Do up your own bike game

Chapter One
On February 25, 2018, Feng Ji returned to Shenzhen from Shanghai by plane. It was late when he arrived, and as he took a taxi back to his company, he sensed that it was time to make a decision. He called his fellow partners to convene at the office to discuss the path forward. At 2 a.m., Feng Ji wrote three options on the whiteboard in the meeting room: "First, everyone dedicates themselves to creating a standalone action game; second, to develop a popular RPG+SLG mobile game of the time; third, to split into two teams, one for mobile games, with five or six people allocated to prepare for a standalone action game."
They all opted for the third option.
Before leaving for the meeting upon Feng Ji's call, Yang Qi posted on Weibo. Anticipating what Feng Ji would propose, he had been waiting for this call. His post read, "Starting the new year with a grand gamble, ten years in the industry feels like it has all been leading up to this day. Heading out for a midnight meeting, the trees in my entire neighborhood whisper my name..."
On August 16, 2020, sitting in Feng Ji's office, he recounted this story to me. Reflecting for a moment, Feng Ji shared that the meeting at 2 a.m. wasn't really a "turning point."
"It wasn't that dramatic," Feng Ji told me. "We had discussed this for a long time before. And I recently revisited our business plan from 2016 when we were fundraising—you know, you have to write these things for funding. I found that one-third of it was about our intention to create a standalone game—I had even forgotten about it until I checked our chat records...it was indeed the case."
Feng Ji is the founder of Game Science Studio. In 2014, Feng Ji and several colleagues who had collaborated on 'Fighter of the Destiny' left Tencent to establish Game Science.
Game Science's initial projects were trendy at the time. Yang Qi's artistic style was intense and prominent, and Feng Ji knew how to elevate the sophistication of games. Their strategy involved identifying the most popular game genres in the market and combining them with top-tier art, world-building, and storytelling. 'Hundred Generals March' was a card game, 'Art of War: Red Tides' a real-time competitive game, and 'Red Tide Auto Chess'...an auto-chess game. When launched, auto-chess was trending, and the game saw decent online numbers, but then, seemingly overnight, interest in auto-chess waned, and so did their player statistics.
In November 2017, two months after the public beta of 'Art of War: Red Tides', the company partners believed an RPG+SLG project could generate revenue quicker. Thus, they embarked on developing a game of this type, set in the same universe as 'Red Tides', with Feng Ji as lead planner and co-founder Yang Qi as lead artist.
By early 2018, Yang Qi had sketched numerous concept designs for the new game, and Feng Ji had done some preliminary planning. However, Feng Ji felt that the game lacked excitement. "I couldn't take it anymore—you understand what I mean?" Feng Ji explained. "By 'couldn't take it,' I mean that the game we were making wasn't something I particularly wanted to play."
"Although we all believed we'd eventually make a standalone game, we always felt the timing wasn't right, waiting for conditions like having a large sum of money or...just waiting for the right moment," Feng Ji elaborated.
But Yang Qi was not willing to wait any longer. "During a meal, Yang Qi firmly insisted we must proceed," Feng Ji recalled. "He said you can always find a reason not to start, whether it's insufficient funds, manpower, or other inadequacies...If we kept waiting, we might never begin. But he felt if we didn't start soon, the company might lose its appeal to him...So we began seriously discussing it."
That afternoon, in Feng Ji's office, I met Yang Qi. Compared to Feng Ji, he appeared calm and detached, as if accustomed to observing himself and the situation from a third-person perspective. With his mask pulled down to his chin, he smoked cigarettes with fruity flavor capsules. We chatted while smoking.
When I asked Yang Qi why he was so resolute about this, he casually replied, "We've waited for a while, made some other games, because we need to live, after all, survive first."
I posed the question again.
After a moment of thought, he earnestly told me, "Because I don't think I can keep making games like this for many more years...my health won't hold up. Before, I could work around the clock for days without issue, but now, one late night and I need rest. Moreover, a person's creative lifespan is limited; one's golden period of creativity might only span a few years, where you have experience, energy, and a sharp mind...This is your most precious time, and if you don't create something great during this period, you may never get another chance in life..."
After deciding to develop a standalone game, Yang Qi's spirits visibly lifted. At the time, Game Science didn't have a Hangzhou studio; all development staff worked on the second floor of their Shenzhen office. Post-meeting, they cleared a small corner on the first floor for the project, and Yang Qi moved there the next day. Feng Ji, as the founder of Game Science, felt responsible for the "people who came out with him." He also wanted to see his friends engaged in something enthusiastically—even just being enthusiastic was enough.
Chapter Two
Game Science's Hangzhou studio is nestled within a startup industrial park on the outskirts of the city. The park, newly built, boasts a scattering of Hui-style buildings with their characteristic white walls and black tiles. I arrived on a scorching summer afternoon, discovering that due to the lingering pandemic, nearly all the buildings stood empty. A few workers were seen maintaining the roads.
"Initially, we were told there would be things like Starbucks, but because of the pandemic, none of that has opened yet," Feng Ji pointed out to me, gesturing towards vacancies.
Game Science occupies a four-story building here. When I visited around 2 PM, their workday was just beginning. The rooms were dimly lit, with almost everyone slumped lazily in chairs, seemingly on the verge of dozing off. Screens displayed animations or game videos, or interfaces that looked intricate and impressive. All windows lacked curtains; some had cardboard pieces taped up with transparent tape to shield against direct sunlight.
"We haven't had the chance to install curtains yet," Feng Ji mentioned as we climbed upstairs. The second floor served as a common area, housing a few treadmills and exercise bikes in a corner and tables and chairs in the center. The third floor was vacant, save for a 70-inch display on one wall and several wooden swords and shields in another corner. Feng Ji explained they conducted initial inertial motion capture here, which served as a reference for more intricate optical motion capture later. The fourth floor housed Feng Ji's office, though he admitted he seldom stayed upstairs.
The single-player project team moved to Hangzhou in December 2018. Feng Ji appreciated Hangzhou's ambiance, its pace less hectic than Shenzhen's and with more affordable housing, fostering an environment where "everyone can patiently persevere." As a mature company with ample development experience, Game Science sidestepped many pitfalls common in game development. Their core team had collaborated for years, intimately aware of each other's strengths. Familiar with game development processes and backed by successful titles, they maintained a small but highly experienced and cohesive team, deliberately controlling project scope.
Initially, there was consensus on creating a game: a weakly online, strongly combat-focused, melee-centric action title. Debates arose over specific style, but the overarching direction remained. Conversations about the game's style, character traits, and details organically evolved over daily chats during meals and at workstations. Inspired by Feng Ji's fascination with Dark Souls and Yang Qi's preference for Monster Hunter, they agreed on a game featuring "intensely pressuring enemies," "intricately designed levels," and "a mysterious narrative conveyed through fragmented storytelling."
Up until then, Game Science primarily used Cocos and Unity engines, known for their simplicity and low learning curve. For the new project, Unreal Engine emerged as the optimal choice, prompting the entire team to start from scratch learning Unreal. Feng Ji learned camera manipulation, Yang Qi experimented with scene setup and lighting adjustment, and planner "Village Chief" began constructing whiteboxes, determining obstacle placement and setting up barriers.
In May 2018, the preliminary research group assembled their first basic scene to experiment with fundamental combat feel, AI behavior, and combo mechanics. Upon success, they ventured into crafting a demonstrative level showcasing the "final visual effect." They chose Flower Fruit Mountain. A scene in the video depicts the protagonist advancing amidst clouds, accompanied by a dragon, against a backdrop of lush peaks – this is Flower Fruit Mountain.
By late 2018, the Flower Fruit Mountain level was largely formed, implementing basic gameplay functions. The protagonist emerges from a cave to find heavenly soldiers besieging Flower Fruit Mountain, engages in battles, fights a celestial general, and eventually ascends to the clouds to confront armies under the watchful eyes of the Four Heavenly Kings. "Waves of 100,000 heavenly soldiers would come, with the staff transforming into an exaggerated state..." This level was showcased at the year-end meeting. Portions appear in the video's conclusion, with Feng Ji noting plans to revamp the less natural-looking aspects of the heavenly soldiers.
In 2019, the team grew to around 20 members, focusing on delivering "a complete level experience." Deciding it should mirror the final quality players would experience, they named the level Black Wind Mountain. In 'Journey to the West', Black Wind Mountain appears in the chapter "Monk of the Jade Spring Temple Plots for Treasure; Monster of Black Wind Mountain Steals the Robe." It marks the first demon encounter for Sun Wukong on his pilgrimage, which is prominently featured in the video's gameplay demonstration.
Chapter Three
The challenge of creating the Blackwind Mountain level surpassed the expectations of most people, despite prior preparations.
"When you actually start working on it, you realize how difficult it is to create a level that's narrative-driven and emotionally immersive for players," Feng Ji shared with me. "There are so many things you want to include – should monsters engage in dialogue with you? What are they doing when you're not around? Why do you have to fight them? Shouldn't there be some buildup before encountering them?"
All these "desired elements" are intertwined with technology and industrial workflow. In today's era, for a high-investment commercial game, creativity is no longer the sole determinant; realization matters more. In reality, "realization" entails multiple concurrent workflows, each needing to maintain controllable efficiency and quality.
To produce a short in-engine cutscene, the process typically unfolds like this: the narrative designer first scripts the scene, followed by the creation of 2D storyboards. Then, a simple level model is constructed using polygon models without textures (everything appearing white, hence developers call this a 'white box'). Once the white box is ready, dynamic storyboarding takes place within it. If character close-ups are required, motion capture comes into play, starting with a preliminary performance using inertial motion capture devices, tested in-game. If the mood isn't right, it's back to the drawing board. If satisfactory, optical motion capture is used to generate the final product.
Throughout game development, countless production pipelines run concurrently. The larger the game scale and the more advanced the technology, the greater the unpredictability. Any loss of control—be it in quality or efficiency—can spell disaster.
They treated Blackwind Mountain as a minimum viable product. The development team dared not embark on large-scale production until everything was proven feasible. Feng Ji meticulously explained, "Optical motion capture, for instance, involves a studio with 60 cameras and a team of dozens serving you. The daily cost is around 200,000 to 300,000 yuan. If you say, 'Sorry, we weren't prepared today, let's not proceed,' the bill still stands."
Feng Ji demonstrated a playable version of the Blackwind Mountain level, which I also tried out—it wasn't entirely stable, occasionally crashing. He seemed a bit anxious, constantly reminding me that "the handling is far from optimal," "some skills aren't finalized yet," "the stats need adjusting," and "it's not the final quality; many details are missing."
I was already sufficiently astonished. The demo video matched the actual gameplay visuals. I heard a streamer who saw this game's demonstration was thrilled, telling friends, "Triple-A gaming from China has arrived!"
But Feng Ji avoided mentioning the term "triple-A." On one hand, he feared it might invite criticism; on the other, he found the definition imprecise—"What do you mean by triple-A? We know what each 'A' stands for, but this specific definition... is very vague."
"At least one aspect is about spending a lot of money," I said. "Can you disclose the development cost of the game?"
"You can estimate it this way: for every hour of gameplay the player experiences—not including constant stuck points or deaths, but relatively smooth gameplay...," Feng Ji told me, "the development cost is 15 to 20 million yuan per hour."
Chapter Four
Navigating through Zhihu, China's equivalent of Quora, one would periodically encounter a string of questions intertwined with the terms "China," "3A," such as "Why doesn't China have any triple-A games?" or "When will China have its own triple-A titles?" and even "Does China necessarily need triple-A games?" These inquiries are steeped in both hopeful aspirations and a sense of frustration—given our country boasts the world's largest gaming company and a highly lucrative gaming industry, why haven't we produced a triple-A game yet?
For many, myself included, the term "3A" symbolizes an Olympic gold medal, embodying a myriad of aspirations and accomplishments. Anyone with over a year's experience in the gaming industry can easily enumerate the gaps between us and triple-A standards. However, sometimes, one cannot pinpoint precisely what's missing until the endeavor begins.
Watching the 13-minute promotional video attentively reveals that the protagonist, the monkey, remains largely silent, devoid of dialogue or facial expressions, just like all other characters. This led to a perceived lack of character development in the video, issues that Feng Ji attributes to classic "technical problems."
"There's an unconfirmed rumor that Naughty Dog's ratio of artists to technical artists is 1:1," Feng Ji shared. Technical artists can be thought of as individuals who are adept at both technology and artistry, a simplified yet not entirely inaccurate depiction. In essence, technical artists ensure that artistic visions are realized to their fullest potential by providing technical support and enhancing the quality and efficiency of art production. Where tasks require a seamless collaboration between technology and art, a technical artist becomes indispensable.
"One reason we seek technical artists is our determination to excel in storytelling," Feng Ji emphasized. "Motion capture introduces numerous challenges in connection, environmental interactions, and positioning. Remember the final battle with Ling Xuizi, the wolf, in the video?"
"I do."
"Initially, we designed a sequence where the protagonist transforms into a giant ape, leading to a spectacular execution. The wolf would leap down from a roof, only to be caught mid-air by the ape, who would then grip its teeth, pin it to the ground, and pounce. Sounds impressive, right? The problem was, the moment the hand gripped the teeth, clipping occurred. We couldn't stabilize the protagonist's position, causing the teeth to protrude through the fingers."
"This is where technical artists come in," Feng Ji continued. "They ensure proper alignment and can even determine the material properties of each model. Ideally, the wolf's tooth material could simulate piercing flesh... But we couldn't execute it well. After two months, we abandoned the idea and revised the ending. We lost several months due to this design issue, and ultimately, we couldn't resolve it."
Thus, this scene never made it to the final cut. Feng Ji assured me, however, that they're not giving up and will eventually create this climactic moment.
Feng Ji recounted a legend at Naughty Dog, where each artist's desk had a dedicated button. Pressing it summoned a technical artist to address any issues the artist encountered. "Is it a particle emitter problem? An issue with fluid dynamics? Scene interaction? I'm here to fix it on the spot."
Game Science understands the significance of technical artists but lacks a sufficient number. Not just Game Science, but domestically, there's a scarcity of seasoned technical artists, with most "working in giants like Tencent and NetEase."
Nonetheless, they've overcome some obstacles. In the trailer, when the monkey picks up a blade called "Chì Cháo," Feng Ji revealed that it wasn't pre-animated. The monkey could walk up to the blade anywhere, grasp it, and tuck it into his ear. The key was the natural movement of approaching and extracting the sword, a process that took the development team roughly two to three months to refine.
Feng Ji stood up to demonstrate, "You've played 'The Last of Us Part II,' right? After playing that, I felt quite despondent... Did you notice the characters' movements? Say I'm sitting here, and the game prompts me to pick something up—I could be facing it head-on or sideways, yet the action feels incredibly natural?"
I struggled to recall this seemingly insignificant detail in the game. Feng Ji went on, "Initially, we thought it involved capturing more actions, but we discovered the subtlety in character orientation, particularly the feet. If we only captured frontal actions, what about when the object is on the side? Do we rotate? Smooth turning wasn't in our assets, and programming it looked odd. To avoid awkwardness, we could brute force it, creating 32 actions just for picking up this knife, covering every angle. But in the game, you don't just pick up knives; you open doors, wield hammers. Multiplying all actions by 32 would be unfeasible in terms of production costs and resource consumption."
Feng Ji continued, "We researched solutions and studied presentations by major studios at GDC. That's when we discovered Ubisoft's proposed solution, Motion Matching. Its power lies in requiring only a set of base motion capture animations, which Motion Matching then uses, without manual tweaking by animators, to generate a complete, fluid character movement system."
I inquired, "Is this library open-source?"
"There are some open-source versions online, but they're very immature. We refined it to a product level... We reverse-engineered Ubisoft's methods, filling in the blanks where they didn't disclose specifics, like designing the entire action set, accommodating unconventional locomotion animations...," Feng Ji explained, "Yet, comparing to 'Odyssey,' or even more impressively, 'God of War' or 'The Last of Us,' you realize you're still not on par. Their foundational animation libraries and corresponding mathematical algorithms remain a black box to us. It's their moat, their defense."
I asked, "If you manage to develop all these, would it become your moat too?"
"Absolutely," he affirmed, then added, "But they have generations of product iterations under their belt; this isn't something that can be achieved overnight."
Chapter Five
They were constantly faced with choices. For instance, should the game emulate the style of 'Monster Hunter', or that of 'God of War', or adopt the 'Soulsborne' genre? They realized each style entailed different focuses and nuances. Emulating 'God of War' would necessitate a focus on cinematics and execution moves, while 'Monster Hunter' would require tackling the intricacies of large enemy animations. A 'Soulsborne'-style game would demand attention to character progression and dueling combat mechanics—each direction posed its own challenges. The team's primary concern was defining the overall feel they wanted players to associate with their game. They sought to pinpoint how players would describe it.
This quandary persisted until Feng Ji reached a realization: "When we aim to replicate a very specific product... we inherently risk becoming a second-rate game. Even if we pay homage well, it naturally positions us as a lesser alternative in players' minds."
They made a conscious effort to differentiate from the best in the industry. "I acknowledge they may represent the optimal solution for action games today," Feng Ji told me, "but we must distance ourselves from these titles." They avoided direct references, opting instead for innovations like "Bronze Head Iron Arm" and using "Golden Cicada" for stealth.
Level design posed another challenge. Feng Ji was once enamored with the 'box garden' design philosophy of Soulsborne games, characterized by meticulously designed pseudo-sandbox levels prevalent in Japanese games. However, by the end of 2019, the team recognized that 'Wukong' wasn't suited for this approach. They decided that to convey the grand epic feel of 'Journey to the West', multiple levels interconnected by teleportation would better represent a vast, authentic world, allowing for more creative freedom in map design.
Feng Ji still aimed for a "box garden feel" within individual maps, respecting the art team's pursuit of realism. He explained, "In 'Dark Souls', many scenes take place in cathedrals, which lend themselves to looping designs with verticality, but you can't force stairs or elevators into a forest setting. So, it's context-dependent; Black Wind Mountain is flatter, while Leiyin Temple can be more intricate... Yet, I insist on maintaining some openness for exploration within the maps."
Feng Ji was eager to share the game's lore and aesthetic, but I've chosen not to reveal much here. Prior to seeing the final product, any assessment would be premature. This game isn't a replication of 'Journey to the West', nor do they intend to perpetuate the radical, rebellious spirit of 'Asura'.
At times, they're hesitant to mention 'Asura', seemingly wary of player associations. Nonetheless, they do link the two, as evident in the promotional video's closing caption, "After the White Bones, Revisit the Journey."
"Why do you think we said that?" Feng Ji asked me. "'Asura' players have a joke: 'After White Bones, there is no more Journey.' We planned five chapters; Chapter Three, Farewell Lady, referred to Lady White Bones. Our story stopped abruptly there, with later parts reduced to text quests. Thus, players joked, 'After White Bones, no more Journey.'"
On August 20th, when the video was released, Yang Qi posted on Weibo: "This theme has been a burden for over a decade. Many colleagues don't speak of it, but we all know this heartache can't be ignored. It's an honor to Stage display our progress today, and we'll give it our all going forward, hoping not to disappoint again."
I messaged Feng Ji on WeChat, asking, "Can you ask Yang Qi why he used the word 'again'?"
Feng Ji replied, "He probably feels 'Asura' had regrets." He added, "So do I, but without resentment."
"When you say 'resentment', towards whom?" I queried.
"Mainly towards myself," Feng Ji said. "Back then, I wasn't brave enough."
Chapter Six
I shared a portion of my written article with a friend. I told them, "I don't want people to think this endeavor is arduous... as if it's some '80s reportage literature."
"It's alright," they said. "It still feels a bit tough, but not overly so."
"I'll revise it then," I replied. "I'm just afraid people might think they're struggling when, in truth, they're ecstatic."
In conversations with Feng Ji and Yang Qi, I asked what concerned them most after the video went public. Feng Ji worried that the video wouldn't gain the attention it deserved, fading into obscurity. Yang Qi, on the other hand, feared that their team would be poached by numerous companies post-release. As an observer, my greatest concern was the skepticism and attacks from public opinion –doubting the video as CG, animation, or a deception; accusing them of exploiting emotions, making empty promises, and playing up their hardships.
It's not the fault of gamers. Each query can be traced back to several actual cases where they were misled by inexplicable promotions, leading to anger and then cynicism, believing that trust and enthusiasm come with danger. Meanwhile, "sentimentality" has turned into a pejorative due to overuse. There seems to be a pattern: when we talk about people pursuing their ideals, we must emphasize their choices and sacrifices, including some lofty and melancholic keywords, typical moments—like a lone figure walking towards the sunset.
But Feng Ji and Yang Qi didn't exhibit gloom, resentment, conflict, or sacrifice. Feng Ji was radiant when discussing the game. He would start from one point and branch out like a Wikipedia entry, constantly associating and digressing further. This made me repeatedly examine whether my article truly captured their immersive joy. You see, when people engage in what they love, nearly everything appears joyful.
Towards the end of our conversation that day, for some reason—maybe a comment or a particular moment—we veered into an odd direction.
"Yang Qi once told me, if we crawl now, we could reach a mountain of gold and silver—a huge fortune. If crawling guarantees success, I'd kneel right away without needing persuasion. I desperately want to make money. The problem is, which path guarantees such success through this method?"
"I couldn't answer him," Feng Ji told me. "Many people point at a successful product and ask if emulating its strengths will guarantee success. But as you know, many have better execution and resources than us. What sets us apart? In the end, you rely on your intuition—you must first move yourself. Only when your intuition is strong can you more easily touch users. If you're insensitive to something yourself, leaving aside ego, if you're not sensitive, your pace of improvement will lag behind those who are passionate about it. How can you succeed then?"
Yet, even so, success is not guaranteed for them. Game development is a prolonged process, especially for a project of this scale. The promotional video still had issues; they quietly developed for two years, with the team growing from seven to thirty. They anticipate another two years of development, more work, more team members, and countless unknowns ahead.
After the video's release, Feng Ji started feeling anxious. He messaged me on WeChat, worried about being overpraised. "There's no real sense of security yet..." he said. "I'm the type who struggles to feel happy until things actually happen."
I told him he'd get used to it—not just as a hollow wish. In my view, perhaps unknowingly to him, it's already happening. All this praise and astonishment are part of it, the team's deserved reward.
I still choose to believe that good things come when one decides to pursue what they truly love.
Chapter Seven
In the days leading up to the trailer's release, Game Science consistently posted trailer posters on their official Weibo account. One poster each day was accompanied by a few lines of text or a short poem. On August 19th, the day before the trailer dropped, the caption Game Science provided for the poster read: "Once I was so old, now I am in my prime."
These words are derived from "My Back Pages," a song by American folk legend Bob Dylan. In this song, Dylan unhesitantly criticizes and ridicules his past actions and stances – poignantly, he was only 23 at the time. The song is composed of six verses, each beginning with reflections on the past and ending with the line mentioned. The final two verses go like this:
With the stance of a warrior,
I aimed my spear at those full of empty talk,
Uttered my manifestos,
Caring not if I contradicted myself.
My life was guided by a tumultuous vessel,
Where rebellion brewed aboard at every turn.
Once I was so old,
Now I am in my prime.
Indeed, the imaginary threats fueled my fighting spirit,
The sense of moral superiority made me reckless,
I deceived myself constantly,
Fantasizing about what I must protect.
For some reason, back then, I drew a clear line
Between good and evil.
Once I was so old,
Now I am in my prime.
Epilogue
At 7 PM on the 20th, I arrived at a cinema in Hangzhou. Feng Ji had previously informed me that all Game Science employees were to watch a movie together that evening, a team-building exercise and a celebration of a milestone achieved. He had invited me along and also mentioned a surprise he had prepared for his colleagues – before the film began, the cinema would screen the trailer for 'Black Myth: Wukong.'
As the hour drew near, developers from Game Science trickled into the cinema in twos and threes. They appeared no different from ordinary college students or overworked white-collar workers numbed by their jobs. One wouldn't guess they were the creators of this game. Glasses perched on their noses, clad in T-shirts and sandals, their faces devoid of overt emotion, they seized every opportunity to glance at their phones.
I approached one of them, asking, "Are you with Game Science?" He turned to me and confirmed, "Yeah."
Casually, I inquired, "The video you guys put out today did pretty well, right? How are you feeling about it?"
He eyed me suspiciously, pausing for a second before replying stiffly, "Ah... this... I have nothing to say on that..." Then, he walked away slowly but resolutely.
Feng Ji couldn't make it; he was tied up with other matters. After the video's release, his WeChat exploded with messages—congratulatory notes, inquiries, collaboration proposals. The admin staff at Game Science told me that several groups had visited their office that afternoon, including two groups of players. "They said they were nearby, got excited after watching the video, and decided to drop by—we gave them a tour of the office," the admin shared.
Game Science had reserved a small theater. About thirty people sat inside—the very team behind the game. In the morning, they had been stars in the eyes of gamers nationwide, yet now, their faces betrayed little.
But their excitement was palpable. Seated, they fiddled with their phones, surfing the web. Some discussed the video's view count on Bilibili, one voice wondering, "It's already hit 5 million views, do you think it'll reach 8 million tonight?" Another responded, "Are you kidding? Views don’t grow linearly."
Close by, I guessed a pair of planners, chatting while scrolling through their phones. One said to the other, "Some comments suggested making the death screen look better since players will die a lot." They chuckled, and after, the other commented, "We should definitely make it spectacular!" More laughter followed, then one suggested, "Why don't we write, 'Victory and defeat are common in war, hero, please try again!'" The other clapped, exclaiming, "Great! Retro!" They put down their phones, grinning at each other.
The lights dimmed abruptly, and Game Science's logo flashed on screen, causing a brief stir among the audience—only for silence to swiftly descend. The trailer they crafted, which had electrified the entire internet that morning, played out, yet everyone sat upright, the theater utterly quiet.
When the trailer ended, as expected, the cinema remained hushed. A smattering of applause started but quickly died when few joined in. An atmosphere of silence enveloped the room, devoid of cheers, applause, or whistles, none of the excitement one might expect at a movie screening. I guessed it wasn't due to being stunned or numbness, but shyness—the developers weren't accustomed to expressing their emotions. They just sat there until the lights came back on.
The admin entered the theater, informing everyone that the main feature would start in eight minutes.
The developers sighed collectively, and tranquility returned. After a moment, a voice asked, "Can we watch it again?"

Scenario: Gau Floral Store, Bedtown — 12:00 PM
Slow days. Man, Konan really missed slow days.
Ever since the destruction of the Hymnal Bazaar, his business had been on the rise. That wasn’t an issue, obviously – Konan would prefer that the flowers he spends most of his time cultivating do get sold – but the sudden uptick from maybe 5 deliveries a week to as many as 50 was beginning to make his head spin. That wasn’t even counting the people who would come into the store itself, meaning that his schedule had been drastically changed to revolve around having to actually tend the shop during the day.
The botanist sighed with relief as he ushered out the last panicked husband of the day, a quickly-made bouquet in hand and a half-hearted wish that his anniversary date goes well. Konan never realized how stressful this would actually be when things got serious, but he wasn’t complaining about the extra money he was raking in from all of the business.
“...Hm. Should have a few hours to myself now. No appointments ‘til 5, and it's noon now...” Konan spoke to himself as he went about tidying his store, stopping for a moment to admire his indoor-grown lotus exhibit. They were no easy task, but it felt rewarding after seeing them sell so fast. A lot of things started to feel rewarding recently, he thought. Thus Konan was ready to start maintaining the aquaponic pool he used to keep the lotuses healthy. It was his favorite part of the day, so he made sure to really prepare himself for it–
Tinny music blasted through handheld speakers, disturbing the peace with industrial clangs and drum hits as a distorted instrumental growled over bestial roars. The other hand held a cellphone as its owner tramped through the flower shop. Not like a bull, but more like a: “BOAR WALKIN IN, GONNA GORE YOU DEAD; COME TO OUR TOWN, WE’LL PUT YOUR ASS TO—o-oh!”
Gesticulating aggressively to her camera, she swung her arm as if to punch the lens, winding up and knocking a vase off of its table. All the domineering bravado vanished from her mean mug as she dove for the porcelain with a loud “Kyaaah!”, catching the vase before it hit the ground. Unfortunately, this jostled several other display tables, knocking their flowers to the ground instead.
She looked up to Konan, colorful petals and ceramic pieces strewn all about her. Baingan had spent the day walking through the streets of Bedtown, filming herself and her surroundings for an impromptu music video. Whether she had a license to do so was unclear, but even she had to acknowledge that making a mess of the flower store couldn’t be walked off with a string of apologies and promises to not be so loud next time. She took out a small black rectangle. “Uh... can you put it on Night Train’s card?”
Konan stared at the boisterous rap star, a single eyebrow quirked in response to the card shown to him. If this had happened at any other point in the past, Konan probably would have blown up in response to the accident. Luckily for Baingan, though, all he did was sigh and give her a frank look before speaking.
“Look, uh... Baingan? I think that’s you.” After a swift nod from Baingan herself, Konan continues. “Money won’t fix this. Those were deliveries I was going to make. Unless Night Train is cool with covering the expenses of...” Konan silently counted all of the remains on the floor, drooping a bit as he did. “...30 ₹2650 deliveries, the ₹1325 apology refund for the deliveries being late, and ₹1000 for each of the 30 decorative vases, we’re gonna have to work something else out.”
Baingan began to put the card away after she finished her mental math, knowing just how much of a scolding she’d get for having spent that much money in one place during an unapproved recording session. Baingan didn’t let her nerves bother her though, and placed two firm hands on the botanist’s shoulders.
“Let’s make those fuckin’ bouquets again, then. I’ll help you and everything!” The sneer formerly on her face had been parted by an energetic grin, paired with her bouncing up and down ever-so-slightly. Though still a bit sour looking, Konan couldn’t help but smile a little bit. He gingerly took Baingan’s hands from his shoulders and guided them back to her sides. By the looks of it, he wasn’t much of a physical person. The grimace on his face told Baingan that much, at least.
“...Sure. Fine. Thanks.” Konan turned to go grab a broom, curt words hiding the relief he felt that he wouldn’t be redoing the work all alone. It was stressful enough to wake up and see he had thirty deliveries to make today. Once he returned with the broom, he began to sweep as he spoke with the woman who just volunteered quite a bit of her time to him.
“So... what are you doing here? Doesn’t Sing Now! keep all of his employees squashed under his thumb?” Baingan could detect some disdain for her boss in the man’s voice, which was a thing she had gotten used to by now. She brushed the rather heavy topic off with a vague shrug, an answer that was seemingly also enough for Konan.
“I’m doing a music video! I was singing and everything, yeah?” Baingan pointed to her phone, then her face, then her phone, then her face. The peppy motion seemingly stunned Konan for a moment, his eyes confusedly darting between the two items for several seconds after Baingan stopped. Paired with Konan’s stark white hair, an outside viewer would likely question if these two were really just one year apart in age.
“I... didn’t say you could, but fine. Whatever. You can get back to doing that AFTER we finish getting these arrangements remade and delivered.” Konan wouldn’t ever admit it, but he wasn't letting Baingan record in his shop just for helping, but because he was actually a huge fan of the musician himself. Regulars of the Gau Floral Store could recount the many times her songs would come up on the store’s speakers, the botanist himself often caught humming them to himself when he wasn’t particularly busy.
“Awright! We’ll get these all done and then you can feature in the video too!” Baingan’s face was streaked once again with confidence. She shot Konan a thumbs up, too. Konan offered little more than a nod before he rounded up the materials they needed, and they set to work. Konan spent a surprisingly patient few moments with Baingan as he instructed her on how to create the arrangements, the direction being much more gentle than someone who knew Konan might expect.
“Okay, that’s all of them. Now let’s go.” Konan led Baingan out of the store to an alleyway between Gau Floral Store and his grandmother’s apartment, where a spare bike was laid in wait for a situation like this. “You can ride on that bike, I’ll bring mine around. C’mon.”
Scenario: Near the bridge to Sapatibhatt, Bedtown — 12:11 PM
Carol hadn’t had a day off like this in a long time. Ever since that fateful day when she’d been put on trial by the Nightblooms, she’d been nonstop occupied with every sort of task, whether it be recovering from her injuries to helping out with the reconstruction process of the museum. Her coworkers seemed to be busy with their own affairs as well, leaving Carol with much of the menial work of trying to find anything that Marvin considered “strange” enough to be an exhibit, not to mention their already existing exhibits continuing to go missing by themselves.
And on this free day, she was wandering aimlessly about Bedtown, looking for a clue. The lady in the bright orange coat walking down the street with her head in the clouds was already enough to turn a couple heads without the bright yellow and purple dots adorning her skin, a parting gift from the Nightblooms. All the eyes on her made her ever more conscious of the rashy feeling all across her body, but she resisted the itch and walked on, arms at her sides. She had someone she was looking for. At least, that was a generous way of putting it. She’d heard from a talkative crowd member after show hours about one of his students, a floral store owner focusing on Nightbloom botany. Unfortunately, that was about the only thread she had at the moment. She had been so out of it the last few months, even as she declared to help out around these streets...
As she waved calmly and merrily at passersby, attention drawn to her like a gravitational field, she lamented this directionless wandering. She felt like an alien in the city she called home; this was Rākinnagarh, just as much as anywhere else. The city she vowed to help protect, make happy with those acts of hers. And here she was, utterly lost in its streets. She tried to bat away those helpless thoughts – she was here to learn more about herself and the city, after all – but there wasn’t much she could do by herself to assuage that deep fear.
As she moved to take another step in her aimless journey, Carol gasped as her foot failed to make purchase with the pavement, causing her to fall squarely onto her face. If people were staring at the comedian before, they were certainly hiding it now. Perhaps they figured she’d had enough embarrassment for one day. Maybe they didn’t really care. Carol groaned as she lifted her upper body slightly off the ground. Nothing seemed broken, but something was off. Had she run into something? Her answer came just as quickly as she had asked it, as she noticed the large stick laying on the sidewalk, directly under her legs. Beside it was a small man in a large, green coat, knelt down and turned away from her. The comedian frowned at the man’s apparent lack of awareness, as he seemed to be busy doing... something else? It was hard to make out from her position. With another groan, she hoisted herself back onto her feet, tapping the old man on the shoulder with stern intent.
“Hey, uh, do you mind?”
The man’s head perked up at the touch, a startled look in his eyes. “Oh? Pardon me, ma’am. What seems to be the–”
His eyes instantly glanced over to the stick, and then back to the woman, a blush forming under his mutton chops. He turned fully around before picking up the stick with one hand, cradling something else in the other. As he rose, he lowered his head.
“You have my apologies, miss. Are you hurt?”
Carol looked over herself for a moment, just to make sure. Nothing was terribly wrong, the benefits of being covered almost head to toe. She shook her head. “Just be careful where you put that thing next time, yeah? This is a public street after all, anyone could’ve tripped over it.”
“Yes, yes, I agree. That was quite careless of me.” The old man frowned.
Carol raised an eyebrow, noticing the cloth the man was cradling in his other hand. “Just what were you doing kneeling down on such a busy walkway, anyhow? This isn’t really a place to tie your shoes at.”
“Hm? Oh no, no. Nothing like that,” he said, gesturing lightly to his sandaled feet. Setting his stick beside a nearby wall this time, he gingerly unwrapped the cloth in his hands, revealing a porcelain tea cup, with a few chunks from the top scattered around it.
“I had just noticed this lying on the sidewalk, you see. The craftsmanship is remarkable, though it's certainly seen better days,” the old man grunted. “It’s a miracle no one’s stepped on it. I only caught wind of it after a shard nearly wedged its way into my toes!” The man’s apologetic visage seemed to have given way to a grimace. “Talk about careless.”
A sigh escaped from the comedian. “Right, well that’s rather kind of you. Do you want me to find a trash can or something for it?”
“And just throw it away?” the small man protested. “What a waste!”
Carol raised her arms in surrender. “Alright, I hear you.” After a moment of pause, though, she crossed them. “What do you intend to do with it then?”
“Well... I haven’t quite decided yet,” the man hemmed, replacing the wrapping over the broken cup. “I could use it to fill in one of my tiles back home. Oh, I could always try to fix it up, too! I’m sure it'd look lovely as a vase for my little Syngonium.”
Carol’s eyes perked up at the mention of a flower. “Oh, are you good with plants?”
The man grinned a sly grin. “Well, my garden wouldn’t use such words, but I’ve been working with plants for well over a few years now.”
“Oh! Maybe you can help me then.” Carol was beaming. Could this be the lead she was looking for? “I’m looking for a guy around here. He runs a flower store around these parts.” She rubbed her left arm, feeling the dots underneath her coat. “Allegedly knows a few things about... Nightblooms, too.”
The man raised an eyebrow while stroking his chin. “Hmm, a flower shop, eh? Well, there are a few around this part of the city.”
Despite the crowd, the short man paced back and forth, hemming and hawing audibly. Carol watched as passersby tried to maneuver around this guy, one almost running square into him. Finally, a lightbulb goes off.
“Oh! I wonder if you’re talking about the Gau Floral Store? Meixiu’s grandson runs it. I think his name was... Kodan? Nonan? No, that can’t be right…”
The man’s questions devolved into mumbling, forcing a small smirk from the comedian. “Hey, no need to sweat the details. I think that’s just the place I’ll look. Thanks a bunch!”
Carol gave a small bow as she turned to start her journey. She took a few more steps before turning again. After another set, she stopped. The old man had tapped her shoulder with his stick. “I can lead you there, you know. It’d be no trouble.”
“Oh, no. That’s okay,” Carol said. “I’ve already taken up enough of your time. Besides, what makes you think I don’t know where I’m going?”
“You look lost.” The man shrugged.
The comedian’s shoulders slumped at having been called out so easily. “Alright, lead the way, Mr...”
Carol blinked a few times, a sudden realization blushing red through her cheeks. “Oh wow, I hadn’t even asked you your name yet.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “How careless.”
“Nonsense!” The old man smiled, holding out a palm. “Gotam. Gotam Sodhani.”
“Carol.” She accepted the handshake, matching his smile with her own. “Nice to meet you!”
Scenario: Streets of Bedtown, 12:57 PM
A meander through the streets of Bedtown managed to turn into a surprisingly jaunty stroll with Gotam’s aid. As she was led along by the old man, Carol got to know him more and more through bits of small talk. While conversation repeatedly turned to talks of the ever growing rumbles that seemed to be happening across Rākinnagarh, like the terrible incident that happened a few weeks ago down at the community center, as they conversed, it was becoming clear to Carol that Gotam wasn’t your run of the mill geezer. He was a generous soul who had a genuine love for his community. He rambled about all the kind faces he’s been fortunate enough to meet throughout his decades of city living. He even shared a few winding tales of daring aid, such as when he chased and caught a wild boar that had run off with a poor fool’s walker stuck to its face.
Carol couldn’t help but laugh. She was pretty certain some of these stories were made up, but she knew better than anyone that any good story worth its salt was entertaining first and foremost. As the two walked, she felt her shoulders relax. Though she was never good at voicing her innermost feelings, she still felt them. This guy was honest, and clearly grounded in the streets he was leading her through. In the process of exchanging stories, she almost found it easier to smile. Almost.
Gotam stopped abruptly, moving his stick out in front of Carol, the latter raising a brow at the sudden shift in movement.
“What’s up? Did we find the shop?”
The old man was facing forward, a bright smile on his face. “No, it would seem ‘the shop’ has found us!”
Two figures approached, both atop their dual-tired steeds, though one was clearly weighed down by the basket behind her, as it was practically filled with flowers. The leading figure got off of his bike, taking off his helmet to reveal a pile of stark white locks underneath. Gotam met him halfway, arms open wide. “Kolan, my boy! It’s been too long.”
The botanist expertly dodged any attempt at an embrace, the grimace on his face reminiscent of someone who’d just eaten something far too sour. “Konan,” he said with a frown. “And, it’s good to see you too... I guess.”
With introductions out of the way, Konan waved Baingan over, prompting the rapper to walk her bike up next to the botanist. “This is the last guy, boss? With all the flowers?”
“Stop calling me boss...” Konan slumped a little with embarrassment, looking away from every involved party as he regained what little composure he had left after such a stressful day. “And... Yes, this is the last order of the day.” Konan replied, putting his hands into his pockets.
He turned back to the old man. “Now, Mr. Sadhani, given the quantity of your order, and the ‘complicated’ nature of your living situation, I’m going to need you to sign a few forms.” As he spoke, Baingan produced a series of documents seemingly out of nowhere, complemented by a pen and a ‘stern’ look, though the pout splayed across her face was more reminiscent of Konan’s comical expression when confronted with physical affection than genuine malice. “Sound good?”
Gotam simply chuckled, giving Konan a pat on the arm as he walked over to Konan’s new “employee”. Carol glanced over at the large pile of flowers, an astonished gleam in her eyes. Just what was this old man going to do with all those flowers? And how was he going to carry them all? She figured these were questions that would have to go unanswered for the time being. Besides, she had a more pressing matter that needed to be addressed, and she finally had the opportunity to act on it.
She smoothly approached Konan, and made the tasteful choice of a wave rather than a handshake or the like. That seemed to fully place Konan’s eyes on her, and a change in expression made it clear he recognized her somehow.
“You... were in that one livestream. The Nojus one.” The college student cocked his head to the side, examining Carol with curiosity. “You uh... Are you okay? They cut you open pretty badly,” he added. Carol could tell that he had better intentions than the rather insensitive remark would indicate, and decided that she’d just politely nod in response instead of addressing it fully.
“That’s... Me!” Carol tried to offer an enthusiastic response, but it was hard to mask the slight bitterness she had regarding that entire situation. For one, it seemed like her comedy career was now overshadowed by that glorified workout stream, and secondly, it left her covered in the strange dots Konan’s eyes would drift toward.
“I actually wanted to talk to you about something. I’ve heard that you’re pretty good with flowers– well, that much is obvious.” She gestured to the healthy-looking bunch of flowers being prodded through by Baingan and her newly-made friend, the two sharing mirthful smiles as they admired Konan’s care for the plants.
“But I also know that your main area of research is Nightblooms, right? Your teacher pointed me towards you for this kind of thing.” Well, she didn’t approach his teacher directly, but having overheard him talk about Konan was close enough, right?
“Uh... Parabotany, but yeah.” Konan offered another embarrassed sigh as he began to explain the more in-depth parts of his interest in supernatural plants, but a look of confusion grew on his face as he was met with engaged nods instead of rolled eyes. The pair stood there for a solid eight minutes discussing Carol’s affliction and other supernatural plants around Rakin, before eventually circling back to the main topic.
After a few moments of intense stares from all angles, Konan realized that he was now encircled by the other people he had run into during the day. Pushing the old man and Baingan away, he gave what he was about to say some more thought.
“...Well, I think the best way to figure out how this is affecting your body would be... Hm...” As Konan considered his next words, he noticed an expectant glance from his new... business partner? Is that what Baingan was?
Well, he was getting stared at, and he didn’t like it, so he might as well just say the idea to make it stop.
“Weshouldrecreatethecircumstancesleadinguptoyougettingthosemarks! A friendly spar or something, I think!” Though the first part was mumbled quick and quiet, the latter part was loud and clear. An intrigued glint shone in the eye of Carol Brown, and she put a finger to her chin as she thought about the proposition. Before she could speak, though, Baingan’s rather concerned voice rang out.
“Wouldn’t we get hurt? We still have a music vid to shoot, and... Well, it’s just dangerous! I don’t think we should be throwing down just for the sake of it!” She crossed her arms and frowned a bit more genuinely than she was before, a look that seemed to send Konan directly into damage control mode.
In a flash, Konan presented the three would-be combatants with pendants emitting a strange Stand energy. “I already thought of that! These are...” Konan stopped to think. “I made them. From a Stand material. They can patch up wounds after we’re all done... no issues, right?”
With a nod from every other person possibly involved in this little bout, Konan handed out the necklaces and cleared his throat, urging Carol to speak up now that the concern was dealt with.
“For a second there, I thought you were just looking for an excuse to fight...” She put a finger in the air to stop any protests Konan may respond with. “...But I’m pretty sure you’re being genuine about wanting to help, ulterior motives or not.” When Carol met Konan’s eyes, a palpable determination glowed from the both of them.
This was the perfect moment to have a take two on that fight with Nojus. This time nobody would be grievously injured and she’d have an opportunity to learn more about what happened to her in the process. She can finally prove to herself that she’s grown past that fateful night.
Turning to look at Gotam, Carol sees the question she was about to ask was already answered: the old man was constructing his bow and arrow, shooting a meaningful look to Konan as the fellow archer readied his compound bow. Carol chuckled a bit at that, before she made her way over to her partner.
Konan, on the other hand, looked back to Baingan. Similarly, she had already summoned her Stand, the gada shining in the afternoon sun. For the first time, Konan initiated the shared smile between the two. He walked over to her, nodding with wordless respect as the two sides of this friendly skirmish faced one another.
“...Baingan, can you do the– the thing? The one people always do before a Stand battle starts.” Konan whispered a bit awkwardly into his partner’s ear, causing her to practically light up like a firework. She hadn’t had the opportunity to be her larger-than-life self for an entire 40 minutes, and that just wasn’t right!
With an enthusiastic nod to her “boss” she took a step forward, cupping her hands around her mouth. “ALRIGHT, BEDTOWN! WE’RE ABOUT TO THROW DOWN, AND WE WANNA GIVE YOU ALL A NICE SHOW... BUT YOU KNOW THE RUUULES!” The jubilation in her voice was electric, making its way to the small crowd that began to form a perimeter for this nice little spar. “YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN, EVERYBODY! SAY IT WITH ME ON THE COUNT OF THREE!” Even her fellow combatants prepared to join in with her. On the count of...
“ONE!”
“TWO!”
“THREE!”
“OPEN THE GAME!”
Location: A few two-story apartment buildings, with various stalls and food trucks out front in green. The map is 30x72 meters, with each square being 2x2 meters. The apartments' second floor can be reached by stairways, and there are stairways in the back that lead to the roof. The roofs are made of several planes, and in red are satellite dishes, chimneys, and other similar protrusions. The interiors of the buildings are not reachable.
As for the blue dots, they are various NPCs, all of whom have 222 physicals. The ones running the stalls have Salesman: 3, and the rest have a mixture of 3 skills that apply to a variety of different careers; however, they have to be talked to for a few moments before their specific skill can be gleaned. In other words, Carol has a wide variety of potential Skills open to her, but must spend time to figure out who does what with the exception of the people actively plying their trade. The stalls have some selling food, and some selling accessories, bangles, and other similar fare.
Goal: RETIRE your opponents!
Additional Information: The NPCs may be talked with, moved around, and generally interacted with however the players would like; however, there is an important restriction. Intentionally harming any NPCs is considered a LOSS condition, due to being out of character for either Gotam or Baingan to abide by and turning the fight into an unwinnable 3v1. Attacking pieces of Carol's Stand or otherwise stopping her from scaling out of control is fine, and they may not be actively used as human shields or similar. Otherwise, they'll generally move away from bizarre goings on and have Just Trying To Relax After A Hard Day's Work: 3, meaning that they're unlikely to be convinced to do anything that would get them involved actively in the fight, even with Carol's 5 Skill.

Team	Combatant	JoJolity
I.M.P.A.C.T.	Konan Gau with Baingan Bharta	“I've found the perfect inspiration for my manga!!” Now that the day’s work is done, it's time to keep a promise. Get good footage for a music video!
Gallery of Wayward Reverie	Carol Brown with Gotam Sadhani	“In order to grow, we must defeat the mistakes of our past.”” You’ve come a long way from your first Stand battle. Show your growth!

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Please do not share my content, in my situation privacy is critical. I'm not here to go viral, I just need to vent sometimes.
At this point theres a lot of history but I don't really need to go over it fully to write this particular tale as its just one of MANY examples of how competitive, entitled and generally nasty my SO's family can be. I would say his Mom is definitely the Eye of the Shit Storm but swirling around her are various other characters that come in the form of some next level Main Characters cut from the same cloth as MIL, Flying Monkeys and Weak Willed Enablers. Add a dash of Bible-thumping, a cup of bigotry and a heaping spoonful of petty gossip and you have *pretty much* summed up the dynamic of this Viper Pit my partner was born into.
Its not just a MotheSon enmeshment situation... its a whoooole family problem. I've truly never seen anything like it... the control and loyalty these people demand is legitimately bordering on cult like. Theres overlap with work lives (most of them work for the same company and see each other 5 days a week), finances are entwined, the Family Of Origin is supposed to come before ALL and outside spouses are expected to fall in line (AND "prove themselves" by bending over backwards). There is no room for any real autonomy as a nuclear family, let alone for "non family" spouses, gf's, bf's etc's OWN families... In short: My partner of many years, who I live with and raise children with, is supposed to prioritize every member of his family of origin over us and ether pressure myself/the kids to deal with that or disregard us/our needs/ his duties as a partner and father.
My children are of a previous marriage but SO and I got together when they were young. Their father is barely in the picture (and sucks when he is) so my partner is their primary father figure. They see it that way, I see it that way, and most importantly, HE sees it that way. He is the one who taught them how to ride bikes. He is the one they lean on when they are stressed. He is the one in their lives every day helping to raise them up right. He is the one helping me pay for activities and buy their clothes and birthday gifts. He is for all intents and purposes "Dad" and has been for a very long time.
Everyone seems to be on the same page about this *except his family*. They've never said it out loud, but its made **quite** clear in the way they BEHAVE and this is one of several instances where that has been made apparent.
Our youngest LO plays sports and had an end of the season tournament/regional competition last year (as we do every year). It runs three days and the kids have 1 to 2 games per day (sometimes more, depends on how well they do). At the end of said competition a winning team prevails over the others. Pretty typical stuff, and anyone here who's a sports parent probably has done something similar. You're notified pretty far in advance and it safe for you to plan on being totally tied up on that weekend because even if a game is at 10am and another is at 6pm, they are away games so you're usually just gonna hang in the area.
So OF COURSE SIL decided this had to be the weekend he would host a huge 75plus person BBQ for her childs birthday.
When they have parties they tend to go all out. Think food tent, catered food, bouncy castles, fireworks, organized games with prizes, centerpieces, cocktails and mocktales, THEMES... its all very "look at meeee" but honestly, its whatever. If you can afford all that and wanna do it DO YOU. I personally feel its a little over the top but this is just how their gatherings are. Its all very perfect and nice so when we are available I'll show up despite being super uncomfortable around MIL and also having a hard time personally in large groups (I have anxiety and get very overstimulated). I'll issue the appropriate amount of complements about the cake and the center pieces and how LOVELY that new slightly lighter beige than the last beige couch looks in the living room. I'll plaster on a smile and chug boxed wine to keep myself from having a panic attack because my spouse wants to be in his nieces and nephews lives and desperately wants a "real relationship" with his siblings outside of his poison parents. SO is... very different than the rest of his siblings (he was the Scapegoat so he's kindemore sensitive) and he hasn't fully come around to accepting the fact that they're KINDA probably not capable of the level of respect and connection he is.
We were told about "THE EVENT" about 3 weeks out (an appropriate amount of time FOR ONCE... his family loves to drop things on us last min and demand we change up our lives to accommodate them) BUT, this fell smack in the middle of day 2 of LO's tournament. She had two games that day and we were going to be nearly an hour away from the location of said party... so we did what most parents would do and explained that that weekend was pretty much booked to the gills for us and we would be tied up for over 8 hrs not locally that particular day. We also expressed our apologies (even though we really did nothing wrong)/said we were sorry we had to miss it (the kids have fun and we genuinely wanted to go and would have if it had been any other weekend) and offered to swing by that evening to drop gifts and spend a lil time with the birthday boy or to come by with some pizza on us the following weekend to do that. SIL texts us with an "I'll have to let you know, we'll figure something out. -heart emoji-" and we foolishly say "whew, that was easier than we thought!"...
About an hour later, SO gets a call from his mother. This call lasts for about 30 seconds before all the color drains out of his face and he steps into the back yard (a pretty typical clue that "shits going down"). I give him his space and wait for him to come back into the house looking the way he always looks after MIL calls (as in, angry af and or looking like he just sobbed in the yard for 20 minutes). Predictably, Mommy Dearest is "upset and very disapointed in him" and "his sister and nephew are devastated". Y'all know the routine... "she puts so much effort into these parties", "he should want to be there for her", "he's not being a very good uncle", "I don't understand why LO can't just skip out on her games that day" and when that was shut down, "Natural Raccoon and those kids get you all the time and have you the rest of the weekend, leave her there to handle the kids tournament herself that day and YOU come"...
You know, because f&%k our family priorities and OUR kids feelings right?
Mind you, this was his nephews *3rd* birthday. HIGHLY DOUBT he was upset.
HIGHLY DOUBT he would miss us in the sea of people at the party he probably cant even fully grasp /experience anyway... because HE'S THREEEEEEEE.
But we're supposed to ether tell my *8 year old* child we're letting her team down by pulling her out of games that day (great lesson on following through with commitments!) or BETTER YET, tell her that her stepfather would be absent that day because he has to prioritize something else over the tournament she's been hyped up about for MONTHS, that her bio dad sure as hell won't bother himself to show up to.
In the end, SO made the right choice and **didn't** cave to his mothers hysteria or his fathers after the fact guilt trips (MIL essentially treats her husband like a whipping boy anytime shes mad at anyone else so SO has to not only deal w mom, but then has to deal with the guilt his father unfairly lays on him and FIL begging him to "please just give her what she wants or find a compromise shes happy with" after MIL takes out all her rage on him), but the three weeks leading up to that day were absolute Hell.
On the day of we STILL attempted to do the "be the bigger person" thing and we sent SIL a text asking if we could swing by post tournament in the evening to gift the nephew (we purchased a VERY nice gift, SO probably spent about 100 buck on her son, which for us is actually a significant amount of money). We added a "we get that you're probably tired, no need to entertain us or feed us. We just wanna say hi to kiddo, drop the gift and we can help break stuff down and clean up if you want!" (which FYI. WE were wiped out and not really wanting to do anything but go home but, it was an olive branch). SIL said "her social battery was on E" (we didn't rly need you to entertain us and said as much but ok) and we asked to come by the next weekend.
She leaves SO on read, and continues to ignore his texts/our 5-6 attempts to reach out to come see her and her son to give him his present for WEEKS. While simultaneously complaining to MIL, FIL and God only knows who else about how my partner is "barely involved in her childrens lives and she just WISHES he would care more about being a good uncle" and "She REALLY tries with us but we're just always soooo busy" (but... you're leaving us on read, ignoring our efforts to see you AGAIN (-thats a pattern fyi, she only bothers with us when she wants us to come to her parties and be living photo props-). What made this especially neat was the fact that in my entire relationship with this man, we had attended almost every party/event she had ever held while SHE had come to ours MAYBE twice, and had only "popped by" for an hour on those occasions so like WHAT THE ACTUAL FK??
Suffice to say, the nephew didn't get his gift for almost two months (while we heard through the grapevine that shes telling people my SO "didn't bother to acknowledge her sons birthday" and he's catching hell from his Mom and gross guilt trips from his Father). The gift was finally given when he, after weeks of being ignored, showed up unannounced after work one day to give it. Because in his families mind, they should they come before his own partner and children, so he should have to kiss ass and chase SIL down to give expensive gifts to HER KID.
I'm glad he didn't buckle to the pressure to wound our daughter over this bullshit but I think after all that gossip, emotional blackmail, drama the dished out he shouldn't have chased after SIL and kissed her ass like that. He claims its because "his nephew should still get a present despite his family's behavior" and I get that... but I also think he would never really remember not getting one and I think that SO's family disgustingly weaponized a toddler in their ongoing 1 sided competition. Its a constant effort to knock me down a few pegs and create situations that force SO "to choose a side" because they can't stand the fact that SO has priorities that come before THEIR family, LIKE ANY OTHER ADULT MAN IN A RELATIONSHIP WITH CHILDREN.
If it were up to me that gift would have gone back to the store.
I really wish he could learn to drop the rope a bit more with these people.

Please do not share my content, in my situation privacy is kinda critical. I'm not here to go viral, I just need to vent sometimes.
At this point theres a lot of history but I don't really need to go over it fully to write this particular tale as its just one of MANY examples of how competitive, entitled and generally nasty my SO's family can be. I would say his Mom is definitely the Eye of the Shit Storm but swirling around her are various other characters that come in the form of some next level Main Characters cut from the same cloth as MIL, Flying Monkeys and Weak Willed Enablers. Add a dash of Bible-thumping, a cup of bigotry and a heaping spoonful of petty gossip and you have *pretty much* summed up the dynamic of this Viper Pit my partner was born into.
Its not just a MotheSon enmeshment situation... its a whoooole family problem. I've truly never seen anything like it... the control and loyalty these people demand is legitimately bordering on cult like. Theres overlap with work lives (most of them work for the same company and see each other 5 days a week), finances are entwined, the Family Of Origin is supposed to come before ALL and outside spouses are expected to fall in line (AND "prove themselves" by bending over backwards). There is no room for any real autonomy as a nuclear family, let alone for "non family" spouses, gf's, bf's etc's OWN families... In short: My partner of many years, who I live with and raise children with, is supposed to prioritize every member of his family of origin over us and ether pressure myself/the kids to deal with that or disregard us/our needs/ his duties as a partner and father.
My children are of a previous marriage but SO and I got together when they were young. Their father is barely in the picture (and sucks when he is) so my partner is their primary father figure. They see it that way, I see it that way, and most importantly, HE sees it that way. He is the one who taught them how to ride bikes. He is the one they lean on when they are stressed. He is the one in their lives every day helping to raise them up right. He is the one helping me pay for activities and buy their clothes and birthday gifts. He is for all intents and purposes "Dad" and has been for a very long time.
Everyone seems to be on the same page about this *except his family*. They've never said it out loud, but its made **quite** clear in the way they BEHAVE and this is one of several instances where that has been made apparent.
Our youngest LO plays sports and had an end of the season tournament/regional competition last year (as we do every year). It runs three days and the kids have 1 to 2 games per day (sometimes more, depends on how well they do). At the end of said competition a winning team prevails over the others. Pretty typical stuff, and anyone here who's a sports parent probably has done something similar. You're notified pretty far in advance and it safe for you to plan on being totally tied up on that weekend because even if a game is at 10am and another is at 6pm, they are away games so you're usually just gonna hang in the area.
So OF COURSE SIL decided this had to be the weekend he would host a huge 75plus person BBQ for her childs birthday.
When they have parties they tend to go all out. Think food tent, catered food, bouncy castles, fireworks, organized games with prizes, centerpieces, cocktails and mocktales, THEMES... its all very "look at meeee" but honestly, its whatever. If you can afford all that and wanna do it DO YOU. I personally feel its a little over the top but this is just how their gatherings are. Its all very perfect and nice so when we are available I'll show up despite being super uncomfortable around MIL and also having a hard time personally in large groups (I have anxiety and get very overstimulated). I'll issue the appropriate amount of complements about the cake and the center pieces and how LOVELY that new slightly lighter beige than the last beige couch looks in the living room. I'll plaster on a smile and chug boxed wine to keep myself from having a panic attack because my spouse wants to be in his nieces and nephews lives and desperately wants a "real relationship" with his siblings outside of his poison parents. SO is... very different than the rest of his siblings (he was the Scapegoat so he's kindemore sensitive) and he hasn't fully come around to accepting the fact that they're KINDA probably not capable of the level of respect and connection he is.
We were told about "THE EVENT" about 3 weeks out (an appropriate amount of time FOR ONCE... his family loves to drop things on us last min and demand we change up our lives to accommodate them) BUT, this fell smack in the middle of day 2 of LO's tournament. She had two games that day and we were going to be nearly an hour away from the location of said party... so we did what most parents would do and explained that that weekend was pretty much booked to the gills for us and we would be tied up for over 8 hrs not locally that particular day. We also expressed our apologies (even though we really did nothing wrong)/said we were sorry we had to miss it (the kids have fun and we genuinely wanted to go and would have if it had been any other weekend) and offered to swing by that evening to drop gifts and spend a lil time with the birthday boy or to come by with some pizza on us the following weekend to do that. SIL texts us with an "I'll have to let you know, we'll figure something out. -heart emoji-" and we foolishly say "whew, that was easier than we thought!"...
About an hour later, SO gets a call from his mother. This call lasts for about 30 seconds before all the color drains out of his face and he steps into the back yard (a pretty typical clue that "shits going down"). I give him his space and wait for him to come back into the house looking the way he always looks after MIL calls (as in, angry af and or looking like he just sobbed in the yard for 20 minutes). Predictably, Mommy Dearest is "upset and very disapointed in him" and "his sister and nephew are devastated". Y'all know the routine... "she puts so much effort into these parties", "he should want to be there for her", "he's not being a very good uncle", "I don't understand why LO can't just skip out on her games that day" and when that was shut down, "Natural Raccoon and those kids get you all the time and have you the rest of the weekend, leave her there to handle the kids tournament herself that day and YOU come"...
You know, because f&%k our family priorities and OUR kids feelings right?
Mind you, this was his nephews *3rd* birthday. HIGHLY DOUBT he was upset.
HIGHLY DOUBT he would miss us in the sea of people at the party he probably cant even fully grasp /experience anyway... because HE'S THREEEEEEEE.
But we're supposed to ether tell my *8 year old* child we're letting her team down by pulling her out of games that day (great lesson on following through with commitments!) or BETTER YET, tell her that her stepfather would be absent that day because he has to prioritize something else over the tournament she's been hyped up about for MONTHS, that her bio dad sure as hell won't bother himself to show up to.
In the end, SO made the right choice and **didn't** cave to his mothers hysteria or his fathers after the fact guilt trips (MIL essentially treats her husband like a whipping boy anytime shes mad at anyone else so SO has to not only deal w mom, but then has to deal with the guilt his father unfairly lays on him and FIL begging him to "please just give her what she wants or find a compromise shes happy with" after MIL takes out all her rage on him), but the three weeks leading up to that day were absolute Hell.
On the day of we STILL attempted to do the "be the bigger person" thing and we sent SIL a text asking if we could swing by post tournament in the evening to gift the nephew (we purchased a VERY nice gift, SO probably spent about 100 buck on her son, which for us is actually a significant amount of money). We added a "we get that you're probably tired, no need to entertain us or feed us. We just wanna say hi to kiddo, drop the gift and we can help break stuff down and clean up if you want!" (which FYI. WE were wiped out and not really wanting to do anything but go home but, it was an olive branch). SIL said "her social battery was on E" (we didn't rly need you to entertain us and said as much but ok) and we asked to come by the next weekend.
She leaves SO on read, and continues to ignore his texts/our 5-6 attempts to reach out to come see her and her son to give him his present for WEEKS. While simultaneously complaining to MIL, FIL and God only knows who else about how my partner is "barely involved in her childrens lives and she just WISHES he would care more about being a good uncle" and "She REALLY tries with us but we're just always soooo busy" (but... you're leaving us on read, ignoring our efforts to see you AGAIN (-thats a pattern fyi, she only bothers with us when she wants us to come to her parties and be living photo props-). What made this especially neat was the fact that in my entire relationship with this man, we had attended almost every party/event she had ever held while SHE had come to ours MAYBE twice, and had only "popped by" for an hour on those occasions so like WHAT THE ACTUAL FK??
Suffice to say, the nephew didn't get his gift for almost two months (while we heard through the grapevine that shes telling people my SO "didn't bother to acknowledge her sons birthday" and he's catching hell from his Mom and gross guilt trips from his Father). The gift was finally given when he, after weeks of being ignored, showed up unannounced after work one day to give it. Because in his families mind, they should they come before his own partner and children, so he should have to kiss ass and chase SIL down to give expensive gifts to HER KID.
I'm glad he didn't buckle to the pressure to wound our daughter over this bullshit but I think after all that gossip, emotional blackmail, drama the dished out he shouldn't have chased after SIL and kissed her ass like that. He claims its because "his nephew should still get a present despite his family's behavior" and I get that... but I also think he would never really remember not getting one and I think that SO's family disgustingly weaponized a toddler in their ongoing 1 sided competition. Its a constant effort to knock me down a few pegs and create situations that force SO "to choose a side" because they can't stand the fact that SO has priorities that come before THEIR family, LIKE ANY OTHER ADULT MAN IN A RELATIONSHIP WITH CHILDREN.
If it were up to me that gift would have gone back to the store.

"After the Meltdown" (Part 2 of a series of short stories)
by P. Orin Zack
 
“Face Value” (Story 4 of 7)
[4/12/2008]
 
“She told me it was a buzzerfly, Mr. Spordling.”
Ryan Svorlin smiled at Amathea’s latest mispronunciation, and set the clump of siskiyou blue he was holding into the hole she’d dug for him. He’d started re-landscaping the grounds of the enormous house he’d won in the L.A. mortgage lottery soon after burying its former owner. Gregory Davis’s smelly corpse was still hanging over the kitchen sink when Ryan opened the door for the first time, and he’d stayed in that spot as a local tourist attraction until a visiting former congressman offered to help plant the suicide in his own garden. Taking over a house, ‘as-is’, in the days after the big financial meltdown, could hold more surprises than it did when Davis was still scamming people with specious investment schemes. Happily, if you could call it that, the bloated debt-based market had finally had a correction large enough to put an end to the hegemony of the dollar, and life went on after a fashion.
“A what, kitten?”
Amathea looked up at him for a few seconds, and then pulled a clip from her hair. “A buzzerfly. Like this.”
The pattern on the thin plastic wings struck Ryan as a miniature, robed monk surrounded by a saffron glow, and tipped with rings of stars in a brown sky. While it was nestled along her braid rows, it had seemed as lifeless as Davis, but now, with its young owner flitting it over the plants in the box that sat beside her, it was more like an itinerant preacher spreading wisdom among the leaves. “What did your mother say was like a butterfly?”
“My name. She said this buzzerfly has the same name as me.”
A shadow crossed Amathea’s pretty brown face as she was clipping the butterfly back into her hair, so she turned to look up at the pale man that had stopped on the sidewalk beyond the bed.
“Excuse me,” the man said amiably, setting down his battered attaché case. “I’m looking for the Davis house. Is this it?”
Ryan rose. He began to extend a hand in greeting, but froze in recognition, and clenched it instead. “I know who you are, Conklin.”
“That’s great. Then you won’t mind my asking—.”
“Actually, I do, Peter. Aren’t you supposed to be in prison?”
“Well, I was. Until recently, anyway. But it turned out someone needed me sprung, so here I am.”
“Here you are, indeed. Back at the home of the man you did some of your best work for. Well, you’re a bit late. Gregory Davis had a last minute change of heart, and left a cornucopia of evidence behind, a treasure trove of files that you seem to figure quite prominently in.”
He glanced down at his case. “Those phony bonds. Of course.”
Ryan motioned Amathea to keep behind him, and then stiffened, his arms crossed in defiance. “Davis had some samples of your work in his safe, not that they’re worth anything. There was also a rather fat digital scrapbook, featuring your prime-time perp-walk and the trial he was so conveniently kept out of. Did you enjoy being the fall-guy for that scheme?”
“Not particularly,” Conklin said, visibly bristling at the memory. “But while it lasted, the money was good. Now, of course…”
“So how did you get free? Did the people who needed you pay someone off, or did they just blow a hole in the wall for you?”
“You don’t understand. It wasn’t like that. And besides, all I wanted was to ask if you had any rooms to let. I was told that—.”
“What? That the jerk that won Davis’ digs would welcome you into his home? Look, just because I’m poor doesn’t mean I have this uncontrollable urge to rub shoulders with a counterfeiter. You’re not exactly the sort of person I’d want to trust around children.”
Conklin looked pained, and closed his eyes. A moment later, he craned past Ryan for a look at Amathea. “Is that Cristall’s little girl?”
Ryan huffed. “Thorough, aren’t you. But I should have expected that you’d do some research before trying to bluff your way inside. So let me put that little pipe dream to rest. Neither I, nor Cristall Bellows, have the least little desire to find you lurking in the shadows at night. And I certainly wouldn’t trust you around her daughter.”
“Why not?” a woman said from beside him. “I would.”
“Cristall!” Ryan said, surprised. “I didn’t expect to see you until almost dinner.”
She turned to Conklin. “Peter, is he giving you a hard time?”
“You two know each other?” Ryan said, incredulously.
“Of course,” she said, kneeling to hug her daughter. “Who do you think sent him over here?”
“But don’t you realize who he is? What he’s done? Why would you—?”
Conklin turned his palms up. “I tried to explain.”
She rose, carrying her daughter, and stepped closer, until she was nose to nose with Ryan. “Do you trust me?”
“Well, sure. But that doesn’t mean—.”
“Would I do anything to put Amathea at risk?”
“Not knowingly. But the whole point of a confidence game is to get people to trust inherently untrustworthy people. You don’t know this man.”
“Oh. And you do?”
“Well, not personally. But I’ve seen the reports. I know what he’s capable of. An awful lot of people lost their life’s savings investing in the fraudulent stocks and bonds he created.”
“That may be, Ryan, but where I work, he’s considered something of a hero. So cut him a little slack, okay?” She stepped back a pace, and turned towards Conklin. “Sorry about that, Peter. Did you bring it with you?”
He nodded, and kneeled beside his attaché. Opening it, he extracted a large envelope and handed it up to her.
“What’s in that,” Ryan asked suspiciously.
“A present for Amathea. There’s more to her name than just a butterfly.” Conklin massaged his left calf for a moment before returning to his feet. When he did, he nodded towards the house. “Would you mind if we sat on the porch? I can only stand comfortably for so long at a go.”
Ryan followed the others, feeling a bit out of place in his own home, and eager to do something to rectify the situation. While Cristall and Conklin were settling in on the padded bench that was built onto the house, he went inside and brought out a round of iced tea. Once the glasses were set out, he pulled up a wicker chair and joined them. “You were saying about Amathea?”
At the sound of her name, Cristall’s daughter scrambled out from under the table and stood on the bench between the two adults. “Yeah,” she said excitedly, what else am I?”
Conklin smiled at her, and laid his hand over the envelope. “No peeking until I’ve told the story, okay?”
She nodded gravely. “Okay.”
“Well, besides being part of the name of the butterfly you’re wearing, your name also has roots in Greek mythology. Have you ever heard about them?”
She turned to her mother. “Have I?”
“Sure. Don’t you remember we talked about the pictures you can see in the stars? The constellations?”
She looked up into the hazy Los Angeles sky, smiled, and nodded.
“Well,” he continued, “Amathea was one of a big family called Nereids that helped sailors to survive dangerous storms in a place called the Aegean Sea. One day, the goddess Rhea had a son named Zeus. But she was afraid that his father, Kronos, would hurt him, so she asked Amathea to keep him safe, and raise him for her.”
Amathea frowned. “Why would Kronos do that? Didn’t he like Zeus?”
Conklin smiled. “People are still arguing about that. When you’re older, you’ll discover that there are new things that you can learn from stories you thought you already knew. And trust me, this is one of them. Anyway, after Zeus grows up, he thanks her with a pretty amazing gift. It’s a goat’s horn that will give her anything she desires. So I drew you one.”
Cristall opened the envelope and slid a sheet of paper out. At first glance, it seemed to be a richly illustrated, realistic-looking horn, set against what looked like a rough-hewn plank table. The textures he’d drawn were simply amazing. But there was something odd about the business end of the horn. The profusion of imagery tumbling out of it was nearly hypnotic. Instead of portraying specific objects, as she’d seen it depicted elsewhere, Peter Conklin had created a field of intricately layered patterns that challenged her imagination to conjure all manner of things in the same place. Gazing at the drawing was like seeing shapes in clouds, or in the textures of a sand-painted wall.
She looked up at him. “This is amazing.”
Amathea’s hand floated above the textures. Then she tried to touch something that wasn’t there, and fell into a happy giggle. “Thank you. It’s wonderful.”
“You’re quite welcome, my lady” he said, affecting a formal nod.
Ryan shook his head slowly. “I guess I was wrong. Nobody who can create something that beautiful could be irredeemable.”
“Then you’re okay with me being let out of prison?”
“Sure, but it also means I’ve got some thinking to do.”
“Oh? About what?”
He pointed to a tree near the corner of the house. “My benefactor, for a start. Despicable as he was, Gregory Davis did recognize fine craftsmanship when he saw it.”
Conklin shrugged. “So what? People in all kinds of professions have had their talents misused. Tech types building weapons… lawyers skirting the law… artists, writers and musicians manipulating people’s emotions to benefit some jerk with the power and wealth to have his way. But every one of them had to overrule their objections, to swallow their pride at one time or another in order to earn their next meal. Davis never had to deal with that. He, and those like him, did it out of greed and a lust for power regardless of the cost to someone else.”
“There is one thing I don’t get, though.”
“What’s that?”
“Cristall said you were considered a hero where she works.”
Conklin looked away, embarrassed.
“He is, Ryan,” she said. “If you think about it, none of what the city government has been able to do since the collapse of the dollar would have been possible if it hadn’t been for Peter.”
“If I hadn’t been handy,” Conklin said quietly, “it would have been someone else. It’s not like I’m the only engraver in Southern California.”
“Maybe not,” she said, “but for my money, you’re the best.”
“You still haven’t answered my question,” Ryan prodded. “What is it that you do?”
“Nothing special. Look, I came here to ask about a room. Cristall told me there were still a few left. And you don’t have to worry about getting paid. I work for the city now.”
“He’s right,” Cristall laughed. “I know that his money’s good, because it’s my job to tell people about it. Yeah. That’s right. Peter’s the guy who designed those L.A. Angels I’ve been paying you with.”
Conklin held up both hands. “Guilty as charged.”
“I don’t know,” Ryan said, in mock suspicion. “How will I know if you’re paying me with real money?”
“I guess you’ll just have to take them at face value.”
 
THE END
 
"Round" (Story 5 of 7)
[5/1/2008]
 
Norwyn Rosset squinted into the painfully bright desert sky. “I wonder where they all ended up?”
He stood in the road for a long moment, trying to recall exactly where the contrails from the two planes that crossed paths overhead every morning would have met. But the skies weren’t so friendly anymore. Ever since the big meltdown, people couldn’t afford to fly for pleasure. They didn’t visit distant relatives, either. The one local TV station’s farewell newscast noted that the end of business travel had sealed the fate of the two remaining passenger airlines. Soon after that, the ancient air cargo planes that lumbered low over Lingman every morning had vanished, and with them, Norwyn’s lifeline to what used to be called the American Dream. It had been weeks since he’d seen a plane in the sky, and he could only imagine where they’d all been mothballed.
A hunger-induced flash of lightheadedness, and he was momentarily wandering the littered concourse of an abandoned airport. He slumped, shook off the stupor, and wept at the hopelessness of his predicament: as short of breath now as he was of food.
The desert’s hot breath felt good on his face. Norwyn had been holed up in his increasingly squalid apartment since the dollar collapsed, wallowing in depression and living off whatever packaged goods remained in the homes and stores of his own private ghost town. He’d spent the morning wandering the streets in a cranky harangue, trying to annoy himself out of the nightmare.
Yeah. That worked well. Not.
“So maybe…” he yelled at the sun-drenched emptiness, “maybe we can just rewind the whole thing. Go back to the opening credits and do it differently. Not get sucked into all that seductive crap about living a few steps ahead of the bill collectors. Something.”
Or maybe, he thought darkly, whatever had sunk the economy, and his fortunes with it, would be miraculously cured, bringing back the people and businesses that had deserted the town, along with the vanished job he’d been tricked into moving here for. But the nightmare didn’t end, the economy wasn’t revived, and finding something to eat was rapidly slouching from difficult to impossible.
Norwyn had run out of town. If there were any cupboards left to raid, he couldn’t remember which they were. So he stood in the crumbling roadway, looking into the dusty distance, and prayed for the courage to take his own life.
He’d been depressed before. Heck, he’d been formally diagnosed and medicated for it. God knows he’d had plenty of reason to be. Having your life’s work trashed by some upstart with half the brains god gave a bucket of chum wasn’t exactly conducive to giving your all to the firm, no matter how fancy they dressed up your so-called ‘promotion’. Hell, he never should have accepted their offer in the first place. Better to be the captain of your own dinghy than third-string deck hand on the foremost megayacht in the world.
But he was kidding himself, and he knew it. At this point, he wasn’t too sure of where his own memories ended, and the hallucinations began. Without meds, he was a walking psych ward.
He’d run out of town, and he’d run out of life. So why was he still breathing?
Dispirited, Norwyn made a small circle on the hot pavement, and started back towards town. He shuffled listlessly along the centerline, trying to recall an old song. Just as he was coming up on the off-brand gas station that marked the edge of the town center, his reverie was broken by a distant buzz from behind him. He turned to see what it was, and sighted an odd-looking bicycle coming down the road, ridden by someone wearing khakis and a beat-up helmet.
“What the…?”
The rider raised an arm in a broad overhead wave, and flipped off the motor a few dozen feet before coasting to a stop in front of him. She unclipped her helmet and slipped it off, revealing a wind-burned face and tied-back brown hair. Norwyn guessed her to be about 40.
“Hi,” she said. “Sign back there says this is Lingman?”
“Yeah. Or it was before all the people split. I kind of got stranded here when the bottom fell through. I’m Norwyn, by the way, Norwyn Rosset. And you…?”
“Oh, sorry. I’m Elspeth… Ellie to my friends.”
“Ellie,” he repeated, gawking at her bike. “Listen, can you… can you take a passenger on that thing? I’d really like to get out of this place.”
“Don’t know. I only just built it, and I haven’t tried anything like that.”
“You built it?”
“Sure. Used to be a mechanical engineer.”
He bent for a closer look. “What’s it run on? The vultures that fled this burg didn’t leave any gas behind when they cleared out. I’ve checked.”
“It’s a miniature double-action steamer. All I need is a cup of water and a few chunks of charcoal for a day’s ride.”
“And you’re… what? Sightseeing?”
She laughed. “In a way. After I heard that Los Angeles declared itself sovereign and started printing its own money, I figured there might be some other--.”
“Wait. What? LA’s printing money?”
“Believe it or not, yeah.” She unbuckled the bike’s saddlebag. “Hold on, I’ve got a few Angels here.”
“Seriously. They call their money Angels?”
She nodded, and handed him a twenty.
“You’re kidding! Orson Wells?”
“Look closer. He’s identified there as Charles Foster Kane. They figured it was fictional money, so they went with characters, rather than the actors that played them.”
A dust devil snatched the other bill she was holding and lofted it high overhead. Norwyn turned to watch it spiral over the gas station. “We could wait for it to come down.”
“Don’t bother. Can’t use it here, anyway.”
“So, what’s an Angel worth?”
“I got that five-spot up there for patching a gas line for a guy making his own cooking gas. That’s where I got the charcoal for my bike. Angels aren’t backed by gold or anything, so they’re really only worth what someone’s willing to trade them for. Speaking of which, what do you do, or used to do?”
Norwyn frowned, and looked away. It was his job that had got him here, had trapped him in this godforsaken hellhole in the first place.
“Not a happy memory?” she said gently. “Look, I don’t really have anywhere in particular to go, so if there’s something I can do to help…?”
“Like I said, I need to get out of this place. Can you take me or not?”
“We could try, but there’s no way we can take anything with us. I mean, I’m not so sure it’ll even push the both of us. And if something breaks, I don’t have spare parts to fix it. We could get stranded in the middle of nowhere.”
He chuffed. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m already stranded. How far is home?”
“I don’t have one, really. At the moment, though, my gear is about three hours from here. Well, three hours with just me on the bike. I don’t know how long it might take with the two of us. But we wouldn’t get very far on the supplies I’ve got left. We’ll need water and something to boil it with.”
After a light-fingered trip into town, they mounted the bike – Beth standing the pedals, and Norwyn riding the seat – and set off back the way she’d come. The road was flat and straight for a long stretch, and they chatted amiably about what they’d done before the economy tanked. He asked about life in LA, and she admitted that all she knew was through word of mouth, so it wasn’t very reliable.
About an hour out, they reached a long incline, which slowed the miniature steam engine down to a crawl. But before they’d crested the hill, something snapped, a cloud of steam erupted, and Beth yelped. She raised her right leg, lost her balance and tumbled leftwards from the bike. Norwyn tried to grab the handles, but lost his balance and slid across the right shoulder into the scrub.
Beth was laying on her back at the edge of the pavement, her legs raised while she inched her pants towards her knees.
He stomped over, and stood over her, glaring angrily. “I thought you said you were a mechanical engineer.”
She winced, gingerly touching the red scald mark on her right inner thigh.
“Well?”
“Give me a break, huh? That hurt.”
Norwyn glanced back at the bike. “You said you’d save me, that you’d get me back to civilization, or at least somewhere with people. All it looks like now is that we’re both gonna starve out here. I should never have come with you.”
“Calm down. If you can walk, you’ll be okay. Just keep following the road.”
“Walk?” He was livid. “If I could walk that far, do you think I’d still be scrounging for scraps in a ghost town?”
“Well, we’re not riding any further, that’s for damn sure. I’ll need to limp that thing back to my gear in order to patch it up. You saw what happened. It won’t hold pressure. And in my condition, I’m not going to be pushing any pedals for a while.”
He stood over her, breathing heavily. The sun had nearly set, he hadn’t eaten since breakfast, the meds had long since flushed from his system, and he was rapidly developing a splitting migraine. He fixed her with an icy glare. “The hell with you then.”
“What are you going to do?” she asked as he turned and walked back to her bike.
“Following your advice. But I’m not walking.”
“Good,” she said. “Help me up. You pedal, I’ll ride.”
“I don’t think you understand. I’m leaving. I’m taking your bike and going to whatever town I find down that road. Alone.”
She studied him briefly. “You might not like what you find, Mr. Rosset.”
“Oh,” he said, righting the bike. “And why might that be?”
“Because things have changed. While you were sucking the carcass of that town back there, a new way of living sprouted. And it’s all wrapped up in those LA Angels I showed you. The new economy is based on doing things for others, on building value for the common good. That’s what backs the new money. And if you can’t understand a simple thing like returning a favor, I don’t think you’re going to last very long in that new world.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
Rosset righted the bike, and dislodged the steam engine from its mounting with a sharp blow from his heel. He sneered at Ellie briefly, and then took off. Several minutes later, after coasting down the other side of the hill, he reached behind him and dug around in the saddlebag to see what else was there.
He pulled out a small bag of dried fruit, and stuffed one in his mouth -- anything to keep his stomach happy. The song he’d been struggling with earlier finally returned to him, and he pedaled on, humming the theme from an old movie.
The sky was beginning to darken, so he stopped to poke around in her bag. There might be something useful for when he reached that town she’d mentioned. There was a hand-written note -- a list of names, including his.
“Son of a bitch,” he breathed. “She wasn’t out sightseeing. She’d come looking for me. But why?”
And then he found it: an old picture. His. It was clipped to a news story about the soured deal that had lost him his plum job, the incident that had landed him in Lingman in the first place.
He stood beside the bike, lost in thought. He glanced back towards Lingman, and the hill where he’d stranded Ellie, and then ahead, to whatever fate she was bringing him to.
“No,” he told himself. “She wasn’t planning on taking me anywhere. She said that engine of hers was only good for one person. But then…?”
He reached into the bag and pulled everything out, scattering debris across the pavement, until he reached the bottom. There was just one thing left in her bag, and it told him everything he needed to know about why she’d come. It was a gun, the sort of ‘Saturday night special’ the government had long outlawed, the kind that Los Angeles was famous for.
She’d come to kill him.
He pulled the pistol out and stared at it. The means. She’d brought him the means to do what he’d been struggling with for days now. He’d been praying for the courage to take his life, but hadn’t thought much about the means. Now that he had it, though, he was more of a mind to use it on someone else.
Except that now, there wasn’t much of a point. With the economy dead, what was there to be gained?
“Well,” he told the darkening sky, “I guess this is as good a place as any.”
But on closer examination, he realized there was still a problem. She had the ammo.
 
THE END
Copyright 2007-2008 by P. Orin Zack
 
[To be continued in Story 6 "The Phoenix Narrative"]

Idk why I’m posting about this, i just need to get it off my chest maybe. Hopefully someone might say I’m doing okay, maybe idk. I haven’t talked about this to anyone except close friends and family but I was in an abusive relationship for years. I remember the first time he raised his hand to me was just a threat and I did nothing. Then the second time he actually hit me and I was too stunned to do anything that time either. When it got worse I used to say it wasn’t abusive because he didn’t come home and just start beating me. Yes he did “put hands on me.” And of course I fought back out of fear for my life so I justified that it was just fighting and not a form of abuse. I believed that if he truly wanted to hurt me he would really hurt me, so I didn’t think it was as bad as other ppl that are in abusive relationships. I also allowed cheating and disrespect. I was very young and painfully in love. I’m the type of person to compartmentalize and disassociate when life gets tough, I’ll be a workaholic or read 3 books at a time just to ignore life. Another note, and Not making excuses but my parents had a chaotic marriage growing up and I heard/saw things going on that shouldn’t happen in any relationship and no child should have to live around,so to me this was a familiar type of love and I accepted it. We got engaged and married but the year we were engaged was one of the worst years of my life. I got pregnant ,he was cheating, baby was lost. I was devastated but I just pretended it never happened. We both had our own issues, insecurity was a big one for me. I know I’m not ugly but I grew up around girls with beautiful bodies and I was just athletic, I was always average imo. I do believe he cared for me in his own fucked up way as we were both young and I blame myself a lot in that I know I’m not easy to be with. I have issues stemming from childhood that I try to bury deep down yet the wounds always remain. I think I just wanted to be someone’s number 1 because I come from a big family and being the youngest in a chaotic environment with multiple children you have to compete for your parent’s attention; wether good or bad. I know a lot of that affects me in relationships because I felt like I was an afterthought to my parents most of my life. My Older siblings all got to hear my parents yelling from the stands at their games, I know cause I was there, or teaching them to ride a bike. My brother taught me, mostly to make sure he wasn’t embarrassed when I wanted to ride alongside him. For a while I resented my parents for how much attention they all got and I didn’t. I realize now that I brought this mentality into relationships, which is wrong to expect so much from someone. I love very hard and tend to put my partners on pedestals and expect the same. We were on and off and eventually he chose to leave. Well that was 3 years ago now. After the split I became a shell of myself. I realized I had lost who I was in the relationship and didn’t know who I was or what I even liked anymore. Idk if I was depressed but I started drinking every weekend and had friends who knew nothing of my past so they indulged me. I felt so lost about who I was, and literally tried to drown my sorrows. Old friends told me the light was missing from my eyes. New friends thought I was the most fun drinking partner or the always available friend they met. I used my energy to focus on others and be a “good friend” (I know now I couldn’t be there emotionally for them as much as I thought I was) I thought I had moved on with grace because I didn’t act out. I didn’t cry about it when he left or when I had to pack and sell my furniture. I didn’t cry through most of the trauma I was exposed to during our relationship either. I was numb to everything. I started a new relationship and things have been great. I was able to open up about my past. However, I didn’t realize how much it affected me. This week I can’t stop myself from crying. I feel like every emotion I had through my marriage and after is coming to surface. I’ve done a lot of self reflection lately so that may be the cause. I just hate that my past relationship is affecting my current one. I wish I could go into detail. I badly need friends right now. I just can’t stop crying and I think it’s time to start healing for real. If that means therapy then I think I’m finally ready to open up. Posting this has had me crying non stop. I just want to be loved and that’s so sad and pathetic but I’m only human.

Idk why I’m posting about this, i just need to get it off my chest maybe. Hopefully someone might say I’m doing okay, maybe idk. I haven’t talked about this to anyone except close friends and family but I was in an abusive relationship for years. I remember the first time he raised his hand to me was just a threat and I did nothing. Then the second time he actually hit me and I was too stunned to do anything that time either. When it got worse I used to say it wasn’t abusive because he didn’t come home and just start beating me. Yes he did “put hands on me.” And of course I fought back out of fear for my life so I justified that it was just fighting and not a form of abuse. I believed that if he truly wanted to hurt me he would really hurt me, so I didn’t think it was as bad as other ppl that are in abusive relationships. I also allowed cheating and disrespect. I was very young and painfully in love. I’m the type of person to compartmentalize and disassociate when life gets tough, I’ll be a workaholic or read 3 books at a time just to ignore life. Another note, and Not making excuses but my parents had a chaotic marriage growing up and I heard/saw things going on that shouldn’t happen in any relationship and no child should have to live around,so to me this was a familiar type of love and I accepted it. We got engaged and married but the year we were engaged was one of the worst years of my life. I got pregnant ,he was cheating, baby was lost. I was devastated but I just pretended it never happened. We both had our own issues, insecurity was a big one for me. I know I’m not ugly but I grew up around girls with beautiful bodies and I was just athletic, I was always average imo. I do believe he cared for me in his own fucked up way as we were both young and I blame myself a lot in that I know I’m not easy to be with. I have issues stemming from childhood that I try to bury deep down yet the wounds always remain. I think I just wanted to be someone’s number 1 because I come from a big family and being the youngest in a chaotic environment with multiple children you have to compete for your parent’s attention; wether good or bad. I know a lot of that affects me in relationships because I felt like I was an afterthought to my parents most of my life. My Older siblings all got to hear my parents yelling from the stands at their games, I know cause I was there, or teaching them to ride a bike. My brother taught me, mostly to make sure he wasn’t embarrassed when I wanted to ride alongside him. For a while I resented my parents for how much attention they all got and I didn’t. I realize now that I brought this mentality into relationships, which is wrong to expect so much from someone. I love very hard and tend to put my partners on pedestals and expect the same. We were on and off and eventually he chose to leave. Well that was 3 years ago now. After the split I became a shell of myself. I realized I had lost who I was in the relationship and didn’t know who I was or what I even liked anymore. Idk if I was depressed but I started drinking every weekend and had friends who knew nothing of my past so they indulged me. I felt so lost about who I was, and literally tried to drown my sorrows. Old friends told me the light was missing from my eyes. New friends thought I was the most fun drinking partner or the always available friend they met. I used my energy to focus on others and be a “good friend” (I know now I couldn’t be there emotionally for them as much as I thought I was) I thought I had moved on with grace because I didn’t act out. I didn’t cry about it when he left or when I had to pack and sell my furniture. I didn’t cry through most of the trauma I was exposed to during our relationship either. I was numb to everything. I started a new relationship and things have been great. I was able to open up about my past. However, I didn’t realize how much it affected me. This week I can’t stop myself from crying. I feel like every emotion I had through my marriage and after is coming to surface. I’ve done a lot of self reflection lately so that may be the cause. I just hate that my past relationship is affecting my current one. I wish I could go into detail. I badly need friends right now. I just can’t stop crying and I think it’s time to start healing for real. If that means therapy then I think I’m finally ready to open up. Posting this has had me crying non stop. I just want to be loved and that’s so sad and pathetic but I’m only human.

Weakish Review- Ski to Sea Version
Sumer is icumen and so are the cotton wood trees. As Ski to Sea-ers descend upon our little town to remind us all of why we choose to live here (outdoor recreation in the rain), newcomers lament that this poorly planned event didn’t plan in advance that the disruptions in traffic could make it take longer to get his girlfriend’s car from across town. Meanwhile, the cotton woods are answering the call when the Bellingham City Council declared a tree emergency and are trying to impregnate everything and everyone. The only thing left to officially declare summer is an Alaskan rave so big that the skies light up and stimulate the boomhorses to fill the silence at midnight with their eerie flute like scary mating calls. Warning, the boomhorses are on ecstasy, grab your spongebob member’s only jacket and head to the bank to grab some cash, shit’s about to get real.
First, a rules meeting was had after a particular poster with multiple alts got called out for trolling. They said they were leaving the forum forever, then immediately signed in with new alts. People love to call me out for being an evil landlord, yet I let this troll live in my mind, rent free! I invite you to play a round of troll roulette. All you have to do is find one of their alts and point out, with evidence, that they are factually incorrect. If they tell you to touch grass and then block you, you win the game. Bonus points if you can get them to follow you around and downvote everything you post.
Next, a safety meeting was where kayakers were only informed about course information, rescue procedures, and how to help others. Nobody told the main character that he needed to feed himself. They didn’t tell him how to dress appropriately and even made him wipe is own ass in the outhouse. At the end of the day, they didn’t even reserve a parking space just for him and insisted that the rules apply to him just like everyone else. Ski to Sea is clearly under-planned and unsafe because we just got started and two main characters have already been slightly inconvenienced.
XC Ski- Following the lead of a woman who moved to our town who made it her mission to change our housing laws, a Texas man is trying to glide into our local housing politics too. People struggled to find footing as they were offended that a person who they agree with could be compared with someone they disagree with. Someone more clever than I, could certainly create a fun villain origin story with this. You gotta admit, black mold tenant’s revolt superhero has black spiderman/venom vibe. There has got to be something similar we could do with the monopoly man and the Air B&B guy. A battle between these two would be my favorite main character fight. Wouldn’t a Batman style comic be hilarious? Housing ordinance gets passed, BIFF. Lawsuit filed BAM. I miss good political satire cartoons.
DH SKI- Speaking of slippery slopes, the City council declared an emergency for trees. According to Merriam Webster, “a course of action that seems to lead inevitably from one action or result to another with unintended consequences.” People are struggling with seeing a problem with this one because we love trees, especially big ones. But, what happens when politicians that you don’t agree with start to declare non-emergencies as emergencies to push through their agendas? Where will all of our main characters live if nobody can build them housing if trees are there first? The cotton woods may have been the real main character all along.
Run- There has been talk for years about changing the course because running downhill can cause injury due to eccentric muscle contractions that induce high mechanical strain on the musculotendinous system. No review is complete without updating about our favorite eccentric character. Mark took a break from volunteering for the Spark Museum to bring joy to the community by dancing in the Ski to Sea Parade. Nearby band members were overwhelmed with happiness as his ecstatic exuberance filled the community with joy and love. Unfortunately, some main characters missed out on the joy because cones blocked their path for a brief moment, trapping them in their cars with great confusion. “Who would put cones in a road. Roads are for cars, not for bringing joy to the community and welcoming in a joyous summer. Parades should be held on sidewalks in the county, in the middle of the night so as not to impede traffic.” Proclaimed a main character who just moved here who was still miffed that he was accused of being the traffic that he was stuck in.
Road Bike- Perhaps the real purpose of Ski to Sea is to normalize traffic disruptions. The County’s war against cars is less subtle, they prefer to block large sections of primary transportation corridors. Those sneaky buggers in the city are slowly taking away lanes and giving them to bikes. First they came for route choice with a pamphlet with recommended routes with clever bridges and short cuts, and we didn’t speak out because it was just a recommendation. Then they came for color uniformity as they progressed to green paint and recommended routes, and we didn’t speak out because green is the color of trees and we like trees. Before most people noticed, they put the roads on diets and nobody stood up for the roads as they were shamed. Nobody stood on the overpasses and caused traffic accidents with their signs calling for road size positivity because roads aren’t real just like birds aren’t real. Now, they are replacing roads with bike lanes and lots of them! People don’t like the location of these bike lanes. People don’t want to slow down. What about the cars? And, we didn’t speak out because we aren’t cars and we love our bikes. Then, they came for our favorite route through town and there were no cars left to beep their horns for us and we were forced to zip through town on our e-bikes and waterproof outfits.
Canoe- Two people, who consider themselves locals since they have lived here for two weeks, decided to train for the canoe leg in the dessert on the sand dunes. The person in the front looked over his shoulder at their friend and said, “Wear’s your paddle?” the person in the back replied, “Sure does.” Ba Dum Tss. Speaking of paddling, It’s been a long time since we have collectively agreed that hitting children, friends, and neighbors is a preferred means of solving problems, but there is still a lot of striking going on. WWU workers were on strike, People were striking against the war in the middle east, the mods made a mega thread to strike down too much conversation about it.
Cyclocross- The CX bikers pedaled and slogged their way through the peanut butter mud as the main character waited with his kayak wishing someone would make him a peanut butter sandwich. A gaggle of Karens were triggered because peanut allergies are real and felt like the mud wasn’t being inclusive. Others felt left out that the mud was not described as being the consistency of gluten, which left them out of being triggered. When they all called the police because their feelings were hurt, nobody could agree on the number of police cars that they saw racing by.
Kayak- This takes us back to our poor, hungry, main character who was left to barely survive with an insufficient quantity and quality of food trucks. He stood there for hours wondering why nobody was taking care of him and why did the county executive and attorney pay off that sexual harassment claim without engaging with the council. As he neared the end of the paddle with the finish bell in sight he saw the Consulat de Monte Cristo shut down the beer garden while calling out Bonjour to the crowds. Our poor paddler grabbed his Spongebob jacket and thought to himself, “Why didn’t he say, bonne journée?”
It’s officially almost summer-ish. Go buy batteries to change your smoke alarms. Ask yourself what you can do to make the community a better place. Share your ideas. What can you do to make Belligham better? How can you support your community? My new favorite is the food pantry behind Coconut Kennys. You can leave nice things there and people who need them take them. I’ve left food, hand warmers, packages of new socks, nice jackets etc. My other favorite is gift cards to local easy access food restaurants like Dairy Queen and Subway. You can just hand these to people you see around town.
TLDR, Ski to Sea happened, people complained about stuff, I find most things funny. I tried to share that humor with a call for community betterment. In the editing window, I have 6 spaces between the paragraphs but it publishes with only one space. If anyone knows how to edit formatting, please let me know. Cheers.

I don't know if this is the appropriate place for this or not, but ive seen Dr.K read peoples posts from here, so imma give it a try.
(when i say high school, know that im canadian, and for us, "high school" means middle school and high school both together).
I dont even know where to start.
sorry for every topic being all over the place, i tried, but shit randomly spawned in my head and had to write it in a paragraph that has nothing to do with what its about. bear with me please.
Im a super below average looking 20 year old single male, working 2 jobs, have a some close friends i kept in contact with from high school, and did absolutely NOTHING besides work and play video games since graduating in 2021. I even skipped my prom to play Bloodborne (super worth).
I rarely leave the house if not for work, the gym (super rarely) or to see my grandmother. For the first year after high school my friends would always ask me to go out but id always tell them that i dont like going out until i guess they finally understood this and stopped asking me. but we are still very close, text almost everyday and play video games with eachother multiples times a week. i can count on one hand the amount of times ive chilled with them since graduating. All nice times, but id rather be inside and they know and respect this. nothing against them obviously. this naturally means i dont ever interact with girls in that type of way even though i deeply desire to.
Growing up, and still today, i was never really close to one person. My parents have always been just... there, same with my sister and a lot of my friends. My parents (who are incredibly respected by virtually everyone we know) were always super supportive in the most obnoxiously annoying way possible and i guess through this, i started to hate compliments and not know how to react to them. this still happens today. When i got a ps4 when it released, that was when i completely started to isolate from them and literally only talk to them about school related things, family matters, and maybe sports. its safe to say that my parents getting me the ps4 was the biggest mistake they've ever made. however, i was still biking alot with my friends and going out. it was around summer 2018, that i got SUPER into video games and literally wanted to do nothing else (i always maintained good friends with my school friends). Around this time, i was just walking all over my parents and disobeying them and being a little brat getting away with everything, and always finding loopholes. i truly felt unstoppable. not to mention the fact that they never even found out about or considered that i could have a pot addiction because "oh sweet old --- could never!" looking back on it, this GREATLY boosted my 13 year old ego, and was the reason why i felt i could walk all over them. In september 2018 at the beginning of the school year was the first time me and my friends got "clipped" essentially caught getting high, my parents gave me a talk with my friends mom there, and that was it... ZERO DAMAGE OMEGALUL. Growing up i would often hear my parents talking about me in an extremely worrisome way and coming up with punishments and rules regarding my gaming if i dont get good grades. naturally, I. found. loopholes. today, i feel sorry for this, and feel like more strict parents would have been more beneficial for the man I could have become. I guess i am a little closer to them today, we watch soccer on weekends, engage in conversations about things even though my perspective on things is always drastically different from them. for example, i realized that ultimately, my parents prefer to run from problems (quite literally sometimes) rather than face them head on and engage in discourse with whoever they have a problem with and solve it in a mature way. over the past year my mom has taken a liking to this thinking and praises me for changing her mind.
As i got older, i realized that they would lie to me and my sister about a lot of things. This led me to never believe people and always being skeptical about things and always wanting to know everything and feared being left out of certain things. I also have a hard time opening up to people out of fear that they will betray my trust and tell others or that they would just not believe me. i fear it comes from my parents lying to us alot. i cant explain what they lied to us about but basically, them playing along like everything is "cool" when in reality it is the opposite, is lying to me.
I always struggled with self confidence. The one time i ever felt good about my self was when i got super good at video games in high school. This was around the time when my parents were constantly attempting to put rules on my gaming hours but to no avail. how could i let them limit the time i play? being good at games was the only thing that ever made me feel good about myself... now they're trying to take it away from me? Of course they didn't know this, and to be fair neither did I. I only realized this maybe 6 months ago. Today I'm no longer good at games and have absolutely nothing that brings me confidence.
I feel as though im not good socially and have no social skills. I don't know how to elaborate, but the only way i can attempt to is, basically, if you were talking to me, you'd know i was a "kid who grew up during covid". This is weird because it was incredibly easy for me to make friends all my life and got along with absolutely everyone and was loved by a lot of people at school. I was told by my parents that as a very young kid i was super talkative then as I reached early teens, I became more quiet and reserved. I only noticed that i became more quiet around the time i became afraid of girls, so around 13, and also around the time i developed a pot addiction which lasted 3 years. I am convinced this addiction did nothing but make me even more anxious about my lack of self confidence around girls my age. This got so bad in my 3rd year of high school that i would literally stay home twice a week, fake being sick, and just get high and play video games. today I realize that i probably had some terrible anxiety. if i were to tell my younger self that i know for a fact i would be laughed and ridiculed to the ends of the earth and called a pussy.
i feel as though i have no purpose in life as i never really wanted to study anything after high school and never wanted to major in anything. i only tried real estate school which i failed twice, only because i had a friend doing it with me, a friend who actually enjoys the material and clearly has a future in it. Now that I'm 20, i feel like its too late to start telling myself the excuse of "oh you're still young, you'll find it". This would have slid 2-3 years ago. at this point, all my friends and co worker for example seem to have everything planned out. in reality i dont care, i like my 2 jobs, if i really think about it, it would just be for the status. I'm comfortable but know I should be reaching higher. I have been doing YouTube and tiktok on and off for the past 2 years talking about the state of the entertainment and gaming industry and making video game reviews. its something i know the inns and outs of and can talk endlessly about with absolute confidence, but of course it gets no traction even though (and this is the most confident ive ever been in my life) i know for a fact I make better content than most people making similar videos.
For the past 3 years, since graduating, ive been in a constant state of wanting to i guess what society calls "distract from the real world" as i am always either playing a new single player game, reading a new book or comic, watching a tv show, or watching a movie. I genuinely never considered that i do these things as a distraction and still dont as i genuinely just like getting into new things. There was only one time that i realized oh shit im literally distracting myself, was in maybe January 2023 when i got home from work and was just angry that the day before my friend asked me if i was gay because he knows i dont talk to girls... this fucked me up for months. like seriously? scared to talk to girls = gay??? GALAXY BRAIN TAKE.
I'm also still a virgin as I've been terrified of girls ever since i was about 13, and have avoided all possible contact with "attractive ones" ever since. (this is the massive one that bothers me everyday more than anything and is the reason for writing this). I dont know what it is, but ever since i was 13, i have been unable to talk to girls and have a normal conversation, or even have a convo at all and often avoid contact all together out of fear for... i dont even know what. Not knowing why i do this, or how to fix it pains me so much i cannot even put it into words. it keeps me up at night and nearly drives me to tears. every crush i had felt like some distant dream to me, something i can never even achieve in 100 years, while to other people in my grade, a crush was someone you can TRY to talk to and TRY to get. for me it was always just a... ya shes sooo hot, but shes never gonna want me, so im just gonna admire her from the sidelines and leave it there... and maybe pray she'll eventually like me??? im a big pussy. As we got older in school, pushing 15,16 i started to gravitate towards my more childish friends because i knew they wouldn't be like my more mature friends, and start interacting more and more with girls, because i simply couldn't be around them as i felt uncomfortable and less than. When those more "immature" friends INEVITABLY started talking to their own "girl friend group", i completely lost it internally and started to call them simps in what they perceived as a hahaha joking manner... my more mature friends started noticing this in me and questioning why i was like this and i, just like today, i dont know why. it just frustrated me. almost as if these girls stole my friends from me. By the time i was in my last year of highschool, and like 90% of the grade had already done some sex related things, i felt it was utterly pointless to have a crush, because chances are she will find someone more attractive and experienced. This was when i gave up and felt there was no way I will ever touch or see a woman in my life. A part of me thinks that its too late to be a beginner in this field for my age and that its too late to start talking to girls NOW because im competing with guy who have like 7 years of experience. i can cope and say "maybe a girl will find my lack of experience cute!" but its just that... cope. Like im so inexperienced, its crazy. like ive never been hit on, or even if i were to be, i wouldn't even know it and probably show disinterest without even knowing im doing so. at this point when i see an attractive girl my age i just get frustrated and avoid contact since its like I'm almost invisible to them anyway. By the way, do girls ever initiate conversations with guys they're interested in, or is it still that the guy always has to do it?
The recent event that really made me want to be with a girl more than ever before was this one doctors appointment i had where I've never been that angry in my life. I had a check up with a new family doctor to register with her since my former one was retiring. Long story short, she was asking general questions until she asked if i engage in protected sexual intercourse and if i wanted to get tested for any STDs. This was like a bullet through my heart. i felt shame, FOMO, immature, and for some reason, a deep deep anger. I dont need to explain why im sure you can guess why. I was seeing red. i nearly walked out of the room and slammed the door in her fucking face. I almost told her "im flattered you think i get girls". This was a max-level breaking point.
Upon further inspection writing this, i realized where my lack of confidence towards women might come from. During high school, it was common for friends to "put me down" in front of girls to make them look better... idk i think there's something there but i cant figure it out. i just know that nothing bothered me more than that. I even confronted some of my closer friends about this recently since it bothered me that much back then. This was a massive step for me, as i struggle to tell even my closest friends anything. it was tough but felt great.
if you ask my friends what I pride myself on, its the fact that usually when I say im going to do something, i tend to always do it. For example, i literally completed my gaming, reading, and movies backlog and am somewhat proud of this. But for some reason i cant even bring myself to say "I'm gonna get with her!" because it just seems so incredibly unrealistic and too far away. This is the only thing i limit myself on. Almost like its a "woah okay there lets dial it back a little".
just want to reiterate that i obviously don't hate women, infact i understand why they don't like me. im not an incel.
i can already hear dr.k going "well thats alot to unpack".
im so sorry to whoever had to read this. i hope dr k can reach out.

My daughter is six and REFUSES to learn outdoor activities. She has a bike, scooter, roller skates, and a jump rope and if she doesn’t “get it right” the first time, she gives up. No matter how we approach it, she argues and cries. We’ve talked to her about patience and practice. We’ve talked about her friends knowing how to ride bikes and she can ride with them if she practices. I’ve put on my own skates to practice in the grass with her. Got out my own jump rope to help and teach her how. No matter what, she gets frustrated and angry if it doesn’t work the first time she tries and she just gives up. When she sees one friend in particular, who lives on our street, riding her bike, she gets so freaking upset because she can’t ride a bike with that friend. So we get her bike out and she automatically won’t even try because her friend is faster and doesn’t have training wheels. It’s so frustrating. She wants to be perfect the first time she tries.
My daughter loves art, books, and games. I’m 100% okay with that. I don’t expect her to be outdoorsy or an athlete if she isn’t interested. But I would like for her to at least have one physical activity she can do outside. And I also don’t want her to give up so easily. She’s going to have a long, miserable summer if she isn’t willing to try anything. I firmly believe in supporting the interests of your kids, but I also firmly believe in sunshine and at least a little physical activity. I don’t even care what it is. Anything. Anything at all to move her body and be outside. I don’t know what to do. SOS, PLEASE HELP.

With plenty of delays and 12 reports later, we've arrived at the final report of my one year Japan adventures. I've returned from Japan exactly a year ago and I can't believe how fast the time went by. Feels like just yesterday when I stood at the airport, flying out to Japan, excited to spend a year there. I wonder if I ever get over it!
I will probably make one more post after this, a sort of retrospective where I go over my favourite places, foods, activities, regrets and what I would have done differently, but for the main travelling part - this is the last one! It'll cover my final few travels up to north Japan, including cities like Kakunodate, Morioka, Kitakami, Hakodate and my fourth (!) visit to Sapporo. Fair warning: I will probably be very sappy and sentimental in this report since there were a few goodbyes to be had in May 2023. Without further ado, let's finish this.
Prior reports can be found here:
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12
Tokyo
My mother and I checked out of the hotel we stayed at in Ueno, leaving our suitcases there because there were still a few hours left before my mom's flight. Since it was my mother's last day in Japan, I asked her if she wanted to eat anything special as her final meal and... she picked McDonald's. Don't judge me - I asked her several times but she said she had tried a lot of food and was good with just having McDonald's. So we went over there, ate some burgers before a final round in Ueno park and then we picked up her luggage and went onto the Skyliner to Narita. My mother got herself a Starbucks coffee and we talked a bit about her trip and if she was satisfied and she loved every second of it despite having been sick for a few days in the first week - which she never mentioned to me up until this point, tch. Either way, it was time to say goodbye to my mom and I took the train back into Tokyo. Now, this was when it finally hit me that this was "it". I only had 1 1/2 months left and there was no travel companion to look forward to anymore. There were still a few friends I've made on Discord coming to Japan on their own, separate travels and I would meet up with them for karaoke but aside that - my final countdown began. It felt really, really weird.
I spent the rest of the day in Akihabara, window shopping, then having a meal at my favourite Chinese restaurant before I had to take a somewhat longer trip from Tokyo to Hino, which was 1 1/2 hours out of central Tokyo and where my Airbnb was located. I only stayed there for 2 days and one of those I spent on taking care of laundry and just relaxing a bit after travelling about with my mother for 2 weeks. The area was quite nice, although a power outage in the entire city block took out my ability to take a shower for almost the entire day so some of my plans were foiled. On the second day, I met up with one of the aforementioned Discord friends. The weather was quite bad with heavy rain so we only window shopped around Ueno and then met up with another set of friends for a big karaoke session! This would also be my last karaoke session in Japan for the time being (still one of my favourite activities to do in Japan, especially if your with a group of dorks).
Morioka
I initially planned to travel from Tokyo to Morioka, checking out a few places nearby and then go further north in one go for the sakura but it was way too early to actually go to Hokkaido for them. Since Tokyo's hotel and airbnb prices were also getting more and more expensive in this period, I had to make some Frankenstein-esque itinerary. Which is why I'd go to Morioka, visit the spots I wanted to visit and then went back to Tokyo for a week before then venturing to Hokkaido... the last weeks were kind of messy in terms of planning, to be honest.
Either way, I hopped on the shinkansen and took a trip to Morioka, without any real plans aside wanting to take sidetrips to Kakunodate and Kitakami from there. As far as Morioka itself goes, there are some pretty sakura spots throughout the city, even if a lot of petals were starting to fall already. But it made for some pretty paths at least. I missed out on checking out the Hachimangu shrine, which I somewhat regret. Morioka is famous for their three different types of noodle dishes; wanko soba, reimen and jajamen. I've only tried out jajamen because I love the "original" Chinese dish a whole lot and found a small place with a very nice owner who told me how to eat the dish and what to do after finishing the noodles. Typically, you crack a raw egg into your plate and pour hot water in, mixing the remaining miso and raw egg in for an egg soup. It's incredibly delicious and I would've loved to go for another round but the place was closed throughout the remainder of my stay :(.
Now, Kitakami was of particular interest for me because from pictures I've seen online, the sakura "tunnel" there looked incredible. Unfortunately by the time I got there, a lot of sakura had already fallen off in that area. There were still some other sakura trees around the area and a few food stalls. I was a bit disappointed to not have caught the main attraction but it was still worth for like a half day. Had some gyudon at a very small place run by an older lady before heading back.
The next day, I'd go for a bit of a longer trip to Kakunodate. Another town famous for its sakura and the old samurai and merchant districts. The weather was once again rather shabby, but the town was still really beautiful! One thing I really started to appreciate was when there would be random sakura trees in between others up in the mountains/hills, which was the case here. The trees around the river were the highlight, though, even in this weather. It must look even better when the sun is out and you're here at peak bloom! But it's also definitely a well known spot and I was surprised that it was this busy last year already, even though borders weren't open for that long yet. Something that always goes down well in somewhat cold, rainy weather is a hot bowl of soba or udon. This was a thick duck broth and tastes absolutely fantastic, one of my favourite soba meals in Japan (here's the Google maps location). Something else to note: the shinkansen ride from Morioka to Kakunodate has incredible scenery. It's sort of like a sightseeing spot in itself to be honest. There was a point where I could see sakura trees for what felt like a solid minute of riding on the train there.
But that was all for this part of northern Japan. I only spent like 3 days up here but would say it's worth checking it out if you are planning a trip up north and want to see something on your way to Hokkaido, for example. With that being over, I headed back to Tokyo for a few days - remember, it was all a bit weirdly planned out here...
Tokyo, again
Back in Tokyo, I once again found myself in Kunitachi, where my extremely nice Airbnb host picked me up from the station to take me to the place itself - and I couldn't have thanked her enough because it was still pouring rain that week. I spent the next few days just wandering around the neighbourhood, doing "regular life" stuff like laundry and recharging my travel battery. But I also took advantage of the weather when it stopped raining for a day or two and headed to Showa Kinen Park!
Showa Kinen Park is a huge park in west Tokyo, with a large variety of flowers and plants all over the park grounds. I spent four hours here and I am not sure I even saw everything properly. It's very popular in Spring for its tulips, which are plenty colourful. There's also smaller gardens within the park, some of which exhibit bonsai trees. Very much recommend checking this place out. If you don't want to walk, you can also rent bikes at the entrance area IIRC and there's also other small "buses" going around the park so that you don't have to track back if needed.
After a few days, I once again packed my stuff for the actual final journey up north. First stop - Hakodate.
Hakodate
This was my third time in Hakodate, having been there in Summer, Winter and now Spring. The train journey takes around 4 hours and I arrived at around 4pm, took a taxi (with a very chatty driver!) to my accommodation Share Hotels Hakoba (very much recommended) and then immediately went out for some good old Hakodate shio ramen at Fukufukutei. I absolutely love the shio ramen they serve in Hakodate, it just feels so light yet flavourful and the chashu at this place was amazing. I ordered a half-sized fried rice to go with my ramen and was very satisfied with my meal.
Nothing better to follow that up by walking up the slopes of Hakodate. The Motomachi area is always great and the small park in the area had a bunch of sakura trees. And just looking over the harbor of Hakodate never gets boring. Don't get baited by the "famous" slope everybody takes pictures at, the entire hillside of Hakodate is amazing and there are a lot of small shrines - explore them all if you can, it's a great side-quest.
The second day was the "big" one because I had been looking forward to seeing Fort Goryokaku in Spring. Now, if you plan on visiting this place in sakura season, the fact that Hakodate is not a typical tourist destination won't save you from having to line up and wait to get tickets up the tower. I've not seen this many people anywhere in Hakodate but it makes sense because this is a very famous spot for sakura. However, the wait is most definitely worth it. I'll let the pictures do the talking here.
Once I had my fill of taking pictures from inside the tower, I went down and checked the park itself out and I honestly think in terms of just sheer volume of sakura, this place blew out any other I've visited out the water. I took SO many pictures here, I can't really post all of them but here's a selection. Do not miss out on this if you ever plan on visiting Hokkaido in Spring. I probably spent around 1 1/2 hours in total at Goryokaku before heading back and to Hakodate Park, which also sports a lot of sakura! And since it's practically right next to Hakodateyama, you can take pictures with it in the background from here too. This cat gang was lazing about there too and garnered some attention from the locals as well. It's also a fairly quiet part of Hakodate, there weren't many people here at all which made for a very relaxing stroll. Keep in mind though that even in late April, Hakodate gets somewhat chilly in the evening so bring at least a thin jacket if you play on exploring about in the evening.
Coincidentally, a friend I've not met in years was in Hakodate at the same time and we spontaneously met up for a quick ramen dinner which was once again incredible. I honestly can not recommend shio ramen in Hakodate enough. I've been to three different places and all three have been absolutely amazing. Shio ramen is still my favourite type and I'll never get tired of it. With that meal done, my short stay in Hakodate was over and I was 100% satisfied with going there one final time. Up next was my final stay in Sapporo...
Sapporo
Ah, Sapporo. One of the first major cities I've visited during my one year in Japan and it would also be the last one (not counting Tokyo because I "lived" there, most of the time) I'd visit on the trip. I stayed there for about 1 1/2 weeks with no real, clear goal in mind. I just wanted to check out what sakura Sapporo has to offer, meet up with my American friend again and be nostalgic.
Just like with Hakodate, Sapporo was unexpectedly cold around this time. If you've stayed in places that have constant 20-25°C going for like two months already, 10°C feel cold as hell and I had to layer up over there. I met up with my friend on my first full day and we did some anime merch shopping and had some burgers at J.S Burgers (burger was alright). My friend usually had work going on weekdays, so the next day, I did my own clothes shopping for a bit, making use of the ever downward trending yen and buying myself a few essentials at Uniqlo.
My plan then was to go to the place where I had made a ton of memories and acquaintances in August 2022 - the anime bar. Now, if you've not read my August report, I'll give you a TLDR: this was pretty much the first place I mustered up the courage to go to and socialise with Japanese people, even with my pretty terrible Japanese at the time and I ended up going there every single evening, meeting towns of different folks and it was an incredibly great time. I was looking forward to go there again on my final trip to Sapporo but when I walked closer and closer to the location, I realised something was off and as I arrived, I saw that the bar had practically shutdown. All the decorations in- and outside were gone, the sign was taken off. This might sound a bit dramatic but I was very sad at that moment. I probably stood there for a few minutes in disbelief. Just 6 months earlier in September, I had been there and now this place full of memories was gone. It sucked! But life goes on and I'll at least have cherished memories of this place forever.
Of course, I had to go to my favourite ramen place in all of Japan and got a big portion of their shio toripan tsukemen and it hit the spot just like it always did. If I could only eat one restaurant's ramen for the rest of my life, it'd probably be this. Maruyama-koen around the end of April had more sakura and also plum blossoms! As per usual, plenty of food stalls selling typical festival food around.
My Airbnb was located east of Toyohira river and relatively close to Nakajima-koen, making it so that I pretty much always had a nice walk back to my accommodation and Nakajima-koen is pretty every season I've been there. Also a bit nostalgic because it was one of the first places I visited on my first trip to Sapporo. The park itself had a few sakura trees along the "main" path and also just dotted about randomly within the premises. If you're into cosplay, you may run into a bunch of cosplayers here, it is a fairly popular spot for it.
I met up with my American friend another few times, having some relatively cheap and alright meal at Yakiniku like, shopping and spending some time around Odori park. Another throwback because on my first trip, I took a picture of the TV tower from roughly the same spot. We also checked out Round One, which is a big arcade center with lots of crane games and arcades. I'm kind of 50/50 on crane games at this point, especially in these huge buildings because it's just so incredibly loud and I get sensory overload sometimes. We also went for soup curry dinner at this place. Soup curry is also one of my absolute favourite dishes and one of the main reasons I think Hokkaido has the best cuisine in Japan. Keep in mind that this restaurant has gotten pretty popular since the last time I went there but if you manage to go there, do order the fried chicken on rice which is limited to a certain amount of servings per day!
This wouldn't be the last time I met with my friend, however, since she was going to go to Tokyo in May and we'd meet there for the last time!
Again, I omit the parts of my stay in Sapporo where I just bummed around and didn't do anything special. Had a few more soup curries, had some interesting roast beef near my Airbnb, bought more clothes, more merch and saw the last sakura of the year slowly falling on my last walk through Nakajima-koen. 3 months after seeing the first sakura in Kawazu, my own personal little sakura hunt had ended and on top of that, sakura season ending lined up almost perfectly with my 1 year in Japan ending... And even though I did get 3 months of seeing sakura here and there, I think staying in one place and see the sakura start blooming and then also falling within 1-2 weeks definitely made me realise why it is such a popular season. It's both beautiful and kind of sad, that fleeting feeling!
Random side-note: met up with some people from Hello Talk again and I didn't know that Torikizoku didn't exist in Hokkaido at all at the time! The very first one opened while I stayed there this time and both of the people I met up with were curious to check it out. If you ever wanted to see what a newly built Torikizoku store looks like, here's a peek.
Took some final pictures at Susukino and Toyohira river on my last day in the city before it was time to say goodbye to Sapporo as I took a flight back to Tokyo this time, not making the same mistake of booking a huge train ride back like I did in September 2022! Had to get myself some Hokkaido ice cream at the airport and then said farewell to Sapporo.
The Tokyo Finale
With less than 3 weeks left in Japan, I kind of fought the dreadful feeling of returning home every day while also trying to make the most of my time. And to be honest, making the most of my time for me meant to just enjoy the mundane. I'll get into this in the aforementioned retrospective post but I should have definitely appreciated the "boring", normal days more than I did at the time.
Once again, I had stayed east of Sumidagawa, taking regular walks along the river every day. Also discovered really unique ramen near Akihabara one day, which I'd recommend you to check out. The chashu here is incredible and the broth has a lot of spices in them. I kind of started to put less effort into finding hidden gem restaurants as I felt like I've done that the entire year and visited Sushiro more frequently in my final weeks in Tokyo - simply because it's cheap while still being better than most sushi I can get in my home country.
As mentioned earlier, my American friend was flying out to Tokyo for a few days because one of her friends from the US was coming over to Japan for the first time. But we had another 2 days before the latter arrived and because my friend didn't have many opportunities to go to Tokyo, she always made use of her time by getting her fill of all things anime merch (I'll expose her here by saying she was hunting down a whole lot of BL) and we spent hours in Ikebukuro looking through every store under the sun. Also, Kanda matsuri took place during this time, one of the biggest festivals in Tokyo with thousands of people marching through different neighbourhoods around Kanda, Nihonbashi, Otemachi and Akihabara. I didn't actually know what to expect but the streets around Akihabara were packed. But it's really cool to see the festivities, music and dances.
My final Airbnb was up in Uguisudani, a very quiet part of Tokyo north of Ueno. If you're into trains, I imagine this station would be cool because there are like 5 or 6 different tracks around and you can see them all from the bridge. Also comes with nice sunsets. My Airbnb host's wife brought freshly made sandwiches every morning and let me tell you, those konbini sandwiches got nothing on these. They felt like whole meals! There was also a pretty good tsukemen place nearby which I visited twice.
On one of these days, I had to do the painful journey over to city hall to effectively deregister myself as a resident. Since I had come over to Japan with the sponsoring of a company, I met a couple people who had just arrived in Tokyo for their own working holiday and had to do the opposite of me that day. Felt kind of envious because I knew they were about to have a fantastic year! Also a bit sad because I would have loved if they had been there when I first came over to have some friends to spend time with but at least I got to meet one of them late 2023 anyway!
At last, after spending a few days with my friend and her friend, taking them to a few food places, battling hordes of people at the Pokemon Center in Ikeburuo and have them experience Torikizoku and Sushiro as well, it was time to bid farewell to my friend, for a long time too probably. She was the first proper friend I had made in Japan and we spent a lot of time together whenever I was in Sapporo or she visited Tokyo, so this was extra sad. She would later leave Japan in September 2023, returning to the US after she spent 2 years as a JET. It really all felt like the end of an era at the time, especially because we don't know when we'll next meet. It was a fairly emotional goodbye as we both did our best to hold back tears (she probably thinks I didn't notice :P) but I am sure we'll see each other at some point and fortunately these days, staying in contact online is easy so we check on each other regularly.
I don't have a lot of interesting things to say for my final week in Japan. It kind of all became blurry towards the end. Most of the time I was just buying merch and taking walks around areas I had previously stayed at while also eating all the food that I could because soon enough all the variety I got to enjoy while living in Tokyo would be no more.
On one of the last few days, I messaged the Airbnb host of my June 2022 accommodation and asked him if he was up to meet for a CoCo ichi meal in Machida (both of us just freaking love curry and we had met there before) and he agreed! The last time I was there was in July 2022 and I have the fondest memories of my stay in Machida still. It was the place where the feeling of "Damn, I live in Japan right now" kicked in back when I arrived. We had a nice chat over our lunch, I gave him a little gift and then also said our goodbyes. I still keep in touch with him and hope to be able to stay at his place some time again - but it has been very popular lately haha.
The last day is still pretty vivid in my mind. I got jajamen at my favourite Chinese restaurant in Ueno, then had another long walk to Asakusa, taking the route back along Sumidagawa one last time, through Asakusabashi and then decided to end my journey at one of the places I first visited when I arrived almost a year earlier: Kanda Myojin. I sat down here for about an hour, just looking at the night sky. I got kind of overwhelmed by emotions and may have shed a tear or two as well, hoping that time would stand still and I could just continue staying there but unfortunately, time doesn't stop for anyone and eventually I had to get back up and walk back to my hotel, took a final relaxing bath and then went to sleep...
But! My flight back home wasn't until 4:45pm and it was from Haneda so I checked out of my hotel, left my suitcase there to pick it up later and went on a final stroll through Akihabara, taking this picture just to have a direct comparison to the one I had taken in June 2022. The difference was night and day. Just like with Kanda Myojin being the first and last place I visited, my final meal had to be the same as my first - another plate of curry at CoCo Ichi. If you've read my reports, you'll realise I went to CoCo ichi a whole lot and I am not ashamed to admit that this chain restaurant will always have a special place in my heart! But then, it was time to get my luggage and get on the train and eventually the monorail to Haneda airport. Here's my final 7-11 "haul" as I waited for the plane to get ready and boarding to begin.
And then it was time to say goodbye to Japan for real. Even a year later I get emotional looking at these silly pictures taken from inside the plane. After travelling all across Japan, meeting dozens of fantastic people, showing friends around, eating tons of curry, the best year of my life had come to an end.
Aaaand that is it. I apologise for the lack of pictures towards the end of the report when it all became a wall of text without much to show off in picture form. Still, I hope you enjoyed this final report even if it was a bit messy. If there's anyone who actually read all of my reports - thank you very much! As I said, there's going to be a retrospective post after this too but as far as the travelling part goes, this was it. It can't be overstated enough and I will bring this up in that thread too but quitting my job to take a year off in Japan was by far the best decision I've ever made in my life and even though I have already been back to Japan for a two week holiday in November 2023, this particular year in Japan I will never, ever forget.
If you have any questions, feel free to ask and I'll do my best answering them. Thanks again for reading!

Continuing…
They all know who I am and as they say “RHIP”, or rank has its privilege. They’re all Oil Patch and know that I’ve been around the block a few times, handle explosives with the greatest of ease, and ran more rigs and drilled more meters than most of them have had hot dinners.
All salt of the earth types. I just lay a few ground rules; such as no firearms, no excessive drinking and if there’s a major problem, they come to see me first. These guys are true Oil Patch and guarantee me that all shall be done as I require.
Besides, I’ll be running the Bowling Ball Bingo show and the only one with access to explosives. They know all about field explosives and are as wary of it as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. That I can handle the stuff with deft and aplomb, they both respect and admire that.
“It’s good to be the king”, I think, recalling a line from a favorite Mel Brook’s movie.
I’ve got the guys off setting up the checkerboard for bowling ball bingo.
“Y’know”, I said after a week or so of farting around designing and building everything, “We’ve not had a shakedown on the punt guns (bowling ball mortars)”.
“That’s right.”, Kit agreed. I toss him my truck keys and he and half the guys take off to Madden’s place to pick-up the cannons so we might test them.
Earlier, I figured that each square of the 8×8 matrix I’m working on could be 1 meter square. However real BINGO numbers go to 75, so I’d have to use an odd shape, like 5×15 target area.
First, we need to see how the cannons are going to work.
Luckily, I’ve got a lockbox in the bed of my truck. In there I have a nice little selection of black and gun powder, dynamite (40-50-60-70% Herculene Xtra-Fast), some bricks of C-4, RDX, PETN and the usual assortment of blasting caps, cannon fuse, variable millisecond delay caps, blasting cap super-boosters, a couple of galvanometers, as well as a few handheld and floor-model detonators.
Some combination of these should put the bowling ball up in a ballistic trajectory where it’ll come down somewhere on the grid. That area will be flagged and the number read out by the guys who will be riding quads out in the field. I’ve researched the innumerable types of games one can play with bingo (remembering to order the Bingo Cards), and chosen 4 to be run, to keep it somewhat simple. We have to determine the cost of cards and the types of payouts.
I’ll run by and see Father Rivera at the local Catholic Church. He should be a fountain of bingo knowledge. He was helpful to the idea that each cash payout had to be larger than the last, so plan accordingly.
The guys show up with the finished cannons, all painted a different color (red, green, blue and black) and half a trailer full of slightly scorched bowling balls.
We use a boom arm off the Cat to pick up the cannons and site them sort of where we plan to put the ‘shooting gallery’. I walk back from my truck with an assortment of explosives and explosive paraphernalia.
“School’s about to commence, guys. Gather ‘round.”, I say to all present.
I go through about an hour’s worth of explanation and discourse on the care and feeding of explosivores. I show what small samples of every explosive I carry does in both confined and unreconstructed areas.
I do think I got their attention when I made a full 40-ounce beer bottle simply disappear with the addition of one of my home-brew binary liquids.
Don’t worry. It was just Old English Malt Liquor. No great loss.
I supervised the setting up of a cannon with some black powder. We could ignite electrically or just use some cannon fuse.
“Cannon fuse? What do you use that for?”
“My cannons.”
Obviously.
So, I estimated that a half-pound of Fourxxxx would give the first ball the proper trajectory. We aligned the thing the best we could (as it had no sights, this was being done solely by seat-of-one’s-pants trial and error), charged the cannon, added a projectile and made certain it was seated snugly, but not too tightly. We ran over the full-fledged Safety Dance, cleared the compass, tootled the area with our airhorns and at the count of FIRE!
I had Kit light the ceremonious first fuse.
“K-BLAMMMM!”
Not too bad. Except we overshot the grid by ~550 yards and the only way we could estimate the landing area of the bowling ball was by the splash and irritated trout of the Lower San Juan River.
“And that, my friends,” I said seriously, “Is why you have dry runs and an open firing range.”
The rest of the day was taken up with both testing different combinations of explosives and recording the results. We had a couple of quad bikes on loan from the local sand rail company, so I had the guys take turns going out, running down the ball’s landing zone and calculating the distance and accuracy.
Around ball number 12, we were getting consistent results with both C-4 and PETN. All it took was a bit of gimbaling on the cannon’s major axis and we had the problem well in hand and the cannons dialed in pretty damn well.
I figured to make a buck or two extra, we could charge folks a small donation to tilt the cannon one direction or another and maybe, charge them for upping or reducing the charge volume.
“Step right up, folks”, I can imagine, “Drop a dollar for a degree and a fiver for the charge.”
Thinking that if people were really watching their cards, they’d want any sort of edge to get that final number, especially with a growing jackpot.
We had contracted one of the electrical shops in town to build a tote-board 5×15 with the letters BINGO alight. That way, people could see where we were hitting, what numbers were officially “off the board” as we’d light a LED on that particular square and where they might shift a cannon to hit one or more preferred numbers.
We also devised a ruler, of sorts, that was divided into quarters. Any question of the bowling ball impacted in one number or another, we’d employ the divider. Whichever had the greatest coverage, well, that was the number.
This was set up in the rules beforehand and posted at the shooting gallery and other areas around the park.
Since this was to be a more-or-less charitable event, we had to figure out the cost for parking (turned out to be free), cost of various beers (between $1 and $4), our take from the food court (we decided on 25%), how much to pay security (the voted and did it for free beer of which my say was absolute), and various other things like “which charity?”
Most everyone was donating some time or effort or materials, so no one wanted any pay other than free admittance. We even had a couple of farmers almost come to loggerheads as to who could provide a more elegant petting zoo.
The organizers held a conclave and decided that the bulk of the funds accrued would go to the local kid’s sports collective. Another chunk of change was to go to the recently closed (for financial reasons) public natatorium in town to get it back up to specs and operating, as well as another portion going to the Oilfield Widows and Orphans fund, and the last going to the library to update their rather meager collections.
What we didn’t expect that once word got out about out little plan, that more of the local businessmen wanted space in the park to peddle their wares.
Their wares being CBD, pot, edibles, and other such botanicals in this most enlightened state.
We said “Sure, but we don’t have a lot of room. We never expected this sort of interest”.
To which, they replied that they don’t need a whole lot of room and would set up between the already established vendors.
The upshot was “Fine. Come one, come all. Just check to see if this is all legal and come on down. First come, first served.”
It was all taking shape, and we even found a printer in town that would print up posters for the soiree and help with their distribution.
We actually had to turn away vendors of such things as mobile phones, double-glazed windows and gutter cleaning services.
We had run down all the legalities when Zach mentioned that his cousin was a local police officer, and that we should let them know of out plans.
“Sure”, I said, “Why not?”
We still had a section of dying trees that needed attention so one bright and early Thursday morning, everyone assembled over by the trees and the old tree cemetery that probably extended back centuries.
I started in by knocking down a couple of ancient, though riddled, elms. These were big trees, some 1.5 meters in diameter, 100’ tall and heavier than a whore’s conscience. Even with the renovated Cat, they were just too massive and uncooperative to drop and get horizontal.
“Alf”, I said, tossing him my keys, “Go bring my truck over. We’re going to have to change tactics here a bit.”
He was back within minutes, and was wondering what I was now pulling out of my truck’s lockbox.
I produced a 2-cycle gas-operated SkilDrill, complete with Forestry Suppliers extendable drill/augecore bits.
It fired up almost instantly and I instructed where to drill on the old trees to best facilitate the reception of a few sticks of the detonating chemical persuasion.
Kit worked the dozer on some of the outlying trees, and even with its new overhaul, it just couldn’t quite muster up enough oomph to shift some of the larger trees.
While some of the still standing Live Oak were larger than the poor, afflicted elms.
“Better living through chemistry”, I snickered.
I charged and primed a couple of the larger trees and a couple of the more ancient stumps. I wanted shattering, detonating explosions, so I went with liquid binaries (an old Moldovan recipe) on the stumps and a combination of RDX and PETN on the still standing, though leaning, elms.
I decided that this was the place that fuses would be best used. I wanted the binaries to fire first and then, the elms and their charges.
Kit and crew took off in my truck and parked a good 750 meters away. I had an idling quad as I set to the business of lighting off various fuses in their proper sequence.
Just as I lit the final fuse, I jumped, well, got in a hurry, on the quad. I headed for Kit and the crew when I see a number of local constabulary and their new cruisers headed my way. If they didn’t abort soon, we’d intersect at a point less than 100 meters from ground zero.
Not good.
So, I drove at full tilt towards them and waving like a madman, convinced them to reverse and perhaps not park so close to a few hundred tons of afflicted, and smoldering, wood.
We rendezvous over by my truck, with Kit and crew hunkered down on the lee side. I yelled for the cops to do likewise. An errant 250-pound piece of dead oak or elm tree could certainly muss up one’s day.
There were 5 of them and they were all carping about how we didn’t do this or have that when suddenly, everybody standing lost their footing.
“Great!”, I exclaimed, “Those binaries work a treat!”
The police were just about to get up and dust themselves off when there was a series of mighty roars, all being liberated at over 19,000’ per second from my handy-dandy RDX-PETN mixtures.
“That’s six”, I said as I stood, “That’s all of them”.
I grabbed some binoculars and looked to the west. There were several large smoking holes, several huge hunks of tree stumps and not a single tree left upright.
“It worked great!”, I said to Kit and crew. “Beats hacking away with chainsaws, especially in this weather.”
“Who is responsible for all this?” one of the cops I didn’t recognize said apoplectically.
“That would be me”. I said and extended a hand for a manly handshake.
“And who the hell are you”, he asked.
Kit, the crew and the rest of the cops looked at him like he sprouted cabbages.
“I am Doctor Rocknocker. BS, MS, MS again, PhD, DSC and holder of International Master Blasters Certifications. Want to see the paperwork?” I asked, slightly huffed.
“Oh, ah. No”, He sputtered. “We were told to come over here and get a briefing on what you all were planning.”
“Or you could have gone to city hall and view the documents there.” I said, slightly perturbed.
“You plan to do this for your upcoming festival?” He asked.
“No”, I replied, “we’re using much smaller punt guns to launch bowling balls.”
“Then what was that?” he exclaimed as he pointed to the still smoldering pile of trees.
“That”, I replied, “Is my partial payment to the landowner here for use of his property.”
I stayed to chat with the police, as Kit and the crew took the Cat over to see what they could move around now.
Everything turned out fine, as they missed my red warning flags indicating that I was planning on doing some blasting.
“Gents”, I said, “Are you not trained in the finer points of high explosives?”
Then there was the issue of the SIDE TRIP.
Es and I were going to take a day or 5, go down to Mexico and procure the opening/closing fireworks
Dramatic carsone: My truck: 2023 Dark Red (Burgundy) Dodge Ram 3500. Cap for bed. AKA: “The Pig”.
Es’ car: 1997 Porsche 911 Carrera Cabriolet Value: AKA: “The Brown Bitch”.
Es was growing tired of her old Porsche. Especially when I was off in my truck doing oilfield things and she had to stuff 250 pounds of recalcitrant Khan into her car for a quick vet trip.
“But you always told me you wanted a Porsche.” I complained.
“Yeah”, Es replied, “I did, but that was then. This in now. You’re gone a lot and I need a bigger vehicle.”
“OK”, I replied, “Your call. What are you looking at?”
“Well”, Es smiled, “There’s this Old Cutlass that I’ve had my eye on...”
I looked at the Internet ad.
Oh, sweet baby Jesus...
Look, I may be a Boomer Gearhead, but my wife eclipses that many-fold.
She’s looking at a fucking serious muscle car.
I got over muscle cars when I blew the 401CI V-8 out of my ‘77 Gremlin years ago.
Now I look for heavy duty, relative large comfort, and ability to haul tons of stuff.
So, off we went to Erdemont, OK.
We found the owner of the car out in the depths of an ancient barn. It appeared he had lived here his entire life.
“You want to be looking at my Olds?” He inquired.
“Yeah”, I replied, “My wife wants to step up from her old Porsche.”
He went over and inspected Es’s car.
For some reason, it was a cream-puff he had to have.
I told Es to go look at his other cars. I needed room to schmooze.
He wanted $105k for the Olds.
He would give $85k for Brown Bitch.
He dropped to $90k and upped BB to $90k.
I lit a cigar and produced a bottle of Kentucky Rye whiskey.
An hour later, we swapped pink slips.
Es is still over the moon.
In case you’re wondering, here’s the details on Es’s new ride: 1984 Hurst/Olds Cutlass: Blocked and blueprinted 455 CI V8, Offenhauser heads/valve covers/blower riser, Jahn’s racing pistons, 4.526-inch bore and 4.75-inch stroke cam, Series 08/61 S/S Crager rims, Mickey Thompson Sportsman S/R 17130QT 325-50D-15 radial ‘RunHot’ DOT Tires, Holley Double Pumper twin 4-barrel carbs, twin Precision on-demand turbos, +36 psi boost, NOX system, and Wilwood racing brakes.
The car’s V-8 dynos at 873 horsepower and around 777 pound-feet of torque. Hurst Lightning Rods Triple Shifter: far right performs the shift from first to second gear. To get up to third gear, use the middle lever. Or leave the lever on the far left in either “D” for Drive or “OD” for Overdrive. One lever could get the job done with the four-speed overdrive automatic; but where’s the fun in that?
It sports “47 coats of hand-rubbed Candy Grape deep purple” lacquer. Button-tucked custom chrome-gray leather interior.
“Deep Purple”. Its new moniker.
Plus it sports an 8-track player.
It was the 8-track player that pushed me over the line.
So, we are now cruising from Oklahoma at near warp-speed towards the Mexican border.
“Are you really this tired of life or are you just seeing what this thing will do?” I asked as we passed a defunct Weigh Station at 123 mph.
“I’m just trying to sort this all out”, Es smiled a mile wide. “Hang on, I’m going to hit the blowers...”
Very much of the scenery between Oklahoma and Mexico passed as a painted blur.
“Pulled out of San Pedro late one night.
The moon and the stars was shinin' bright.
We was drivin' up Grapevine Hill
Passing cars like they was standing still.
Now I thought she'd lost all sense
And telephone poles looked like a picket fence.
I said "Slow down! I see spots!
The lines on the road just look like dots."
We passed an ICE immigration post at 147 miles per hour; the car purring like a Cheshire Cat with a deep, dark secret.
“Es, darling. Could we slow down a bit?” I implored.
“Well, OK”, Es replied. “Spoilsport. I never got the second turbo to kick in...”
Remind me to phone Geico when we return home and up our policies…
Down in Mexico, we purchased enough ordnance to stockpile a third-world nation. If fact, the trunk was so full, we put the spares in the backseat. We then lined the backseat with more aerials, ground effects and boomer-busters than should be allowed.
It took some serious talking and hand-outs to get back into the US.
“No, really”, I explained. “It for my research. Into seismic events. In the San Juan Basin.”
“No, really”, I explained, “I am globally fully certified Class-A explosives expert.”
“No, really”, I explained, “I’m just getting supplies for the Fourth of July.”
Well, that didn't work worth a shit, so I slipped them a couple of new Benjamins and the next thing you know, we’re in Truth or Consequences dawdling over a breakfast of enchiladas, burritos and smothered tacos.
Now, driving home from Mexico to New Mexico with fireworks can be a thrilling yet potentially risky endeavor. So what if you take a few risks? That’s where the fun is…
Anyways, it's more or less essential to be aware of the regulations regarding transporting fireworks across borders, as they can vary between countries and states.
Here are some key points to consider:
Legal Regulations: Make sure you're aware of the laws regarding fireworks in both Mexico and New Mexico. Transporting certain types of fireworks may be restricted or even prohibited. However, this doesn’t apply if you’re certified internationally and well known in this part of the world.
Safety Precautions: Ensure that the fireworks are properly secured and stored during transit to prevent any accidents or damage. Keep them away from any potential sources of ignition. Don’t leave them in the sun, near ashtrays or next to smoldering cigars. Words to live by...
Documentation: Carry all necessary paperwork, including receipts or permits for the fireworks, especially if they are large quantities or commercial-grade. Or, just be certified and pay bribes. Eh’. Either way.
Border Crossing: Be prepared for possible inspections at the border. Declare the fireworks to the customs officials and follow their instructions. Failure to declare or attempting to smuggle fireworks across borders can lead to serious legal consequences. More bribery. Or, as I like to call it, “pump priming”. “Benjamins, mis amigos!”
Transportation Vehicle: Ensure that the vehicle you're using for transportation is suitable for carrying fireworks safely. Avoid overcrowding the vehicle or storing fireworks in a manner that could cause them to shift or fall during transit. Make sure it’s runs like a raped ape. Speed thrills or something like that. Faster and faster ‘till the thrill of speed overcomes the fear of death.
Route Planning: Plan your route carefully, taking into account any restrictions or regulations regarding the transportation of fireworks. Avoid areas with high fire risk, especially during dry seasons. Or, just stick to the blacktop superslab when trying to establish new land-speed records.
Emergency Preparedness: Have a plan in place in case of emergencies, such as a fire or accident involving the fireworks. Carry fire extinguishers and other safety equipment in the vehicle. Or just jettison that which is smoking when it shouldn’t be. Scares the hell out of returning coyotes and nervous cartel members.
Local Regulations: Upon reaching New Mexico, familiarize yourself with any additional state or local regulations regarding the storage and use of fireworks. Or just drive like hell and get the car in the garage as soon as possible and avoid all the paperwork frivolities.
Remember, safety should always be the top priority when transporting fireworks. If you're unsure about any aspect of the process, it's best to seek guidance from authorities or legal experts to ensure compliance with all relevant regulations. Or just use common sense, drive mostly at night and carry large, heavy caliber sidearms. Equip your ride with ample cup holders and ash trays.
We blew past Socorro, Albuquerque and Bernalillo like they weren’t even there. We did slow down in Cuba to stop at the Cuba Cafe for Navajo Tacos, Fry Bread and Liver and Onions.
Best damned liver and onions this side of my kitchen.
Further north and somewhat west, Es lightly tapped the brakes, spun us in a slick 180⁰ degree Bootlegger Spin, and backed perfectly into our garage.
I was secretly thrilled when the garage door clattered closed as Es’ car rumbled down like the old Adam West-version Batmobile. Sure, it cost a ton in gas, but once I get this record ratified, we’ll have something else to charge after…
Khan was pleased once we got all of the ordnance out of the new car as he staked his claim on the Old’s back seat; something he couldn’t do in the Porsche Brown Bitch.
Also, someone once again borrowed my truck without telling me.
I hope.
Enough of this nonsense. Everything’s locked in my two back yard explosives sheds (Yes. 2 sheds…) and I need a stiff drink or seven, a new cigar and a few laps around our new Jacuzzi. Es and I designed one around a South West US fire-pit, bar-be-que, wet bar, and media center.
It’s already 0300 and we’re floating in our own personal worlds. Es has granted me the necessary time to complete our ball park-Bingo Hall mission, but that’s for tomorrow. And in the words of the famous philosopher Felix E. Feist, ‘tomorrow is another day’.
G’night, all. YAWN.
The dawn broke ridiculously bright and sunny as so often happens when there’s no mesotropical storms in the area. The sky was blue as a newborn baby’s veins and the dawn clear and uncluttered as a fake royal lineage.
I woke, looked out side and grumbled: “Bloody weather”.
I’m often a grumpy curmudgeon before my first coffee.
Bolstered by a large, black Kona, an equally large and black Camacho Triple Maduro, along with a phone call from Rick that he had my truck, the morning was shaping up to be something that might not only be tolerated, but potentially actually enjoyed.
Khan was already fed and had his walkies. Luckily our next-door neighbor’s kid Igor loved walking Khan.
Seems no one gave him the tiniest bit of shit when he’s out walking Khan.
Es had run into town to secure some floss or twine or barbed wire or something for her latest needlepoint project. This should keep her busy for hours.
The guys worked diligently while Es and I were out and about. Good thing, too, as the festival night was rapidly approaching.
I wondered about another coffee when my goddamned work phone began to warble.
“Shit, shit, shit!”, I growled. “Not now. Go call someone else...”
“Yeah?”, I said gruffly into the rap-rod. “What do you want?”
It was the County Commissioner.
“Yeah, Jerry?”, I said.
Well, some county employee had mown too close to a small gas well, of which there are about 800,000 in the San Juan Basin.
Clipped it, upset one or another metal-to-metal seals and the damn thing caught fire.
“Just what the fuck I need.” I groused.
“Where, when and how?”, I asked Jerry.
“Yeah. OK. I know the area. As soon as I can retrieve my truck, I’ll go out and handle it. What? No, this one I’ll handle alone. Get your check writing machine going, Jer, I charge triple for emergencies.”
As far as oil-gas well fires go, this one was a sparkler compared to some of the 48” Japanese shells I’ve handled. Got a hold of Rick and he hotfooted it back with my truck (after he cleaned out the empties and cleared the ashtrays). The fire was about 12 miles distant and after I dropped Rick off at the fairgrounds, I gave him orders for the day.
“I’m out of pocket for a few hours”, I informed him. “You’re in charge until I get back. You know the routine. Get everything up and running, I want a dry-run when I return.”
Rick appreciated that when I put someone in charge of a project, I mean it. I also me that if you do well, you’ll be handsomely rewarded. If you fuck up, however, then the 2,000-pound shithammer’s gonna fall.
I trust Rick and the rest of my crew. I fully expect everything to be standing tall and looking good when I return.
I jump in my truck, smell the inevitable aroma of some Mexican Agriculture (which is very legal hereabouts) and notice my truck has recently been run through the local Pep-Boys cleaning and detailing service.
Fair dinkum, mate.
On my way to the well, I made a series of calls. I let the operator know that I was on the job, I let Jerry know I was en-route. I let the others, whom shall remain nameless, sit and stew.
“Listen, Agent Rack”, I said into my brand new, Government issued cell phone telephone, “I know it’s been a while and you and Agent Ruin are champing at the but to get back in the field, but after that last little tadoo in Russia and Ukraine, I’m not so sure I want to be associated with you types.”
Both agents gasped in disbelief. They were well trained, by some of the greatest divas in the business, how to feign emotions and act all put out when they were really just bored and wanted out of the office.
“OK”, I finally relented, “This job is a doddle. Even if I dawdle, my pipe won’t even get to the dottle on this job.”
“OK, fine”, I finally relented. “If I’m not working on this little blowout, then you can meet me over at the County Fairgrounds and help me run through the exhibits and games. In fact, that’s be a good use of your time here. That way, I can write all of this off and have the Agency foot the bill.”
They readily agreed and noted they’d be seeing me in no less than 4 hours.
“I can hardly wait”, I replied to what I suspected was already a dead phone.
“Kids...”, I said in head-shaking amusement as Rack and Ruin, Senior Agents all, we fully 20 years my junior.
And I never let a moment pass when I could remind them of this temporal anomaly.
I knew just about where the fire was by the density ripple emanating off the smooth plain. I drove up to the wee little pumpjack and say it was still burning.
“Pfft.”, I pffted. “Only 400 pounds on the static gauge.” No oil. No condensate. Just a gasser that blowing out of a small orifice created when some county knothead mowed too closely to the thing and bumped it off kilter.
I decided that I could handle this by myself.
I got into my hot suit, the spiffy super-reflective silver one with the internal air conditioning, and picked out a likely-looking sledgehammer.
To be continued…

Hey everyone,
Hold onto your hats (and sanity) because I just finished writing a DBD chapter based on The Babadook, and let me tell you, it’s terrifying! I think it’ll bring the chills back to the Fog.
It’s got a Killer and two Survivors straight from the movie.
Who’s brave enough to read it? Feel free to skim through.
Let me know if you’re interested in the comments!
(I have already posted this on dbdm)
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Chapter:From Page to Terror
Killer: The Babadook
Perk 1: I’ll Wage My Campaign

• Description: Obsessive torment clouds your judgment. When a Survivor completes a Generator within a 16/14/12 meter radius of you, their aura is revealed to you for 3/4/5 seconds and gains the exposed status for 15 seconds.
• Explanation: This perk plays on The Babadook’s relentless pursuit of his victims. It allows him to track Survivors who are making progress on Generators, making it harder for them to hide.

Perk 2: Believe It or Not

• Description: Your presence lingers in the minds of Survivors. After hooking a Survivor, the next time they attempt to perform a rushed action (vaulting, healing, cleansing, etc.) within 10 seconds, they scream, revealing their location and suffering from the Hindered status effect for 4/5/6 seconds.
• Explanation: This perk reflects The Babadook’s ability to manipulate the minds of his victims, causing them to doubt their senses and make mistakes.

Perk 3: Mister Babadook

• Description: Your power grows with every failed attempt to deny your existence. For each successful skill check performed by Survivors working on gens while you're in a chase,you gain a token (up to a maximum of 5/6/7 tokens). Each token grants you a 1% increase in movement speed. All tokens are lost when you hit a Survivor.
• Explanation: This perk embodies the idea that The Babadook becomes stronger the more people try to ignore or suppress him. It rewards the killer for prolonged chases and punishes Survivors for trying to outmaneuver him.

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Real Name: Mister Babadook
Appearance:

• A towering figure in a black coat and a wide top hat, casting an imposing silhouette.
• His face is stretched into a horrifying grin with sharp teeth. With Long, claw fingers that twitch and grasp, eager to tear into his victim.

Weapon: The Book and the Claw

• The Babadook has a large, sharpened claw, an extension of his right hand, as his primary weapon.
• He clutches a tattered children’s book “Mister Babadook” in his left hand, for his nightmarish power the Babadook will be able to place 3 books anywhere around the map for survivors to find and banish with items found around the map.

Power: The Babadook’s Curse

• Dread: The Babadook inflicts a stacking status effect called Dread on Survivors through his abilities and presence. Dread manifests in increasingly disturbing visual and auditory hallucinations, impacting Survivor's actions and perception.
• Nightmare Essence: The Babadook projects an aura of Nightmare Essence around himself, lingering in the environment and clinging to objects. This Essence acts as a conduit for his power, amplifying Dread and enabling special abilities.

Abilities:

1. Hallucination Surge (Cooldown): The Babadook unleashes a surge of nightmarish energy.
   • Within his Terror Radius: Survivors suffer a large spike in Dread and briefly see illusory copies of the Babadook lunging at them from random directions.
   • Outside his Terror Radius: Survivors within Nightmare Essence see a quick flash of the Babadook’s form in their vision, suffering a smaller increase in Dread.
2. Fearful Whispers (Active Ability): The Babadook focuses his power, intensifying the whispers of fear within a selected area where Nightmare Essence is present.
   • Targeted Area: The chosen area becomes shrouded in a visible haze of Nightmare Essence. Survivors within this area suffer from the following effects:
     • Shrinking Skill Check Zones: Success zones for skill checks are significantly reduced, making actions riskier.
     • Increased Dread Gain: All sources of Dread inflict a higher amount.
     • Sound Distortion: The sounds of their actions are amplified, potentially drawing the Babadook’s attention.

Dread Stages:

• Stage 1 (Whispers and Shadows): Faint whispers, flickering shadows. Skill check success zones are slightly reduced.
• Stage 2 (Manifestations): Frequent hallucinations, distorted sounds. Skill check success zones are moderately reduced. Hindered status effect applied.
• Stage 3 (Crippling Fear): Near-constant hallucinations, significantly obscured vision and sound. Considerably harder skill checks.
• Stage 4 (Consumed by Darkness): Survivor screams and collapses, becoming broken for 5/10/15 seconds. Their aura is revealed to the Babadook.

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Addons:
Brown Addons (common)

• Scrapbook Page: Increases the duration of the Fear status effect by 1/2/3 seconds.
• Torn Photograph: Slightly increases the movement speed of illusory copies created by Hallucination Surge.
• Cracked Music Box: When a survivor interacts with a Babadook illusion, they scream, revealing their location, and become exposed for 4/5/6 seconds. The illusion is then destroyed.
• Whispering Pages: Moderately increases the range at which Fearful Whispers affects Survivors’ skill checks.

Yellow Addons (Uncommon)

• Pop-Up Book: When a Survivor under the effect of Fear fails a skill check, they scream, revealing their location for 3/4/5 seconds.
• Red Shoe: The Babadook’s terror radius is hidden from Survivors under the effect of Fear.
• Monstrous Voice: Survivors within The Babadook’s terror radius suffer from the Oblivious status effect for 5/6/7 seconds while under the influence of Fear.
• Bent Spoon: Successfully hitting a Survivor grants The Babadook a burst of movement speed for 5/6/7 seconds.

Green (Rare)

• Mother’s Lipstick: A touch of glamour masking a chilling truth. Survivors who look at The Babadook while their Nightmare meter is above 75% scream and have their aura revealed for 2/3/4 seconds.
• Broken Picture Frame: A family portrait, shattered beyond repair. Your Terror Radius is suppressed for 4/5/6 seconds after manifesting a Babadook illusion.
• Sam’s Hand-Drawn Monster: A child’s nightmare-given form. Babadook illusions now inflict the exposed status effect on nearby Survivors within a 4/6/8 meter radius for 4/5/6 seconds.
• Scratched Film Reel: Images flicker and distort, blurring the line between reality and nightmare. When a Survivor’s Nightmare meter reaches 100%, their aura is revealed to you for 3/4/5 seconds.

Purple (Very Rare)

• Water-Damaged Photograph: A cherished memory, warped and faded by grief. Whenever a Survivor’s Nightmare meter fills, the duration of all active Babadook illusions is increased by 4/6/8 seconds.
• Scrawled Note in Children’s Handwriting: “Don’t let him in!” When a Survivor within your Terror Radius reaches 100% Nightmare, all other Survivors outside of your Terror Radius have their Nightmare meter increased by 10/15/20%. This effect can only trigger once every 30/25/20 seconds.
• Ripped Bedtime Story: A tale abruptly cut short, leaving a lingering sense of dread. When a Babadook illusion disappears, Survivors within a 6/8/10 meter radius suffer from the Hindered status effect for 4/5/6 seconds.
• Ink-Stained Handkerchief: Used to wipe away tears, now stained with the darkness of the book. For each 15/12/10% of Nightmare meter, a survivor gains, their action speeds for repairing, healing, and cleansing are decreased by 2/3/4%, up to a maximum of 8/12/16%. This effect lingers for 4 seconds after they stop gaining Nightmare.

Iridescent Addons(Ultra Rare)

• The Babadook’s Replica Book: A twisted reflection of the original, brimming with dark power. You start the trial with a second Babadook illusion that can be placed independently. This illusion has a 50% reduced duration.
• A Lock of Amelia’s Hair: A mother’s love, twisted into something possessive and cruel. Babadook illusions now emit a Terror Radius of 8/12/16 meters. Survivors within this radius suffer from the Hindered and Exhausted status effects for 10/20/30 seconds.

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Backstory
The Entity did not seek out a man in a suit, nor a clawed beast, when it found Mister Babadook. It found a story. A whisper that festered in the dark corners of children’s minds, feeding on the anxieties of parents ill-equipped to face it. The Babadook was never truly one being, but a manifestation of the terror that took root when denial met grief. Amelia, driven to the edge by the loss of her husband, became the perfect vessel. Her son, Samuel, became the catalyst.
The Entity, hungry for potent fear, did not claim the Babadook so much as it absorbed the story, twisting it into a new horror. Now, the Nightmare echoes with Amelia’s despair, amplified and never-ending. The Babadook is no longer confined to a single house or a single family. He is the bogeyman in every closet, the monster under every bed, given form by the Entity’s power.
The Babadook stalks survivors with an unsettling stillness, his movements a disjointed waltz between predator and phantom. He doesn’t need illusions to instill terror but to create hallucinations to drive his victims to insanity. His presence alone warps the environment, turning the familiar into the menacing. Toys twitch to life, whispering threats. Shadows writhe with unnatural menace. The air itself grows heavy with dread, increasing the survivors’ fear and weakening their resolve.
He preys on their vulnerabilities, exploiting past traumas and anxieties. A survivor who fears enclosed spaces might find themselves struggling to breathe, walls seeming to close in. One haunted by a childhood bully might hear taunting whispers, their name hissed with malicious glee.
The Entity delights in the Babadook’s unique brand of psychological torment. For what is more terrifying than the monster you cannot outrun, the fear that festers within, waiting for the moment you break, the moment you whisper, “Babadook.”
The Entity revels in the Babadook’s ability to tap into these primal fears. For what is more terrifying than confronting the monsters we thought we’d left behind, the realization that some fears never truly disappear, they simply evolve alongside us, waiting for the moment we’re vulnerable enough to be consumed once more.
He preys on the insecurities we carry from childhood: the fear of abandonment, the terror of the unknown, the helplessness of being small in a world that seems designed to swallow you whole. He might force survivors to relive traumatic childhood memories, trapping them in looping corridors that echo with the taunts of bullies or the despair of neglectful guardians.
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Amelia Vanek: Survivor
Perk 1: Mother’s Intuition

• Description: You possess a heightened awareness of impending danger. When the Killer reads your aura or gains a Killer Instinct notification on you, you receive a visual and auditory cue indicating the general direction of the Killer for 3/4/5 seconds. This perk has a cooldown of 45/40/35 seconds.
• Explanation: This perk represents Amelia’s maternal instincts and her ability to sense when her son, Samuel, is in danger. It gives her a brief moment of warning when the Killer is focusing on her, allowing for a slightly better chance to react and evade.

Perk 2: Repressed Memory

• Description: The trauma you’ve endured has left you with a fragmented memory, but also a strange resilience. When you are unhooked or escape from the Killer’s grasp, you leave behind a false aura for 4/5/6 seconds that briefly misdirects the Killer. This perk has a cooldown of 60/50/40 seconds.
• Explanation: This perk plays on the psychological aspect of Amelia’s struggle with The Babadook. It creates a moment of confusion for the Killer, similar to how Amelia’s memories were muddled by the entity’s influence.

Perk 3: Don’t You Tell Them

• Description: You’ve learned to mask your fear to protect others. When performing a rushed action within the Killer’s Terror Radius, your grunts of pain are silenced for 4/6/8 seconds.
• Explanation: This perk reflects Amelia’s attempts to shield Samuel from the full extent of their terrifying situation. It allows her to perform necessary actions without drawing as much attention to herself, increasing her chances of survival.

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Backstory:
Amelia Vanek was once a woman filled with love and hope, eagerly awaiting the birth of her son, Samuel. However, tragedy struck on the day of his arrival when her husband Oskar died in a car accident. The joy of welcoming their child into the world was overshadowed by grief and loss.
As Samuel grew older, he exhibited challenging behavior that tested Amelia’s patience and resolve. He became fixated on a mysterious pop-up book titled “Mister Babadook,” claiming it depicted a sinister entity haunting them. Despite dismissing it as childhood imagination at first, strange occurrences began to unfold around them.
The lines between reality and nightmare blurred for Amelia as she grappled with her own inner demons while trying to raise Samuel alone. The presence of The Babadook seemed to loom over their lives like a dark cloud, feeding off her sorrow and amplifying her fears.
Driven to desperation by sleepless nights haunted by visions of The Babadook and Samuel’s erratic behavior influenced by his belief in the creature’s existence, Amelia struggled to maintain control over her unraveling life.
In an attempt to protect herself and Samuel from the malevolent force that threatened their sanity, Amelia confronted The Babadook head-on. Through sheer determination and sacrifice, she managed to contain its influence within herself but not without enduring immense psychological torment along the way.
Now marked by trauma but fueled by resilience born out of maternal instinct, Amelia finds herself drawn into the Entity’s realm where she must confront both external threats and the lingering shadows of her past if she hopes to survive another day in this twisted landscape.
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Oskar Vanek: Survivor
Perk 1: Resilient Spirit

• Description: Your unwavering determination in the face of adversity fuels your resolve. When injured, your recovery speed is increased by 15%/20%/25%. Additionally, you have a 50% chance to reduce the duration of the Hindered status effect applied to you by successful Killer attacks.
• Explanation: This perk reflects Oskar’s resilience in coping with life’s challenges, both before and after his untimely death. It allows him to recover more quickly from injuries and potentially evade further hindrances imposed by the Killer.

Perk 2: Watchful Protector

• Description: You’re always alert for danger, especially when those you care about are vulnerable. When within an 8/12/16 meter radius of a hooked survivor, you can see the Killer’s aura for 2/3/4 seconds if they are within a 16-meter radius of the hook. This perk has a cooldown of 60/50/40 seconds.
• Explanation: This perk highlights Oskar’s protective nature and awareness of his surroundings. It allows him to assess the situation around a hooked survivor and potentially make a move to intervene or warn others.

Perk 3: Lasting Legacy

• Description: The memory of your sacrifice lingers on, inspiring those around you. Each time you are unhooked or healed from dying state by another Survivor, all nearby Survivors gain a small boost (5%/7%/10%) to repair speeds for Generators for 3/4/5 seconds.
• Explanation: This perk honors Oskar’s legacy of selflessness and bravery even beyond death. By channeling his spirit into aiding others’ efforts toward escape, he continues to make a meaningful impact on the team’s chances of survival.

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Backstory:
Oskar Vanek was a man who understood the preciousness of life. A devoted husband to Amelia and soon-to-be father, he approached everything with strength and a warm smile. He was the anchor in the storm, the calm amidst chaos.
A carpenter by trade, Oskar possessed a quiet artistry, transforming wood into objects of beauty and practicality. His hands, calloused yet gentle, built the world around him with care and precision. He poured the same love and dedication into his relationship with Amelia, cherishing every moment they had together.
The news of Amelia’s pregnancy filled him with a joy he could barely contain. He dreamt of their child, of teaching them to ride a bike, of reading them bedtime stories. He threw himself into preparing for their arrival, crafting a crib with his own hands, each piece imbued with the love he already felt for the tiny life growing within Amelia.
But fate, it seemed, had other plans. On the day their child, Samuel, was born, tragedy struck. Driving to the hospital in the dead of night, a thick fog descended, shrouding the road in an eerie silence. A blinding flash, the screech of tires, and then… nothing.
Oskar never got to hold his child. He never got to whisper words of love into their tiny ears. His life, filled with so much promise, was cut tragically short. Yet, even in death, his presence lingered. A whisper of warmth in the cold, a flicker of light in the darkness, a reminder that even the deepest love can transcend the veil of death.
Some say that Oskar’s spirit, unable to find peace, still wanders, drawn to places where families are torn apart, seeking to protect those left behind from the darkness that claimed him. A guardian angel, forever bound to the memory of a life unlived and a love that death itself could not extinguish.
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The Babadook’s Books of Dread:
Placement:

• Strategic Terror: The Babadook can place his three smaller books anywhere on the map, allowing for strategic mind games and dynamic gameplay. He might:
  • Place a book near a hooked survivor, forcing a risky rescue attempt.
  • Surrounding a generator, hindering repairs and amplifying fear in a crucial area.

Ritual Mechanics:

• Four Stages, Three Books: Each book requires a three-stage ritual to banish:
  1. Seek the Torn Page: A page ripped from the corresponding book is hidden within a 12-meter radius of the book’s location. This page contains a fragment of the banishment rhyme.
  2. The Memory box: Find a small box hidden somewhere around the map. The box is locked with a 3-digit code. The clues are scattered nearby.
  3. Trace the Circle of Courage: Two survivors must collaborate to draw a circle of protection around the book using a Red Crayon. Illusory Babadooks will attempt to distract and disorient them during this stage.
  4. Unite in the Chant: With the circle complete, all participating survivors must stand within its boundaries and speak the banishment rhyme in unison. The Babadook will intensify his psychological assault, whispering threats and dredging up their deepest fears.

Risks and Challenges:

• Illusory Distractions: The illusory Babadooks are harmless but distracting. They’ll flicker in and out of view, whisper survivors’ names, and even mimic their movements, making it difficult to focus on the ritual.
• Psychological Torment: The Babadook will exploit survivors’ vulnerabilities, whispering personalized threats, reminding them of past traumas, and attempting to break their resolve. The closer survivors are to a book, the more intense the whispers become.
• Coordination and Communication: The ritual demands teamwork and communication. Survivors must coordinate their actions, share information about page locations, and support each other during the chanting phase.

The Ritual’s Influence: As survivors banish the Books of Dread, the Babadook’s power will either diminish (ritual complete) or intensify (ritual incomplete). Each book banished grants ALL survivors a UNIQUE temporary boost.
Book Banishing Boosts:

• First Book Banished: +4% movement speed for all survivors.
• Second Book Banished: +5% repair, healing, and sabotage speed for all survivors.
• Third Book Banished: All survivors gain a 15% chance to avoid detection while in the Babadook’s terror radius.
• All Books Banished: All three boosts are applied simultaneously for 20 seconds.

Incomplete Ritual (Default & End-Game State):

• This is the Babadook’s starting point at the beginning of each trial.
• This is also how powerful he’ll be if ALL THREE books remain at the end of the trial.
• He retains his base power level and has no additional benefits.
• However: If the survivors have attempted and FAILED to complete the banishing ritual on ANY of the books, the Babadook gains access to his “Nightmare Manifestation” power as a last resort.

Ritual in Progress:

• Level 1 (3 Books Remaining): The Babadook is at his base level. He retains his base kit and has no additional benefits. The challenge for survivors is discovering the ritual and choosing to engage with it.
• Level 2 (2 Books Remaining): The Babadook becomes slightly more powerful, gaining a 3% movement speed boost. The whispers and illusions might intensify slightly.
• Level 3 (1 Book Remaining): The Babadook’s power grows significantly. His terror radius is increased by 4 meters, and his illusory copies become more frequent and disorienting.
• Level 4 (0 Books Remaining - Ritual Complete): The Babadook is significantly weakened. He loses any additional speed boosts or terror radius increases gained during the trial. He cannot use “Nightmare Manifestation.” The survivors have faced their fears and weakened his grip on the trial.

Escaping:

• Banishing All Books: Provides the most significant advantages, weakening the Babadook and empowering survivors.
• Banishing Some Books: Still offers benefits, but survivors will face a tougher challenge during the escape.
• No Books Banished: The Babadook will be at his strongest, making escape extremely difficult.

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Facing the Illusion: Survivor Interactions with the Babadook
To make the Babadook’s illusions more than just a passive threat, Survivors will need ways to interact with them.

1. Direct Confrontation: Seeing through

• Mechanic: Survivors within a set range of the illusion (8 meters) can press and hold the Active Ability button to “Focus” on the illusion.
  • Success: After a short channel (1.5 seconds), the illusion is revealed as a flickering, transparent figure for 4 seconds, visible to all Survivors. The Survivor who focused gains a 3-second burst of speed.
  • Failure: If the Survivor releases the button or is interrupted, the Focus fails, and the “Marked by Fear” duration on them is increased by 2 seconds. They also hear a close-range whisper from the Babadook.

1. Tactical Exploitation: Playing Pretend

• Mechanic: Survivors can use the illusion’s presence to their advantage:
  • False Hope: Standing within the illusion’s radius for 3 seconds while holding the Active Ability button grants the “False Hope” status effect for 5 seconds. This effect provides no benefits but creates moderately loud, fake notification sounds as if the Survivor is repairing a generator or cleansing a totem, potentially misleading the killer. (Cooldown: 45 seconds)
  • Whispers of Misdirection: While within the illusion’s radius, Survivors can press the Active Ability button to create a fake noise notification in a random direction within a 15-meter radius. This can be used to distract the killer or mask their true location. (Cooldown: 60 seconds)

1. Shared Nightmare:

• Mechanic: When a Survivor is affected by “Marked by Fear,” their aura is briefly revealed to all other Survivors within a certain range (16 meters). This creates a tense dynamic where Survivors need to weigh the risks and benefits of staying close together when the Babadook’s illusions are in play.

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Voice lines for the killer
Chasing Survivors:

• “You can’t hide forever.”
• “I’m coming for you…”
• (Maniacal laughter) “You’re mine!”
• “Don’t let it in…” (Whispered menacingly)

Hitting a Survivor:

• “You’re next!”
• “This is for your own good…”
• “Embrace the darkness…”

Downing a Survivor:

• (Deep, satisfied sigh) “Finally…”
• “The book told me to do it…”

Hooking a Survivor:

• “Don’t worry, it will all be over soon.”
• “The Entity is hungry…”
• “You brought this upon yourself.”

Mori:

• (The Babadook leans in close, whispering) “I warned you…” (Opens its mouth wide, revealing rows of sharp teeth)
• (The Babadook forces open the survivor’s mouth and shoves the book inside) “Read it! Read it all!”
• (The Babadook claws at the survivor’s chest, mimicking the book’s illustrations) “This is how the story ends…”

Hey everyone,
Hold onto your hats (and sanity) because I just finished writing a DBD chapter based on The Babadook, and let me tell you, it’s terrifying! I think it’ll bring the chills back to the Fog.
It’s got a Killer and two Survivors straight from the movie.
Who’s brave enough to read it? Feel free to skim through.
Let me know if you’re interested in the comments!
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Chapter:From Page to Terror
Killer: The Babadook
Perk 1: I’ll Wage My Campaign

• Description: Obsessive torment clouds your judgment. When a Survivor completes a Generator within a 16/14/12 meter radius of you, their aura is revealed to you for 3/4/5 seconds and gains the exposed status for 15 seconds.
• Explanation: This perk plays on The Babadook’s relentless pursuit of his victims. It allows him to track Survivors who are making progress on Generators, making it harder for them to hide.

Perk 2: Believe It or Not

• Description: Your presence lingers in the minds of Survivors. After hooking a Survivor, the next time they attempt to perform a rushed action (vaulting, healing, cleansing, etc.) within 10 seconds, they scream, revealing their location and suffering from the Hindered status effect for 4/5/6 seconds.
• Explanation: This perk reflects The Babadook’s ability to manipulate the minds of his victims, causing them to doubt their senses and make mistakes.

Perk 3: Mister Babadook

• Description: Your power grows with every failed attempt to deny your existence. For each successful skill check performed by Survivors working on gens while you're in a chase,you gain a token (up to a maximum of 5/6/7 tokens). Each token grants you a 1% increase in movement speed. All tokens are lost when you hit a Survivor.
• Explanation: This perk embodies the idea that The Babadook becomes stronger the more people try to ignore or suppress him. It rewards the killer for prolonged chases and punishes Survivors for trying to outmaneuver him.

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Real Name: Mister Babadook
Appearance:

• A towering figure in a black coat and a wide top hat, casting an imposing silhouette.
• His face is stretched into a horrifying grin with sharp teeth. With Long, claw fingers that twitch and grasp, eager to tear into his victim.

Weapon: The Book and the Claw

• The Babadook has a large, sharpened claw, an extension of his right hand, as his primary weapon.
• He clutches a tattered children’s book “Mister Babadook” in his left hand, for his nightmarish power the Babadook will be able to place 3 books anywhere around the map for survivors to find and banish with items found around the map.

Power: The Babadook’s Curse

• Dread: The Babadook inflicts a stacking status effect called Dread on Survivors through his abilities and presence. Dread manifests in increasingly disturbing visual and auditory hallucinations, impacting Survivor's actions and perception.
• Nightmare Essence: The Babadook projects an aura of Nightmare Essence around himself, lingering in the environment and clinging to objects. This Essence acts as a conduit for his power, amplifying Dread and enabling special abilities.

Abilities:

1. Hallucination Surge (Cooldown): The Babadook unleashes a surge of nightmarish energy.
   • Within his Terror Radius: Survivors suffer a large spike in Dread and briefly see illusory copies of the Babadook lunging at them from random directions.
   • Outside his Terror Radius: Survivors within Nightmare Essence see a quick flash of the Babadook’s form in their vision, suffering a smaller increase in Dread.
2. Fearful Whispers (Active Ability): The Babadook focuses his power, intensifying the whispers of fear within a selected area where Nightmare Essence is present.
   • Targeted Area: The chosen area becomes shrouded in a visible haze of Nightmare Essence. Survivors within this area suffer from the following effects:
     • Shrinking Skill Check Zones: Success zones for skill checks are significantly reduced, making actions riskier.
     • Increased Dread Gain: All sources of Dread inflict a higher amount.
     • Sound Distortion: The sounds of their actions are amplified, potentially drawing the Babadook’s attention.

Dread Stages:

• Stage 1 (Whispers and Shadows): Faint whispers, flickering shadows. Skill check success zones are slightly reduced.
• Stage 2 (Manifestations): Frequent hallucinations, distorted sounds. Skill check success zones are moderately reduced. Hindered status effect applied.
• Stage 3 (Crippling Fear): Near-constant hallucinations, significantly obscured vision and sound. Considerably harder skill checks.
• Stage 4 (Consumed by Darkness): Survivor screams and collapses, becoming broken for 5/10/15 seconds. Their aura is revealed to the Babadook.

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Addons:
Brown Addons (common)

• Scrapbook Page: Increases the duration of the Fear status effect by 1/2/3 seconds.
• Torn Photograph: Slightly increases the movement speed of illusory copies created by Hallucination Surge.
• Cracked Music Box: When a survivor interacts with a Babadook illusion, they scream, revealing their location, and become exposed for 4/5/6 seconds. The illusion is then destroyed.
• Whispering Pages: Moderately increases the range at which Fearful Whispers affects Survivors’ skill checks.

Yellow Addons (Uncommon)

• Pop-Up Book: When a Survivor under the effect of Fear fails a skill check, they scream, revealing their location for 3/4/5 seconds.
• Red Shoe: The Babadook’s terror radius is hidden from Survivors under the effect of Fear.
• Monstrous Voice: Survivors within The Babadook’s terror radius suffer from the Oblivious status effect for 5/6/7 seconds while under the influence of Fear.
• Bent Spoon: Successfully hitting a Survivor grants The Babadook a burst of movement speed for 5/6/7 seconds.

Green (Rare)

• Mother’s Lipstick: A touch of glamour masking a chilling truth. Survivors who look at The Babadook while their Nightmare meter is above 75% scream and have their aura revealed for 2/3/4 seconds.
• Broken Picture Frame: A family portrait, shattered beyond repair. Your Terror Radius is suppressed for 4/5/6 seconds after manifesting a Babadook illusion.
• Sam’s Hand-Drawn Monster: A child’s nightmare-given form. Babadook illusions now inflict the exposed status effect on nearby Survivors within a 4/6/8 meter radius for 4/5/6 seconds.
• Scratched Film Reel: Images flicker and distort, blurring the line between reality and nightmare. When a Survivor’s Nightmare meter reaches 100%, their aura is revealed to you for 3/4/5 seconds.

Purple (Very Rare)

• Water-Damaged Photograph: A cherished memory, warped and faded by grief. Whenever a Survivor’s Nightmare meter fills, the duration of all active Babadook illusions is increased by 4/6/8 seconds.
• Scrawled Note in Children’s Handwriting: “Don’t let him in!” When a Survivor within your Terror Radius reaches 100% Nightmare, all other Survivors outside of your Terror Radius have their Nightmare meter increased by 10/15/20%. This effect can only trigger once every 30/25/20 seconds.
• Ripped Bedtime Story: A tale abruptly cut short, leaving a lingering sense of dread. When a Babadook illusion disappears, Survivors within a 6/8/10 meter radius suffer from the Hindered status effect for 4/5/6 seconds.
• Ink-Stained Handkerchief: Used to wipe away tears, now stained with the darkness of the book. For each 15/12/10% of Nightmare meter, a survivor gains, their action speeds for repairing, healing, and cleansing are decreased by 2/3/4%, up to a maximum of 8/12/16%. This effect lingers for 4 seconds after they stop gaining Nightmare.

Iridescent Addons(Ultra Rare)

• The Babadook’s Replica Book: A twisted reflection of the original, brimming with dark power. You start the trial with a second Babadook illusion that can be placed independently. This illusion has a 50% reduced duration.
• A Lock of Amelia’s Hair: A mother’s love, twisted into something possessive and cruel. Babadook illusions now emit a Terror Radius of 8/12/16 meters. Survivors within this radius suffer from the Hindered and Exhausted status effects for 10/20/30 seconds.

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Backstory
The Entity did not seek out a man in a suit, nor a clawed beast, when it found Mister Babadook. It found a story. A whisper that festered in the dark corners of children’s minds, feeding on the anxieties of parents ill-equipped to face it. The Babadook was never truly one being, but a manifestation of the terror that took root when denial met grief. Amelia, driven to the edge by the loss of her husband, became the perfect vessel. Her son, Samuel, became the catalyst.
The Entity, hungry for potent fear, did not claim the Babadook so much as it absorbed the story, twisting it into a new horror. Now, the Nightmare echoes with Amelia’s despair, amplified and never-ending. The Babadook is no longer confined to a single house or a single family. He is the bogeyman in every closet, the monster under every bed, given form by the Entity’s power.
The Babadook stalks survivors with an unsettling stillness, his movements a disjointed waltz between predator and phantom. He doesn’t need illusions to instill terror but to create hallucinations to drive his victims to insanity. His presence alone warps the environment, turning the familiar into the menacing. Toys twitch to life, whispering threats. Shadows writhe with unnatural menace. The air itself grows heavy with dread, increasing the survivors’ fear and weakening their resolve.
He preys on their vulnerabilities, exploiting past traumas and anxieties. A survivor who fears enclosed spaces might find themselves struggling to breathe, walls seeming to close in. One haunted by a childhood bully might hear taunting whispers, their name hissed with malicious glee.
The Entity delights in the Babadook’s unique brand of psychological torment. For what is more terrifying than the monster you cannot outrun, the fear that festers within, waiting for the moment you break, the moment you whisper, “Babadook.”
The Entity revels in the Babadook’s ability to tap into these primal fears. For what is more terrifying than confronting the monsters we thought we’d left behind, the realization that some fears never truly disappear, they simply evolve alongside us, waiting for the moment we’re vulnerable enough to be consumed once more.
He preys on the insecurities we carry from childhood: the fear of abandonment, the terror of the unknown, the helplessness of being small in a world that seems designed to swallow you whole. He might force survivors to relive traumatic childhood memories, trapping them in looping corridors that echo with the taunts of bullies or the despair of neglectful guardians.
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Amelia Vanek: Survivor
Perk 1: Mother’s Intuition

• Description: You possess a heightened awareness of impending danger. When the Killer reads your aura or gains a Killer Instinct notification on you, you receive a visual and auditory cue indicating the general direction of the Killer for 3/4/5 seconds. This perk has a cooldown of 45/40/35 seconds.
• Explanation: This perk represents Amelia’s maternal instincts and her ability to sense when her son, Samuel, is in danger. It gives her a brief moment of warning when the Killer is focusing on her, allowing for a slightly better chance to react and evade.

Perk 2: Repressed Memory

• Description: The trauma you’ve endured has left you with a fragmented memory, but also a strange resilience. When you are unhooked or escape from the Killer’s grasp, you leave behind a false aura for 4/5/6 seconds that briefly misdirects the Killer. This perk has a cooldown of 60/50/40 seconds.
• Explanation: This perk plays on the psychological aspect of Amelia’s struggle with The Babadook. It creates a moment of confusion for the Killer, similar to how Amelia’s memories were muddled by the entity’s influence.

Perk 3: Don’t You Tell Them

• Description: You’ve learned to mask your fear to protect others. When performing a rushed action within the Killer’s Terror Radius, your grunts of pain are silenced for 4/6/8 seconds.
• Explanation: This perk reflects Amelia’s attempts to shield Samuel from the full extent of their terrifying situation. It allows her to perform necessary actions without drawing as much attention to herself, increasing her chances of survival.

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Backstory:
Amelia Vanek was once a woman filled with love and hope, eagerly awaiting the birth of her son, Samuel. However, tragedy struck on the day of his arrival when her husband Oskar died in a car accident. The joy of welcoming their child into the world was overshadowed by grief and loss.
As Samuel grew older, he exhibited challenging behavior that tested Amelia’s patience and resolve. He became fixated on a mysterious pop-up book titled “Mister Babadook,” claiming it depicted a sinister entity haunting them. Despite dismissing it as childhood imagination at first, strange occurrences began to unfold around them.
The lines between reality and nightmare blurred for Amelia as she grappled with her own inner demons while trying to raise Samuel alone. The presence of The Babadook seemed to loom over their lives like a dark cloud, feeding off her sorrow and amplifying her fears.
Driven to desperation by sleepless nights haunted by visions of The Babadook and Samuel’s erratic behavior influenced by his belief in the creature’s existence, Amelia struggled to maintain control over her unraveling life.
In an attempt to protect herself and Samuel from the malevolent force that threatened their sanity, Amelia confronted The Babadook head-on. Through sheer determination and sacrifice, she managed to contain its influence within herself but not without enduring immense psychological torment along the way.
Now marked by trauma but fueled by resilience born out of maternal instinct, Amelia finds herself drawn into the Entity’s realm where she must confront both external threats and the lingering shadows of her past if she hopes to survive another day in this twisted landscape.
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Oskar Vanek: Survivor
Perk 1: Resilient Spirit

• Description: Your unwavering determination in the face of adversity fuels your resolve. When injured, your recovery speed is increased by 15%/20%/25%. Additionally, you have a 50% chance to reduce the duration of the Hindered status effect applied to you by successful Killer attacks.
• Explanation: This perk reflects Oskar’s resilience in coping with life’s challenges, both before and after his untimely death. It allows him to recover more quickly from injuries and potentially evade further hindrances imposed by the Killer.

Perk 2: Watchful Protector

• Description: You’re always alert for danger, especially when those you care about are vulnerable. When within an 8/12/16 meter radius of a hooked survivor, you can see the Killer’s aura for 2/3/4 seconds if they are within a 16-meter radius of the hook. This perk has a cooldown of 60/50/40 seconds.
• Explanation: This perk highlights Oskar’s protective nature and awareness of his surroundings. It allows him to assess the situation around a hooked survivor and potentially make a move to intervene or warn others.

Perk 3: Lasting Legacy

• Description: The memory of your sacrifice lingers on, inspiring those around you. Each time you are unhooked or healed from dying state by another Survivor, all nearby Survivors gain a small boost (5%/7%/10%) to repair speeds for Generators for 3/4/5 seconds.
• Explanation: This perk honors Oskar’s legacy of selflessness and bravery even beyond death. By channeling his spirit into aiding others’ efforts toward escape, he continues to make a meaningful impact on the team’s chances of survival.

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Backstory:
Oskar Vanek was a man who understood the preciousness of life. A devoted husband to Amelia and soon-to-be father, he approached everything with strength and a warm smile. He was the anchor in the storm, the calm amidst chaos.
A carpenter by trade, Oskar possessed a quiet artistry, transforming wood into objects of beauty and practicality. His hands, calloused yet gentle, built the world around him with care and precision. He poured the same love and dedication into his relationship with Amelia, cherishing every moment they had together.
The news of Amelia’s pregnancy filled him with a joy he could barely contain. He dreamt of their child, of teaching them to ride a bike, of reading them bedtime stories. He threw himself into preparing for their arrival, crafting a crib with his own hands, each piece imbued with the love he already felt for the tiny life growing within Amelia.
But fate, it seemed, had other plans. On the day their child, Samuel, was born, tragedy struck. Driving to the hospital in the dead of night, a thick fog descended, shrouding the road in an eerie silence. A blinding flash, the screech of tires, and then… nothing.
Oskar never got to hold his child. He never got to whisper words of love into their tiny ears. His life, filled with so much promise, was cut tragically short. Yet, even in death, his presence lingered. A whisper of warmth in the cold, a flicker of light in the darkness, a reminder that even the deepest love can transcend the veil of death.
Some say that Oskar’s spirit, unable to find peace, still wanders, drawn to places where families are torn apart, seeking to protect those left behind from the darkness that claimed him. A guardian angel, forever bound to the memory of a life unlived and a love that death itself could not extinguish.
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The Babadook’s Books of Dread:
Placement:

• Strategic Terror: The Babadook can place his three smaller books anywhere on the map, allowing for strategic mind games and dynamic gameplay. He might:
  • Place a book near a hooked survivor, forcing a risky rescue attempt.
  • Surrounding a generator, hindering repairs and amplifying fear in a crucial area.

Ritual Mechanics:

• Four Stages, Three Books: Each book requires a three-stage ritual to banish:
  1. Seek the Torn Page: A page ripped from the corresponding book is hidden within a 12-meter radius of the book’s location. This page contains a fragment of the banishment rhyme.
  2. The Memory box: Find a small box hidden somewhere around the map. The box is locked with a 3-digit code. The clues are scattered nearby.
  3. Trace the Circle of Courage: Two survivors must collaborate to draw a circle of protection around the book using a Red Crayon. Illusory Babadooks will attempt to distract and disorient them during this stage.
  4. Unite in the Chant: With the circle complete, all participating survivors must stand within its boundaries and speak the banishment rhyme in unison. The Babadook will intensify his psychological assault, whispering threats and dredging up their deepest fears.

Risks and Challenges:

• Illusory Distractions: The illusory Babadooks are harmless but distracting. They’ll flicker in and out of view, whisper survivors’ names, and even mimic their movements, making it difficult to focus on the ritual.
• Psychological Torment: The Babadook will exploit survivors’ vulnerabilities, whispering personalized threats, reminding them of past traumas, and attempting to break their resolve. The closer survivors are to a book, the more intense the whispers become.
• Coordination and Communication: The ritual demands teamwork and communication. Survivors must coordinate their actions, share information about page locations, and support each other during the chanting phase.

The Ritual’s Influence: As survivors banish the Books of Dread, the Babadook’s power will either diminish (ritual complete) or intensify (ritual incomplete). Each book banished grants ALL survivors a UNIQUE temporary boost.
Book Banishing Boosts:

• First Book Banished: +4% movement speed for all survivors.
• Second Book Banished: +5% repair, healing, and sabotage speed for all survivors.
• Third Book Banished: All survivors gain a 15% chance to avoid detection while in the Babadook’s terror radius.
• All Books Banished: All three boosts are applied simultaneously for 20 seconds.

Incomplete Ritual (Default & End-Game State):

• This is the Babadook’s starting point at the beginning of each trial.
• This is also how powerful he’ll be if ALL THREE books remain at the end of the trial.
• He retains his base power level and has no additional benefits.
• However: If the survivors have attempted and FAILED to complete the banishing ritual on ANY of the books, the Babadook gains access to his “Nightmare Manifestation” power as a last resort.

Ritual in Progress:

• Level 1 (3 Books Remaining): The Babadook is at his base level. He retains his base kit and has no additional benefits. The challenge for survivors is discovering the ritual and choosing to engage with it.
• Level 2 (2 Books Remaining): The Babadook becomes slightly more powerful, gaining a 3% movement speed boost. The whispers and illusions might intensify slightly.
• Level 3 (1 Book Remaining): The Babadook’s power grows significantly. His terror radius is increased by 4 meters, and his illusory copies become more frequent and disorienting.
• Level 4 (0 Books Remaining - Ritual Complete): The Babadook is significantly weakened. He loses any additional speed boosts or terror radius increases gained during the trial. He cannot use “Nightmare Manifestation.” The survivors have faced their fears and weakened his grip on the trial.

Escaping:

• Banishing All Books: Provides the most significant advantages, weakening the Babadook and empowering survivors.
• Banishing Some Books: Still offers benefits, but survivors will face a tougher challenge during the escape.
• No Books Banished: The Babadook will be at his strongest, making escape extremely difficult.

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Facing the Illusion: Survivor Interactions with the Babadook
To make the Babadook’s illusions more than just a passive threat, Survivors will need ways to interact with them.

1. Direct Confrontation: Seeing through

• Mechanic: Survivors within a set range of the illusion (8 meters) can press and hold the Active Ability button to “Focus” on the illusion.
  • Success: After a short channel (1.5 seconds), the illusion is revealed as a flickering, transparent figure for 4 seconds, visible to all Survivors. The Survivor who focused gains a 3-second burst of speed.
  • Failure: If the Survivor releases the button or is interrupted, the Focus fails, and the “Marked by Fear” duration on them is increased by 2 seconds. They also hear a close-range whisper from the Babadook.

1. Tactical Exploitation: Playing Pretend

• Mechanic: Survivors can use the illusion’s presence to their advantage:
  • False Hope: Standing within the illusion’s radius for 3 seconds while holding the Active Ability button grants the “False Hope” status effect for 5 seconds. This effect provides no benefits but creates moderately loud, fake notification sounds as if the Survivor is repairing a generator or cleansing a totem, potentially misleading the killer. (Cooldown: 45 seconds)
  • Whispers of Misdirection: While within the illusion’s radius, Survivors can press the Active Ability button to create a fake noise notification in a random direction within a 15-meter radius. This can be used to distract the killer or mask their true location. (Cooldown: 60 seconds)

1. Shared Nightmare:

• Mechanic: When a Survivor is affected by “Marked by Fear,” their aura is briefly revealed to all other Survivors within a certain range (16 meters). This creates a tense dynamic where Survivors need to weigh the risks and benefits of staying close together when the Babadook’s illusions are in play.

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Voice lines for the killer
Chasing Survivors:

• “You can’t hide forever.”
• “I’m coming for you…”
• (Maniacal laughter) “You’re mine!”
• “Don’t let it in…” (Whispered menacingly)

Hitting a Survivor:

• “You’re next!”
• “This is for your own good…”
• “Embrace the darkness…”

Downing a Survivor:

• (Deep, satisfied sigh) “Finally…”
• “The book told me to do it…”

Hooking a Survivor:

• “Don’t worry, it will all be over soon.”
• “The Entity is hungry…”
• “You brought this upon yourself.”

Mori:

• (The Babadook leans in close, whispering) “I warned you…” (Opens its mouth wide, revealing rows of sharp teeth)
• (The Babadook forces open the survivor’s mouth and shoves the book inside) “Read it! Read it all!”
• (The Babadook claws at the survivor’s chest, mimicking the book’s illustrations) “This is how the story ends…”

I hated being alone. I don’t mean on my own, you can be on your own but not alone if you have a good enough distraction. A good book or film or a hobby that keeps your mind busy can make you feel like you’re not alone. Being alone, at least for me, meant being unoccupied in my mind. I had taken up a few tinkering hobbies to help in this, joinery making cabinets and spice racks or a bird house, anything to help keep my mind busy really. When my mind was left unoccupied it allowed them to visit.
I don’t want to say I was a psychic that’s a bit too cliche but I was more of a conduit for them. They were spirits but they didn’t come to give me a message or anything like that, but I did provide a service for them. Through me they could essentially live again. When you pass you gain things that you didn’t have in life such as foresight, this is how messages can be passed on from the spirit world. You also lose senses like touch, smell and taste. That’s what I provided for them. They didn’t posses me I was in full control of my body and my senses and anything I wasn’t comfortable doing I could refuse. Some of them were ok with this a little disappointed perhaps but ultimately ok with my decision. Others weren’t as nice and could (and some did) inflict illnesses upon me, usually flu like symptoms that passed after a day or two.
The first time it happened weirded me out. I was in my 20s and just bought a motorbike. It was a sunny spring morning and so donned in my leathers and helmet I hit the country roads and headed to a coastal town in the north of England. I walked along the seafront just taking in the sights and the sounds when I had an urge to smell the sea air. just stand there and take lungful after lungful of the salty air. Then when I noticed him. He was a tall man in a bespoke suit wearing wire thin spectacles and a type of bowler hat. He was sitting on a bench just staring at me. He looked not out of place but out of time, like I’d been transported back 100 years. The strangest thing was I knew him, even though I had never seen him before in my life, I knew everything about him. I knew his name, address, how old he was, where he worked and how he died. “Interesting gift” he said to me a look of puzzlement on his face. I sat down next to him “that I can see you?” I asked him “I thought many people had that gift.” He smiled at me, it was a warm and friendly smile “you don’t know do you?” He was a very well spoken man and you could tell he was educated. From what I remember he worked in financing, a banker or insurance. It’s funny, in the moment there isn’t a detail I don’t know, but afterwards it’s like trying to peer through a dirty window on a foggy street. You get bits and pieces but you almost have to guess at other parts. “You’re a conduit” he said in a matter of fact tone. “The bloody hells one of them” I asked trying not to sound rude. He let out a small laugh “I’ve seen people here over my years some glance and are gone others sit and talk, commune if you will, these are the psychics. They ask things and pass on messages ect. Then there’s you, you are a window for me back into your world. When you took those breaths of air I could smell it, taste it, almost as if I were you for a second. You act as a conduit for me to access those senses again.” I sat trying to process what he was saying. “Would you do me favour?” He asked his polite manner almost made him seem embarrassed to ask. “If I can” I replied trying to sound cheery but also concerned, not too sure what I was letting myself in for. “Do you think we could get an ice cream? I’ve not had one in such a long time.” I let out an audible laugh before realising I was to everyone else talking and laughing to myself. After that realisation I quickly said yes and began to walk towards the ice cream parlour. The thing about ghosts and using you as a ‘conduit’ is they don’t get full! Eight ice creams later and I was not feeling the best. After all the flavours he tried, his favourite was plain old Jane vanilla which for some reason amused me. After leaving him back at the bench where we’d met, I headed back to my bike, and after throwing up I headed home.
The spirits didn’t seek me out for this ‘gift’ of mine but if they were in my general vicinity they did kind of home in on me. I was visiting a popular toy store one day (the one with the giraffe mascot) when I noticed a little girl sitting on a wall out the front kicking her black patent leather shoes off the wall. She stopped dead and looked straight at me “hey mister! Mister!” She began to shout almost scream at me. To put this child in a category it would be firmly in the brat category! Think Veruca Salt from Charlie and the chocolate factory. She was rich and she was entitled a dangerous combination at the best of times. She came from a household that was staffed, from a time when staff were little more than slaves. “How may I be of service?” I asked in an almost mocking tone “you’re one of them aren’t you?” She said it in a way that was almost accusing, derogative even, like I should be ashamed of my gift. This little girl stood before me. She was the prettiest little girl you ever saw her blonde curly hair was tied up with bows in pigtails and she had on a red and black almost tartan designed dress, but don’t let that fool you for a second, the devil himself resided within that little girl! “Go in there and I want you to play with the dream house and the car and all the Barbie dolls you can find!” It was almost comical to see her face pouted with her hands on hips. I was waiting for the foot tap to complete the look but that part she missed off. “Yeah, sorry that ain’t happening.” I walked past her she began to scream as she followed me around the store my very own little bratty shopper “I want to play! Now play!!” Forgetting who I was talking to and where I was talking to them, I turned. I’m not proud to say I chastised the little ghost girl but that’s what happened “I am a grown ass man!! If you think for one second that I am going to sit and play with a god damn Barbie doll then you are very much mistaken! You may have owned a lot when you were alive but you are not my boss and I do not and will not take orders from a bratty little child! Now I suggest you use the time you have to learn some bloody manners, apologise and then maybe I will consider helping you in some way but if I sit down in a shop and play with dolls I’ll be locked up and signing a register before they even close the shop so NO I WILL NOT PLAY WITH A BLOODY DOLL!” I had to cut that shopping trip short and boy did she make me pay. I was holed up in bed for a week with a mysterious flu and no amount of countertop drugs came close to even touching it. I later noticed a pattern which made me feel a little bad about my outburst. I wouldn’t say I was completely bombarded by spirits but I had a fair few. What I picked up on was when someone passed naturally they were a lot more mild mannered and polite but if they were cut short and hadn’t fulfilled their lives they were bitter and obnoxious and just mean. Maybe it wasn’t her fault she acted the way she did.
Years had gone by since my first encounter with the man on the coast and I had learnt how to live with my ‘gift.’ Then I was visited by an elderly lady that broke me. I believe her name was Edith or Enid it was short and started with an E. She was one of the only ones that visited me at my home. I was washing the pots and looked out of the kitchen window and she was just sat there on the bench at the bottom of my garden. She was wearing a purple flowery sundress and holding a white handkerchief. I could sense her watching me. I slowly dried my hands reached for my cup of tea on the side made my excuse to my wife and headed out with my drink to get some air after an amazing dinner. Sitting down on the bench the old lady began “I’m very sorry to intrude on such a personal time and you can tell me no I’ll understand.” I sat listening as the lady explained what she wanted from me. It was a simple request and I didn’t think it would affect me as dramatically as it did. “I want a hug.” That was it “I want a hug.” I sat drinking my tea “I miss my grandkids and want to feel a child’s embrace once more. I understand it’s a very personal moment the love shared between parent and child and I will understand but please if I could just feel it once again you would make an old lady very happy.” She sat with a sombre smile on her face as she fiddled with her handkerchief. It took me longer than I thought it would to answer, after all it’s just a hug right? But she was right that was my hug with my son was I being selfish not wanting to share that? Then I thought about my grandma and how I was at the other side of the country when she passed. I would have given everything I had to have one last hug off her. With that in mind I agreed. She sat with us while we played. I bathed him and rubbed him down with the warmest fluffiest towel we owned while she sat smiling and watching. We played games getting dressed tickling and laughing. Then before he settled down for the night I dropped down to my knees and invited him in for a cuddle the feeling of warmth flooded me as I squeezed him into my chest. In that moment I never wanted to let him go. I wanted to stop time and stay in that warm embrace forever. The old lady thanked me as she left. The strangest feeling came over me not dread or anything like that but a horrible feeling all the same. I excused myself from the room, told my wife I felt a little off and I was getting a shower to clear my head. As the warm water hit me I collapsed into a ball sobbing as a feeling of great loss took over my body. It’s hard to explain I didn’t know what, I just knew I’d lost something or someone and it hurt, it made me feel sick as I lay in the shower heaving great heavy sobs. I ached and longed for something and nothing. Things were quiet after that night. I didn’t have any visitations for months. Just as I was beginning to feel like that awful feeling I’d had was maybe my gift coming to an end or worse being passed on to my son through some sort of cuddle transference, I met Him.
For the first time since discovering my gift, I knew nothing about spirit before me. I knew he wasn’t from our ‘world’ but unlike all the other spirits that’s all I knew. There was no name, no history. Nothing. To say he was an Adonis of a man is an understatement. His height and build would intimidate the very best of us. His skin was bronzed to perfection and there was not a blemish anywhere to be seen. His eyes were hard to gauge, looking straight at him they appeared a kind of greyish but as he moved the colour changed through blues and greens as if they were iridescent in colour. He was definitely out of place in my garage. “Mr smith I’ve heard many things about you.” He began as he walked around my garage heading towards me “do I know you?” I asked not sure if the meeting was a pleasant one or going to turn out bad on my end. “People are referring to you as the conduit” he continued ignoring my question “I’d like to show you something if you’d permit me. It’s not something everyone gets to see but I feel you could be beneficial .” I took my time to answer running the words over in my head trying to figure out if there was a pitfall I was about to stumble into. The situation was so hard to read, the air was totally neutral, no panic or fear but also no love or compassion. Just two men and their words. Words that seemed to fall from the air as soon as they were spoken. “What would you like to show me?” I asked even though I had tried to put something into my voice curiosity at the very least my words sounded flat and dull. “It’s not so much a what as a where if you’d please follow me.” Without speaking I just slowly nodded my head.
I don’t remember the journey I just remember arriving at what appeared to be a generic sort of diner in the middle of nowhere. There was a cream wall with a red brick pattern surrounding the building and a weird fog that just kind of hung in the air. We walked into the building and the feeling was sort of melancholic, sad but a happy sad. The decor reminded me of the type of roadside diners you’d see in the American movies, beige and cream with red chequered design around the walls a jukebox playing 50s rock n roll in the corner. Booths on the outside table and chairs filling the centre of the room, a long Island bar ran around the service area acting as more seating and table space. The place was filled with people meeting loved ones and talking over a cup of tea or coffee. People always came in but I never saw anyone leave there just always seemed to a seat for them and some loved one waiting. I got the impression that this was some kind of meeting point, or a waiting room of sorts. We sat down in a corner booth and I just observed the people coming in and being reunited with friends and family. After a while the man spoke “you have a truly wonderful gift you know. You can bring joy and comfort to people that have forgotten or don’t realise they’re missing it. We do try to make things familiar but we can’t replicate what we don’t remember, but you, you can make that hot chocolate taste just like grandma used to make it. You can give that comfort and joy. It wouldn’t be permanent just visit now and then.” I looked around again, that melancholic feeling I felt when I first walked in had lifted slightly and a warmth had started coming through. I decided to visit a few times a week to help what I believed to be people passing over. The man wasn’t always there but when he was he would sit with me and we would talk. I don’t remember much of our chats but one stuck out, one I did remember, and it made me feel like there was a hidden agenda to my needs in the diner.
“Do you know what every civilisation has in common?” The man looked up from his coffee as he asked the question “what every civilisation that has ever existed have all done? What they have all created?” I took a sip of my coffee and thought about the question “war?” I responded causing him to laugh “war! That’s a good one and technically yes but no that’s not what I’m thinking of. No every civilisation that has ever existed has created religion, a God, a deity, someone or something to point at and thank or curse depending on how things are going. Over time civilisations have come and gone their Gods have changed and they too have come and gone but every civilisation always finds a religious relief. There’s going to be changes happening and as in the past a new God, a new deity will be formed. And as also happened in the past this new deity, this new God will be challenged, will be fought against, but their word must prevail.” I sat in my chair not sure how to respond “why are you telling me this? I am no messenger, no messiah. I’m a middle aged man from the north of England if I start claiming to be the second coming of Christ they’ll lock me up!” The man looked back at me his smile was different. It looked friendly enough but underneath it had a new meaning. “We’re not asking you to be a messiah, this is just a chat. You’ve already played your part in what’s to come. Mr smith a friendly word of advice, people who go against the grain often find themselves wandering the field.” I looked at him confused “I’m not sure what that’s supposed to mean but I’ll take your word for it.” His smile faltered slightly as he leaned in “come for a walk with me. I’d like to show you something else.” We left the diner and headed out into the street. The light seemed darker and the mist a little thicker. We followed the cream and red wall around the outside of the diner. There were several plastic crates stacked up in a corner. He walked over and grabbed two placing them at the base of the wall “have a look” he said gesturing to the second crate. Gingerly I stepped up and peered over the wall. A feeling of dread washed over me as the landscape revealed itself. A large field stretched out in every direction trees and shrubs were dotted about. I could make out the silhouettes of people walking around lost and scared, but there was something else. Something unseen lurked in the shadows, used the trees and shrubs as cover as it waited to strike. I couldn’t see anything but as with the spirits I knew it was there watching, waiting. After seeing all I could stomach I stepped down from the crate feeling shaken and confused like I’d actually been one of the poor souls in the field. “I trust you’ll do what’s right mr smith, when the time comes.”
I tried to avoid going after that but I somehow got dragged back in. I would have spirits come and take me even when I told them no. It was no longer my choice. I was now theirs and they wanted me all the time. One day while I was sat watching and drinking my coffee as I always did, I noticed an old man sat watching me. He wasn’t very tall but the thing that stood out the most was his crazy hair. After some time of us looking at each other and nodding hello and awkwardly smiling I couldn’t help but notice he didn’t have a visitor. I left my corner booth and made my way over to him. He was a very pleasant man and a very intelligent man we talked for some time about everything and anything. Before I left he asked me if I liked coming here still, I explained what had happened on my previous visit. “My boy” he said “if you don’t want to come then don’t. All you have to do is tune out.” “What do you mean tune out?” I asked “think of your head like a radio it picks up frequencies and plays them. If you don’t like what’s playing on the radio you change the frequency. So I f you don’t like what’s playing my boy, just change the frequency.” “And how do I do that?” “For that you must find the dial but alas I cannot show that to you for I do not know where it is. Another technique you could try is cancelling out the white noise. Have you ever been so busy that the whole world passes you by and you don’t even notice it? Occupy the mind and you distract the senses!” So that’s what I did for the next however many years, I worked, I got hobbies, I cooked, I created things in my garage, anything to occupy my mind. Then today I was sitting in my garden finishing off the last few coats of paint on the go kart I had made for my grandson. When I heard his cheery voice coming round the corner. “Hey gramps” he shouted over as he made his way down the side of the house towards me. I stood up to look at him and wave. Seeing he was alone in shouted over “who were you talking with Peter?” He started laughing and looked up to his side shaking his head “he’s silly isn’t he?” He said to no one “it’s your friend Enid silly!” My blood ran cold as the realisation set in as to what the man meant ‘I’d already played my part’ he meant my bloodline.