave, I remembered something else.
"My plant!" I blurted.
"Your what?"
"My plant—and my car. I left them it the deli. Do you think we could swing by and get it?"
Trent checked the time, then said, "Yeah, I guess we can. I just hope it isn't towed."
Luckily, it wasn't. I half-expected to find a ticket on the windshield, but there wasn't one of those, either. I unlocked the door to my Jetta and got into what felt like an active oven. "Hot!" I said and rolled down all the windows, then cranked up the AC. I saw my plant resting in the cupholder that I'd left it in the previous day. I picked it up and touched its soil. It was dry and beginning to crack. Hang on little guy, I thought. Then I led the way back to my house.
When I arrived, I parked at the head of the driveway. I turned off the car, then ran inside with the young tomato plant, bringing it to the upstairs bathrooms sink and dousing it in water. I wasn't sure how much I was supposed to add, but I figured after the sauna experience it had yesterday, I could afford to go a little overboard. Once it was fed, I opened the small purple drapes and placed it on the windowsill which faced East, meaning it would hopefully get plenty of morning sunlight.
"Good, now?" Trent asked after I hopped back in the passenger seat of the van.
"Yeah," I said. "Good now."
"Then lets get a move on."
***
Road tripping with Trent was a much different experience than when we were driving for our lives. For one, Trent wasn't nearly as tense. He drove with the windows down and one hand on the steering wheel like out of a Mustang commercial, talking intermittently about his adventures: people he'd met, jobs he'd done, close calls. He was like a living radio. And when his personal station wasn't on, he was playing one of his CD's—classic rock, mainly. When he was in an 'off' period, I found myself looking out the window at the rolling wheat fields and cloudy blue sky. Journey was playing, and the lyrics to one of the songs crept into my head and reverberated there:
The wheel in the sky keeps on turning.
I don't know where I'll be tomorrow…
I've been trying to make it home,
Got to make it before too long…
Ooh I can't take it, very much longer…
In a strange way, I felt like I was leaving home. But in another way, I was going back. And then it occurred to me that perhaps I didn't have a home at all. Did I ever have one? These past couple days had called everything about my life into question, to the point where the past seemed as mysterious as the future, and both intersected at that one place in the woods. The place where it all began. The place we were headed.
We only stopped once at a gas station to refuel, get snacks, and use the bathroom. Otherwise it was smooth sailing, other than one heated discussion with Trent that began when he addressed his vehicle as "Car" for the fifth time.
"Okay, you need to come up with a better name than that."
"What do you mean?" Trent asked, seeming genuinely confused.
"You have a super-car and you named it 'Car'. That's actually embarrassing."
"But, it is a car."
I facepalmed. "First of all, it's a van."
"A van is a type of car."
"Second of all, would you name your kid, 'kid'?"
Trent thought it over for what I thought was much too long. At last he concluded, "No, I'd probably name him 'boy', or if it's a girl, 'girl'."
After five more minutes of his childish banter, we settled on the name "Ava"—my choice, after rejecting his runner-up name "Scar".
At around the seven hour mark, I dozed off, then woke up a couple hours later to the sensation of the van dipping, then bumping up into an elevated climb. The evening sunlight that was pressuring my eyelids to open, dissipated, and everything was suddenly dark. I opened my eyes and saw we had entered a parking garage. Trent pulled into an open spot on the second level.
"We're here," he said and gathered up his gun which he stashed in a driver's side underboard compartment that I'm guessing he had installed himself.
"I see that"
"You want to wait here, or—"
I opened the car door, which was answer enough for Trent. We both got out and started down Maple Avenue. I had been to several cities before, Chicago among them, but the size of the buildings always struck me with awe. As we walked alongside dozens of other pedestrians, I looked up and traced the closest tower to its peak, guessing how many stories it was in my head. Then I'd be pulled out of my game by the honking of some nearby vehicle.
We continued for two blocks until Trent made a path directly toward the nearest Starbucks. I didn't know what I was picturing for a meeting with his associate, but it definitely wasn't a meetup at a coffee shop. Still, I followed him in. Then when I saw that Trent was leading me to a corner table where a casually dressed Chinese girl who appeared even younger than me was sitting, I blurted in a hushed tone, "her? She's your associate?"
"Took you long enough," said the Chinese girl, looking up from what appeared to be some kind of homework assignment.
"And she's in school?" I asked, incredulous.
The associate looked to me, then to Trent (who nodded), then back to me. "It's just a cover. I'm glad to see it still works, though." She reached out to shake my hand. "I'm Allison. It's nice to meet you."
Trent gave me a smirk, then said, "looks can be deceiving."
I grunted an affirmation and shook Allison's hand. "I'm Lauren. It's nice to meet you, too."
"You have it?" Trent asked, skipping right to business.
"Of course," Allison replied and removed a mailing package from her backpack, setting it on the table. "You want to go make sure it works?" She asked, gesturing up at the ceiling with her eyes.
Trent seemed to think it over for a second, then looked at me. But before he could say anything, Allison cut back in—
"—I'll stay with her. It's been a while since I've had any female company. Why don't you let us girls talk while you take care of that?" She said in a seductive yet authoritative tone which garnered her years that her appearance did not reflect.
Trent hesitated, but only for a moment. "Okay, I'll be right back," he said. Then he hurried out the door in the direction we had come from.
"Come, sit with me." Allison invited. "Tell me about yourself."
I took a seat on the small wooden seat opposite Allison, then crossed my legs. "What do you want to know?" I asked, feeling discomfort rise in my stomach. Nothing about this situation, from the mysterious package, to Trent leaving me alone with this girl, to the girl herself, whose voice was as velvety smooth as the latte she was stirring with a black coffee straw, sat right with me.
"I'm curious about what you think of Trent."
"Trent?" I repeated. I realized this was the first time I was putting any of my thoughts about Trent or our relationship into words. "I guess... he's a pretty straightforward guy. He seems to know what he's doing."
Allison flashed me a small smile, then took a sip of her latte. I saw the sticker on her drink read "Chai". Then she set the cup down and sighed. "Yes, he's very straightforward. Definitely doesn't mince words." She looked up into my eyes. Hers were a rich black, like onyx pebbles, but there was something about the way the light refracted off them which simulated a kind of inward motion, as if they were tiny whirlpools. Her smile spread across her lips. "I'm curious. What did he tell you?"
"Tell me about what?"
"About what you're doing. About where you're off to. What's the plan?"
"Don't you know?" I asked, but it immediately occurred to me that maybe she didn't know. I never saw Trent with a cellphone. Just how did he communicate with his 'associates'? And what if he didn't want her to know what we were doing for a good reason? Should I tell her?
"No, Trent keeps his cards close to his chest. He always has."
"Don't you work together, though?"
Allison waved her left hand in the air. "Of course, but it's because of the nature of our work that most of our communication is done in person, so Trent doesn't tell me much outside of the current job. I was just curious, is all."
"That makes sense. I mean, I'm actually pretty curious about what you do, too."
"Oh?" Allison's voice went high, as if she suddenly sensed an opening. "Then, why don't we trade stories. You tell about your trip, and I'll tell you about mine."
I thought it over for a second. I really did want to hear what Allison had to say, and she was Trent's co-worker, it's not like I was spilling crucial secrets to an enemy. "We're currently on our way to Southern Illinois. Specifically, we're going back to my origin point so I can confront a demon that Trent thinks blinked into my life there."
Allison stopped stirring, but her eyes didn't break from mine. "A demon, huh?" She raised the cup and took a long sip, then placed it back on the table and continued stirring. "I met a demon once," she started, looking up at the walls as if her life was playing on a screen there. "It was back in China, where I was born." She dropped her attention back to me. "Do you mind if I reminisce a little? Maybe you can get something out of it."
I shook my head, but something in my gut started to stir again. Allison continued.
"I was born during the Era of the Once Child Policy. As a result, my mother decided to leave me in a shoebox on the side of the road. I was a girl, so that's just how it was... Like many other babies in my... 'condition', I ended up in foster care. However, for whatever reason, I wasn't adopted. Years passed, and when I turned six, the government decided I'd be of better use building our impoverished town's GDP in a factory that assembled electronic devices for Western countries. Mostly they had me cleaning, but when I turned eight, one of the employees asked for my help with one of the soldering machines. That turned out to be the beginning of the end for me. I sliced open the ring finger of my right hand. I remember specifically seeing the bone underneath the split flesh and thinking it looked so small and white. The employee claimed to have nothing to do with my accident, and the management declared my injury "minimally invasive" and bandaged it up. Two weeks later and who would have guessed that the wound would become infected, and, well..."
Allison dropped the straw into her cup and raised her right hand, spreading the fingers out for me to see. There were only four. Her ring finger was missing, and a small v-shaped scar had taken its place.
"I'm lucky that the surgeon was experienced enough to take out the whole digit, that way it healed in a way which makes it somewhat difficult to notice. You didn't notice, after all. But, then again, is that really luck?" She made a fist and brought it to her lips, stifling a laugh. "No... Now I remember. My luck was still yet to come." She continued stirring. "Because, you see, after that incident, they moved me to a clothing factory with a boss who had a penchant for getting drunk and roughing up his workers, and, well, one night I was walking back to foster care when I heard the outside door to the manager's office slam shut, and there he went, stumbling, slurring insults, curses, and here I was, perfectly in his path. We met eyes, and in them I saw absolutely nothing. A hollow shell of a man, and I can still remember what it looked like to see that shell fill with a demon."
Allison's eyes went wide with some strong emotion that I couldn't place. "He grabbed me by my hair and dragged me out into the field, far away from civilization. I tried to fight at first, but every time I tried to lunge away, I was only ripping a hole in my own scalp. It felt like flames were spewing from my head, and my only respite was when the blood eventually cooled over the wound. By the time he had thrown me against the rock, I'd already all but given up. Then, when my head met the stone, I heard a pop and my grip on the world loosened. The man continued touching me, but it was as if I was disconnected now, floating somewhere above my own head, and gravity was beginning to reverse, causing me to float higher and higher, away from the horrible nightmare below."
Allison paused for a moment, and I suddenly realized I was holding my breath.
"Then I saw the most bright light I'd ever seen. At the time I thought it was either the Sun or Heaven or something like that. It was just too bright for this world. But then after looking for a little longer, I noticed it was in the shape of a person. It reached out toward me, and I had never been so quick to respond. When I touched it, I felt all my pain immediately dissipate. And I felt warm and... peaceful. And I was no longer in the sky. I was back in the field. But when I looked around, the man was gone. Vanished, right out of existence. I didn't understand it at the time, but that was my first experience with the Shifts. All I knew then was that I was free, and I damn well wasn't going to waste that. I ran as far as I could, away from the factories, the foster home, the corrupt governments and corporations. I kept running until I arrived at a City that didn't know me. That didn't want to know me. And I liked it that way, because it's easier to live as a ghost than as a victim."
Allison perked up, and when I turned around to see what for, I saw Trent entering back through the door.
"But you know what's interesting?" Allison blurted out, her voice becoming quieter. "Trent never took me back to confront my demon." Her voice became a whisper. "In fact, I can't recall him ever taking any of us back."
For a moment the whole world became a still frame. Allison's clear, olive skin, and dark eyes, made darker with eyeliner; her narrow nose; her small lips now coiling into a smile. My entire body was a hair trigger hat only needed the slightest force to set it off. And when Trent placed his hand on my shoulder, I whirled around and narrowly missed a haymaker that swept just shy of Trent's face.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa" he said and stepped back with his palms up. "It's just me. Is everything okay?"
I turned back to Allison, but she seemed different now. Her expression was benign; confused, even. "Are you okay?" she asked.
"I—you"
"We were just talking about where you were off to next." Allison said without a hint of pretense.
"Okay, well, chat time is over. It's time to go." Trent said and started guiding me toward the door. I turned back and saw Allison mouth some words which I swear I heard, as if they had been directly transmitted into my brain.
"See you soon" she purred.
She was smiling.
***
The next leg of the trip passed mostly in silence. It was a little over an hour to the storage facility which was located just South of Chicago. My heart was beating wildly in my chest as I pictured Allison's smile. I wanted to ask Trent if demons could possess Antennas, if somehow one of us could become compromised, but then I remembered Allison's words and stopped myself. Because I didn't know if I could really trust Trent. I tried to tell myself I could trust him—that it was Allison who was the liar. Her whole persona seemed fake at best, and possessed at worst. But, then... what if she was telling the truth? What if Trent was the enemy?
He sensed my quietness and tried striking up a couple conversations, but I only gave one-word answers. Somehow, our trust was so brittle that a single, well-placed sentence was enough to snap it. When he asked if everything was okay, I lied and said that I just had a headache and needed more rest. So I leaned my head against the stuffed tomato and tried to sleep, even though I knew I wouldn't be able to.
We arrived at the facility just as the sun was setting for the night. Trent pulled up to the self-service gate and scanned a card which caused the automatic doors to swing open. We looped down a couple rows of the outdoor units until we came to #48.
"We're here," Trent prompted, but this time I didn't budge. I felt his eyes on me after he turned off the ignition. "Hey," he called. "Are you awake?"
I was silent.
I heard Trent quietly click open his door, then close it the same way. I waited a few seconds then turned my head and watched him from the driver's side mirror. He opened the storage locker, then walked inside and turned on a light. It occurred to me then how dimly lit this outdoor storage facility was. There was a weak overhead lantern peeking over every fourth garage like an anglerfish's lure, leaving a large portion of the road not hit by the light bubbles completely dark.
I tried to plan my next move. I could leave Trent and run. But where would I go? Or I could stay and see Trent's plan through. There was a chance this was all an elaborate trap. Maybe Trent was working with the demon, or maybe he was the demon. But then why did he save me? Twice. Maybe he was actually a double agent for the Organization. But he could easily have captured me by now. Unless he needs me to go back to the origin point for a different reason... I considered everything I had learned up until this point: we live at the cross-section of different realms; these other realms interact with our world; Antennas, who are a very small minority of people, can see these interactions; the Organization wants to harness our power and create a 'Strong Antenna' to achieve some kind of universal hegemony; I'm the closest thing to a Strong Antenna to date; Trent knows this; He's taking me back to my origin point, despite not taking the others back to theirs; Trent claims to want to fight the Organization; the best way to fight the Organization would be with a Strong Antenna. What if Trent was trying to make me into a Strong Antenna?
I considered this chain of reasoning. It seemed very plausible, especially after Allison's cryptic messages. Was she trying to warn me of this? But that smile, and the "see you soon"... If she wasn't being possessed, why would she be seeing me soon?
Suddenly my thoughts gave way like a broken dam as I heard a ping come from Ava's radar. I jumped, thinking that all of the electronics turned off with the ignition, but when I looked at the circular sonar map, I saw a red dot had just emerged in the top-right corner. I looked out the window in the direction of the ping, but I couldn't see anything heading down the road.
Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping.
Four more dots appeared behind the first, and they were approaching.
I jumped out the van and ran over to where Trent was hauling in a large cardboard crate into the back of the van. "Trent, there's pings on the radar. A bunch of them."
He dropped the box next to three others, and I realized I had never seen inside the back of the van. It was filled with what looked like pneumatic tubes wired into circuits, and in the center was a tri-pod which was holding a large halo-shaped ring.
"Pings?" Trent said, then his face widened with shock as he realized what I meant. "Shit, how many?"
"Five, maybe more now. And they're getting closer."
"Five?" He jumped out the back and ran into the storage locker. I thought he was going to close the door, but when I saw him hauling boxes back toward the van, I yelled at him. "What are you doing!?"
"I need to load this up for tomorrow. Here," He tossed me his keys. "Get it started."
"Fuck, seriously?"
Trent didn't respond, only kept shuffling boxes into the van.
I turned and ran to the door and hopped in the driver's seat. As I was turning on the ignition, I saw the row of bushes that was just outside of the facility begin to rattle. The next sweep revealed a whole sea of pings. I rolled down the window and shouted Trent's name.
"One more, that's all. Get in the passenger seat, I'll be there in a sec."
I scooted over the center console and waited, clutching at the bottom of my pants legs. Just as Trent slammed the rear door of the van shut, I saw the first figure emerge onto the road ahead of us. It looked like some kind of large coyote, though it was hard to tell because it was still fifty meters out.
"Now detecting 53 controlled agents." Ava said right as Trent jumped in and shut the driver's side door. "Net anomalies: 53."
"Ava, increase radius to five miles." Trent instructed as he backed up all the way to the end of the lane and spun us around toward the gate. Just as we left, I saw the pack of coyotes stalking toward us, slow at first, then in a dead sprint.
"Increasing radius." Ava responded. "Increased. Recalculating… Recalculating… Re—complete. Now detecting 451 controlled agents. Net anomalies: 451."
"What does 'controlled agent' mean?" I asked.
"Hold on," Trent said and accelerated into the gate, bursting through it. The whole van shook, and I heard my phone fall in the crack between the seat and door. Trent steadied the van, then said, "It means the things chasing us are being controlled by something that isn't detectable."
"The demon?"
"That'd be my guess."
"But why can't Ava detect it?"
Trent switched to the right lane, then merged onto the Interstate-South ramp. "Probably because it isn't trying to kill us."
"Then, what—" I looked back at the map and basically had my question answered. All 451 pings were coalesced in a semicircle on one side of the map. The side of the map that we had just come from. "Is it trying to force us toward the crash site?"
"It seems that way." Trent answered.
"Trent, pull over."
"Huh?"
"Pull over!" I yelled.
He looked at me, eyes wide. Then he did as I had instructed and pulled off in the middle of the ramp. The red dots slowly closed in on our position.
"Now detecting—"
"Shut up, Ava." I said. I could feel my blood boiling. "I'm not going one step further until you tell me the truth. Why are we going to my origin point? What is your real motive?"
"What do you mean? I already told you."
I unlocked the passenger side door.
"Wait," Trent said and reached out toward me. "Just, wait."
There was silence, except for the pings indicating that the beasts behind us had re-encroached on our position to about fifty meters.
"Okay, I didn't tell you everything. But we don't have time now—"
I opened the door.
"Okay, okay. I didn't tell you everything, it's true. I've never done this with anyone else, but the reason is because I never needed to. And if I told you what might happen, you would have refused it."
"Refused what?"
"This—me, my help. Lauren, I am trying to help you. But you have to understand—it's likely that neither of us are going to live past tomorrow. You're basically confronting a dark entity in a place where I can't protect you, and if you somehow do manage to kill it, you'll be coming back to the fight of your life. Because I don't have the power to hide you from the Organization. They're going to show up and try to take you. I really don't know how you've lasted as long as you have. Whatever protection you had growing up, it's gone now. And now I'm all you have. And in some twist of fate, you're all I have."
Ava reactivated. "Now detecting 1,117 controlled agents. Proximity till contact: 20 meters. Net anomalies: 1,117."
I closed my door. "But what if I still don't want to go through with it?"
Trent pointed at the screen. "Then we die right here, right now, together. Because I am one-hundred percent certain that if we don't go to that crash site, we're dead anyway. All of us."
Another ping rolled through. I checked the side-view mirror and saw the swarming pack of dogs reach the van and bound around the rear wheels. I suddenly recalled the conversation I had with Father Martin and the conclusions I had drawn. Father, I've been… wrestling with something, and I think God wants me to confront it. I think I've been running away and hiding from it for so long that I'd convinced myself it disappeared...
"Go," I said just as I felt the collision of the coyotes slamming their bodies against the side doors.
Trent didn't waste any time stepping on the gas. I watched as the coyotes diminished in the distance and the pings receded into the back of the map, never disappearing fully, but covering the flank of our retreat—a reminder lingering on the edge of our awareness that there was no turning back now. That, one way or another, this was ending tomorrow.
And I'd either be dead, or something else entirely.

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Warning: massive yapfest incoming. I apologise in advance for my lousy english.
I understand this subreddit has an abject hatred towards the word "JJK" and it's mere mention. I myself find a couple of the rants and talking points here to be tiresome. However, I couldn’t help but write this little piece up, as I have reevaluated my personal feelings of this particular series and it's central antagonist for so long, that I felt the need to share it somewhere. Because every time I see a post online calling Sukuna the "greatest new-gen antagonist", I couldn’t bring myself to agree whatsoever. And every time I come to that conclusion, I always had to ask myself "why?" Because even though I have a particular fondness towards strong, calamitous villains like Sukuna, I can’t get myself to enjoy the King of Curses himself in quite the same way. And for the first time, I think I came up with a possible answer. One I hope to share with all of you in hopes that you may understand my own perspective of this larger than life character. And if you disagree, I hope that you may offer me some perspective so that I can finally see what I was missing.
The "Calamity" Villain
This term, which I may or may not have made up, describes the larger than life villain of a perspective series. One whose very name shakes the foundation of the story they inhabit and whose presence gives our characters, and by extension the audience, a big "oh shit" moment. And despite many of them not being the best or most complexly written characters in fiction, I have a particular bias towards how grandiose many of them can be. And I have 2 examples to note here to show, what I mean:
Adam Smasher:
This specific paragraph will only make note of his appearance in the Edgerunners anime, as he is literally just a health bar and some metal for most of Cyberpunk 2077. And even though his minutes of screen time in the anime can literally be counted on one hand, he remains one of the most memorable and iconic characters in the entire story. We had seen this young boy named David from Santo Domingo make a name for himself as a top tier merc. And despite the trials and tribulations he’s been through, he kept pushing to the top, abusing his body with cybernetic implants because he believes he was "special". Then came Smasher, a thing so far from human and so indifferent to the atrocities he commits, that he treats all humans as insects to step on. And he reminds David and the audience that our boy was not special in the slightest. And that this large corporation named Arasaka can not be beat no matter how hard you try. Why is that? Because Adam Smasher is so much more superior to him in every way and because he has abandoned his humanity for ultimate strength. His presence was brief, his power was felt, and I was left bawling my eyes out. He truly lived up to his status as the "boogeyman of Legend."
Yujiro Hanma:
Admittedly, this character is a bit more difficult to compare, as the very nature of Baki as a story is so absurd that you couldn’t measure it to stories who have a comparatively more grounded narrative. But one thing is certain: Yujiro is him. Touted as the strongest man in the world, he has become the gold standard of utter power, which his son Baki somehow has to match. Well, good luck, because a character that can casually stop an earthquake with a punch and solo an entire military by himself is one tough fucker to beat. But beyond just being strong, he is so selfish and self-fulfilling that he can knowingly abuse his status to get away with virtually whatever the hell he wanted. And I mean everything. Hell he is so strong he can stroll up to the prime minister and give the bastard a wedgie, and nobody stops him. And every moment is filled with so much "I'm him" energy, that one can almost forgive how fucking silly most of it is. Are you gonna do anything about Yujiro? No, so don’t bother.
Now of course, there are more examples I haven’t bothered to mention (i.e. Kaido, Madara or Aizen). But I highlighted those two in particular, as I believe they have a lot in common with Sukuna: they are all selfish, overwhelmingly powerful and insanely psychopathic hedonists who enjoy little more than their own personal self satisfaction, which more often than not comes from murdering somebody. And despite Yujiro and Adam Smasher not being particularly deep or multi-dimensional characters, they captivated me with their sheer force of will and how intimidating they were on screen.
In the case of Sukuna
Now despite what my intro may tell you, I actually enjoyed Sukuna's character up until the end of the Shibuya incident. As far as villains of his ilk are concerned, he ticked a lot of the right boxes for me. Beyond just being a neat little subversion of the classic inner demon trope found in most battle shonen, his character fit exactly the mold I tried describing in my previous paragraphs: he was ruthless, sadistic and enjoyed satisfying his own twisted urges. And on top of that he was just him. I mean, the first thing he does is ask where the women and children are. It hardly gets more psychotic than that. And with how minimal his screentime was for most of the series before the Culling Games, Gege made sure to make all panels with him count. Even at his weakest, he still had that spirit of a truly unstoppable force, especially when he effortlessly cuts down Yuji and Mahito without a second thought, showcasing his sheer sheer strength and how much superiority he has over other sorcerer (with exception to Satoru Gojo of course).
Stand Proud, You're halfway through
But nowhere is that show of force executed more spectacularly than in the Shibuya Incident, which is honestly the peak of Sukuna's character for me. After getting fingered 16 times (pause), Sukuna reemerges stronger than ever before, to the point of making a special grade curse like Jogo shit himself. And despite Jogoat obviously being a joke, I believe Gege did a good job showcasing just how powerful these curses are and how fucked Jujutsu Tech was without Gojo being there to help. And Sukuna in his fight with Jogo embarasses him badly, which shows just how superior Sukuna was to literally everyone. And then came Mahoraga, who helped highlight another important aspect of Sukuna's character: his immense battle IQ. In just a few minutes, he deduced the abilities of the shadow's adaptability and devised the most Sukuna plan ever to take him down: by razing a large portion of Shibuya to the fucking ground, killing Maho and a load of civilians.
The point of this little recap was for me to highlight a moment where Sukuna's portrayal as an unstoppable villain worked to great effect and to highlight how he works best in small doses. He was cruel, sadistic and overpowered his enemies with sheer might and nothing. And he did so in a way that caused the most suffering. All because he can. All because he is the strongest. And although he was not the most interesting villain character-wise, his screentime was just enough where you don’t notice it. Plus there was a lot of promise with his character later on down the line.
The Fallen
Sadly, it only goes downhill from there, as Sukuna downgraded from the vessel of Yuji and bodyhopped to the bum we call Megumi, in a very controversial series of events I won’t be debating about, as it could derail this rant more than it already has. What I will mention is what is in my humble opinion the single dumbest moment in the entire series: Hana falling for Sukuna's porn tier acting. More than just making Hana seem mentally handicapped, it also made me look at Sukuna weirdly. Ryomen Sukuna, King of Curses and strongest sorcerer in history, when caught lacking for the first time ever… resorts to little trickery to weasel his way to survival... really? Having to resort to dumb luck to win instead of just whipping your cock out and asserting dominance seems so unlike the Sukuna that we saw in Shibuya and earlier. The same Sukuna who murdered two teenage girls because he didnt like their tone is practically grovelling his way to victory, all because of the convenience of the one counter being possessed by a donut. He didn’t win it by being the strongest or even by insanely clever planning… he won because Hana is a fucking troglodyte.
This leads me to another point: there is a subtle yet very damming change in Sukuna's personality, where he switches from sadistic madman to some cold, strategic mastermind, which is just… a lot more boring. And it seems because Sukuna can keep his body for longer that Gege can afford to make Suku comparatively less imposing personality wise. And I just don’t find Sukuna to be a mysterious or intriguing enough character for that to work.
STRONG OFFSCREEN
But wait, there's more. After 13 chapters of perhaps the greatest battle in recent memory, comes yet another bizarre writing decision, which was to offscreen Gojo's death for the sake of shocking the audience. Now before you start: no, I have no issue with Suku using the Ten Shadows to ultimately defeat Gojo, nor do I take issue with Gojo's death itself. You can kill that blue eyed bastard again for all I care. I just take issue with it’s execution. You show a Sukuna down in the dumps after eating a Hollow Purple… only to cut immediately to Go/Jo in the next chapter. This jarring juxtaposition mixed with the overwhelmingly clumsy explanation of the world slash after the fact lessens the impact for me and makes it feel more like Sukuna being given a freebie than an actual well earned victory like in the Mahoraga fight. And the binding vow explanation 20 chapters later didn’t make the execution of the death much better and only made Sukuna seem more cowardly, because he had to resort to some last minute bullshit vow to desperately pull off a win. But you want me to believe he wasn’t going all out… sure whatever. Oh yeah, speaking of vows…
Binding Vow galore
Binding Vows in general are tools within the power system that I am incredibly meh about. It’s like a less well defined version of the Nen Contracts, where you make adjustments and sacrifices for the sake of yielding the most results with your CT. When they’re good, they can freshen up the flow of battle (i.e. Overtime) and when they’re bad, they are an obvious crutch in the story to justify people like Sukuna doing things like popping a Domain despite the dogshit output. And it’s not the fact that he is using binding vows that is the problem, it’s that the jujutsu sorcerers (except the goat Todo) are refusing to do the same. Why? Are they dumb? It’s not like it’s some complicated, hidden technique like Simple Domain (fucking Miwa made one) and you literally have a prodigy of a sorcerer named Higuruma, who is a fucking LAWYER, that can come up with clever technicalities for vows. All this to say that this doesn’t make Sukuna seem that much smarter, it just makes our heroes seem dumb.
BETTER CALL HIGURUMA
This deserves a special segment, as the moment with the confiscation was the moment I felt disillusioned by the supposed tension of the story and the author’s hand became more visible to me. After a month of wondering what the tag team of Higu and Yuji would do, how Confiscation would affect Sukuna, well… Judgeman takes away Kamutoke… a weapon that was literally created a few chapters prior to Shinjuku, was only used once and then taken away… wow. With one fell swoop, it made not only Higuruma seem stupid, but it took away from Sukuna as a villain, because it didn’t feel like him showing his superiority over other sorcerer, but rather like the plot bending itself backwards to ensure his victory. And that is not what that character deserves.
In conclusion:
I had more things that I wanted to elaborate on, such as the inconsistent strength levels Sukuna operates on, the BUM Fushiguro as well as the shoddy at best planning from Jujutsu Tech, but honestly I already took too much time writing this out as I am typing this, so this what I wish to summarise with:
Sukuna is a character who I enjoyed more in small, chaotic doses, where his supposed strength was not only seen, but felt. Nowadays I feel like the man has outstayed his welcome, no longer feeling like a threat, but rather just a figure puppeteered by the author to fight because he has to, to overwhelm or get overwhelmed whenever plot demands and someone who is doing whatver only because Gege likes it that way. He does not have the threatening presence like some other calamity type villains. And Sukuna is not:

• A character I love to hate (like Mahito)
• A character I am compelled to see more of or
• A character who I desperately want to see lose

I don’t really feel any kind of way about him one way or the other. And the only reason I want to see him lose is so the story can end. Of course the story is not yet over and I still enjoy JJK for what it is. I just find myself disappointed in the general showcase of Sukuna as a villain. But I have faith in Gege, and am sure he will be talented enough to conclude the story well.

S'up sex kittens...
​
I can't believe we've managed to mod this place for another fucking year since the last one but here we are, living proof that misery does indeed, love company. If you're unsure what I'm rambling about get yourself acquainted with the history of the history in the links below before delving into, well, more history of the history.
- Part 1
- Part 2
- Part 3
Or if research isn't your thing then queue up, purchase your ticket, mind the dribble, ignore the screeching and YOLO the next 15 minutes of your life into this year's offering of all the weird and wonderful shit you cucks get up too around here.
​
The Death of a Sub Icon
It's always a tight race to see who gets poll position in the yearly wrap up, but this time round the old heartstrings kept pulling me back to sub icon u/ilyfish and the absolute calamity that was DW8/KDY. (Also because I forgot to edit last year's post in time and missed this)
You've seen the epic series of videos produced, the highs and lows, the lower lows, the obscenely lower lows until finally things came to the inevitable on May 5th, 2023 in the form of administration.
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Death by a thousand cuts upvotes
u/Hairy_Ninja_7922 came out of the clouds with an epic bet, claiming they would YOLO 1 million clams into IXR if their post received a thousand up-doots.
However, fuckery was afoot and some investigative work by the sub's finest degenerates alerted Mods to the fact that this user had other alts all chatting away to each other attempting to pull the wool over simple minded autists. A Kangaroo Court was convened, and the verdict (shock/horror) was to kill with fire.
u/Blisser_the_Sniff completed the transaction by providing us with proof of the purchase at a later date...
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The rise of a new sub MeMe
First, they took our uranium powered dildo's, then they took our ANL but we will not allow them to take our RIM jobs away... (there are very few places in the world you can write a sentence like that and be understood)
A Sub Poll was ordered when the requirement for a new meme arose, you fuckers voted en-masse and we all now welcome our new overlord RIM. Dogshit speccy mining shitco's with massive SOI's for the win!!
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Thank you for your sacrifice
We ban hundreds of you fuckers every year, so Mods can probably be forgiven for not remembering every single bet or circumstance that landed you in the banned lands. But the sacrifice of u/SoftTopMafia was a favorite this year. Recognizing the lack of engagement in the daily thread during the darkest part of the winter, they nobly threw themselves upon the fires of comment numbers, got banned, won a shiny flair and managed to get the daily sparked up again.
​
Uranium Wars
The rare earths get a fairly decent workout round here, so u/YouHeardTheMonkey wrote up some DD on the Uranium Bull Thesis. Will the glowing rocks provide tendies for the masses?
Will lithium smite this new contender and regain its former glory?
We wait with bated breath....
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Mod Stuff
- You begged and pleaded and finally Mods gave in, Media and image content was allowed into our precious threads and life has never been the same.
- Whenever u/mcfucking and I get sick of posting, we enlist the assistance of a few of our finest to start banning tards. This year, the call went out and the faithful answered in fine fashion. Thanks to u/Blisser_the_Sniff, u/ewanelaborate and yes, even a grudging nod towards the red devil u/ChZakalwe. It's no easy task keeping a track of all the betting, it's a little like herding stray cats and our cat herders this year are most appreciated.
- In what was no doubt a massive surprise to everyone, u/Competitive_Copy2451 was again released in the Easter raffle.
- We do attempt to provide a forum for some decent discussion, a noteworthy piece this last year was this thread on Boomers and inflation and shit.
- The Federal budget came, again. Various ramblings from the subs intellectual titans were captured here.
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Gains
Believe it or not, folks around here do make some money as well. Below is a sampling from the gains shelf over the past 12 months.
- u/HowtoYeet24 made a tidy little sum on APX
- u/jezz1911 has finally come back into the green after being down a significant amount
- Rusty Rake Capital consistently keeps us up to date on their peculiar trading habits, owneproprietor u/Particular_Love_8811 sending through this bad boy..
- u/TheseAccountant3791 had some bags that were slightly less HVY...
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Losses
Ahhh, tasty loss porn. I invite you all to sample but a small selection of the succulent loss porn delivered over the last 12 months.
- Lets kick off with the end of an era, u/joeycloud has finally thrown in the towel on MNS.
- u/JDK-Ruler contributed a mouthwateringly woeful snapshot of their portfolio...
- u/cricketmad14 pondered whether it is in fact, possible to recover from terminal stupidity. I really do enjoy the comments sections on these posts...
- u/TheseAccountant3791 hodling some HVY bags.
- Some staggering loss porn from u/Born_Mine_2260
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Warm and Fuzzy
Despite the reputation this place has, y'all are some of the best fuckers on the net for donations and shit. Here is but a mere sampling of the Koality Content that pops up amid the mind-blowing losses...
- u/destined2bepoor made a bet on sub darling RNU that failed to come through and ponied up some $$ for the kiddies.
- u/1000baggers made a lovely donation after a failed 4 year bet.
- u/ItsPazzaa got on theblood bank train, earning themselves a shiny new flair.
- u/debtandregret1984 made a pledge to thedoggies in this fine offering.
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Other Stuff
- u/shitforbrainstoo made y'all a lovely spreadsheet that compares feasibility studies from your favorite doggies.
- u/neke86 popped in to try and figure out what the hell happened. We are still trying to work it out ourselves, so thanks for stopping by...
- I book-marked this one but couldn't remember why. It's a post from u/angrathias about upcoming market trends. Some funny commentary and it will be interesting to see in hindsight if anyone called the new boom of something or other...
- u/murkyclouds had a run at the age old question every autismo has pondered at some point. Is it a good idea to buy incredibly micro capped shares?
- u/No-Army6095 asked us to explain the Discord. Seriously?
- u/eshay_investor threw down a 100K YOLO on some speccie piece of shit, CU6.
- Oddly, I really enjoyed this post from u/Historical_job_8609 about the crimes of the cuck brigade at HC.
- Whenever we get a legit Scam dream post, it's just too good not to mention. Granted, the Scam Dream flair can be applied a bit arbitrarily at times, but it's one of those things you know?
No one is quite sure what a Scam dream is, but when you see one, you know. Thanks to u/Particular_Amoeba_53 for providing the linked masterpiece.
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Shit-Posts
If we have said it once, we've said it 42069 times. Above all, we love YOLO's, dank meme's and shitposts. But a mere sampling of the top shelf generated by our members this last year...
- u/Denominator_K with an always popular shout out to the AusFinance brigade
- u/nohorncap had a little dig (get it?) at the W.A fluro army
- u/scrnk4 gave us a day trading reality check
- Shit-post Overlord u/BigJimBeef provided us with a fine example of boomerism
- Shit-posting icon u/Competitive_Copy2451 provided us with the C1X disaster and a tribute to Bear Grylls and more Scotty Mac posts than you can shake a failed drill bit at, providing its pointed at a sycamore tree.
- Sub Favorite? u/TheEmpyreanian made the grade this year, with a sage reminder of times past.
- long term shit post contributor u/Ashley_Sophia has come through on her bet regarding dancing in front of all sorts of weird shit, or something along those lines. It's hard to tell from the video but that is often the sublime beauty Ash delivers, the observing is so much more rewarding than the understanding...
- u/Shares_44 did some deep dive research regarding stereotyping the various sub reddits...
- u/here2FuckSpiders2 rolled out an oldie but a goodie with this lil offering in the Lithium vs Uranium war..
- u/The-Mackani made us a charming little vid of TomSex..
- u/1000baggers provided us with yet another fine Hitler parody video.
- u/alllrandom shared with us some Only fans pondering and also a lovely poll regarding ASX_Bets super couples...
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And alas, we come to the end of another wrap up in degeneracy.
When I wrote the original one of these, one of my first thoughts was 'holy shit a lot happens round here'. Every year, that initial thought has rung more and more true. It's just not possible to capture the depths of the madness this place inspires and honestly, I'm not sure that swimming in those waters would be survivable for any of us.
Even Plucky got taken out eventually...
That being said, if I can offer a collective what the fuck is wrong with you people? shout out to all the fine folks who made the grade this year and a sage reminder:
The lofty heights of the posting totem pole are reached, ever so briefly, by scaling the foundation built on the thousands of other posters who put in the effort before you.
Keep on keeping on gang, it's a glorious legacy you leave.
​
Till next year, stay sexy you magnificent bastards.
​
- Taken

Context here: I’ve been in physical pain for 2years in my hip and leg.
I’m 21f and in July of 2022 I somehow managed to injure myself. I know now what was wrong but for two years no one had any idea of what was wrong with me. In the beginning my pain started where your femur and pelvis meet on the right side. Originally I could just pop an ibuprofen and go on with my day. I didn’t get it checked out for almost a year. Once I finally did get it checked out I could only walk and stand for maybe 4-5hrs on a good day. I started with seeing a chiropractor and that was a very temporary fix. It was also an expensive one as well. The doctor would readjust my hip and I would be okay for another few hours but it wasn’t a fix. I saw 3 different doctors and they all tried different things. I did PT multiple times, I saw a foot doctor, I did X-rays. But I was never able to do an MRI because insurance wouldn’t cover it because of my age. Finally the day came where I wasn’t able to stand for longer than an hour and I fell. And when I fell I couldn’t feel my leg at all. I was stuck on the floor with pins and needles throughout my leg. Only after that I was able to get an MRI. I only just got those results less than two weeks ago and turns out I have a “Low-grade tear of the right iliacus myotendinous junction.” (Doctors words) if you don’t know what those medical words means, I have torn a muscle in my hip. And not just any muscle either, a muscle that basically controls my whole damn leg. I was originally hopeful when I found this out because holy shit there’s actually a genuine reason I’m in pain. And my doctor put in a referral for me to see an orthopedic doctor. I saw this doctor today and honestly I’m just at a loss. When he first walked into the room and sat down he told me that he looked at the copy of the MRI I brought in and told me surgery is off the table. Not even considered an option. Which I kinda figured would happen considering it’s a low grade tear. There’s other options right? No. He refused to do anything personally. He told me I need to lose weight and go to physical therapy again. For the 5th time now. I asked him how I was expected to lose weight when I can’t stand or walk on my leg for longer than an hour. He told me I should lift weights. I won’t lie I’m definitely on the heavier side and before the pain got as bad as it did I was trying to change my lifestyle because I knew that it was a problem considering I was nearing 300pounds. It was a problem for me mentally. Not just my physical pain. I’m not someone who knows a whole lot about health and fitness but I don’t understand how I could actually lose weight (especially around my stomach) by just weight lifting. ESPECIALLY WHEN I CANNOT STAND. I was also told that because I’m “young and healthy” it should be easy for me to lose weight. Which adds another humors part to this of going into that office with pneumonia and asthma. Man looked at me sick as a dog and told me I’m “healthy”. I’m not. There’s a lot of life style changes I need to make but can’t because I can’t move my fucking leg. I do intend to seek out a second opinion as well as doing PT again. But good lord I don’t understand how even tho we have the answers, you can see the pain, I walk around at 21 with a goddamn cane and you can look at me and go “nah”.
Thank you for reading sorry for the long post.

I don't really have the patience for a bunch of preamble in this message so I'm just going to get into my theory on the relationship between Kris and the SOUL, and why I think people are over complicating the situation. I'm not going to pretend that there's not a lot of ambiguity here on the details but I feel the broad strokes are pretty obvious and people are inventing problems that they then feel obligated to solve.
•________________________________________________•

THE SIMPLEST SOLUTION

We know that we, the player, are a separate entity from Kris. Whether you want to consider the player's role in the story as a literal diegetic meta player of the game, or simply an in-universe character representing our presence, that's irrelevant for the time being. All you need to know is that the player or the representation of the player is a separate being with a separate will.
We overwrite Kris' Save File at the beginning of both Chapter 1 and Chapter 2, and the entire Snowgrave Route damn near spells it out through Noelle's dialogue and the shift in pronouns from third person to second person perspective in the final Spamton NEO encounter.
We, the player, control the SOUL. This is a fact. We know this because when the SOUL is ripped out of Kris' body we can still control it in the bird cage, while Kris' body moves on their own. While the SOUL is out of their body Kris can act completely freely, but on the virtue of having literally just ripped out a vital organ, aren't able to operate at full efficiency, so they limp, and hunch, and walk slowly, barely animated because the source of their animation has been literally ripped out, and they always put it back IMMEDIATELY after they're done on the virtue of not wanting to die because whether they like us being in control or not they KNOW that they NEED the SOUL. This is just common sense. If you ripped your liver out you'd probably be "walking like a zombie" too.
The symbolism of the Spamton fight is so damn-near on the nose with Kris' situation that I'm surprised so many people write it off. Spamton was terrified of the idea that he was not free. And so he desperately tried to pursue freedom, and yet when he was at his closest to attaining it, when he finally cut all of them strings that were controlling him, only then did he realize that without those strings he couldn't function. This is why the battle shook Kris so much. It's a near identical parallel to their own situation. The SOUL is their strings. It controls them. It keeps them from freedom, and yet they know that they need it just as much as Spamton needed his. They're a puppet, and a puppet is all but dead without a puppeteer.
They have some agency. We control what they say, but they choose how they say it. They can move on their own in short bursts to protect Susie for example, and they can of course willingly rip out the SOUL, but they must ALWAYS come back to the chains. There is no third entity possessing Kris's body when we're not there and and absolving them of all interesting character actions. There's just Kris, a troubled, desperate kid in a horrifying situation with a broken home life just wanting to escape, wanting to be free.
Conclusion: There are two entities, us, and Kris. We are controlling Kris in the vast majority of the game, and while Kris can act on their own, and do for their own purposes, doing so is unsustainable, as a SOUL is required for their human body to remain animate and functional, so they ultimately need us. This fact terrifies them.
•________________________________________________•
I firmly believe that this is by far the simplest cleanest, and least flawed interpretation of the situation but there are of course statements made against it so I'll cover those.

"There are three save files, and each SOUL gets one save file in Undertale, so there must be three souls and therefore three entities"

This isn't even an argument. We know for a fact that the save system works different in Deltarune. We the player aren't even in full control of it, we are made fully aware of that in the safe file selection screen before completing chapter 1, where someone else gaster is in control of it and we're simply informing them of what we want them to do.

"Kris wouldn't open a dark fountain, especially on snowgrave!"

How the hell do you know that? Did you live in Hometown? Are you Toby Fox's cousin? WE DON'T KNOW KRIS. We can infer how they feel about over the course of the game through context clues, and there are hints at what their former personality was like before the game started, but at the end of the day we don't know them. And honestly, it doesn't exactly paint a benevolent picture. Kris is portrayed as a quiet, rude prankster with a pretty twisted sense of humor. Very similar to Chara's portrayal (because Kris is obviously a representation of them), who people will argue up and down is a completely evil satan-spawn, yet in spite of this evidence people will continue to covet Kris' innocence like they're a wholesome little baby cinnamon roll.

"Kris being evil would be boring!"

Literally nothing about Kris' actions when we are not in control suggests they're evil on their own. We don't have the context or motive behind these actions. I must reiterate. WE DON'T KNOW KRIS. The actions they perform are disturbing from our point of view but at the end of the day we can't attribute motive where there is none to be found. We can speculate, but the actions Kris takes does not inherently make them evil, it means that there might be more going on.
I for one find that a whole lot more interesting than there literally being an ACTUALLY JUST EVIL character in the game who is controlling Kris and removing all of their agency so that they're barely a character, which is what you're suggesting by assuming that these actions are indicative of pure evil.

"Flowey didn't have any of those symptoms and he was soulless"

Yeah and Flowey wasn't a monster or a human. Flowey is a flower, just one that fused with Asriel's consciousness via an external Determination injection. Flowers don't have SOULs to begin with, so they wouldn't feel any effects from losing one. The behaviors of Kris while they are soulless are not necessarily correlated not having a SOUL, but rather having their SOUL, and then having it REMOVED. To go with the kidney example, a flower wouldn't act any differently if you ripped out it's kidneys... Because it doesn't have them.

"If Kris is soulless after ripping out the the SOUL, how can they create a dark fountain? Which requires determination"

This is a nothing observation. This is a question that is always going to need to be answered REGARDLESS of your interpretation on the situation on Kris' SOUL, and there are several interpretations that work.
It could be that determination just works differently in the world of Deltarune, and is born from the body, or consciousness of an entity rather than the SOUL, assuming those two things are different. (Notably while Ralsei says that your SOUL holds your will, the book in the Library states that this is just a theory, and the true nature of souls are unknown, at least to the Lightners.)
It could be that during the limited period of time Kris can act before needing to put their SOUL back in, they still retain most of their determination, in the same way that you still have quite a bit of time before you completely bleed out after getting severely wounded, and as long as they return the SOUL quickly enough, they can make Dark Fountains and still survive.
It could of course be that there is a second SOUL. That "our" SOUL and Kris' SOUL are separate and that Kris still has theirs when they rip ours out, but I find this to be a shoddy answer because glaringly comes with the problem that if Kris has their own SOUL they shouldn't need ours, and should therefore be able to move perfectly fine and survive as long as they want without our influence. I think it's more likely that the SOUL is either ours, or that it is Kris' but we have taken control of it, probably the latter because it has less unknown variables.
Of all of these I think the second one is the most likely given Occam's Razor, but the ultimate point is that no matter what theory you make regarding Kris, this is something you are always going to need to speculate to explain. The third entity doesn't explain this. Even two entity possession doesn't explain this, and therefore it's not an argument against this Theory.
•________________________________________________•
Bottom line I think when you stop overthinking things and put down your crack pipe you can come to a very reasonably simple explanation for what's going on with Kris without any substantial leaps and logic or holes. This theory has nothing to do with the Knight, Kris can or can not be the Knight under this interpretation, and as a matter of fact I don't think they are, but this interpretation of Kris and their relationship with us is the one I immediately assumed upon playing the game and was surprised that more people didn't gather.
When it comes arguments like "Kris wouldn't do that" I urge people to take a step back and genuinely consider whether the questions they're asking are actually as dramatic as they're making them out to be in their mind, or if they're born from preconceptions. There is nothing in the game that suggests Kris WOULDN'T do any of this, both because we don't know that much about Kris, and because we know even LESS about the motivations of the actions presented at the ends of Chapter 1 & 2.

I've (f23) had strep 30 times in one year It got to the point where I just can't keep getting sick so I just said okay let's do this so I can feel better I ended up even going ahead and scheduling my surgery on my birthday. I''m on my 5th day, I woke up after surgery, I've had this god awful non stop cough that won't go away. They said it was from the anesthesia and to endure it. I'll be honest I haven't been in much pain besides the cough causing me to gag and throw up. I haven't bleed either but I am coughing hard. My ENT office won't answer their phones so I went back to the hospital because I'm absolutely miserable. They said my coughing was like a spasm, and it's my fault for stopping the pain medication and switching to Tylenol. I think that so unfair I was throwing up they didn't give me anything for neausa, I cant reach them I called daily even before I went to hospital. I've had low grade fevers. I'm calling as much as I can I can't reach them online either. I go back to the hospital the next day get a x-ray. I have a collapsed right lung and pneumonia. I was not sick before surgery or exposed to getting sick before hand. They said it was cause by surgery and gave me a choice to go home or stay the night I got a breathing treatment and a blood culture. They basically told me they can't do much to treat me and to try not to cough. I also have asthma it's feeling impossible at this point. The hospital tried reaching out to the ENT no response. No clue if this is medical malpractice but I had a follow up scheduled anyways from day of surgery I plan to break up with my ENT and see a different doctor as well as go to my insurance to see if I can somehow get reimbursed I had to spend 3,000 day of surgery and 300 just to even schedule my surgery don't even get me started on the hospital bill I got and the xray. On top of that in 10 days I was supposed to go out of country for school that probably wont happen. Any tips for coughing and how to handle this? They will not give me cough medicine they put me on antibiotics and I'm told to keep taking the painkillers that was prescribed with a neausa medicine. How can a doctor's office be this incompetent??
Tdr: Ghosted by the ENT ended up with a collapsed lung and pneumonia. ENT is impossible to reach I've been trying this entire week even before hospitalization I feel miserable.

i’m a 22 y/o female. on may 13th, i got a call that my father had unexpectedly passed away at his job. We were not on good terms when he passed and hadn’t been speaking for 2 weeks prior to him passing. But the plot thickens.
When I was in 3rd grade I started to attend the grade school that he worked at. I would obviously tell people that he was my dad bc he was. But he would deny me being his child to all of my friends. At 8, I was bringing pictures to school to prove to people he was actually my father. Fast Forward, He started to say I actually was but that experience always left a weird taste in my mouth. In 5th grade, I met a friend, let’s say her same is Denny. Denny and I were very close in grade school. Her mother would take us to the movies, out to eat etc. It casually came up that my dad was my dad. She started to ask me an array of questions and my friend later told me that he was married. I said “No him and my mom aren’t married” and then she sends me a picture of him and a women with the caption congratulating them on 30 year vow renewal.
After this, my mom and I pressed him about it. He said he was actually in the wedding and it was a misunderstanding. He was definitely NOT married. And we believed him. Time went on and something was always in the back of my head. So from 6th grade on to my senior year of highschool this kept going. Until my senior year of HS. The same friend sent me a picture of my father on a trip to Vegas with the same woman from the previous pictures. So we’re calling him and he’s not answering and now everything is out… or so we thought. He finally comes clean and says he has been married for almost 40 something years. He described his marriage as being loveless and something he got into when he was young. Something that he was stuck in for appearance purposes. This forever scarred our relationship because he had multiple times to come clean but decided not to and then I found out he not only had a wife but 2 sons who were older than me, I had nieces and nephews, cousins, aunts, uncles, an entire family that I had been kept secret from.
I decided to reach out to his wife via facebook and tell her that I was his daughter. I sent him a picture of us and she sent me a picture of their marriage license. And this is where a lot of things go to shit. He calls my mom freaking out claiming that he was in the hospital due to a gunshot wound from one of his family members blaming ME for getting him shot and saying that I shouldn’t have opened my mouth about what had been going on and I was dealing with some very dangerous people. He then proceeds to tell me that I shouldn’t have sent them any pictures of myself because they were now looking for me in order to harm me. Had me scared traveling to school my senior year for like a week. He then shows up at the house on a random day to yell at me and make me feel bad for reaching out to the wife and constantly telling me that his situation has nothing to do with me. He then gives me an ultimatum at 17 y/o that says that he would walk out my life and id never see him again i’d just have to give him to say so. That broke me and made me feel discardable.
After finding this out, I played nice for months not fully grasping everything that was going on. I then left and went to college for 4 years. Our relationship was always up and down. My father was around but not around. It was always a weird dynamic. Always at the most important events. Graduation, prom, anything that he deemed important. Always the center of attention. We got along, could talk for hours but we butted heads ferociously.
When I came back from college in 2023 summer, I had been going through a lot. We got closer because I started to see my parents as human beings that make mistakes and have their own flaws. I started using his extra house in the suburbs for a space me and my boyfriend could hang out, he would kick me out of there when his actual family would need to come over there. A lot of other things continued to happen but fast forward October 2023, He was sick in the hospital, passed out, had to be brought back to life, and I didn’t know abt it for a week. I was upset. I couldn’t go up to the hospital with risk of his family finding out about me even though I knew about them. No one told me anything. If that would’ve been his last moments I couldn’t have even been with him. It put yet another strain on our relationship. Our last argument was about what would happen if he dies, who would tell me? would i know? i’m hurt that you were in the hospital and I didn’t know and when i found out i still couldn’t be apart of it. 2 weeks later, he dies and my boyfriend tells me after his mom finding out from someone who worked at his job. I rush to the hospital where my dead dad is. I walk into a room full of his family by myself while his wife points me out saying “who are you” and I said “ok his daughter” then commotion breaks out and i’m ushered to go see him. I’m obviously emotional af seeing my dead father and dealing with all the extra shit that is to come.
A lot else has happened since but the gist of what has came out has been, he has atleast 4 more children i and the others were unaware of. The persons mail who i had been picking up and sorting at his house over the summer was actually one of his other women and not family members like he explained to me. He was a habitual liar and womanizer with multiple families and children. Textbook narcissist for sure. Idk how to feel. His host family (original family and the ones i knew about) is very welcoming and they have given me the very thing i’ve always wanted. Family. It’s so warming that I can’t be mad at my circumstances and I feel bad for it bc I lost my father at the end of the day. I don’t know how to process this grief. I don’t know how to feel given so much stuff i’m continuing to find out and having mixed feelings of the permeanace and never being able to talk again but on the other side, i know the truth and a lot more than I had imagined was going on. Thoughts?

I am NOT OOP, OOP is u/annoyedcousinthrow
Originally posted to AITAH
AITA for cutting off my cousin and her mom after they accused me indirectly of stealing at her wedding?
Trigger Warnings: accusations of theft, emotional abuse and betrayal
Original Post: May 20, 2024
Hey Reddit,
I'm in a tough spot and could really use some outside perspective on this situation. So, my cousin Emma and I have never been particularly close, but we've always been civil. When she got engaged in December 2022, I sent her a thoughtful present, which she thanked me for repeatedly. Fast forward to February, and Emma invited me to her wedding in April 2024. Living abroad and starting a new job, I made it clear that I needed advance notice to attend, and thankfully, I managed to make it.
Emma asked me to be part of her wedding entry, and despite our not being very close, I agreed, hoping it would help us build a better relationship. However, just a week before the wedding, I found out she'd been talking negatively about me and my career as a project manager. It stung, but I didn't want to cause drama before her big day, so I kept quiet.
During the wedding weekend, I helped Emma get dressed for her Hindu ceremony, and her mom told me to leave the jewelry as she would handle it later. So, I only packed away the bangles. The entry went smoothly, and I attended the reception without any complaints. However, after the wedding, I chose not to leave a gift, intending to address the hurtful comments privately after the festivities.
Days later, Emma asked me about the missing jewelry, and I told her I hadn't touched it beyond what her mom instructed. Later that day, I saw Emma posting on Facebook about missing jewelry and implying that someone in the family might have taken it. I felt uneasy, especially since her mom and I were the only family members helping her get dressed.
Then things escalated when her sister made comments on the post saying, "we didn't like her anyway". Her mom reached out to me, asking about the bangles, which made me feel like they were singling me out. Even my grandmother called, further cementing that they may have discussed me as a suspect.
Finally, another cousin messaged me saying the jewelry was found boxed up in a car. But Emma refuses to retract her accusations online because she's embarrassed. Feeling betrayed, I chose to cut Emma and her mom out of my life. I deleted them from my socials and blocked their numbers.
Now, my grandma is upset, saying I was unfair for not explaining myself. So, Reddit, am I the jerk for cutting them off without explanation? Should I have handled the situation differently?
Thanks for your insights.
Additional Information from OOP:

OOP: Adding to my post:
I would like to add that Emma and I are first cousins. Jessica, who told me about the update, is a second cousin who is distant from Emma. So it sounds like this was being discussed with everyone but me. Thankful that Jessica heard it and decided to let me know immediately.

AITAH has no consensus bot, OOP was NTA
Relevant Comments
OOP on if she has received an apology regarding the missing jewelry

OOP: No, no apologies from their end. All I've heard since was "she's embarrassed to pull her posts and say she found it"

Severe_Ad7761: NTA
Probably way off but...This was probably a set up. If she doesn't like you and y'all aren't that close then why ask you along with her mother to help her get ready? Why not her sister? That last minute invite. It was either a happy coincidence to be able to accuse you or she set you up but someone else 'discovered/found' the jewelry where they weren't supposed to be looking...a box in a car that you would think would've already been taken out by now.

OOP: Did not think about it this way. Her sister was popping in and out of the changing room, I did not think anything of it at the time. It's sick if they truly wanted to use that against me and not speak up.
Even if they post a retraction, I want nothing to do with them. Accusing me and "finding it just recently" in your car is unacceptable.

OOP on if her grandma has a favorite grandchild because of what happened

OOP: Emma is grandma's favorite btw (if you couldn't tell)

 
Update: May 22, 2024
Link to original post: https://www.reddit.com/AITAH/comments/1cwecnm/comment/l54pfdu/?context=3
I read through the majority of messages received and I agree, I should have confronted it.
Last night, I called grandma and Emma on three way, asking about the jewelry that was CONVENIENTLY FOUND in a car. Emma said "that wasn't for me to find out as she only told her mother and grandma (obviously a lie because Jessica heard and passed it to me, she also lives abroad and isn't close to Emma). Grandma then said, "well, it's material and it's found. We don't have a long time here, let's all get along."
I responded, "no thank you, I needed a PUBLIC apology because I blindly believed Emma and I had a good relationship. I even heard she made comments about my job, which I wanted to address AFTER the wedding." Emma confirmed the comments about talking shit (re: my job and her sister's comment) but is sticking to her guns about the jewelry. I mentioned to her I was posting on Facebook about the jewelry and will attach screenshots to it. And that I wanted nothing further to do with Emma since she was not remorseful and is proud of disliking me for whatever reason.
Lesson learned. Thanks everyone!
Relevant Comments
flindersandtrim: Sorry that so many people in your family are horrible, OP. You deserve better. I could see how much you cared by willing to travel for a cousin you weren't even close with, you hoped to get closer to, and how you reacted to their bullying. You're better off without them. Do make sure to get your side of the story to others in the extended family, because you can bet that everyone involved - possibly with your grandmother seeing and not actively shutting down - will be telling a story to them where YOU are the bad guy.

OOP: That's what really hurt. I was hoping she was sincere about inviting me and asking me to participate. When she got engaged, I even sent her a present incorporating her interests and she was so appreciative (or so she seemed?). It sucks knowing I meant basically nothing.
I was hurt that they "never really liked me anyway" and made fun of my job as a project manager at an engineering firm. Have never done anything to them to warrant this - it's just confusing and hurtful.
However, the bandaid is off and life will continue without them

OOP on sharing her information with the extended family on social media about what really happened at the wedding

OOP: I'm posting it this evening regardless if she takes it down or not. Jessica gave her blessings for me to use her messages as proof, so I'm not playing around. I am not a thief, I don't care if you like me or not - you're not going to get away with that.

OOP proceeding how she dealt with the family talking badly behind her back and Emma’s background on saying bad things about her

OOP: That's my thing, why are you EMBARRASSED? You were emboldened to post about it and clearly discuss it offline w/ my name in it ...which is how it got back to me.
Emma does not have very many friends, she's one of those very religious and conservative girls - does not drink, smoke, party, have multiple partner (been with the same person for 10 years), has good grades, etc. According to other cousins', she's very much about the optics and very judgmental.
Life will be perfectly fine without her and I am looking forward to responses on my post clearing my name.

OOP responds on how her grandma was upset with her cutting off the family and accusing her for ruining Emma’s day

OOP: Correct. Grandma was one of the people questioning me, even though I gave the same answers and wants me to explain why I'm cutting off my cousin and to dismiss it because it was found.
How is that fair to me after I've been accused and had my name dragged through the mud?

 
Final Update: May 23, 2024
After consulting with an attorney friend and compiling all relevant evidence including screenshots and messages, we took the step of sending a legal letter to my cousin. Additionally, I made a post on Facebook, tagging family members, family friends who attended the event, the priest who officiated, and even her neighbors (yup, my petty ass went the extra mile) to bring awareness of the situation.
🔊 **Important Announcement Regarding Emma's Wedding\
Hello everyone in the Brown family,
I hope this message finds you well. I feel compelled to address a matter that has been weighing on my mind since Emma's wedding last April.
Firstly, I want to express my gratitude to Emma for inviting me to be a part of her special day. It was an honor to participate, and I was genuinely touched by the opportunity.
However, recent events have left me deeply disheartened. It has come to my attention that there have been discussions, both prior to and following the wedding, where unkind remarks were made about me and my profession. While this was hurtful, I chose to handle the situation delicately and intended to discuss it with Emma after the wedding to gain clarity.
Despite the hurtful comments, I remained committed to supporting Emma on her wedding day. I assisted her with changing outfits and took care of her belongings as requested. Regrettably, shortly after the wedding, I was unfairly implicated in the disappearance of some jewelry.
Subsequent discussions with Emma revealed that there were private conversations insinuating my involvement, which left me feeling unfairly targeted. It was only through the disclosure from a third party that the truth about the jewelry's whereabouts emerged.
I confronted Emma about these revelations, hoping for resolution and understanding. However, her response was dismissive, and she refused to acknowledge the hurtful nature of her actions. Instead, she chose to maintain hurtful social media posts, causing further distress.
In light of these events, I have made the decision to distance myself from Emma and her immediate family. My conscience is clear, and I refuse to tolerate such unjust treatment.
Furthermore, I want to assure you all that I am taking the necessary steps to clear my name. I am in contact with legal counsel to draft a letter and seek exoneration from these false accusations.
I share this message not out of spite or animosity but to set the record straight and reclaim my integrity.
PS: The missing jewelry was found by her mother in the car. For those interested in the details, I've compiled all relevant screenshots and supporting information in a Google Drive. Feel free to click the link to access it.
THE END!
Thank you everyone who supported, gave advice, and comforted me. Looking forward to going on my vacation tomorrow while Emma spends the next few days dealing with this.
EDIT: As of 8AM EST, Emma has STILL not rescinded those Facebook posts.
Relevant Comments
OOP on the birth order with Emma and how her grandma planned to distribute her possessions

OOP: That's the funny part... she's actually 4 years younger than I am! I have never been a fan of the fighting for land and jewelry, I have always told my grandma I wanted one of her saris and a pair of her earrings (if she was ok with it). Even if I didn't get the earrings, the sari would be enough. Just something to remember her by,

 

DO NOT COMMENT IN LINKED POSTS OR MESSAGE OOPs – BoRU Rule #7

THIS IS A REPOST SUB - I AM NOT OOP

I'm a 23m and this happened when I was 11. I remember being excited to start the 5th grade as it was to be my final year in elementary school before graduating up to middle school. One of the first things people need to know about me is that I really love watching Thomas The Tank Engine. It was my all-time favorite T.V. show growing up, and I find watching it to he a good way to cope with my autism. Now, it didn't help that I had already been made fun of for my love of Thomas by other students in previous grades, or even the two day care services I was enrolled in when I was much younger. But imagine if a teacher jumped in on shaming me for it too. Yes, my 5th grade teacher tried to make me feel bad and ashamed for liking Thomas. Basically nothing outside of "It's a distraction to you and everyone else in the class, so no Thomas." But there were a few instances when it got pretty ugly. There was one time when I got a new Thomas DVD that I was really excited about at the time. I wanted to show it to a couple of my friends at school, so I took it with me to school one day. But the second my teacher saw the DVD in my hand, she instantly confiscated it from me. Now this had already happened to me before in kindergarten when my teacher took away a Thomas VHS and a couple Wooden Railway trains I planned to play with during recess. But the difference between that incident was that they were taken away from me because I was misbehaving, and I earned them back for improving my behavior the next day. But with my 5th grade teacher taking away that Thomas DVD from me, I wasn’t misbehaving. I just wanted to show it to some of my friends. So I don't see why she felt the need to take it away from me, even though it was returned to me the same day. She also confiscated a Thomas book l checked out from the public library when I attempted to read it during our 10-15 minutes of free time. There was also another instance where I accidentally left a sticker book with a bunch of Thomas characters at a friend's house. He returned it to me in class, but I had to quickly shove it into my backpack before the teacher saw, out of fear that she would confiscate it as well. Now I understand it if a teacher would take my Thomas possessions away if they were in genuine distraction to other students working, or if I was misbehaving, or anything of that nature. But I don't think it's really fair to have it taken away the second the teacher sees it, especially if I wasn't doing anything wrong beforehand. I don't know about anyone else reading this, but I don't think taking a Thomas DVD to school just to show to a couple friends is cause for confiscation. I remember spending the vast majority of 5th grade feeling absolutely ashamed of who I was because I loved Thomas. The amount of nights I would just lock myself in my room after school, crying my eyes out, thinking nobody liked me because of the show I watched. But looking back from the perspective of the man that I've become, I see now that there was nothing for me to be ashamed of, and that teacher was just trying to gaslight me into thinking ot was wrong to have Thomas in my life. If I somehow had the ability to go back in time, I would only use it to visit my 11 y/o self, and give him a big hug, just to tell him that there is no shame in what you shows you like. I want to relay that message to anyone reading this post. If there's a show or franchise that you really enjoy watching, never let others shame you for it. You are who you are, and no one else can change that, no matter how hard they try. Yeah, I like watching Thomas The Tank Engine, and I couldn't be any more proud of that than I am now. And I know he isn't real, but Thomas, wherever you are now, just know that you and your engine friends on Sodor have all been there for me my whole life, and for that, I sincerely thank all of you, and wish you nothing but happiness. God bless! Thank you all for reading, and take care.

Fake names will be used. I apologize in advance for the length but I'm honestly still processing this situation and can't pair it down atm.
My (38f) friend Amanda (30f) whom I met in graduate school works in a mental health counseling practice with a few other mutual friends. We've all known each other for at least 6 years and one of the counselors at the practice is my friend Megan who I've known since 5th grade. I met up with Megan for coffee this past weekend and she told me something that I haven't been able to stop thinking about;
Amanda's partner, Tonya (36f), had lost their job and was trying to get a position at the MH practice with everyone. The other counselors were wary of this, because a.) Anti nepotism and b.) They don't care too much for Tonya. I should mention that when I first met Amanda, Tonya was presenting as their birth assigned gender, which is male, and the transitioning started a couple of years ago. In the time that I've known Tonya I have never liked them. Not my kind of person, but I would put up with their presence for the sake of my friendship with Amanda.
So, Tonya is able to obtain an LSAA which allows them to practice as a substance abuse counselor and convinces the others to allow them to intern at the practice. They sit in on some sessions and everyone's feeling it out but eventually the other staff (without Amanda's knowledge) discuss with each other that they really don't want Tonya to work there, so they try to prolong the process by conducting a background check. This is when it is discovered that Tonya is a registered sex offender, who served 3 years in prison 15 years ago and was convicted of sexual exploitation of children / "possession with intent to distribute". There are no other details besides there being dozens of counts for this charge.
This information is brought to Amanda's attention and she admits that SHE HAS KNOWN ABOUT THIS for several years. Obviously, they tell Amanda and Tonya that the internship isn't happening and they are understandably upset with Amanda for withholding this information, especially because their practice sees families and children. Amanda fully believes this was just a past "mistake" that Tonya made and they've learned and grown so much since then. She also later asks that if Tonya can get the conviction expunged from their record (something they've been trying to do) would the practice reconsider. They told her no, and now there's some bad blood.
Personally, I feel very betrayed by Amanda. We would all host game nights at our homes, so Tonya has been inside my home and met my children. I am the only one in our friend group with children. I don't think Amanda knows I now know this information and I'm not sure if I will just avoid her or confront her at some point. We have recently grown apart anyway because I have increasingly been avoiding being around Tonya (little did I know I had a very good reason!). I don't want to tell my husband because I know he will blow up about it and I worry he will place part of any blame on exposing the kids to someone like that on me. I know 100% that I will not ever be around Tonya again but I'm not sure how to move forward with Amanda....
Would should I do?

Fake names will be used. I apologize in advance for the length but I'm honestly still processing this situation and can't pair it down atm.
My (38f) friend Amanda (30f) whom I met in graduate school works in a mental health counseling practice with a few other mutual friends. We've all known each other for at least 6 years and one of the counselors at the practice is my friend Megan who I've known since 5th grade. I met up with Megan for coffee this past weekend and she told me something that I haven't been able to stop thinking about;
Amanda's partner, Tonya (36f), had lost their job and was trying to get a position at the MH practice with everyone. The other counselors were wary of this, because a.) Anti nepotism and b.) They don't care too much for Tonya. I should mention that when I first met Amanda, Tonya was presenting as their birth assigned gender, which is male, and the transitioning started a couple of years ago. In the time that I've known Tonya I have never liked them. Not my kind of person, but I would put up with their presence for the sake of my friendship with Amanda.
So, Tonya is able to obtain an LSAA which allows them to practice as a substance abuse counselor and convinces the others to allow them to intern at the practice. They sit in on some sessions and everyone's feeling it out but eventually the other staff (without Amanda's knowledge) discuss with each other that they really don't want Tonya to work there, so they try to prolong the process by conducting a background check. This is when it is discovered that Tonya is a registered sex offender, who served 3 years in prison 15 years ago and was convicted of sexual exploitation of children / "possession with intent to distribute". There are no other details besides there being dozens of counts for this charge.
This information is brought to Amanda's attention and she admits that SHE HAS KNOWN ABOUT THIS for several years. Obviously, they tell Amanda and Tonya that the internship isn't happening and they are understandably upset with Amanda for withholding this information, especially because their practice sees families and children. Amanda fully believes this was just a past "mistake" that Tonya made and they've learned and grown so much since then. She also later asks that if Tonya can get the conviction expunged from their record (something they've been trying to do) would the practice reconsider. They told her no, and now there's some bad blood.
Personally, I feel very betrayed by Amanda. We would all host game nights at our homes, so Tonya has been inside my home and met my children. I am the only one in our friend group with children. I don't think Amanda knows I now know this information and I'm not sure if I will just avoid her or confront her at some point. We have recently grown apart anyway because I have increasingly been avoiding being around Tonya (little did I know I had a very good reason!). I don't want to tell my husband because I know he will blow up about it and I worry he will place part of any blame on exposing the kids to someone like that on me. I know 100% that I will not ever be around Tonya again but I'm not sure how to move forward with Amanda....
Would should I do?

Title is slightly clickbait only bc my average tussled a lot over the course of the school year, but this is what it was after the end of sem 1, so from Feb to April.
I applied mainly to BA in Econ, with one Business application. To answer the more general questions pertaining to scholarships, my average is decent enough, my family isn’t well off, I have ok ECs and I consider myself to be a pretty effective writer.
Extra-Curriculars: - Student Council (2 years) - 2 Part Time Jobs (3 years) - Regional Politics Program (1 Term) - Manager in School Dance Club (2 years) - Temp Daycamp Counsellor (2 days)
On top of that, I took 2 classes in summer school the semester before, which makes my average kind of weird to calculate for the pre-midterm acceptances. By evaluating the scholarships I was offered I believe they took my Top 2 from summer school then my top 4 from 11th grade.
This is in order of acceptance.
Pre-Midterm (Top 6: 93%)
Laurier BBA + 5k scholarship - Applied: November 5th 2024 - Accepted: November 14th 2024
Ottawa Economics + 2k scholarship - Applied: November 5th 2024 - Acceptance: November 22nd 2024
Post-Midterm (Top 6: 89%)
Queen’s Arts (for Econ) + 40k scholarship - Applied: November 5th 2024 - Acceptance: January 24th 2024 *This award was for high-need applicants.
Semester 1 Finals (Top 6: 86%)
University of British Columbia Arts (for Econ) + 80k scholarship - Applied: November 21st 2023 - Acceptance: April 8th 2024 This award is a mix of high-need, academics & extracurriculars. I was offered it after semester 2 midterms, so when my average went up to 90%. * UBC has a weird thing where they dont take ur Top 6, but ur whole grade 11 and grade 12 marks. They also drop your lowest mark. If that is the case, then my average should be closer to 90.
*Semester 2 Midterms (Top 6: 90%)
McMaster Arts & Science + 5k Scholarship - Applied: November 5th 2024 - Acceptance: May 7th 2024
Only school that I am waiting on is McGill for Arts, and Arts & Science, but I’m not really waiting on them because they probably don’t want me and I don’t want them either fr.
Even though I went through a lot personally, and consequently academically, I’m really grateful for the opportunities that have been given to me and satisfied with how this year went. It was definitely a lesson in perseverance and hard work (So. Many. Scholarship. Essays.).
Also, that this sub isnt the end all be all. I did so many things that people here would consider to be the end of the world. I ended Advanced Functions with a 71%, but my Calc average right now is an 89%. I had no awards to show and none of my ECS were on a crazy national level. Hell both of my part time jobs were fast food.
Anyways, I thought this might help the 07s trying to see what’s to come last year. The best thing I’d ever done for my mental health was stop tracking this sub, choosing to instead check in every once in a while.
Ok I’m done yapping now.

I posted this in the CPTSD sub recently, but found this sub and think it better fits here. I also added some details that my original post didn't have.
I'm 21M and I was raised as an only child by my single mother. It was just me and her for most of my childhood, though we lived with my aunt and uncle (both her siblings) until I was 5 or 6.
I remember early in life sleeping in the same bed as my mother because of circumstances which I think is pretty normal, but it continued much later. I was still sleeping with my mother when I was 13 which makes me feel sick whenever I think about it. I also remember taking baths with her when I was a kid until I was 5 or 6. I don't remember there being anything directly sexual happening because she didn't want me to look at her or anything when we were in the bathtub, but this is another thing that disgusts me when I think about it.
I remember once when I was maybe 4, I tried to kiss my mother on the lips. She didn't let me, but that's still an icky memory.
I also remember still needing her to wipe me after using the bathroom, as well as dry me after showering when I was 12. This makes me uncomfortable to think about as well, though I guess it could explained by me being Autistic (I was diagnosed at 19).
For a long time, I was really possessive and protective of my mother. This even resulted in a physical altercation at one point where my emotionally abusive aunt was treating me horribly at a family gathering. My mom tried to stand up for me, and my aunt threatened her. I kicked my aunt in the stomach because of this, then my aunt, mother, grandfather, and uncle started hitting me. I was 10 or 11 at the time.
That wasn't the only instance of physical abuse, however. I remember when I was 5 or 6, I did something (don't remember what) and my mom took me into the hallway of our house, pulled my pants down so I was bare, and hit me with a hickory. I tried to crawl away but couldn't.
I remember another time when I was in 2nd grade, my mom told me to go to bed early because the neighbor was coming to pick up medicine for her grandson. I remember looking out the window that night and seeing this young man (I think he was 19 while my mother was almost 40) my mom worked with walking toward the apartment wearing a smiley face tee shirt and he was smirking as he approached. I knew at that moment my mom lied to me and it freaked me out. Later, I heard them kissing which caused me a lot of anxiety and fear at the time for reasons I don't understand to this day. I remember trying to go down the stairs multiple times and she kept stopping me. I eventually resorting to sitting at the top of the stairs and screaming until the guy left. There were two other situations with this guy later on also.
We used to have this sort of nighttime ritual of saying "I love you, good night, good night, I love you" before going to sleep. Although part of that was me because I always had to end on "I love you" just in case something bad happened during the night. I always wanted "I love you" to be the last words people heard.
My mother has also been very strange to me. All throughout my life, she would tell me that I was acting like my dad whenever I did or said something she disliked. My dad is someone I don't even know. She would also guilt trip me if I criticized her or said something she didn't like. Sometimes she would even bring up how her ex husband was abusive and called her stupid and made her feel like garbage.
My mother was also neglectful to some extent. I was clothed and fed, having all of my physical needs met, but she stayed in bed all of the time if she wasn't at work. She never cleaned anything unless the apartment was going to be inspected which eventually led to us being evicted. She mostly bought premade frozen food and didn't put in any effort to make sure we ate healthy or anything.
Sometimes she even treated me in a spousal sort of way which has always made me feel icky. A few times she told me we would get through this or that because we're a team. She would then wrap her arms around me and put her head against my chest like that of a wife hugging her husband. That's something she still does and I hate it. I've told her I don't like it, but she does it anyway. When I was 14 and we got the call that my grandfather was on his deathbed, my mother suddenly told me to hold her hand and grabbed my hand without an answer (she would have gotten mad had I actually refused because she's done that in the past with hugs).
Similar to that, whenever we went out to eat, she would refer to it as going out on a date. I remember one time when she told a a kid she was babysitting that they needed to go out on a date.
I'm 21 now and finally moved into my own place earlier this year, but I still go to her and my grandmother's house for laundry every week. My mom always insists on hugging me when I'm there even though it makes me uncomfortable. Sometimes I mention wanting to find affordable trips/vacations to go on, but my mom always says something along the lines "I would love to go and do that. I've always wanted to do that. I'll look and see what information I can find about it." She does this even though I never say that I want anyone to go with me, in fact I say I want to go alone, but she says this anyway. That isn't even new, she's been like that for years.
I feel ashamed whenever thinking about the stuff from when I was a kid, in particular the stuff regarding the bathroom. Sometimes I ask myself if I've been sexually abused even though I don't have any memories of the such which really confuses me. My mother is a horrible parent no doubt, but was I fucked up kid to begin with or did my mother turn me into that somehow? I'm very confused and I feel sick. She tells me she loves me and I reciprocate even though I don't mean it. I only tell her I love her out of habit and a fear of what will happen if I don't, but I don't love her or the rest of my family. I want to get away from her for good whenever I can, along with the rest of my family, but I rely on them for college money currently which is something I feel guilty about. No Contact isn't something I do right now, but I am on track to get to that point.
A couple of weeks ago I went to the house to pick up the rest of my belongings, getting in and out as quickly as possible. My mom now sleeps in my room, and that's where my stuff was. When I went in there I had a bit of a panic attack and just felt wrong, especially because she was in there taking a nap at the time. Later when I was about to leave, she and my grandmother yelled at me for not hugging them. I told them I didn't want to hug, but they kept yelling at me. "I didn't even get a hug on MOTHER'S DAY!" my mom said. I just walked out the door anyway. My hands were shaking as I got out my keys to crank my truck.
Luckily, I have gotten a therapist and have an appointment next week.
Does anyone have any thoughts on any of this?

Author note: The Cryopod to Hell is a Reddit-exclusive story with over three years of editing and refining. As of this post, the total rewrite is 2,193,000+ words long! For more information, check out the link below:
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...................................
(Previous Part)
(Part 001)
Unarin paces around his Inner Sanctum, his eyes closed, as he has done countless times for countless different reasons over his long, storied life.
Without any other Volgrim within several stories, let alone those foolish enough to barge in on the First Founder, he has always been able to enjoy a certain degree of peace during these moments of solitude. Unlike some Sentients, Unarin has never been one to feel lonely during isolation, as he possesses a formidable brain that allows him to think about innumerable subjects all at the same time.
Philosophy, literature, battle tactics, empire building, the individual performance of millions of high-level subordinates, and many many other things always keep a portion of his mental focus occupied, preventing him from experiencing boredom. Rare are the times when he deliberately decides to think about nothing at all and simply stare into the Void, allowing himself to focus and achieve tranquility.
But for the past 90,000 cycles, he has almost never done so, as the Plague has morphed over time into an omnipresent Threat he cannot afford to ignore. In recent millennia, that Threat has evolved to become greater and greater, and now it occupies more of his brainpower than ever before.
If Unarin were to give an exact estimate, he might even say the Plague was valued at a full 22% of his mental real-estate. An unfathomable amount, compared to all the other matters involved in running the Volgrim Empire.
As Unarin closes his eyes and thinks, time passes swiftly in the real world. His mind, though occupied, always keeps a sliver of consciousness focused on the happenings around him. While he might not be a Psion trained in Brain Enhancing, his mental acuity does not lose out in the slightest to Dosena, the progenitor of that very same branch of Psionics. Over many ages, his brain has enlarged and compressed itself over time, allowing him to out-think his enemies should he devote a fraction of his acuity to the Threats they pose.
It is because of this accumulation over three million years that Unarin immediately notices a fluctuation within the space of his Inner Sanctum. He pivots on his heel and turns to face a projection of magical energy as it coalesces into the figure of a bipedal, red-skinned demon within the span of just three short seconds.
Diablo, the Emperor of Annihilation, materializes a short distance from Unarin, his projected figure still adorned with the same robes he always wore before he merged with the body of the Archdemon.
"Founder Unarin." Diablo says, after flicking his eyes around the Inner Sanctum. "You reacted quickly. It seems you were expecting me."
Unarin blinks slowly. "You took your time. I thought you might show a few rotational cycles ago. Been busy?"
"Oh, you know how it is." Diablo says, waving his hand flippantly. "So many worlds to liberate. So little time for pleasantries and idle pursuits."
The Emperor of Annihilation pauses for a moment. He glances up toward a specific direction, as if peering through the ceiling.
"Second Founder. There's no need for you to lurk like a vulture. Why not come down and say hello to an old friend?"
Hardly have the words left his lips before a disturbance of Psionic Energy materializes beside Unarin. Founder Dosena levitates a half-inch off the ground, her feet barely missing the floor as she crosses her arms and remains at Unarin's side protectively.
[Diablo. Do not speak in such a familiar tone to me.] Dosena bites. [We are neither friends nor allies.]
"We're not?" Diablo asks innocently. "I am but a humble Emperor of the Demons, a loyal vassal to the great and mighty Volgrim Empire. Have I wronged you in some way?"
He spreads his hands out and smiles kindly, like a simple old man unassuming of his relationship to a greater power.
Dosena's eyes narrow. She does not appear amused.
"You've come for a reason." Unarin interjects. "I believe I have deduced roughly eighty-seven point six percent of that reason, but it would be best if you told me in your own words what you wish to discuss."
Instead of immediately answering, Diablo turns and wanders to the left, slowly walking past tables, shelves, and other displays of various pieces of artwork and other cultural artifacts. His gaze moves from one item to the next as he spares half a glance at some, and pauses to focus on others for a second or two.
"Such a grand display." Diablo says after a full minute of silence. "It hurts this humble Demon Emperor's feelings that you've never invited him to your Inner Sanctum, Unarin. To collect a mountain of beautiful artworks and yet never show them off... don't you find it to be a waste?"
"Those who are worthy may enter." Unarin says. "You are now worthy, so you are allowed to enter."
"I'm now worthy?" Diablo asks, turning his head to peer at Unarin out of the corner of his eye. "You allow me to look? Goodness, you're certainly a generous benefactor. I would hate to spoil your good mood and force you to evict me."
[Watch your words.] Dosena warns. [This frail projection of yours stands no chance against me. If I wish to banish you, you cannot resist.]
She sneers. [In fact, why don't you bring that lumbering body of yours to Volgarius? I will show you the meaning of true power.]
Diablo and Dosena exchange a glance. He stops and stands in place, looking at her with the same intensity she forces upon him.
"Someday, the two of us should... exchange a few blows." Diablo says slowly. "Trade insights. I have long desired to witness the full might of the Volgrim's greatest warrior."
[I will hold back a little so that you can save face.] Dosena says, her eyes curling into a smile. [It would not do for such a mighty Cosmic as yourself to lose too quickly.]
Unarin sighs. "Dosena, you may go. I will speak to our guest alone."
[Your will is mine.] Dosena says, nodding at Unarin before flickering away.
Diablo pauses for a moment, then he bares a toothy smile.
"Your mutt is well-trained." He praises sarcastically. "Will she give you her paw if you ask?"
"Even the best trained dog of a human has the blood of countless wolf ancestors flowing through its veins." Unarin fires back. "Tread carefully, lest you cause her to bite."
Diablo continues to maintain his fierce gaze for only a few seconds longer. Then he turns his whole body and reduces his aggressive stance.
"Let's get down to business." Diablo says.
"Certainly." Unarin says. "I was starting to wonder if you only came here to trade quips."
The two men walk over to a small table with four wooden chairs surrounding it. They take a seat beneath a chandelier of seemingly orcish origin, then both sigh softly under their breaths.
"Two weeks ago," Diablo says, "I began my campaign to retake the Milky Way."
His words do not seem to differentiate who he was liberating it from, and neither does Unarin ask for clarification.
"Before then, I only somewhat comprehended the scale of the conflict." Diablo continues. "Now, thanks to my newfound power, I can safely understand just how badly you are losing. Every day that passes, your forces get pushed back another dozen or so worlds at a time. You never make any gains, and only continue to lose ground."
Diablo chuckles. "I imagine the situation is truly agony for an intellectual like yourself. No matter what science or psionics you throw at the Kolvaxians, you cannot seem to push them back. Their expansion must have been so slow at the start, like a snail stuck to an adhesive agent that only made the tiniest forward momentum. But with each new world they took, the Plagueborn began to build up more and more momentum, while you only had one option to stop them."
Diablo's smile turns more sinister. He leans forward with a mocking gaze, directing it at Unarin as if it were a sword capable of impaling his adversary's ego.
"You blew up the planets taken by the Plague using Marie Becker's Neutron Bombs. And, I'm guessing, at one point you blew them all up. Every single world where the Plague had taken root. You destroyed them all. Yet somehow they returned. You brought hundreds of Paradise-class worlds to ruin for nothing. You were flabbergasted. You had no idea how the Plague was able to return again and again and again."
Unarin lifts up his chin. "And?"
Seeing the composed look on the First Founder's face, Diablo leans back in his chair. His evil smile returns to a simple smirk.
"You can pretend to be in control all you want, First Founder. The truth is, you're beginning to feel desperate. Thanks to the Wordsmith, you know about the Cosmic Realm enveloping the Milky Way. Like an egg protecting a chick before it hatches, this dimension was intended to give the Archangels another weapon in the future Unending War. But alas, those foolish pheasants perished, and now all that remains of them are a few souls sticking stubbornly to the physical world through mere remnant souls."
"But what does it matter?" Diablo continues. "Perhaps if you had known about the Cosmic Realm at the start, you could have killed the Plague before it reached a tipping point. But now? You have no chance whatsoever. Short of a miraculous scientific breakthrough, you're going to lose this war once even a single battle-line collapses. The Plague has taken over the entire periphery of the galaxy and is now working its way inward. Once it reaches the middle and core systems, there will be no escape."
Diablo pauses for a moment to mockingly puff out his lips and look around, as if searching for a savior in the darkness.
"Oh dear, so what is a humble Founder supposed to do when the mud-dwelling species he despises start suddenly rising up with ways to defeat his enemy? Try and force them to bend the knee? But with what military? You can't spare the soldiers to suppress me. Or perhaps you should simply allow the entire Milky Way to fall so long as it allows you to look good until the last moment. So many options, and none of them seem to give you the victory you desire."
Unarin slowly blinks. He doesn't respond to Diablo's mockery, instead opting to let the Demon Emperor get it out of his system.
"Is that all?" Unarin asks. "Or do you have a proposal for me? The day is young and we have plenty of discussions we could be pursuing."
"Sorry, Unarin. I'm so young compared to you. So childish." Diablo says with a smile. "Forgive me for my youthful folly. I'll just cut to the chase now. Save us the long-winded diatribes."
His smile disappears.
"I am running out of Emperors. There are only so many I can uplift. In order to make an Emperor, I need a Duke. But once I run out of those, I'll need Barons, but that will require me to uplift them two levels instead of one. And once the Barons have all been run out, I'll need to dig into the Lords... and so on."
Unarin nods, having already deduced as much himself.
"The problem is," Diablo says, "we need to fortify the cores of every world I take back from the Plague. You see, Unarin, the Plague infests world cores, and in doing so it opens gateways where it can transfer forces from the Cosmic Realm to our material plane with ease. I can take a world from the Plague, but if I don't attach a powerhouse to that world, it will remain available for the Plague to retake at a later date. That means even if I were to request Founder Dosena herself to stand guard over a world, unless she anchored herself to the world's core, it would still be weak to another Plague invasion in the future."
Unarin's eyes flicker with insight. "So that's the trick you've been using. I ignorantly assumed you only attached Emperors to Celestial bodies for the sake of obtaining Cosmic powerhouses, but all this time you were also preventing the Plague from ever returning to those systems."
"Something like that." Diablo says. "Actually, the Plague can still return. The method the Plague has historically used to corrupt worlds is by suddenly and inexplicably appearing on the planet's surface. This is because the Kolvaxians would materialize inside the world's core, infest it, then start making their way to the surface. However, they do not need to use this method to attack planets in the future. Now that you have fed them a willing and ready supply of High Psions, they can simply traverse the Void. If they sneak up on and subdue a Planar Warden, perhaps by infecting them with the Plague, then they can infest the world once again. Therefore, even though I have made the worlds impossible for the Plague to traditionally infest, those worlds are far from invulnerable."
Unarin closes his eyes for a moment to think.
"In that case, even though it seems you have made great gains versus the Plague, it is not inevitable at all that you will continue to win one easy victory after another. The further you spread your base of power, and the more you stretch your forces out, the more vulnerable your Wardens are to assassination attempts by sneaky Cosmic Plagueborn."
"That is right." Diablo says. "And now we reach the part where you come in."
Unarin opens his eyes. Diablo leans forward in his chair.
"There are two issues I'm currently facing." Diablo explains. "First. Despite conquering tens of worlds so far within just two short weeks, my speed of conquest is painfully slow compared to the Plague's expansion. At best, I am only keeping up with the speed of worlds lost every day, and the Plague has a ninety-millennia headstart on me."
"Secondly, I'm about to run out of Emperors. Uplifting more will take time. Even if I uplift all the demons above the rank of Baron, that's less than 50,000 elites across all the remaining Hells. 50,000 star systems compared to the totality of the galaxy? It's nothing at all."
Diablo slowly raises a finger and points it at Unarin.
"This deal I'm about to offer is better than you deserve. If I had come onto the scene 50,000 years ago, it wouldn't even be on the table. Simply put, you don't deserve it."
"Well. I thank you for your generosity in advance." Unarin says mildly. "Continue."
"Here's the deal." Diablo explains. "I want your help in two ways. First: You will send troops with advanced weaponry, psionic power, and anything else you can spare to every world as I begin to conquer them. This will greatly increase my speed of assimilation, allowing me to conquer each world's core with ease. The faster I take worlds, the faster we can begin working to push the Plague back."
"I don't have troops to spare." Unarin says. "You said it yourself. My poor, fragile Empire is barely holding on. We're unraveling at the seams."
Unarin dons an expression of mock weakness, shaking his head and throwing up his hands helplessly.
Diablo doesn't buy it.
"I'm not asking for your Executors. I don't even need any Psions at or above the 6th level. In fact, it's better if you give me Psions of the 3rd, 4th, and 5th level. 5th Level Psions are roughly equivalent to Demon Emperors, and that just so happens to work out perfectly for the second condition."
Unarin's eyes flicker once again as he realizes what Diablo is implying.
"You mean to say...?"
"That's right." Diablo says with a smile. "Since there aren't enough Emperors to go around, I'm going to let you have some of the worlds we'll be retaking. By choosing a 5th Level Psion, of which I know you possess many, I can forcibly attach their Psionic Souls to the cores of these worlds and turn them into Planar Wardens. Oh, certainly, they will not become the mighty High Psions of ancient yore, those who could flit around and smash the galaxy into pieces. But look at it this way. Would they have made a difference otherwise before the Plague crushed your Empire into dust? I think you know the answer."
The way Unarin looks at Diablo changes. For the first time in a long time, he gazes at an inferior mud-dweller with an expression of appreciation.
"Impressive, Diablo. Earth had one philosophy I read about in the past known as the Carrot and the Stick. To be an effective leader, one should alternate between rewards and punishment in order to obtain maximum material gain. You have clearly mastered this branch of philosophy."
He pauses.
"By taking over a few key worlds of mine right before they were about to be conquered, you displayed your power to the masses. You made yourself look benevolent to my citizens, allowing word to get out regarding your acts of saving innocents. You made me look weak, incapable of protecting them, and gave your species a reputation as being able to accomplish the impossible. Now that you have succeeded, that has put me in a predicament. Sooner or later, word will spread across my entire Empire, and I will begin to look the fool. Our galactic situation would still not improve over time, and thus my people's confidence in me would slowly erode."
"But now that you've waited an appropriate length of time and demonstrated your prowess to my lieutenants and generals, you show up here offering the solution to my dilemma. I can stand against you obstinately, praying for a chance to overcome the Plague through our own means, or I can take your deal, speed up the conquest of the Plague, and ultimately win the war. I'll just have to admit that you, and thus the demons, are superior to the Volgrim on this matter."
"Unarin, Unarin." Diablo says, waving his hand in the sweetest and most loving manner he can muster. "It's nothing like that. In these trying times, your loyal vassals have come up with a single method to defeat one singular enemy. And since I have informed you of the way to keep the Plague at bay, by preventing world cores from being assimilated, it's perfectly plausible your mighty Empire can find a way to succeed like I have. Despite my one singular success, in all other matters, the demons are still weak and inferior compared to the Volgrim. Your technological superiority alone- need I say more?"
Unarin's expression becomes ugly. "5th Level Psions are the backbone of my military. Given time, a decent portion of them will reach the 7th Level, and eventually the 8th."
"A decent portion, you say?" Diablo asks, his saccharine-sweet expression disappearing. "There's no reason to exaggerate. You barely have a dozen Executors fighting beneath your name. As for the 7th Level Psions, perhaps a few hundred? The number of Lower Psions that manage to Ascend to the ranks of Cosmic is certainly infinitely higher than the demons, but the number that attain the highest levels are still tragically low. I'm offering you... an alternative way to bolster your forces."
Diablo crosses his arms. "If you agree to ally with me, I can empower the 5th Level Psions who fight alongside me up to the rank of 7th Level. You and I both should agree that popping out Executors is not ideal, because while it would empower your forces tremendously, it could also cause a certain amount of strife to appear within your ranks. Similarly, there should only be one 9th Level Psion in the Volgrim Empire."
Unarin's eyes narrow. "Turning Demon Emperors into Bottom Level Cosmics is the third and weakest option at your disposal. Do you truly expect me to accept such a mediocre deal?"
"Oh, it's not such a bad offer at all." Diablo retorts. "Becoming a Free Warden will cap the level of strength these young Psions will attain, certainly. They will never step beyond the 5th Level in their base state, or the 7th Level when residing upon their chosen planet. But in exchange, they can still flit about the cosmos as needed, and provide ample power to the worlds they protect when necessary."
"How generous of you." Unarin counters. "Protecting me from my own soldiers. Here's a better idea. I'll help you if you can... sweeten the deal. I would very much like to have a few extra Executors in the back wing. Say, a few hundred or so. Hardly any to speak of at all. What say you regarding this proposal?"
Diablo rubs his jaw and looks off to the side. "No, no, I can already imagine the strife that would cause among your military. Imagine poor Executor Nufaris finding out that he has dozens or even hundreds of competitors that leaped up to the same rank as him with relative ease. No doubt, he would start to call your leadership into question."
"Whether my Executors complain means nothing in the grand scheme-" Unarin starts to say, only to pause mid-sentence as Dosena communicates with him privately.
Several seconds of silence follow as his eyes turn to the side. Swiftly, he and the Second Founder have a long and detailed discourse, unheard by Diablo. Even so, the Emperor of Annihilation smiles smugly when he sees Unarin returning his gaze to him.
"Changed your mind?" Diablo asks.
"In light of other evidence, I have indeed." Unarin says mildly. "Alright. Military support during your conquests in exchange for control of certain liberated worlds. But. In exchange for elevating no Psions beyond the 7th Level, we will get to... discuss the allocation of worlds that go to the Volgrim and Demons. After all, if you snatch up all the high-resource worlds and leave us the scraps, there won't be much value for us in this arrangement, will there?"
Diablo's smile flickers. His eyelid twitches for some reason unknown, but he still maintains eye contact with the First Founder.
"Very well. As for how those worlds should be allocated... we have plenty of time to discuss the matter slowly. Let's focus on liberating a few to start so we can see how effective this... partnership... will be."
Unarin smiles amiably. "I like the 'new you', Diablo. You've become more ruthless and pragmatic of late. What caused this change, I wonder?"
Diablo chuckles.
"I'm the same as I've always been, Unarin."
"Somehow," Unarin counters, "I doubt that very much."

Unarin paces around his Inner Sanctum, his eyes closed, as he has done countless times for countless different reasons over his long, storied life.
Without any other Volgrim within several stories, let alone those foolish enough to barge in on the First Founder, he has always been able to enjoy a certain degree of peace during these moments of solitude. Unlike some Sentients, Unarin has never been one to feel lonely during isolation, as he possesses a formidable brain that allows him to think about innumerable subjects all at the same time.
Philosophy, literature, battle tactics, empire building, the individual performance of millions of high-level subordinates, and many many other things always keep a portion of his mental focus occupied, preventing him from experiencing boredom. Rare are the times when he deliberately decides to think about nothing at all and simply stare into the Void, allowing himself to focus and achieve tranquility.
But for the past 90,000 cycles, he has almost never done so, as the Plague has morphed over time into an omnipresent Threat he cannot afford to ignore. In recent millennia, that Threat has evolved to become greater and greater, and now it occupies more of his brainpower than ever before.
If Unarin were to give an exact estimate, he might even say the Plague was valued at a full 22% of his mental real-estate. An unfathomable amount, compared to all the other matters involved in running the Volgrim Empire.
As Unarin closes his eyes and thinks, time passes swiftly in the real world. His mind, though occupied, always keeps a sliver of consciousness focused on the happenings around him. While he might not be a Psion trained in Brain Enhancing, his mental acuity does not lose out in the slightest to Dosena, the progenitor of that very same branch of Psionics. Over many ages, his brain has enlarged and compressed itself over time, allowing him to out-think his enemies should he devote a fraction of his acuity to the Threats they pose.
It is because of this accumulation over three million years that Unarin immediately notices a fluctuation within the space of his Inner Sanctum. He pivots on his heel and turns to face a projection of magical energy as it coalesces into the figure of a bipedal, red-skinned demon within the span of just three short seconds.
Diablo, the Emperor of Annihilation, materializes a short distance from Unarin, his projected figure still adorned with the same robes he always wore before he merged with the body of the Archdemon.
"Founder Unarin." Diablo says, after flicking his eyes around the Inner Sanctum. "You reacted quickly. It seems you were expecting me."
Unarin blinks slowly. "You took your time. I thought you might show a few rotational cycles ago. Been busy?"
"Oh, you know how it is." Diablo says, waving his hand flippantly. "So many worlds to liberate. So little time for pleasantries and idle pursuits."
The Emperor of Annihilation pauses for a moment. He glances up toward a specific direction, as if peering through the ceiling.
"Second Founder. There's no need for you to lurk like a vulture. Why not come down and say hello to an old friend?"
Hardly have the words left his lips before a disturbance of Psionic Energy materializes beside Unarin. Founder Dosena levitates a half-inch off the ground, her feet barely missing the floor as she crosses her arms and remains at Unarin's side protectively.
[Diablo. Do not speak in such a familiar tone to me.] Dosena bites. [We are neither friends nor allies.]
"We're not?" Diablo asks innocently. "I am but a humble Emperor of the Demons, a loyal vassal to the great and mighty Volgrim Empire. Have I wronged you in some way?"
He spreads his hands out and smiles kindly, like a simple old man unassuming of his relationship to a greater power.
Dosena's eyes narrow. She does not appear amused.
"You've come for a reason." Unarin interjects. "I believe I have deduced roughly eighty-seven point six percent of that reason, but it would be best if you told me in your own words what you wish to discuss."
Instead of immediately answering, Diablo turns and wanders to the left, slowly walking past tables, shelves, and other displays of various pieces of artwork and other cultural artifacts. His gaze moves from one item to the next as he spares half a glance at some, and pauses to focus on others for a second or two.
"Such a grand display." Diablo says after a full minute of silence. "It hurts this humble Demon Emperor's feelings that you've never invited him to your Inner Sanctum, Unarin. To collect a mountain of beautiful artworks and yet never show them off... don't you find it to be a waste?"
"Those who are worthy may enter." Unarin says. "You are now worthy, so you are allowed to enter."
"I'm now worthy?" Diablo asks, turning his head to peer at Unarin out of the corner of his eye. "You allow me to look? Goodness, you're certainly a generous benefactor. I would hate to spoil your good mood and force you to evict me."
[Watch your words.] Dosena warns. [This frail projection of yours stands no chance against me. If I wish to banish you, you cannot resist.]
She sneers. [In fact, why don't you bring that lumbering body of yours to Volgarius? I will show you the meaning of true power.]
Diablo and Dosena exchange a glance. He stops and stands in place, looking at her with the same intensity she forces upon him.
"Someday, the two of us should... exchange a few blows." Diablo says slowly. "Trade insights. I have long desired to witness the full might of the Volgrim's greatest warrior."
[I will hold back a little so that you can save face.] Dosena says, her eyes curling into a smile. [It would not do for such a mighty Cosmic as yourself to lose too quickly.]
Unarin sighs. "Dosena, you may go. I will speak to our guest alone."
[Your will is mine.] Dosena says, nodding at Unarin before flickering away.
Diablo pauses for a moment, then he bares a toothy smile.
"Your mutt is well-trained." He praises sarcastically. "Will she give you her paw if you ask?"
"Even the best trained dog of a human has the blood of countless wolf ancestors flowing through its veins." Unarin fires back. "Tread carefully, lest you cause her to bite."
Diablo continues to maintain his fierce gaze for only a few seconds longer. Then he turns his whole body and reduces his aggressive stance.
"Let's get down to business." Diablo says.
"Certainly." Unarin says. "I was starting to wonder if you only came here to trade quips."
The two men walk over to a small table with four wooden chairs surrounding it. They take a seat beneath a chandelier of seemingly orcish origin, then both sigh softly under their breaths.
"Two weeks ago," Diablo says, "I began my campaign to retake the Milky Way."
His words do not seem to differentiate who he was liberating it from, and neither does Unarin ask for clarification.
"Before then, I only somewhat comprehended the scale of the conflict." Diablo continues. "Now, thanks to my newfound power, I can safely understand just how badly you are losing. Every day that passes, your forces get pushed back another dozen or so worlds at a time. You never make any gains, and only continue to lose ground."
Diablo chuckles. "I imagine the situation is truly agony for an intellectual like yourself. No matter what science or psionics you throw at the Kolvaxians, you cannot seem to push them back. Their expansion must have been so slow at the start, like a snail stuck to an adhesive agent that only made the tiniest forward momentum. But with each new world they took, the Plagueborn began to build up more and more momentum, while you only had one option to stop them."
Diablo's smile turns more sinister. He leans forward with a mocking gaze, directing it at Unarin as if it were a sword capable of impaling his adversary's ego.
"You blew up the planets taken by the Plague using Marie Becker's Neutron Bombs. And, I'm guessing, at one point you blew them all up. Every single world where the Plague had taken root. You destroyed them all. Yet somehow they returned. You brought hundreds of Paradise-class worlds to ruin for nothing. You were flabbergasted. You had no idea how the Plague was able to return again and again and again."
Unarin lifts up his chin. "And?"
Seeing the composed look on the First Founder's face, Diablo leans back in his chair. His evil smile returns to a simple smirk.
"You can pretend to be in control all you want, First Founder. The truth is, you're beginning to feel desperate. Thanks to the Wordsmith, you know about the Cosmic Realm enveloping the Milky Way. Like an egg protecting a chick before it hatches, this dimension was intended to give the Archangels another weapon in the future Unending War. But alas, those foolish pheasants perished, and now all that remains of them are a few souls sticking stubbornly to the physical world through mere remnant souls."
"But what does it matter?" Diablo continues. "Perhaps if you had known about the Cosmic Realm at the start, you could have killed the Plague before it reached a tipping point. But now? You have no chance whatsoever. Short of a miraculous scientific breakthrough, you're going to lose this war once even a single battle-line collapses. The Plague has taken over the entire periphery of the galaxy and is now working its way inward. Once it reaches the middle and core systems, there will be no escape."
Diablo pauses for a moment to mockingly puff out his lips and look around, as if searching for a savior in the darkness.
"Oh dear, so what is a humble Founder supposed to do when the mud-dwelling species he despises start suddenly rising up with ways to defeat his enemy? Try and force them to bend the knee? But with what military? You can't spare the soldiers to suppress me. Or perhaps you should simply allow the entire Milky Way to fall so long as it allows you to look good until the last moment. So many options, and none of them seem to give you the victory you desire."
Unarin slowly blinks. He doesn't respond to Diablo's mockery, instead opting to let the Demon Emperor get it out of his system.
"Is that all?" Unarin asks. "Or do you have a proposal for me? The day is young and we have plenty of discussions we could be pursuing."
"Sorry, Unarin. I'm so young compared to you. So childish." Diablo says with a smile. "Forgive me for my youthful folly. I'll just cut to the chase now. Save us the long-winded diatribes."
His smile disappears.
"I am running out of Emperors. There are only so many I can uplift. In order to make an Emperor, I need a Duke. But once I run out of those, I'll need Barons, but that will require me to uplift them two levels instead of one. And once the Barons have all been run out, I'll need to dig into the Lords... and so on."
Unarin nods, having already deduced as much himself.
"The problem is," Diablo says, "we need to fortify the cores of every world I take back from the Plague. You see, Unarin, the Plague infests world cores, and in doing so it opens gateways where it can transfer forces from the Cosmic Realm to our material plane with ease. I can take a world from the Plague, but if I don't attach a powerhouse to that world, it will remain available for the Plague to retake at a later date. That means even if I were to request Founder Dosena herself to stand guard over a world, unless she anchored herself to the world's core, it would still be weak to another Plague invasion in the future."
Unarin's eyes flicker with insight. "So that's the trick you've been using. I ignorantly assumed you only attached Emperors to Celestial bodies for the sake of obtaining Cosmic powerhouses, but all this time you were also preventing the Plague from ever returning to those systems."
"Something like that." Diablo says. "Actually, the Plague can still return. The method the Plague has historically used to corrupt worlds is by suddenly and inexplicably appearing on the planet's surface. This is because the Kolvaxians would materialize inside the world's core, infest it, then start making their way to the surface. However, they do not need to use this method to attack planets in the future. Now that you have fed them a willing and ready supply of High Psions, they can simply traverse the Void. If they sneak up on and subdue a Planar Warden, perhaps by infecting them with the Plague, then they can infest the world once again. Therefore, even though I have made the worlds impossible for the Plague to traditionally infest, those worlds are far from invulnerable."
Unarin closes his eyes for a moment to think.
"In that case, even though it seems you have made great gains versus the Plague, it is not inevitable at all that you will continue to win one easy victory after another. The further you spread your base of power, and the more you stretch your forces out, the more vulnerable your Wardens are to assassination attempts by sneaky Cosmic Plagueborn."
"That is right." Diablo says. "And now we reach the part where you come in."
Unarin opens his eyes. Diablo leans forward in his chair.
"There are two issues I'm currently facing." Diablo explains. "First. Despite conquering tens of worlds so far within just two short weeks, my speed of conquest is painfully slow compared to the Plague's expansion. At best, I am only keeping up with the speed of worlds lost every day, and the Plague has a ninety-millennia headstart on me."
"Secondly, I'm about to run out of Emperors. Uplifting more will take time. Even if I uplift all the demons above the rank of Baron, that's less than 50,000 elites across all the remaining Hells. 50,000 star systems compared to the totality of the galaxy? It's nothing at all."
Diablo slowly raises a finger and points it at Unarin.
"This deal I'm about to offer is better than you deserve. If I had come onto the scene 50,000 years ago, it wouldn't even be on the table. Simply put, you don't deserve it."
"Well. I thank you for your generosity in advance." Unarin says mildly. "Continue."
"Here's the deal." Diablo explains. "I want your help in two ways. First: You will send troops with advanced weaponry, psionic power, and anything else you can spare to every world as I begin to conquer them. This will greatly increase my speed of assimilation, allowing me to conquer each world's core with ease. The faster I take worlds, the faster we can begin working to push the Plague back."
"I don't have troops to spare." Unarin says. "You said it yourself. My poor, fragile Empire is barely holding on. We're unraveling at the seams."
Unarin dons an expression of mock weakness, shaking his head and throwing up his hands helplessly.
Diablo doesn't buy it.
"I'm not asking for your Executors. I don't even need any Psions at or above the 6th level. In fact, it's better if you give me Psions of the 3rd, 4th, and 5th level. 5th Level Psions are roughly equivalent to Demon Emperors, and that just so happens to work out perfectly for the second condition."
Unarin's eyes flicker once again as he realizes what Diablo is implying.
"You mean to say...?"
"That's right." Diablo says with a smile. "Since there aren't enough Emperors to go around, I'm going to let you have some of the worlds we'll be retaking. By choosing a 5th Level Psion, of which I know you possess many, I can forcibly attach their Psionic Souls to the cores of these worlds and turn them into Planar Wardens. Oh, certainly, they will not become the mighty High Psions of ancient yore, those who could flit around and smash the galaxy into pieces. But look at it this way. Would they have made a difference otherwise before the Plague crushed your Empire into dust? I think you know the answer."
The way Unarin looks at Diablo changes. For the first time in a long time, he gazes at an inferior mud-dweller with an expression of appreciation.
"Impressive, Diablo. Earth had one philosophy I read about in the past known as the Carrot and the Stick. To be an effective leader, one should alternate between rewards and punishment in order to obtain maximum material gain. You have clearly mastered this branch of philosophy."
He pauses.
"By taking over a few key worlds of mine right before they were about to be conquered, you displayed your power to the masses. You made yourself look benevolent to my citizens, allowing word to get out regarding your acts of saving innocents. You made me look weak, incapable of protecting them, and gave your species a reputation as being able to accomplish the impossible. Now that you have succeeded, that has put me in a predicament. Sooner or later, word will spread across my entire Empire, and I will begin to look the fool. Our galactic situation would still not improve over time, and thus my people's confidence in me would slowly erode."
"But now that you've waited an appropriate length of time and demonstrated your prowess to my lieutenants and generals, you show up here offering the solution to my dilemma. I can stand against you obstinately, praying for a chance to overcome the Plague through our own means, or I can take your deal, speed up the conquest of the Plague, and ultimately win the war. I'll just have to admit that you, and thus the demons, are superior to the Volgrim on this matter."
"Unarin, Unarin." Diablo says, waving his hand in the sweetest and most loving manner he can muster. "It's nothing like that. In these trying times, your loyal vassals have come up with a single method to defeat one singular enemy. And since I have informed you of the way to keep the Plague at bay, by preventing world cores from being assimilated, it's perfectly plausible your mighty Empire can find a way to succeed like I have. Despite my one singular success, in all other matters, the demons are still weak and inferior compared to the Volgrim. Your technological superiority alone- need I say more?"
Unarin's expression becomes ugly. "5th Level Psions are the backbone of my military. Given time, a decent portion of them will reach the 7th Level, and eventually the 8th."
"A decent portion, you say?" Diablo asks, his saccharine-sweet expression disappearing. "There's no reason to exaggerate. You barely have a dozen Executors fighting beneath your name. As for the 7th Level Psions, perhaps a few hundred? The number of Lower Psions that manage to Ascend to the ranks of Cosmic is certainly infinitely higher than the demons, but the number that attain the highest levels are still tragically low. I'm offering you... an alternative way to bolster your forces."
Diablo crosses his arms. "If you agree to ally with me, I can empower the 5th Level Psions who fight alongside me up to the rank of 7th Level. You and I both should agree that popping out Executors is not ideal, because while it would empower your forces tremendously, it could also cause a certain amount of strife to appear within your ranks. Similarly, there should only be one 9th Level Psion in the Volgrim Empire."
Unarin's eyes narrow. "Turning Demon Emperors into Bottom Level Cosmics is the third and weakest option at your disposal. Do you truly expect me to accept such a mediocre deal?"
"Oh, it's not such a bad offer at all." Diablo retorts. "Becoming a Free Warden will cap the level of strength these young Psions will attain, certainly. They will never step beyond the 5th Level in their base state, or the 7th Level when residing upon their chosen planet. But in exchange, they can still flit about the cosmos as needed, and provide ample power to the worlds they protect when necessary."
"How generous of you." Unarin counters. "Protecting me from my own soldiers. Here's a better idea. I'll help you if you can... sweeten the deal. I would very much like to have a few extra Executors in the back wing. Say, a few hundred or so. Hardly any to speak of at all. What say you regarding this proposal?"
Diablo rubs his jaw and looks off to the side. "No, no, I can already imagine the strife that would cause among your military. Imagine poor Executor Nufaris finding out that he has dozens or even hundreds of competitors that leaped up to the same rank as him with relative ease. No doubt, he would start to call your leadership into question."
"Whether my Executors complain means nothing in the grand scheme-" Unarin starts to say, only to pause mid-sentence as Dosena communicates with him privately.
Several seconds of silence follow as his eyes turn to the side. Swiftly, he and the Second Founder have a long and detailed discourse, unheard by Diablo. Even so, the Emperor of Annihilation smiles smugly when he sees Unarin returning his gaze to him.
"Changed your mind?" Diablo asks.
"In light of other evidence, I have indeed." Unarin says mildly. "Alright. Military support during your conquests in exchange for control of certain liberated worlds. But. In exchange for elevating no Psions beyond the 7th Level, we will get to... discuss the allocation of worlds that go to the Volgrim and Demons. After all, if you snatch up all the high-resource worlds and leave us the scraps, there won't be much value for us in this arrangement, will there?"
Diablo's smile flickers. His eyelid twitches for some reason unknown, but he still maintains eye contact with the First Founder.
"Very well. As for how those worlds should be allocated... we have plenty of time to discuss the matter slowly. Let's focus on liberating a few to start so we can see how effective this... partnership... will be."
Unarin smiles amiably. "I like the 'new you', Diablo. You've become more ruthless and pragmatic of late. What caused this change, I wonder?"
Diablo chuckles.
"I'm the same as I've always been, Unarin."
"Somehow," Unarin counters, "I doubt that very much."

My buddy has a 17 year old stepson who is litterally dumber than a bucket of shrimp. Knows nothing about history and I mean nothing, he can't add or subtract even the simplest of amounts, when asked had no clue how many days of the week there are, nor could he put them in order when given the answer to how many. He was bullied so bad in high school his mother put him into a church `school` for lack of a better term where there are only 7 other students and his teacher claims he is well behaved, causes no problems, pays attention, however, can't answer the simplest of questions about any subject, math/science/history/government etc. etc. ..... for he is technically in 10th grade (held back twice already in middle school) but cannot answer 3rd grade level questions. She admitted to my buddy that the kid isnt autistic as she explaineed shes seen plenty of them, that he doeswnt have ADHD, and that the Mother should just accept the kid is a moron and will never fit into society anywhere, will never hold a job, live on his own, stand up for himself in any way, doesnt possess the ability to pay bills, or own a bank account, cant shop for himself for anything including clothes, food , basically everything. He did however have the ability to break into a home in the surrounding area and steal some things inside and a motorbike from the garage that was all caught on multiple cameras. Then ran from police when confronted, went to juvenile court, was given probation and fines, then claimed he totally forgot to check in with his probation officer at the scheduled times, by (phone call) and got into more trouble as a result that is still hanging over him to this day. My buddy says he still hears this kid ask ``mommy`` for something to eat every day/night, he has zero friends, just sits in his room 24/7 and you guessed it .... plays video games. Mommy tells everyone who will listen her little boy (17y.o.) has autism, has ADHD, has a learning disability even though all of those were tested for and all came back negative for anything. Remember when teenagers were just morons? Idiots? just plain stupid? It amazes me how parents spend all their time coming up with excuses instead of using that time to try and prepare the kid for life the best they can, which in the case of this particular kid has received none whatsoever. Does anyone else know of a family that has the token bonehead, that no one will accept as being stupid and continue to pass B.S. about having some sort of affliction?