Before I begin, I should let you know that the stories I’m writing are not for the faint of heart, or for the squeamish. As I type this, bottle of bourbon in hand, booze soaked whiskers covering my face, I should let you know the year is 2009. I don't now when, or if I'll ever tell anyone, or show them the story. Well, anyone else at least. I believe that’s enough exposition to preface this.
I suppose I should start with a name. My name. My name is Jeremy, at least that’s what my shrink told me to say my name was, for my protection, so I can’t say much else for now regarding my identity. Where to start, oh, where to start? I suppose I should start by stating we were just dumb. Well, maybe dumb isn’t the correct wording. Ignorant is more apt to what we were. Ignorance is bliss, after all.
It started on a brisk, sunny day in mid-October of 1986 at just thirteen years old, I was in sixth grade, and Mr. Stephens, my science teacher, gathered the class around for our weekly group huddle, as he called it.
“Alright class! I have some very exciting news for you all!”
Mr. Stephens chirped, as he usually did, his bubbly personality not unusual to any of us. The class perked up, a slight breeze rattling the “Hang in there!” and “Math is rad!” posters that lined the wall.
“What is it?”
A girl named Jennifer asked inquisitively. Mr. Stephens smiled, his Cheshire Cat like grin causing the dozen or so of us in the class that day to join in with him in his elation, a few kids whispering, pondering as to what may be coming.
“Well, we have a new friend joining us today! He’s a little shy, everyone give a warm welcome to our newest student, Charlie!”
The class erupted into a roaring cacophony of cheers, including myself, as a meek, strawberry blonde haired boy walked into the room, hiding his tomato colored face in his mothers side. His mother smiled, waving to the classroom, as Mr. Stephens motioned for us to quiet down, Charlie's mother cleared her throat, beaming at us all before speaking.
“Hello children! Charlie and I just moved to town, he’s a little shy, so if you would please be patient with him as he adjusts, I think he’ll make lots of new friends here!”
I could see dried up tears on the boys face as he turned to us, fear in his eyes as he turned back into his mothers side, a muffled voice trembling.
“I want to go home.”
Was all that came from the boy, a feeling of pity washed over my body. I had just moved to Wellspring the year before, and was just as timid as he was right now. His mother winced, her face turning to a look of sorrow, sullen as Charlie recessed deeper into his mother, wrinkling the maroon sweater she was wearing, before speaking again.
“Charlie…this is home now.”
He sniffled and pouted, letting go of his mother reluctantly before sitting down next to me on the floor. I gave him a smile, eliciting a small chuckle from him, his lip slightly curling on his lips. I shot him a puzzled look before looking down and grinning, realizing what he was laughing at. I burst out laughing with him, causing an eruption of laughter to spread throughout the class. Charlies tears of fear turned to tears of laughter, streaming down his face before asking me:
“Did your mom dress you today? I think she made a mistake!” The class erupted in laughter as my backwards shirt began to get noticed.
“My name is Jeremy, want to be friends?”
“Sure!”
Charlie shouted, Mr. Stephens and Charlies mother letting out a sigh of relief as we hugged, the rest of the class buzzed with excitement, talking to one another.
“So uh, do you like Transformers?”
Asked Charlie, a toothy grin on my face as I walked over to my designated spot and pulled out my Optimus Prime lunchbox. Charlie looked over with pure excitement, showing me his identical lunchbox.
The day went on as usual, we had pizza for lunch. I can still remember that bland, tasteless rectangular slab from Wellspring Junior High. In fact, looking back on it, I kind of miss it. After lunch we worked on our times tables, multiplication. Things suddenly shifted gears around 12:45 that afternoon.
The class ground to a halt, going silent as the room went dark, losing electricity it seemed, as a booming echo of what sounded like a scream came from the woods outside the window. Mr. Wells, our math teachers usual sunny disposition was wiped from his face as he looked in abject horror at the window, running over to close the blinds so no one would see. I saw though, and the look of terror in Charlies eyes, and the stench of urine told me that he had seen it too. An emaciated man with a sack over his head and hands tied behind his back had ran from the forest screaming before collapsing on the ground, covered in welts and burns, a strange chain link fence looking symbol carved into his chest, coagulated blood seeping around the area. We both stared blankly at the spot where it happened, just a drab, orange curtain blocking everyone else from the view. The loudspeaker overhead chiming in with a voice from the Mrs. Hollace, the principal.
“LOCK THE DOORS IMMEDIATELY. DO NOT LET ANYONE IN OR OUT OF THE BUILDING UNTIL POLICE ARRIVE.”
Charlie began to cry again, as did I, embracing him in a hug, Mr. Wells looking fearful, running over to us, as we seemed to be the only ones crying, the rest of the class awash with confusion instead.
“Are you ok?”
He asked. Both of us looked at each other wide eyed, in a look that said “Don’t let him know that we saw, keep it secret.”
If I had known what would happen a little over a decade later, I wouldn’t have agreed to be friends with Charlie. Hell, I wish I never met him. I wish he went to another school, or moved to another town, even if we did end up best friends. I wish I had told someone, ANYONE else what we saw that day.
I’m getting dreary, my eyes keep drooping as I recount this, maybe the booze is getting to me. So I’ll split this up into parts, chapters if you will. I don't know what will happen to me for even speaking of that fucking town, nor do I care. I guess that’s why I have to keep my mouth shut about my identity. I probably should keep my mouth shut about the rest of it too, but the truth needs to be out there. One thing I know for certain though is:
That was the first victim I saw of the Wellspring Furnace, but unfortunately not the last.

Ok retards listen up. Been seeing lots of degens writing small DD pieces of bullish or bearish shit. Y'all need to read this cos this is the whole fucking thing.
this is also basically my magnum fucking opus so upvote retards.
im also not some financial advisor or whatever just read this and make your own conclusions degenerates. Im not fucking liable lmao but i am balls deep @ .35 average now, its literally all I have on this earth.
TLDR: FFIE DD summarized, Margin wont affect longs the same way as shorts right now. Dont buy shares on margin though and get ready to supply collateral regardless. Short interest is up and some smart retards are on our side. Read the post to raise your IQ from 8 to 9 though. 🐻 🌈s mega fuk and even posting high level bear shit to scare us.
Compulsory 7 rockets so you autists dont start having a seizure or something:
🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀
Basically been seeing posts about "blah blah margin this, short interest this, WS to clever blah". Going to split this post into distinct sections but im no english degree so dont expect any bear bloomberg level shit or something
FFIE is a fucking steal regardless of squeeze. Buy now or be left on a dying planet while we head to alpha fucking centauri.
So basically everyone here knows about FFIE the horsemen of the apocalypse coming to steal shorts lunch money. Some of our whales from the shut down roaring kitty board bought GME in 2021. Collectively we are fucking rich. As a unit, we are an eccommerce wizard, taking GME from a measly 1.3b market cap to over a $5 Billion company. Its now valued at $6.8 Billion, granted anything "meme" now gets money thrown at it like a stripper in a high flying strip club or some shit , so dont listen to me, so it may well be a bubble. Regardless the thing grew like bacteria doing binary fission on agar jelly 🚀🚀🚀🚀.
THEY SELL FUCKING PHYSICAL COPIES OF USED VIDEO GAMES. The market for that is like what? $1?. Electric Vehicles are going to the moon and is basically recession proof because of how clean and cheap is compared to other things for how much you get out of it. Any bears saying that FFIE cant compete with other EV are wrong. The 1,940.1 pound Formula E vehicle will be that hit 0 to 62 mph in 2.95 seconds and have a top speed of 150 mph already slapped heads in. They'll fucking do it again.
🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀
We regain compliance if we stay above 1$ we finished four consecutive days at 1 BILLION+ volume. This is the literal smell of money. Hold above 1$ it cant go tits up?
Now for some pussy boomer talk (aka fundametals or something).
Last november FFIE announced a cooperation agreement with Master Investment group and Siraj Holdings LLC. Establishing a sales entity in Dubai.
We are still trading at $1.13. The wedbush 1 year price target is $10.20. Over 10x.🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀
I hear some chatter about the late 10q/10k filings that are late the reason for the delay primarily relates to staffing-related challenges in the Company’s Accounting group and deferred payments to third party audit consultants who have been assisting. The company is working to compile the information to be included in these reports, and I have no reason to think our boy Jonathan Maroko who is now the Interim Chief Financial Officer won't come through in a big way.
Dude has 17 years of investment and finance experience.
He's a rockstar.
🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀
WE got in this for the MOASS and the intrinsic value.
Now I know you autists are starting to develop short term dyslexia or something but keep reading. This could be the most important piece of shit you read in your life. How do you think I feel? My brains overheating just trying to write coherent sentences.
AVG earning estimate for 2023 is -47.97, for 2024 it is -15.39 which is a 67.91% YoY increase in earnings.
Maniacal. Thats all I need to say. The company is going to get to mars before papa musk and wont even break a sweat. When Earnings keep pushing every analyst who donwgraded them is gonna get ditched and upgrades will start to happen.
This is a steal. That implies some future higher price target right? Well here is my guess for a conservative price target based on the information above and also some more I probably forgot cos im a retard.
FFIE can reach a ATH market cap surpassing 5b. Here's where that gets interesting. THe minimum size to post on WSB is a 1.5b mkt cap. If this can reach that at 35$ a share, we can ride the meme wave easily surpassing 100$
I really dont understand the bear thesis. The only bear thesis ( short term this one) was that the stock would lose compliance and couldnt get over 1$ a share. We hit $3.80 from .04 in a week, the bear thesis is looking pretty WEAK.
Bears are betting against:
EV, one of the fastest growing sectors.
Remaining above a dollar when we have 1b+ volume for 4 consecutive days
Jonathan Maroko who has a stellar previous work history and 17 years of experience.
Reddit, twitter, stocktwits, and 4chan apes, now basically a collective whale.
I was in a discord with chinese and korean investors who are with us here and just as bullish They are showing up in force internationally.
We literally have mofos getting FFIE tattoos. You think they wont hold?
🚀 🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀
All of Social media has now formed a shield wall against the bears
🚀 🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀
Some valid bear thesis left now (the only ones left) -- The planet gets hit by a comet destroying all life on earth.

1. Now some analysis on the short squeeze and some technical data.

Ok everyone on here and their cat, dog, bedbugs and wifes boyfriend knows about the squeeze. FFIE is the most shorted stock of all time and space. The squeeze makes every autist salivate because its basically free money while cucking big money out of like what 1% of their fund.
Although I know all you cucks hate shares, and hate holding, if the squeeze doesnt happen selling is probably the most retarded thing anyone could do. Its literally buy high sell low and you fucking disgust me. STONK ONLY GOES UP.
This squeeze is so monumental that its been sucking sharks in like fresh blood. Ive been in since $.25 with my few shares. If I had more money Id be buying but im just an unemployed full time caretaker of my mother. Im merely a medium for this money made information.
The stats for this stock now short wise are, from fintel:
Short Interest % Float as of 5/18/2024 95.37 %.
Short shares on loan now (This breaks the bearish margin calls affect longs more thesis): 36.3 Million
Shares left to borrow: 9,100,000
Shares left to borrow if we all switch to cash accounts and turn off stock lending: 0
Need rockets 🚀 🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀:
Ok so now if Reddit now owns an estimated 6-8% of the stock and we all know to move over to cash accounts now to avoid margin calls, we should be minimizing longs getting margin called. If we go to CASH accounts, or turn off share lending the shorts will not be able to borrow our shares to use against us
These shorts are in a circle of hell we cant comprehend and makes satan scared.
🚀 🚀 🚀 🚀 🚀 🚀 🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀
Cost to borrow is also up, estimated short interest a cataclysmic amount.
🚀 🚀 🚀 🚀 🚀 🚀 🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀
Seen a lot of talk about Gamma hedging and delta.
Market makers can get squeezed for that gamma, too. The more options open that expire in the money the more shares they will be on the hook to hedge for to be able to provide that liquidity.
Now weve established the likelihood of longs getting margin called is far smaller than shorts, on to the options distributions
We had 89,000 options contracts ITM mid day friday. If we finished above $1.5 that would be 8.9 million shares of gamma pressure shorts went all out gave it everything, and WE STILL FINISHED ABOVE THE DOLLAR.
Next week we have even more people.
🚀 🚀 🚀 🚀 🚀 🚀 🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀
Now lets compare this possible squeeze with others.
Bear in mind this is the most shorted stock of all time, but differences in free float change the share price differently.
Kodak went from $2.16 to $33.2
Volkswagen went from ~200 euro to nearly 1000.
Overstock went from ~$21 to $123
Blue apron went from $2.31 to $18
Gamestop went from $3.00 to $485
Gme market cap was 1.3b before it squeezed and finished above 5b
4b puts us at 100$
This shit can happen. Hold on.
Conclusion: Buy shares with cash not margin. Hold shares forever unless the world explodes. hedges bad, Shorts fuk, 🐻 🌈 posting bearish shit are doing weeklies for the second time after they expired red on friday, FFIE to $3.80 without squeeze, FFIE is still a value play, Good luck have
fun.
UPDATE: Short selling is restricted until the 21st credit to u/valaentius for the information
We now own 90% of the float, not 6-8%

Previous Part
I grabbed the back pack Bianca had left in the kitchen and waited in the living room. I had no idea what she was packing for but after this morning I wasn’t going up there to check. I wasn’t really sure what I wanted to ask Tuck yet. I wanted him to tell me he was a werewolf himself, that seemed like pretty important information just on the basis of trust. But I also wanted to know why he was really out by the mine yesterday. His story didn’t add up and there’s no way he knew we would be up there, I think that was just a coincidence. As I was trying to come up with exactly how I wanted to broach the question to Tuck, Frank put a hand on my shoulder. He was wearing his lab coat so I guessed he just came up from the basement. The hairnet he always seemed to wear when he was working was in its usual spot. I suppose he wore it to protect the memory of hair that was once on his head. He looked solemn and a little sick as he turned to me.
“Keep her out of trouble will you? I know we haven’t always been the best to her and I’m sure Stein and I don’t really give her the help she needs. But she’s like the daughter I never had time to have, I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to her.”
“Frank, you probably do more than you know for her. Did she ever talk about her family with you?”
“Very briefly throughout the years, I don’t know if she’s told you much or anything for that matter. It… it certainly wasn’t easy for her growing up and it never got easier.”
“I’ll do my best to keep her out of trouble. If she does end up following me into… whatever this trial ends up being just promise me you’ll have a way to get her out. Some kind of contingency, I can fend for myself but I’ve seen her just shut down before. Like yesterday in the caves someone grabbed her and she lashed out and just… wasn’t herself. She just froze and I don’t want that to happen anywhere near Shaoni.”
“I’ll work on something but I can’t promise that. Like Stein said we’re scientists, we don’t really do field work like that. If I do come up with something you’ll be the first to know. I’m glad she ran into you when she did Keith, she could really use a friend.”
With that Frank walked away, back towards the kitchen and into the basement.
It wasn’t long after that when I heard Bianca coming down the stairs asking if anyone had seen her toothbrush. At which point Rocco appeared in front of me from god knows where holding a suspicious disassembled toothbrush.
“Not. A. Word. Kid.”
Rocco growled at me as he scampered out the door behind me.
“I have a couple that I packed for the trip here from Wisconsin I can just give you one of those.”
I called to Bianca. Partially because I wanted to get a move on and partially because I wanted no part in whatever Rocco was getting up to. If there was one supernatural thing about this town it was that raccoon’s knack for mischief. I get that’s what raccoons are known for but seriously, Rocco was on another level. Bianca reluctantly agreed to take one of the travel tooth brushes I had back at my house. I wasn’t even going to ask why she packed a duffle bag to go a few hundred feet into town and back again.
“Come on we’ll take the bikes again.”
Bianca said as she made her way behind the house.
“I’m telling you they’re going to give me tetanus one of these days but sure. Lets just stop at my place first, I want to drop off this backpack you took yesterday first.”
Bianca was still wearing the ratty jeans she’d taken from me yesterday and at this point I just figured she could have them. I really wasn’t about to get into an argument as to why she should take my pants off and… ugh even saying it is just… no. Those were hers now as far as I was concerned.
We rode over to my house through the crisp autumn afternoon. The trees along the street were finally being to change color, it looked like a scene from a postcard. One of those one’s of the idyllic towns that could’ve come straight out of a hallmark movie. I had to give it to Eagles Peak, it may by turning into a den of vipers for me minute by minute but it sure could be beautiful, in it’s own isolated kind of way.
“Wow its very… small.”
Bianca commented as she stepped into my house and looked around.
“Yeah not everyone has a blank check from two different governments like Stein.”
“I didn’t mean li…”
“It’s ok I know what you meant, its different.”
I said cutting her off before she had the chance to apologize. I dropped off the backpack in my room and rooted around in the one duffle bag I still hadn’t unpacked from my trip here. I found the toothbrush without to much trouble and walked into the living room to give it to Bianca only to find her unpacking on the couch.
“What’s going on here, are you moving in?”
I joked, not expecting the answer I was about to get.
“Yeah, kind of hard to keep an eye on you from my house. I suppose I could from the top floor but if we’re working against Shaoni that doesn’t seem like a great idea. She’s got that whole thing with lighting and I get the sense her being angry at you while your up in the air isn’t a great combination.”
Bianca said, unpacking a blanket like she wasn’t just inserting herself into my house.
“WHAT?”
I shouted, maybe a little too loud.
“Is there a problem?I thought you wanted me looking out for you, this is me, doing that.”
She said looking up at me with puppy dog eyes. You’ve got to understand, those eyes coming from someone like Bianca, glowing or otherwise, well you just can’t say no to that. When it’s Bianca you really can’t say no. She can just take that option away in an instant but again she didn’t for me, it was still my choice.
“I.. sure but you can have my bed. We’ll get everything set up once we get back from the Roost. You did tell Frank and Stein about this right?”
I gave in, deciding to let her stay.
“I’m a big girl, they doin’t need to know everything I do, and… thanks”
“It’s alright, just let me know next time you’re going to pull something like this ok?”
I added, equal parts excited to actually have someone to talk to besides myself in my own home, and worried what Frank and Stein might think was going on here. I put those thoughts out of my head for the moment as we got back on the bikes.
It was about 3 by the time we made it to Tuck’s bar after the delay Bianca had caused by moving herself out before we left. Just as I expected the sign said closed but the door was unlocked. The bar looked exactly the same as the last time I was there. Stone fireplace roaring and pristine wooden floor looking like it had been polished just this morning. Tuck was sitting behind the bar looking worse for wear. The look on his face said he knew we were coming and he wasn’t to thrilled about it.
“Does he know?”
Tuck asked pointedly, looking straight through me and speaking to Bianca.
“About me or you, because the answer is both of us.”
Tuck shook his head at this and a grim look came over him.
“Ya shouldn’t have pulled him into this.”
“Actually I pulled her into it if anything, going out there was my idea. I’ve got a mark like Robert’s, its actually what brought me to town in the first place.”
I said, hoping my honesty would get the same out of Tuck.
“So that bird called ya out here somehow?”
“More or less, but that’s not what I’m here about. I want to know why exactly you followed us out there yesterday.”
Tuck sighed and gestured to the seats at the bar, beckoning Bianca and I to take a seat.
“When Robert chased ya out the other night some of his friends came by. They all got that mark like him, they were sayin’ something about the thunderbird makin’ an appearance back at the old mine. I wanted to see for myself and make sure they were wrong. I found those bikes and ended up followin’ the trail. By the time I got there some guys were poking around that hole in the wall and a storm had kicked up. I saw them cut that rope and figured they weren’t doin’ no good. I… changed and dealt with them then forced my way into the old mine entrance, the rest ya already know cause I ran into ya not long after.”
This story made more sense to me, Tuck never came out there to find me, I just so happened to be out there. Those boulders I thought were moved had been, by Tuck which made me question just how strong he was. Each of those huge things had to weigh tons and there were three strewn about the entrance.
“Ok that makes more sense than what you told me, but what were you hoping to accomplish up there. If you ran into the thunderbird what would you have done?”
“I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t really up there again but the storm seemed to say otherwise. No storm like that just pops up and goes away, the bird had to be involved with that.”
“Actually she was there, just not as some huge bird. She was down in the caves with us but she looked human, native American to be more precise. That’s how I met her when I got marked and now she’s holding some kind of trial out in those mines.”
“You met the thunderbird, its a person? What does she want with this place now.”
Tuck said his demeanor changing into one full of concern. I didn’t know what else to say cause at the moment I didn’t actually know much more than that. It’s infuriating, this being in the dark thing. I just settled for dodging the question.
“Not to change the topic but are we to early to grab a bite to eat?”
I wish I had a camera handy because the face Tuck made at that whiplash change of topics was priceless. I can’t properly do it justice with words. Suffice it to say one of his eyebrows hit the ceiling while the other hit the floor and a violently confused expression plastered his face.
“Sure I guess, what do the two of ya want!”
Tuck exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air and walking back behind the counter. I ended up ordering some fried chicken sandwich with bacon and pickles, and as I took the first bite my risk of heart attack increased ten fold. Bianca ordered the same thing and was pecking at it inquisitively when I asked,
“So what’s the story with Rocco?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean why, why did Frank and Stein make him in the first place?”
I asked through a mouthful of greasy goodness.
“Well I think it started out as a joke, then Stein actually wanted an assistant and that joke became Rocco. They worked on him for a while, pretty much they took a random raccoon off the street and played around in its head. I know there was some gene splicing involved but if you want to know how they did it ask them.”
“So he was supposed to be an assistant in the lab? I think I’ve seen him doing one thing to help them out this whole time and he was poking through a back alley for old batteries.”
“Yeah, he’s not a great assistant, must be good enough though cause they haven’t tossed him out.”
“Are you kidding me! If they tossed him out he be so much worse! Just think, Rocco left to his own devices without any supervision.”
Both of us shuddered at the thought, if he was bad now he’d be a menace to society without the little control we had over him.
Bianca and I ate and eventually Tuck came out and I told him my story about Imalone. He seemed really concerned at the fact that the thunderbird could be walking around town and he wouldn’t know about it. I assured him that Shaoni was really hard to miss if you just looked at the eyes. It wasn’t like she looked any different either, no matter what she was wearing those tattoos would be a dead giveaway. Tuck assured me he was going to keep an eye out and gave me his number to call if I saw her. I don’t want to talk down on Bianca, but something about having a werewolf looking out for me as well was reassuring. Tuck told us a bit about what he was doing with Frank and Stein too. Apparently he contracted his “disease” as he called it long before he came to work in Eagles Peak. He was originally from Louisiana and moved to New York for a change of scenery and ended up getting a job in the mines here around 1940. I should also mention Tuck ages very slowly due to his “disease” so he looks like he’s in his 50’s or so but he was born in 1900. To his credit you’d never know he was anything other than your friendly middle aged bartender.
Bianca and I were getting ready to leave as it came time to open the bar for real. When Tuck offered us a round of drinks on the house.
“No, no that’s alright Tuck, you’ve done enough for us we’ll see you later.”
Bianca politely declined, pulling me towards the door. After I said my goodbyes and we had gotten back to the bikes I asked Bianca,
“Do you not drink? I’m not judging just… when Tuck offered you seemed kind of jumpy.”
“I just never have, I was kind of bouncing around the country when I turned 21 so I just never started.”
“So your telling me you never had your first drink? Well, we have to fix that then.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, its like a right of passage where I’m from. We’ll pick up a six pack or something on the way back but we don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”
I said, trying to convince her. I’m not a huge drinker but I am from Wisconsin, alcohol is a way of life out there and we’re know for our beer. In my family turning 21 and having your first drink is cause to bring the whole family together. I couldn’t do that for her but I could at least give her the experience, maybe give her just one more good thing to remember.
Bianca agreed and we pulled into the Save-A-Lot just outside town. The building was painted white bit it was slowly peeling away revealing a concrete grey underneath. The big glowing sign was missing a few letters now simply reading Sav- -Lo. Despite its decaying state it still had the classic beer cave inside. I took a second to look for something from Wisconsin, call me a snob but we do beer right. I settled on a 12 pack of Leinenkugel, that was close enough to home for me. Bianca trailed behind me in the store, a bit like a scared cat looking for a place to hide. Obviously she didn’t get out much and having people she didn’t really know much about was stressing her out somewhat. We got to the checkout and an older cashier eyed my suspiciously.
“Can I see an ID”
She croaked in a hoarse smokey voice. Now I don’t always look my age but I’m 28 there was no reason to try and ID me. That didn’t really bother me so much as the fact that my wallet was still at home. I’ve been spending the cash Bianca gave me back when I watched her house and I just keep that in my pocket. I also have a bad habit of only brining my wallet when I knew I would need it instead of carrying it on me. Regardless I started to sweat a little as I tried to explain the situation.
“You see I would but I left mine at home and I’m not sure if…”
I was cut off by Bianca reaching out and brushing the cashier’s hand Then looking her straight in the eye. I knew exactly what she was doing.
“Look we don’t have an ID for you right now can you just take it on faith?”
“I understand sweetie, here why don’t I cover it for you, my treat.”
The cashier said, turning a complete 180 on her previous question. I looked from Bianca to the old woman a few times before Bianca finally shrugged.
“What?”
I wondered if it was that easy for her to change my mind back when she manipulated me into watching the house.
“So she just payed for it?”
I asked Bianca as we walked back to the bikes.
“That was her, not that I couldn’t make her do that. As far as I can work out, if I suggest something people tend to do it. Over the years I learned how to control that to the point where I’m only able to do it when I want to. Frank said it has something to do with pheromones in my breath or something like that.”
Bianca explained, hoping onto her bike and keeping pace with me back towards my house. I didn’t ask for an explanation but she gave it. I’m not really sure pheromones were something that could have that profound of an effect on someone but I’d just add it to the list of questions I’d have to ask Frank or Stein at some point.
“Still it was a bit weird seeing it from the outside. Was I that easy to convince before?”
Bianca got a mischievous look in her eye.
“Oh, you were so much easier, I barley needed to try. Just flip my hair and flutter my eyes a few times and that was that.”
She said, smiling devilishly at me. I blushed a little bit, partly because that’s probably all it would’ve taken from someone who looked like her and partly because I was embarrassed that she might not just be poking fun at me.
“No you definitely did something to me, I lost like 6 hours in your kitchen! That was you right…right?!”
I asked a little nervous. Bianca just laughed and pedaled off ahead of me. She did not put my mind at ease with any sort of answer but she did beat me back to the house.
When I got in She was sitting on the couch sorting through a pile of movies she pulled out of her duffle bag. She really had just thrown the entire contents of her room into a bag and brought them over. Bianca seemed to settle on a movie before she realized I’d walked in.
“So you like horror?”
I said, gesturing to the same movies I’d seen lying out earlier when I watched her house.
“Yeah, I just like seeing how people think all these things act. Like Tuck, werewolves are always looked at as these big imposing things in movies but he’s a puppy in comparison.”
“The guy looks like he could tear me apart down the middle with his bare hands buuuut, I see your point.”
Thinking back to every interaction I’d had with the guy so far, he never really was as scary as he looked. I sat down on the couch, dropping the case of beer on the coffee table.
“So, have you picked out a movie yet?”
To which Bianca closed her eyes and poked at a random movie in the pile. “Dog Soldiers”, it was called, actually I think I’ve heard of that movie before. One of those its so bad its entertaining things. I popped the movie into my DVD player and sat back, handing Bianca a beer.
“ Is this how normal people feel?”
She asked as the movie started.
“Depends on what you mean by normal, even then I’m not sure that’s the question I’d be asking. Maybe you just finally have a chance to relax after years of never being able to.”
“Oh sure, I’ll just relax now that I know we have the actual thunderbird looking to force you into some kind of trial.”
Bianca joked sarcastically before suddenly softening and taking a sip of her beer.
“Uggg that’s bitter… but not bad. Maybe your onto something Kieth.”
I don’t remember much from the movie. One scene stuck with me, a guy trying to fist fight a werewolf. It was already campy but the effects on the werewolf were just dated enough to make it that much funnier. Bianca and I couldn’t help but to Imagine Tuck as the werewolf, bewildered as to why this scrawny thing thought it could fight him. At some point the beer ran out, Bianca and I making it through the whole case. I remember getting up to go to my own room and Bianca pulling me back. What I didn’t remember though was letting Shaoni into my house. I was woken up by a tap on my shoulder, coming face to face with her. Shaoni’s hand was on one shoulder and Bianca’s head was on the other. At some point we both feel asleep on the couch together, the TV was still on, illuminating the dark room.
“Well well, I wasn’t expecting you to have guests Keith.”
Shaoni mocked, clicking her tongue at me as she finished. She wore the same white night dress I’d seen her in before. Something in the house was open, a window, a door? I didn’t know but the smells of an autumn rainstorm blew into the house, a storm no doubt caused by Shaoni.
“I… its not what it looks like.”
I stammered out, embarrassed to be caught like this.
“I don’t care what you get up to in your free time Keith. I just came to tell you I’ll expect you at the mine tomorrow, The trials will be starting soon and I want everyone who will be participating to meet each other, you will be participating, won’t you Keith?”
She asked like it was a question but it really wasn’t, wether I liked it or not I was going to be there, I could come willingly or kicking and screaming. She was simply asking which I wanted it to be.
“When do you want me there?”
“Oh don’t worry about that, I’ll send someone to collect you around noon.”
With that she turned to walk away, but I wasn’t done with her yet.
“Wait! What exactly are these trials, what am I going to be doing out there?”
“That would spoil the surprise Keith, be patient, you’ll know in time. That pretty little thing there, her name wouldn’t happen to be Bianca, would it?”
Shaoni asked, pointing at Bianca who was still asleep on my shoulder.
“How did you know that?”
I shot back, immediately jumping to Bianca’s defense. I hadn’t known her all that long true, but I didn’t want her any closer to this than she had to be.
“Oh no reason.”
Shaoni said with a snicker that sounded more like a hiss. With that she disappeared, and I mean she was just gone. One minute she was there the next there was a gust of wind and a brief flash of light and she was gone. The disruption was enough to wake Bianca up finally.
“Ugh, head..still…spinning.”
“Heh, I think you overdid it a bit last night.”
“Ugh maybe.”
She said, holding her head that still rested on my shoulder.
“What’s going on anyway, why’d you wake me up.”
“It’s just… well things are moving a bit faster than I hoped.”
I said, trying to reassure her that it was nothing, most likely failing miserably but she didn’t seem to notice. There was a second there that I thought maybe things could just be normal. This whole thing would just blow over and Shaoni would never come back and get me for these “trials” but I always knew it was wishful thinking. Now Bianca was a part of it to somehow, that had made up my mind. She’d been through enough, now Shaoni seemed interested in her all of a sudden. If putting myself through these trials kept her away from Bianca that’s exactly what I’d do.

I’m kinda new to ito junji and I’ve been surprised about how he’s meant to be a horror writer but the stories that actually stuck with me were the ones that made me cry. Gentle Goodbye, Wispering Woman, and Roar are three of my favorites and they aren’t scary at all, but sad and haunting, and I think that’s something about ito junji that maybe is overlooked. Thoughts? 😎

I was watching a build video from months ago and he was hitting upwards of 9 million per hit with Druid lightning storm. I can very rarely see me hitting for 3-4 million. Very rarely. My build is fairly similar but Loot Reborn has changed gear dramatically and season 3 stuff might have had an impact. I just don’t know what I could be missing to more than double my damage. Unless it’s something I just can’t obtain anymore.
I have tried spamming lightning storm instead of holding for bossing and have tried clarity full charge with holding against bosses but neither seem to make much difference. I have tempest roar, unsung wraps, and mad wolf’s glee. Survivability is pretty good. Missing some resistance but that’s not really a problem. I have a pretty good paragon board, based off of a Max Roll paragon board.
Does anyone have any tips?

-and obviously it was stupid to think that any of my old friends would still be there. Could I even call them that? I haven’t been back here in maybe ten years and my ‘friends’ were the staff at a bar I worked at for two months, transient work by its very nature. Especially in Rome. There’s a street preacher and I think he’s saying “KINGS, BOOK ONE! CHAPTER 19!” and maybe he is because he has 1 Kings 19 (11-13) written on a sign next to him.
I remember Malfi… Marfi? Was a student anyway. Studying history at masters level. I can clearly see the seal of her university in my head clearly but I can't remember the university. I think about maybe pulling out my phone and googling it but it’ll take too long and I don’t want to waste the battery or not be looking at my surroundings for too long.
Hey- hey friend how are you? What are you doing here?
Oh god. If I keep my head down maybe he won’t bother me but suddenly there’s a wall of flesh draped in a cheap blue t-shirt semi-blocking my path.
I’m busy, sorry. I push past him and he yells out.
HEY! You got a problem with black people?
Loud enough for others to turn around.
What the hell is his problem? The insolence of it! The actual insolence! I smiled as I said I’m busy for fucks’ sake. I have a disgust response from the way he speaks as it plays back in my head. You ghat a problehm with blaq people? Flat vowels from the Global South. I could smell whatever ersatz cologne he’d doused himself in. Big, dumb bicycle chain wrapped around his neck. I could barely make out this heckler’s face, he was so overweight he was drowned in fat, and he threw his arms up in the air so his bony elbows came out at weird, jutting angles.
My mood is completely ruined so I turned right, catching the sun, cutting off a man walking a Chow dog who I presume follows after me.
My sunglasses are in my pocket and for whatever reason I lose the will to actually pull them out so I’m walking blind into glare. Was everyone still looking at me? The sun is beating down and on top of that the wind is blowing directly into my face. I can’t see anything and I feel prickly heat around my flanks. Maybe a tweed jacket was the wrong choice, but I’m not going to take it off and drape it over my shoulder right now. I do not want to be perceived.
I start thinking about the street venders from ten years ago, how friendly they all were. That’s not a thing anymore, I guess. I force all that from my mind and as I’m walking I involuntarily start thinking back to when I was little.
I was six, maybe seven, and my mother was in the hospital so I was being looked after by my father. It took him maybe three days to stop bothering to make sure I had a bath or brushed my teeth. Maybe a week before he stopped doing laundry. About three weeks in he was forced to start taking me to school again; somebody had mentioned something to my grandmother who came round to shout at him. He reckoned I could learn everything I needed from watching television.
The other kids were not a fan of my new look, and the bullying was horrible. Already a lonely child, I was further isolated from my peers by my appearance and odour. I had an initial grace period, I’m sure Miss. Euston had prepped everyone that my mother was sick and everyone was to be very nice to me.
The great mass of my appearance, greasy and smelly, eventually pulled through the gravity of Miss. Euston’s authority, and finally I slipped through her graces and into the bottomless pit of cruelty only children are capable of.
One night when the rest of the class was dismissed she kept me back to talk to me.
“How are you, John?”
Fine.
“I hear your mummy will be back soon? Isn’t that great?”
Yes.
“Maybe you should tell your dad to give you a bath before she gets home, yes?”
Yes.
“Is your dad coming to pick you up today?”
I don’t know.
She smiled at me put her hand to my face. It was warm and soft and I could feel the sea-salt sweat from her palms. It was comforting. Maybe that’s why I’m a cuddler now. She gave me a chocolate bar from her treat tin and let me go. My dad did actually pick me up that day. He asked me where I got the chocolate bar from and I said Miss. Euston gave it to me. I never ate it, at some point it must have been thrown away.
I realized Miss. Euston was, probably, barely a few years older than I was now. I wonder what she was up to. At some point the buildings covered the sun and I checked my watch. Two more hours to go.
I see a free table on a raised mount and decide to sit there. I look up at the statues looking down at me and a waiter comes over and says I have to order if I want to stay there. This annoys me so I bark at him that I need a menu if I want to order anything. He leaves and the clouds open again, probably by the wind, and it beats down on me again. Feeling more grounded I take off my jacket and drape it over my chair and take the cigarettes from the inside pocket. I looked at my phone and re-read the invitation email.
To – me, please be here at whenever o’clock to talk to our international undergrads on international project management.
Regards, some professor I didn’t like as an undergrad.
It was certainly an honor to be asked, but no doubt was being used to drum up engagement for some useless course they were peddling. How exactly does International Relations parse into International Project Management? You learn everything you need to know doing the damn job. I had emailed myself my famous slide deck, the one that was thrown around in secret by senior bureaucrats who were sick of being bureaucrats and wanted to actually do something. The one that Managers said could never be released, but had obviously plagiarized in snippets when they thought appearing to be daring would be beneficial to their careers.
A brunette waitress comes over with the menu, she looks young. Maybe 18. Over a decade younger than me.
If you don’t mind getting up, she said in a startling American, there’s a buffet as well.
I say thank you and look at her. Was she American? American-Italian? She looked British. Maybe Danish. I didn’t want to ask. She was pale, apart from her lips and cheeks which were the color of a rose.
Thank you, I say. Do I order drinks from you?
Of course, she said and took out a notepad and pen. The other wait staff used an iPad. I wondered where hers was and asked for a double espresso and a glass of orange juice.
Is that all?
Wait, how tall is the orange?
What?
I smile and her and mime a glass growing from very small to very tall. How tall is the glass? Is it a lot of orange juice?
She smiles and laughs and it’s very cute, I think she lost her composure because the laugh doesn’t match her voice.
I run my hand through my hair because I need something for my hands to do, and she says yeah. It’s tall. Pretty big. Are you going far after this?
I dunno. There’s some people trying to kill me. I smile again, obviously a joke.
She smiles back. You should have the buffet and I’ll bring you your drinks. I’ll leave the jar of orange juice but don’t tell anyone, OK?
OK, I say. Grazie.
Prego, she says and walks off.
I check how far the walk is and it’s maybe 40 minutes, too far in this weather. Will it rain? Will I literally burn to a crisp? I wish I had brought my laptop so I could have the slide deck up. I could ask the waitress what she thought.
She comes back with my coffee and a cold glass of orange juice, and a jug of water.
Sorry, she says, my manager told me to only pour the juice.
That’s fine, I think I’m only 40 minutes away. Like three miles.
You won’t be able to walk three miles in forty minutes, she says. You should eat quickly, then get up and go.
I dunno, I say, drawing out my response. I’m quite tall.
She laughs again and says she’ll bring my cheque now.
I get up and make a plate of pastry, the meat looks like it had been left out so I avoided it. I grabbed some things I don’t know the name of, and a slice of bread that was being warmed on a terracotta platter over some coals.
She walks away and when she comes back I want to ask for her number, but there’s a huge delivery truck slowly rolling through. My cup is shaking in its’ saucer and if it wasn’t already mostly drunk it’d run over. I try to make conversation but I don’t want to shout at her so just give her 30 euro and say keep the tip. She shouts back thanks. I get up and start walking.
The sun won out against the rain and it started to pound me again. The air was dry. I was walking fast and making good time, but I did not want to end up sweaty when I got there so I took off my jacket and carried it under my arm. I checked my phone again and I had a missed call and a voice mail. I couldn’t see the name in the glare.
I couldn’t stop to put earphones in, so I put my phone away.
I managed to make it to the campus with five minutes to spare. I hullo’d with the professors and asked for a glass of water. I drank it in one then went to the bathroom to piss, and check my hair. I was sweating but my jacket would cover it. My hair looked great. I clenched my jaw and looked at my face. Intense. Satisfied, I blew my nose and in my head went over the topics I’d cover. If I got lost I’d ask the students questions.
For some reason I thought back to Miss. Euston, looking after the poor scapegrace that was me. I remember once she told me God was in the wind.
I was waiting in the wings, hidden on a pre-stage before the main stage. Before I put my phone on silent, I thought I’d listen to the voice mail quickly. I briefly thought it "pre-stage" was even a word. I didn’t recognize the number. I pressed play and raised it to my ear.
There was a pause and then, cutting through the roar of the wind once present but no longer, came a voice.
“Hi, John, I hope you’re well and I’m just calli-“
The voicemail stopped. Someday, I hope, Apple will figure out how to actually let me hear my voicemail without constantly having to un-pause it. I hit play and put my phone back to my ear but I knew who it is before she said her name. “I’m just calling to say hey. It’s me, Joanne.”
It was a whisper being carried over time and continents. A whisper from a girl that might as well be dead. Why me, Joanne. Why me.
I covered my face with my hands. I realized I was doing it in shame and suddenly Miss. Euston’s voice came back to me again. “God is in the wind.”
I pulled the skin on my face down, pressed hard, and walked out onto the next stage, tucking my phone away in my-

Like the title says, have they hot fixed the Uber bosses so Duriel and Andriel will drop Tempest Roar now?
They said it was going to get hot fixed but I haven’t been able to confirm it’s been applied.

Sucessful Trades

Please Read First:

I do not sell Repros. I'm a collector and I only sell duplicate games I find.
Prices are firm for single items. Larger purchases may be negotiable.
Prices do not include shipping. I calculate exact shipping via USPS.

HAVE

Item	Details	Price	Console
Predator 2	Cart	$22	Genesis
Streets of Rage	Cart	$20	Genesis
Super High Impact	Cart	$4	Genesis
Taz in Escape from Mars	Cart	$4	Genesis
Todd's Adventures in Slime World	CiB	$65	Genesis
Wacky Worlds Creativity Studio	Cart	$10	Genesis
-----------------------------------------------------------	----------------------	--------
Alien Front Online	CiB	$34	Dreamcast
Atari Anniversary Edition	CiB	$13	Dreamcast
Biohazard Code: Veronica LE(Japan import)	CiB	$24	Dreamcast
Championship Surfer	CiB	$8	Dreamcast
Midway's Greatest Arcade Hits Vol 1	CiB	$17	Dreamcast
Ms Pac-Man Maze Madness	CiB	$22	Dreamcast
Pier Solar	CiB	$78	Dreamcast
Quake III Arena	Missing Manual	$15	Dreamcast
Re-Volt	CiB	$28	Dreamcast
Seaman	CiB (no mic)	$57	Dreamcast
Sega GT	CiB	$17	Dreamcast
Tech Romancer	CiB	$154	Dreamcast
Tennis 2K2	CiB	$13	Dreamcast
-----------------------------------------------------------	----------------------	--------
Asteroids	CiB	$5	PS1
Air Combat	CiB	$11	PS1
Beast Wars: Transformers	CiB	$38	PS1
Bloody Roar	CiB	$62	PS1
Contra: Legacy of War	CiB	$19	PS1
Cool Boarders 3	CiB	$7	PS1
Fade to Black	CiB	$12	PS1
The Final Round	CiB	$7	PS1
Jeremy McGrath Supercross '96	CiB	$6	PS1
Madden 2000	CiB	$5	PS1
Moto Racer	CiB	$9	PS1
Nascar 98	No manual	$1	PS1
Nascar 98	CiB	$8	PS1
NBA Live 2000	No manual	$1	PS1
NFL Full Contact	CiB	$10	PS1
NHL Faceoff	CiB	$10	PS1
NHL Faceoff 97	CiB	$8	PS1
ODT Demo	CiB	$6	PS1
Pizza Hut Demo disc 1	CiB	$6	PS1
Playstation Interactive Demo 6	CiB	$10	PS1
Resident Evil Director's CutSOLD pics	CiB	$38	PS1
Resident Evil SurvivorSOLD pics	CiB	$66	PS1
Resident Evil 2SOLD pics	CiB	$61	PS1
Resident Evil 3: NemesisSOLD pics	CiB	$63	PS1
Star Fighter	CiB	$12	PS1
Street Fighter Alpha 2	CiB	$51	PS1
Test Drive Off-Road	CiB	$7	PS1
ToysRus Demo Disc	CiB	$10	PS1
Triple Play 97	CiB	$9	PS1
Triple Play 98	CiB	$4	PS1
Triple Play 99	CiB	$6	PS1
-----------------------------------------------------------	----------------------	--------
Megaman X	Cart	$30	SNES
-----------------------------------------------------------	----------------------	--------
The Legend of Zelda Ocarina of Time pics	Cart	$34	N64
Pokemon Snap	Cart	$22	N64
-----------------------------------------------------------	----------------------	--------
Animal Crossing: New Leaf	case only	$6	3DS
The Legend of Zelda Majora's Mask 3DSOLD	CiB	$25	3DS
Luigi's Mansion: Dark MoonSOLD	CiB	$17	3DS
Story of Seasons: Trio of Towns	CiB	$32	3DS
-----------------------------------------------------------	----------------------	--------
Animal Crossing: New Horizons	case only	$6	Switch
The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the WildSOLD	case only	$6	Switch
Luigi's Mansion 3	case only	$6	Switch
Monster Hunter Generations Ultimate	case only	$6	Switch
Monster Hunter Rise	case only	$6	Switch
Rune Factory 4 Special	CiB	$20	Switch
-----------------------------------------------------------	----------------------	--------

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My Sucessful Trades Thread

I never believed in monsters, but the events of last week made me question those beliefs to a great extent.
The job seemed pretty simple at first: some people saw a strange creature in the woods and the mayor of their little no name town was willing to pay me for taking it down. He offered me 5000 dollars for shooting what was probably just a mangy bear, I’d be a fool for turning him down. Besides, he even paid me half of it in advance AND offered to lend me the keys to a private bungalow near the forest, to make my stay more comfortable. It took some time for the keys to arrive (postal services be damned), but after about a week it was time for me to head out. I packed my rifle, ammunition and some clothes and got in my truck. This would be the job of a lifetime.
When I arrived at the town, there were no signs of life. I chalked it up to it being 11 PM on a Tuesday, but even so, you’d expect at least a few lights to be on, right? Nevertheless, I continued driving until I reached my “home” for the coming few days.
The bungalow was small, it looked more like a cabin. Then again, I wasn’t here for a vacation anyways, I was here to work. As I tried unlocking the front door, I noticed it was already open. Strange, I thought to myself, but nothing unusual. It’s not like you’d have to worry about people breaking into your house in a small town in bumfuck nowhere.
Once inside, I threw my bag on the floor and plopped down onto a chair. It was a long drive, and I was tired. After grabbing a beer from my bag I began to mentally prepare for the days to come. Tomorrow, I would visit the mayor and ask for any leads of their “creature’s” whereabouts, after which I would spend the remainder of the day scouring the forest for any tracks. If my hunt wasn’t successful by then I would simply try again the day after. Easy job, easy plan and easy money. I finished my beer and decided to go to bed.
That night, I was awoken by my stomach’s inability to digest alcohol. I rushed to the bathroom while vomit started to work its way up my throat. Sadly, I was too late, and now the bathroom door was covered in beer and the half-digested sandwiches I had the day before. I cussed for a while, thinking about how stupid this whole situation was. Sure, my body had not been the same since the accident, but I never had trouble drinking before. After sitting there for a while I went searching for something to clean up my work of art. A thorough inspection of the bungalow led me to a closet, where I finally found a mop and went to town on my stomach’s content.
I was humming a little song to help lighten up my mood, but when I heard someone humming back to me from outside my whole demeanor changed. I quit cleaning immediately and snuck over to my backpack. As soon as I did that, the humming stopped and was replaced by a man’s voice.
“Sorry… Didn’t want to startle you there… Buddy!” the mysterious man said, with no discernable emotion in his voice.
I sat in silence, loading my rifle while I listened to the man outside. Sure, it was no bear, but random people hanging around your place in the middle of the night rarely spell good news. I waited for him to start speaking again, but he did not resume talking, no matter how long I sat there in silence. An hour had passed and still he had not said a word. I figured it was probably just a local drunk that found his way to the cabin, heard me hum, hummed along like a merry drunk guy would and then left because why not. Drunk guys do what drunk guys do. After coming up with this rational explanation, I went to sleep again, thinking about how weird that whole situation had been.
When I woke up in the morning my stomach pain was gone. I got out of bed, packed my stuff and headed to my truck. I noticed the scratches on the truck almost immediately. I remember thinking that it must have been that drunk guy from the night before and that I would make him pay for this if I ever saw him again. Angrily, I got in the car and drove over to the town hall. On my way there, I once again noticed the lack of people in the street. The road being empty on a Tuesday night made perfect sense, but not even one person having to drive to work on a Wednesday morning? That’s suspicious, and it should have been one of the many things that should’ve made me reconsider the job. My car needed a new paint job though, and even then, I’ve always been a stubborn bastard. As I drove, I thought I saw someone move behind a building in my rear view mirror, but I didn’t get a clear view of the person. I felt happy to see that there actually were people in this town, so I continued my drive.
When I got to the town hall the first thing I noticed was the broken window. That drunk guy must’ve vandalized more than just my truck, I thought at the moment. I got out of my car and walked up to the front door, which was open, and entered the building. Upon walking into the entrance hall I was met by a rotten smell. My vomit would’ve been all over the floor if it hadn’t been for my little adventure yesterday, that’s how bad it was. It smelled like a mixture of dead animals, fermenting plants and rotting milk. I considered turning around and leaving right then and there, but I decided to at least try to talk to the mayor, to find out what was going on. Curiosity killed the cat, I thought, but I was no cat. Stupid as I was, I didn’t bother going back to the car to get my rifle. What was the worst thing that could happen? Against better judgment, I went to search for the mayor.
When I found him, his body was lying on the floor, completely dead. He was missing an arm and his face. His torso had been ripped to shreds. His office had been completely ruined too, with random office supplies and some antique vases lying scattered on the floor, along with a picture of the mayor and his wife. Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, I heard a familiar voice coming from the hallway: the drunk guy from last night.
“Hey… I know you’re in here somewhere… Dude,” he said, his voice still as monotone as before.
His footsteps were heavy, growing louder with every step as he got closer and closer. Along with his footsteps, the sound of something being dragged across the floor could be heard. I even heard his breathing, heavy and labored, as he neared the mayor’s office. Suddenly, all of the sounds stopped. I knew he was right outside the door, waiting for me to make a move. I just sat there, regretting my choice of not taking my rifle with me. Then I realized something. I realized that I’m a 6’3 foot man who weighs 250 pounds and also used to be a boxer in his younger years. I got up with my fists ready to throw some punches and decided to make this man regret screwing with my car. I could hear the man scratching at the wall as I neared the door.
“Found you!” he yelled, his voice sounding more guttural than before.
I felt a sharp pain in my shoulder as my aggressor knocked me to the floor, followed by the warm sensation of blood flowing out of my wound. I remember thinking that the bastard had stabbed me.
The man jumped at me before I was able to regain my balance, forcing me to roll to the side to avoid him. That’s when I noticed that this “man” wasn’t a person at all. At the moment, all I could see was something vaguely bipedal, hunched over a bit and covered in long black fur. What I thought had been a knife were actually a set of long claws on each hand.
The creature began to turn towards me, and I took this as my sign to move. I picked up a vase that was lying next to me and threw it at the monster, hitting it straight in the head. Then I got up in an instant and booked it. As I was running, I could hear the creature following me closely behind. Its roars became more and more animalistic with each passing second, clearly enraged from my attempt to fight back. I practically jumped down the stairs, nearly breaking my legs in the process, after which I continued my sprint towards the door. Without thinking twice I just busted through the surprisingly weak door.
Once outside, I noticed more creatures coming at me in the corner of my eyes. Filled with adrenaline, I ran to my truck, got inside and started the engine. That’s when the creature from earlier came falling down in the parking space right next to me. The bastard had jumped through the first floor’s window. When it got up, I finally got a good look at the thing. The thing that I heard it drag across the floor was its tail, and the things that stabbed me and scratched my car were the massive claws on its hands. Yet the thing that got me the most, the thing that will forever haunt my dreams, was its face. Or, to put it in better words, the contorted face of a man, plastered over its head. It was the same face I saw on the mayor’s picture.
I stepped on the gas and floored it. While driving, I noticed more and more creatures started to give chase, each one wearing a different face. I drove as fast as I could until they were all out of sight and I had left the town. Even then, I did not drop my speed, probably committing multiple traffic violations as I drove. But I did not care. The stuff I saw there was way above my paygrade, and I wanted to get as far away from it as possible. I drove for hours, only stopping to tank my car.
This incident happened a few days ago. Currently, I’m still in the hospital, waiting for the wound in my shoulder to heal. The doctors say I’m lucky that I can still move my arm. Sure, I’m happy to be alive, but life isn’t all sunshine and rainbows for me. I’ve racked up more debt than the 2500 dollars can pay and as if that wasn’t enough, men in black suits have been interviewing me ever since I got here. So if you’re reading this, please just remember one thing: if some guy offers you 5000 dollars just to shoot a bear, stay away. Because there’s no way in hell those things were bears.

I never believed in monsters, but the events of last week made me question those beliefs to a great extent.
The job seemed pretty simple at first: some people saw a strange creature in the woods and the mayor of their little no name town was willing to pay me for taking it down. He offered me 5000 dollars for shooting what was probably just a mangy bear, I’d be a fool for turning him down. Besides, he even paid me half of it in advance AND offered to lend me the keys to a private bungalow near the forest, to make my stay more comfortable. It took some time for the keys to arrive (postal services be damned), but after about a week it was time for me to head out. I packed my rifle, ammunition and some clothes and got in my truck. This would be the job of a lifetime.
When I arrived at the town, there were no signs of life. I chalked it up to it being 11 PM on a Tuesday, but even so, you’d expect at least a few lights to be on, right? Nevertheless, I continued driving until I reached my “home” for the coming few days.
The bungalow was small, it looked more like a cabin. Then again, I wasn’t here for a vacation anyways, I was here to work. As I tried unlocking the front door, I noticed it was already open. Strange, I thought to myself, but nothing unusual. It’s not like you’d have to worry about people breaking into your house in a small town in bumfuck nowhere.
Once inside, I threw my bag on the floor and plopped down onto a chair. It was a long drive, and I was tired. After grabbing a beer from my bag I began to mentally prepare for the days to come. Tomorrow, I would visit the mayor and ask for any leads of their “creature’s” whereabouts, after which I would spend the remainder of the day scouring the forest for any tracks. If my hunt wasn’t successful by then I would simply try again the day after. Easy job, easy plan and easy money. I finished my beer and decided to go to bed.
That night, I was awoken by my stomach’s inability to digest alcohol. I rushed to the bathroom while vomit started to work its way up my throat. Sadly, I was too late, and now the bathroom door was covered in beer and the half-digested sandwiches I had the day before. I cussed for a while, thinking about how stupid this whole situation was. Sure, my body had not been the same since the accident, but I never had trouble drinking before. After sitting there for a while I went searching for something to clean up my work of art. A thorough inspection of the bungalow led me to a closet, where I finally found a mop and went to town on my stomach’s content.
I was humming a little song to help lighten up my mood, but when I heard someone humming back to me from outside my whole demeanor changed. I quit cleaning immediately and snuck over to my backpack. As soon as I did that, the humming stopped and was replaced by a man’s voice.
“Sorry… Didn’t want to startle you there… Buddy!” the mysterious man said, with no discernable emotion in his voice.
I sat in silence, loading my rifle while I listened to the man outside. Sure, it was no bear, but random people hanging around your place in the middle of the night rarely spell good news. I waited for him to start speaking again, but he did not resume talking, no matter how long I sat there in silence. An hour had passed and still he had not said a word. I figured it was probably just a local drunk that found his way to the cabin, heard me hum, hummed along like a merry drunk guy would and then left because why not. Drunk guys do what drunk guys do. After coming up with this rational explanation, I went to sleep again, thinking about how weird that whole situation had been.
When I woke up in the morning my stomach pain was gone. I got out of bed, packed my stuff and headed to my truck. I noticed the scratches on the truck almost immediately. I remember thinking that it must have been that drunk guy from the night before and that I would make him pay for this if I ever saw him again. Angrily, I got in the car and drove over to the town hall. On my way there, I once again noticed the lack of people in the street. The road being empty on a Tuesday night made perfect sense, but not even one person having to drive to work on a Wednesday morning? That’s suspicious, and it should have been one of the many things that should’ve made me reconsider the job. My car needed a new paint job though, and even then, I’ve always been a stubborn bastard. As I drove, I thought I saw someone move behind a building in my rear view mirror, but I didn’t get a clear view of the person. I felt happy to see that there actually were people in this town, so I continued my drive.
When I got to the town hall the first thing I noticed was the broken window. That drunk guy must’ve vandalized more than just my truck, I thought at the moment. I got out of my car and walked up to the front door, which was open, and entered the building. Upon walking into the entrance hall I was met by a rotten smell. My vomit would’ve been all over the floor if it hadn’t been for my little adventure yesterday, that’s how bad it was. It smelled like a mixture of dead animals, fermenting plants and rotting milk. I considered turning around and leaving right then and there, but I decided to at least try to talk to the mayor, to find out what was going on. Curiosity killed the cat, I thought, but I was no cat. Stupid as I was, I didn’t bother going back to the car to get my rifle. What was the worst thing that could happen? Against better judgment, I went to search for the mayor.
When I found him, his body was lying on the floor, completely dead. He was missing an arm and his face. His torso had been ripped to shreds. His office had been completely ruined too, with random office supplies and some antique vases lying scattered on the floor, along with a picture of the mayor and his wife. Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, I heard a familiar voice coming from the hallway: the drunk guy from last night.
“Hey… I know you’re in here somewhere… Dude,” he said, his voice still as monotone as before.
His footsteps were heavy, growing louder with every step as he got closer and closer. Along with his footsteps, the sound of something being dragged across the floor could be heard. I even heard his breathing, heavy and labored, as he neared the mayor’s office. Suddenly, all of the sounds stopped. I knew he was right outside the door, waiting for me to make a move. I just sat there, regretting my choice of not taking my rifle with me. Then I realized something. I realized that I’m a 6’3 foot man who weighs 250 pounds and also used to be a boxer in his younger years. I got up with my fists ready to throw some punches and decided to make this man regret screwing with my car. I could hear the man scratching at the wall as I neared the door.
“Found you!” he yelled, his voice sounding more guttural than before.
I felt a sharp pain in my shoulder as my aggressor knocked me to the floor, followed by the warm sensation of blood flowing out of my wound. I remember thinking that the bastard had stabbed me.
The man jumped at me before I was able to regain my balance, forcing me to roll to the side to avoid him. That’s when I noticed that this “man” wasn’t a person at all. At the moment, all I could see was something vaguely bipedal, hunched over a bit and covered in long black fur. What I thought had been a knife were actually a set of long claws on each hand.
The creature began to turn towards me, and I took this as my sign to move. I picked up a vase that was lying next to me and threw it at the monster, hitting it straight in the head. Then I got up in an instant and booked it. As I was running, I could hear the creature following me closely behind. Its roars became more and more animalistic with each passing second, clearly enraged from my attempt to fight back. I practically jumped down the stairs, nearly breaking my legs in the process, after which I continued my sprint towards the door. Without thinking twice I just busted through the surprisingly weak door.
Once outside, I noticed more creatures coming at me in the corner of my eyes. Filled with adrenaline, I ran to my truck, got inside and started the engine. That’s when the creature from earlier came falling down in the parking space right next to me. The bastard had jumped through the first floor’s window. When it got up, I finally got a good look at the thing. The thing that I heard it drag across the floor was its tail, and the things that stabbed me and scratched my car were the massive claws on its hands. Yet the thing that got me the most, the thing that will forever haunt my dreams, was its face. Or, to put it in better words, the contorted face of a man, plastered over its head. It was the same face I saw on the mayor’s picture.
I stepped on the gas and floored it. While driving, I noticed more and more creatures started to give chase, each one wearing a different face. I drove as fast as I could until they were all out of sight and I had left the town. Even then, I did not drop my speed, probably committing multiple traffic violations as I drove. But I did not care. The stuff I saw there was way above my paygrade, and I wanted to get as far away from it as possible. I drove for hours, only stopping to tank my car.
This incident happened a few days ago. Currently, I’m still in the hospital, waiting for the wound in my shoulder to heal. The doctors say I’m lucky that I can still move my arm. Sure, I’m happy to be alive, but life isn’t all sunshine and rainbows for me. I’ve racked up more debt than the 2500 dollars can pay and as if that wasn’t enough, men in black suits have been interviewing me ever since I got here. So if you’re reading this, please just remember one thing: if some guy offers you 5000 dollars just to shoot a bear, stay away. Because there’s no way in hell those things were bears.

Princess Rolaea fell into a seated position on the floor as her Steward was positioned next to her. The other soldiers who were captured from the team she had been leading were behind. “I demand to speak to your leader.” Growled the Karvrithak princess as the humans walked about, almost gloating at their catch.
“You’ll get your chance. I gotta make some calls first.” Came a voice from behind view. The older Karvrithak next to her fake cleared his throat to get the princess’ attention. “You know, princess. Now that we are captured.” To which Rolaea interjected, “I wouldn’t have been if you had done your duty.” Making the older Karvrithak pause in annoyance. “There were too many between me and you for me to have carried out that duty; I have to now follow the rules for… that.” The princess froze for a moment. “You can’t be serious, Sarvik.”
Sarvik nods without looking at the princess, instead looking for the man he saw fighting with her. “Our culture is built upon tradition, even ones you might not wish to be a part of. You were beaten in single combat by a male.” The princess interjects, “Not true. Two of our solders were fighting with me.” To which Sarvik nods, “Which makes it an even more impressive feat.” He gets a growl of annoyance in return.
A human woman walked over, hearing them talk, “What is going on over here?” sitting down on a crate in front of the prisoners. Sarvik looked at the human. “Ah, maybe you can help. Who was the one by himself during the fight.” Sitting up, the human smiled. “That would be our fearless leader. Didn’t want anyone to risk their life as our formation required four in front of you.” Rolaea sneered. “You mean your trap.”
The human gasped at the accusation, placing a hand on her chest in mock surprise. “Just because your senses were not keen enough to notice us doesn’t mean it was a trap. We even called out for you to surrender as you’re surrounded, and you chose to fight.” Getting a nod of agreement from the Steward, who got an elbow for agreeing with the human, causing a grunt of pain. “That spot is a little tender from the fight.” Which got another one from the princess: “That is for your failure in duty.”
The human woman pointed a finger at the pair as if they were children. “Don’t make me separate you two. So, you were speaking earlier.” And Sarvik nods, “Does your leader come from a noble bloodline.” Which made the human smirk. “He would say he does.” Before taking a moment to pose and take a mock tone of the rag-tag group's leader, “My grandfather would tell me stories of how we were descendants of Spartan kings of over 4,000 years.” Getting a laugh from the woman and a nod from Sarvik, “Is there any possibility that is true?” and the human shrug, “Could be. It was a long time ago, and I remember hearing something about how everyone is related to royalty in some way or another because of mixing.”
Rolaea smiles. “See, his bloodline is too diluted. Also, I never heard of the Spartans so how much of a warrior family could they be?” Getting another laugh from the woman “They weren’t a family. They were an entire culture who just became part of a country known as Greece. They never died out or went extinct, they just started calling themselves Greeks instead of Spartans.” Looking back and forth between the two, Sarah started to smile more as she realized what the conversation had been about.
Sarvik nodded in understanding. “I see. What were the beliefs of these Spartans?” Causing the human to think for a while, “Well, I remember hearing the only way to get your name on a grave is for men to have died in combat or women to have died during childbirth. Both were seen as a way of supporting Sparta. They were fierce warriors; often, just a single word could keep an army out of the country. Oh, and marriage was some kind of ritualistic combat, I think.” By this time, Nick walked over. “What is all this commotion.”
He looked around at a giggling Sarah, a stoic-looking male Karvrithak, and what he could only assume to be a blushing female Karvrithak. Sarah looked up. “Oh, just talking about Spartian marriage fighting.” To which Nick sighed, “It wasn’t combat. Spartan men would meet up with the women they found attractive during the night and take them back to their barracks or someplace else.” Sarvik tilted his head some. “Do you believe Rolaea to be attractive?” Getting a wide-eyed look from the princess, “Sarvik, you stop this right now.” The human male looked confused and looked over. “To be honest, I never really thought of a Karvrithak as beautiful or not, but… I mean, if we weren’t at war… maybe, kinda.”
Sarvik nodded once more. “Then it is settled, the combat took place at night, and it seems all the conditions for both cultures are met, or at least enough to be considered valid under the mixed cultures doctrine.” Nick looked even more confused as he looked at the male Karvrithak, then the female who looked ready to die from embarrassment, and his second in command Sarah, who looked ready to burst from laughter and when he remembered what they were talking about, marriage, got his own look of shock and horror “No no no no no no.”
Sarvik nods. “You are to be paired with Princess Rolaea.” Which was what Sarah needed to hear to burst out laughing finally and almost fell off the crate. The whole thing caused everyone to look over, prisoner and non-alike. Rolaea: “We are in agreement there, human. There is no way this is going to happen.” Sarvik took a deep breath. “I’m afraid, as Stewart of the royal family, it is my duty to inform your father.” Nick shook his head. “No, there is no way I can marry a furball.” Sarah, for her part, finally fell to the floor before managing to get something out that wasn’t laughter: “Bum bum bum bum.” To the tune of Here Comes the Bride getting a kick from Nick, which only returned her to her crazed laughing state, which by now, more people started figuring out what was going on, and some more laughter started, only one from the Karvrithak.
Rolaea turned to look at which one of her soldiers was laughing. “Whoever is laughing is going to have their tongue cut out.” Before turning to Nick, “If we kill Sarvik, no one will tell.” To which Sarah’s hand shot up, “I will.” And Sarvik nods. “We have a second in agreement from the groom’s side. We just have to contact your father. He will agree to the cease-fire the humans have been asking for.” Nick looks down. “We would have to kill more than Sarvak.” When a cough from behind caught his attention, causing Nick to look back. “Command finally answered.”
Nick took a deep breath and pointed a finger at the Karvrithaks. “No speaking.” And then pointed at Sarah, “Pull it together.” As the now out-of-breath woman took deep breaths to get it back, “Ok, ok. I’m done now.” Nick walked over and answered the line, talking about the success at capturing the high-value target in their area and how it was the princess.
After a few minutes of talking, Nick returned with a different look on his face, and Sarah wiped her eyes, having cried from laughing so hard. “Oh, I don’t think I can survive another laughing fit like that. It was too funny.” Nick took a deep breath, causing Sarah to look up in amused horror as Nick spoke, “Command told me to contact the Karvrithaks and use any means necessary to get them to agree to the cease-fire.” And Sarah smirked while holding in her laughter and got slapped upside the head for it.
She screamed in pain, “What was that for?” and Nick smiled. “You said if you started laughing, you were going to die. I just saved your life.” Taking a deep breath, Sarah nods. “I guess, but you could have held back.” Rolaea’s embarrassment died down enough that she started to glare at Nick. “If you think for a second, I will marry you. I would rather die!” Nick held a finger up and bopped Rolaea on the nose to silence her. “Not getting married.” Turned to Sarvik, “Going to get Tony to agree to a cease-fire anyway.” And then turned to Sarah, “Someone is getting a demotion.” To which she replied, “Worth it.”
Nick sighed and walked away to a secluded area he and Sarah would talk, and Sarah started to follow. “Though, I’m in agreement with killing the princess; it will be a nice revenge for everything the furballs have done to us since the war started.” A hand going to her sidearm. Nick turned to her “Put it away, I don’t like the idea either. It could at least be enough of a distraction to get the upper hand or get some end to this war.” Sarah looked at him seriously for the first time since starting the conversation with the aliens. Nick nods. “You have a weird way of grieving, you know that. Your humor was bad before, but this is twisted. No, we are not going to plan a red wedding. We’ll use it as a cover to regroup and.”
Sarah groaned out of frustration. “Why are we even listening to the human collation? They abandoned us, and then when our resistance group got good enough, they contacted us and started demanding we follow their orders.” Nick nods. “Ya, not like they started giving us intel, equipment, trained soldiers,” causing Sarah to stop him. “Ok, ok, you made your point… still… marriage?”
Nick shrugs at that. “When we started fighting, I thought about how men used to throw themselves on grenades to save others… I’ve always been ready to do that…. I guess to save lives, I’ll have to take an arrow to the knee.” Before starting to walk back in, a smile returned to Sarah’s face; without turning, Nick simply said, “Knew that would get that cursed smile back.”
The two Karvrithaks had been arguing again, with the princess drowning out the stewart whenever he tried to give the transmission frequency to contact the king. Nick picked up a clean… ish rag and shoved it into the princess’ mouth. “Alright, fine I accept.” Getting a muffled scream of anger from the princess followed by what was surely an obscenity-filled tongue lashing, defeated by a rag. Sarvick looked at Nick, angry for the first time. “We might be your prisoners, but that is no way to treat the princess or your future wife.” Nick nods some. “Would you like me to remove it and risk going deaf in that ear?” Pointing to the one that was on the side of the princess. A momentary glance from Sarvik at the princess who was still trying to yell between attempts to remove the rag stuck on her sharp teeth, got a “For now. The signal frequency is 195.2515.234.202. Also, I would refrain from using your human slur for our leader. He doesn’t much like being compared to a human breakfast cereal mascot.”
Nick nods, then helps Sarvik to his feet and turns to Sarah. “I could use my second in command.” Gets a sigh of annoyance as she rebuttons the strap holding her sidearm while standing. “OK.” After approaching the coms the operator puts in the frequency and releasing Sarvick’s hands he types in a code as the image of the king of the Karvrithaks comes on with a roar of a statement “How dare you lay a hand on my daughter if she is not returned to me within one earth hour I will glass the planet as I would rather see her dead than at the mercy of you lowly.” As Nick decided to throw him off his game, “Calm down, Dad.” Causing the king to stop. “What did you call me, and why is Sarvik standing next to you?”
Sarvik coughed to grab the attention of the group and to make this more noble than commoner “It is with much honor and regret that I have to inform you that this human has successfully completed the right of binding.” This information caused the King’s lower Jaw to drop, and Sarah chimed in, “Funny you mentioned hand earlier because he’s taking your daughter’s hand in marriage.” The king looked outraged. “You’re going to cut her hand off for marriage!?” and Sarvik raised a hand. “It is a figure of speech, Your Majesty. Humans call grabbing another’s hand with your own taking. Often done before the rings are placed on the hand of the one being wed.” Nick and Sarah both turn to look at Sarvik, who doesn’t turn his head. “A steward must be informed on all relevant information.”
Nick turns back to the king. “As your future son-in-law, I ask that you have your forces stand down. Don’t want to accidentally kill a relative of mine, do you?” The king let out a low growl of annoyance as a spitting sound was heard behind the group. The princess finally worked the rag out of her mouth. “I object to this wedding.” only getting a yell in response: “I can’t stop it. If Sarvik has said the terms have been met, I would have to break years of tradition and condemn our bloodline to death to break it.”
The two humans went wide-eyed as they didn’t realize how seriously the Karvrithaks took their tradition. Turning his head, the king spoke solemnly, “Tell our generals to stand down and to return fire if fired upon.” The coms operator relayed the message to the human command, which quickly ordered a similar command. Turning back, the King looked like he was about ready to reach through the screen and strangle him. “Know this, human, if you have lied about your intent. I was originally planning on subjugating the humans, but I will exterminate your species if you are lying.” And Nick swallowed hard at the sudden realization that his plan of using this as a cover for the human forces to regroup was a bigger gamble than he first thought. Sarah smirked and turned to look up at Nick. “No pressure.”

Context:The Ushmengar are a Chaos warband dedicated to Vashtorr. They were initially part of the Astral Claws, but when Huron was defeated during the Badab War, they ended up getting lost in the warp and they dedicated themselves to Vashtorr. These Space Marines in particular were some of the first Astral Claws that the Executioners slaughtered during the Badab War, and the Warband was formed by the survivors of their rampage.
In this short story, the Executioners, having just finished a Penitent Crusade, were hunting for the Ushmengar. They had managed to pinpoint them to a Mechanicum forgeworld, and the Death Speaker (Executioner's version of a Chaplain) of the chapter, an Astartes named Razel, a Librarian named Igikura, and a group of Bladeguard descended onto the planet. When they found the Chaos lord of the Ushmengar, named Kagal, this is what happened

The Chaos Space Marine cocked its head to one side, eyes boring into Razel’s. When the Death Speaker was within reach, it nodded and spread its arms wide. The Executioner swung his crozius. The fractal form of the Heretic Astartes shivered as Sharur connected with it. There was the roar of a vast furnace underscored by the shriek of overtaxed bellows, the clanking of gears and the hammering of pistons, and the Ushmengar vanished like smoke blown in the wind, leaving only a chorus of trailing screams.

After this, Razel and his men continued to go deeper into the Manufactorium and ended up fighting a bunch of Ushmengar

The Death Speaker swung his crozius, but the Chaos Space Marine dodged the attack. The strike went wide, cracking the side of the furnace. Razel punched out with his pistol and sent his opponent’s bolter flying off. Undeterred, the Ushmengar ripped off a piston hammer from a slain ogryn and arrested Razel’s downward swing. Muscles strained, his sinew coils contracted and he drove the Heretic Astartes onto one knee. The Ushmengar’s composure broke and he roared at the Death Speaker. With a burst of vigour he regained his footing and shook Razel off. Burst fire from the Executioner’s pistol stitched an arc across his helmet, which cracked, exposing his metallic face beneath. The delineation between the organic and inorganic had become blurred to the extent that they had become one and the same. Oil bled from ruined armour and unclean flesh-metal.
Razel swung the hammer, only to have it kicked from his hand. The Chaos Space Marine charged at Razel and tackled him from his midriff, pushing him backwards into the bulging blowpipes of the blast furnace. Wedging the absolver pistol in the seal between helmet and gorget, the Executioner emptied the magazine into the traitor’s neck. The Ushmengar’s grip slackened, and Razel pushed him backwards before gripping the crozius with both hands and bringing it down with all his might on his hated foe’s head. It burst in a shower of metal and burning blood oil.

After this, the Executioners then proceed to go deeper into the Manufactorium

A storm had broken out at the end of the hall. Lightning flashed, lancing out from furnace to furnace as a rain of brimstone fell. An unholy radiance pulsed in the penumbral gloom, accompanied by the skirling of bronze horns lining the altar. The light rose out of the chancel of the command fane and drifted towards the Death Speaker and the Epistolary, who had advanced ahead to the binary-etched plaza. Within the pulsing storm was Kalag.
Molten metal was siphoned off the blast furnaces, forming fiery wheels into an armillary sphere spinning around the floating Ushmengar. The skitarii shrieked in binharic as they were lifted from the raised walkways, torn towards the eye of the churning storm. They were disassembled, their flesh withering into ash whilst their bionics melded into the spinning rings upon which bleeding eyes had formed. As Kalag moved towards Razel and Igikura, a forge-vault vast beyond imagining spread out behind him, the hellish vision overlapping the reality of the manufactorum. There was the roar of colossal furnaces, the heave and gasp of monumental bellows, and the clang of countless hammers, thudding pistons and clanking gears, underpinned by the screaming of tortured souls fuelling the forges.
Whereas Kalag’s form had been ephemeral before, a charcoal sketch jumping in and out of focus, now it was wholly corporeal. His armour was burned black, running with unclean oils and unguents. Mechadendrites writhed from between the plates like fungal growths, straining for some dire unity with the emergent daemonic mechanism. Around him were the rings of the armillary sphere, which were both armour and a mechanism to unravel reality, spinning faster until they were a blur as the warpsmith approached them
Up ahead, Igikura stood alone, defiant. The crystalline matrix of his axe blazed, focusing his power before it lanced upwards into Kalag. For a moment, the spinning rings slowed and fire raged down upon the Epistolary, enveloping the Executioner. The apotropaic sigils upon his armour shone migraine-bright as they earthed the worst effects of the warpsmith’s attack. The Librarian’s mind was in the throes of a fever dream, the backwash of the Ushmengar’s barrage bruising his soul.
Sensing his brother’s agony, Razel rose and swung, striking again. A resonant peal shivered through the armillary sphere to no discernible effect.
Kalag, whose attention had been thoroughly upon Igikura, glanced at him, his quasar-like gaze boring into Razel’s own. A high-pitched screech preceded the obliteration of Razel’s helm display. His armour felt heavier. The fibre-bundle muscles tensed and servos halted, keeping him upright. Straining, he raised his hands and took off his helmet. When he beheld the ashes of penitence streaking down Razel’s defiant face, the warpsmith sneered. ‘Lapdog of the False Emperor.’ His voice thundered like the hammer of a god striking an anvil
Razel bared his teeth in response, glistening with blood. ‘You were supposed to die at Badab.’ ‘Oh but you see, I did die. We were marooned in the immaterium after our warp drives failed. Bereft, betrayed by a rotting Imperium and an unkind god bedecked in fool’s gold. Where was Lufgt Huron then? His promises and his lies? We no longer need him, nor your carrion god. We have a new divinity to serve!’ Kalag turned towards the growing portal behind him, his arms encompassing the hellish scene and the towering daemonic figure with scythe-like wings who was looking down at the Executioners with an amused interest. ‘Behold the Arkifane! Our salvation! We will deliver this forge-temple of Mars to him!’
"Brother…" Igikura’s voice was straining with titanic effort. "I will not make it to the end." The Death Speaker growled. The Librarian forestalled him. "Spare me your protestations. I will distract him and hold the rings, but I am not strong enough to make the final blow. That falls to you. May your own Penitent Crusade be over after this."
Igikura’s mind soared in the warp like the rising sun. He burned with immaterial energies. Coruscating lightning cascaded down his limbs and flared off him in streamer arcs, with a branching spark earthing itself in the Death Speaker’s crozius. One last parting gift from brother to brother.
Razel wasted no time. With the warpsmith’s attention upon the Epistolary, his armour was free. He trudged forward, pausing only to pick up Igikura’s axe whilst hefting his crozius. Breaking into a run, he leapt upon one of the stilled rings. Razel hurled the force axe. It spun, blazing, still saturated with Igikura’s psychic might and sacrifice. The blade wedged fast into Kalag’s breastplate, tendrils of darkness slithering out of the wound. A few moments later, Razel was upon him with Sharur, imbued with a shred of the Epistolary’s empyric strength. The warpsmith raged, blocking the Death Speaker’s strike with a cog-toothed, daemonic axe. Mechadendrites speared through Razel’s armour, biting deep into his flesh. Gurgling blood, the Executioner drew the mace back and slammed it forwards, again and again, shattering his foe’s armour in a frenzy until his corrupt essence could no longer be contained. The unravelling of Kalag was like that of a collapsing star. The death throes screamed out from his unwinding body, black flame rising between the plates, his flesh unmade into ash.

As far as I'm aware, since Vashtorr was introduced to the setting a year ago, this has been the first mention of an Astartes warband dedicated to him. This is a really cool depiction of them, and I hope we get to see more in the future

Can anyone enlighten me what’s happening here? It’s a loud roar when I open the freezer side. Tried to post a video but was unable to.
I usually have time to do some research on my own, but today, I do not. Sorry if this is a common post.

A PREFACE: This is an essay written by former commissioner of Major League Baseball, A. Bartlett Giamatti, and it is something I always read following the conclusion of one of my team’s (across various sports) seasons, and I’d like to introduce it to all of you, in hopes that some of you may pick up this tradition for yourselves.
I find it’s a good way for me to appreciate and reflect on the experience of following a team over an entire season and beyond, and more broadly to examine why, despite the inherent futility in wrapping up so much of our emotional well-being in something we ultimately can’t control, we do precisely that anyway.
I will post the essay in its entirety here. Even though it was originally written about baseball, I believe the underlying themes can apply to any sport. Since it is a bit lengthy, I’ve highlighted the three most important and universally-applicable paragraphs. Despite this, I encourage you all to read the whole thing. Even if not for its own sake, at least do it in order to properly give those three paragraphs their intended rhetorical and emotional weight.
Without further ado…
"The Green Fields of the Mind”
”It breaks your heart. It is designed to break your heart. The game begins in the spring, when everything else begins again, and it blossoms in the summer, filling the afternoons and evenings, and then as soon as the chill rains come, it stops and leaves you to face the fall alone. You count on it, rely on it to buffer the passage of time, to keep the memory of sunshine and high skies alive, and then just when the days are all twilight, when you need it most, it stops. Today, October 2, a Sunday of rain and broken branches and leaf-clogged drains and slick streets, it stopped, and summer was gone.
“Somehow, the summer seemed to slip by faster this time. Maybe it wasn't this summer, but all the summers that, in this my fortieth summer, slipped by so fast. There comes a time when every summer will have something of autumn about it. Whatever the reason, it seemed to me that I was investing more and more in baseball, making the game do more of the work that keeps time fat and slow and lazy. I was counting on the game's deep patterns, three strikes, three outs, three times three innings, and its deepest impulse, to go out and back, to leave and to return home, to set the order of the day and to organize the daylight. I wrote a few things this last summer, this summer that did not last, nothing grand but some things, and yet that work was just camouflage. The real activity was done with the radio--not the all-seeing, all-falsifying television--and was the playing of the game in the only place it will last, the enclosed green field of the mind. There, in that warm, bright place, what the old poet called Mutability does not so quickly come.”
“But out here, on Sunday, October 2, where it rains all day, Dame Mutability never loses. She was in the crowd at Fenway yesterday, a gray day full of bluster and contradiction, when the Red Sox came up in the last of the ninth trailing Baltimore 8-5, while the Yankees, rain-delayed against Detroit, only needing to win one or have Boston lose one to win it all, sat in New York washing down cold cuts with beer and watching the Boston game. Boston had won two, the Yankees had lost two, and suddenly it seemed as if the whole season might go to the last day, or beyond, except here was Boston losing 8-5, while New York sat in its family room and put its feet up. Lynn, both ankles hurting now as they had in July, hits a single down the right-field line. The crowd stirs. It is on its feet. Hobson, third baseman, former Bear Bryant quarterback, strong, quiet, over 100 RBIs, goes for three breaking balls and is out. The goddess smiles and encourages her agent, a canny journeyman named Nelson Briles.
“Now comes a pinch hitter, Bernie Carbo, onetime Rookie of the Year, erratic, quick, a shade too handsome, so laid-back he is always, in his soul, stretched out in the tall grass, one arm under his head, watching the clouds and laughing; now he looks over some low stuff unworthy of him and then, uncoiling, sends one out, straight on a rising line, over the center-field wall, no cheap Fenway shot, but all of it, the physics as elegant as the arc the ball describes.
“New England is on its feet, roaring. The summer will not pass. Roaring, they recall the evening, late and cold, in 1975, the sixth game of the World Series, perhaps the greatest baseball game played in the last fifty years, when Carbo, loose and easy, had uncoiled to tie the game that Fisk would win. It is 8-7, one out, and school will never start, rain will never come, sun will warm the back of your neck forever. Now Bailey, picked up from the National League recently, big arms, heavy gut, experienced, new to the league and the club; he fouls off two and then, checking, tentative, a big man off balance, he pops a soft liner to the first baseman. It is suddenly darker and later, and the announcer doing the game coast to coast, a New Yorker who works for a New York television station, sounds relieved. His little world, well-lit, hot-combed, split-second-timed, had no capacity to absorb this much gritty, grainy, contrary reality.
“Cox swings a bat, stretches his long arms, bends his back, the rookie from Pawtucket who broke in two weeks earlier with a record six straight hits, the kid drafted ahead of Fred Lynn, rangy, smooth, cool. The count runs two and two, Briles is cagey, nothing too good, and Cox swings, the ball beginning toward the mound and then, in a jaunty, wayward dance, skipping past Briles, feinting to the right, skimming the last of the grass, finding the dirt, moving now like some small, purposeful marine creature negotiating the green deep, easily avoiding the jagged rock of second base, traveling steady and straight now out into the dark, silent recesses of center field.
“The aisles are jammed, the place is on its feet, the wrappers, the programs, the Coke cups and peanut shells, the doctrines of an afternoon; the anxieties, the things that have to be done tomorrow, the regrets about yesterday, the accumulation of a summer: all forgotten, while hope, the anchor, bites and takes hold where a moment before it seemed we would be swept out with the tide. Rice is up. Rice whom Aaron had said was the only one he'd seen with the ability to break his records. Rice the best clutch hitter on the club, with the best slugging percentage in the league. Rice, so quick and strong he once checked his swing halfway through and snapped the bat in two. Rice the Hammer of God sent to scourge the Yankees, the sound was overwhelming, fathers pounded their sons on the back, cars pulled off the road, households froze, New England exulted in its blessedness, and roared its thanks for all good things, for Rice and for a summer stretching halfway through October. Briles threw, Rice swung, and it was over. One pitch, a fly to center, and it stopped. Summer died in New England and like rain sliding off a roof, the crowd slipped out of Fenway, quickly, with only a steady murmur of concern for the drive ahead remaining of the roar. Mutability had turned the seasons and translated hope to memory once again. And, once again, she had used baseball, our best invention to stay change, to bring change on.
”That is why it breaks my heart, that game--not because in New York they could win because Boston lost; in that, there is a rough justice, and a reminder to the Yankees of how slight and fragile are the circumstances that exalt one group of human beings over another. It breaks my heart because it was meant to, because it was meant to foster in me again the illusion that there was something abiding, some pattern and some impulse that could come together to make a reality that would resist the corrosion; and because, after it had fostered again that most hungered-for illusion, the game was meant to stop, and betray precisely what it promised.
”Of course, there are those who learn after the first few times. They grow out of sports. And there are others who were born with the wisdom to know that nothing lasts. These are the truly tough among us, the ones who can live without illusion, or without even the hope of illusion. I am not that grown-up or up-to-date. I am a simpler creature, tied to more primitive patterns and cycles. I need to think something lasts forever, and it might as well be that state of being that is a game; it might as well be that, in a green field, in the sun.” — A. Bartlett Giamatti
16-1-1 in 2024, +62 GD and 89 points total. A remarkable season by all accounts, even if it ultimately didn’t receive the external validation of a trophy.
But, in any case, it is time to close the book on 2023-24. The countdown to 2024-25 begins.
COYG ❤️

If you haven’t watched the movie about roaring kitty I advise you too. It’s Called DUMB MONEY. history repeats itself🤓

Deep in a dark cave, where ghouls and trolls are said to inhabit, one troll sits in a murky swamp, enjoying life as it does. It is unphased by the icky feeling of the water, or the writhing creatures that lurk in the murky shallows. After all, they are harmless.
To the troll, at least. It’s healing ability would make up for the bites or scratches even if the grasses and fish were to scathe him, anyway.
The troll has nothing to fear, nothing. After all, not one creature nor some other threat can stop him from getting what he wants. He was a full grown troll, the “strongest” of the dark cavern. He was the dominant predator and not even other trolls could stop him.
He stood up and got out of the pond, after he was too tired of occasionally eating some of the fish that kept on biting his feet; weaklings, all of them. He’d kill them all if he was hungrier…
He walked around the caverns, his footsteps heavy and reverberating slightly as faint echos throughout, signaling him, in his enormity and strength.
All other creatures have two options when hearing him lumbering towards them if they themselves didn’t want to die; flee or retreat to tunnels, cramp enough the troll can’t enter, which is fairly easy enough, and deep enough where the troll can’t claw its way to them, which is… less easy.
The troll was old, nowhere near the end of its lifespan, but present long enough for the cave’s ecosystem to conform to its ravenous nature. Other trolls flee, due to the prior attempts at grouping together being… unsuccessful. Others do the same, but often having been more successful in that regard. The art of fleeing for your life isn’t uncommon for those not at the top of the food chain.
That doesn’t mean that the troll was just mainly cannibalizing other trolls, though. Other animals were still caught by the troll and eaten, but it was frequently due to injuries; the troll wasn’t the only hazard to be worried about, only the biggest one.
As the troll continues walking around, the silence might be eery if the troll was gregarious to noise. Sensitive? Yes, but fond of it? Other than it being directly tied to food in most cases, no.
However, after a prolonged period of walking, searching for food, the troll comes across… an unnatural glow. Somethings that shouldn’t be in the cave. He walks closer, to see… a small flame enclosed in a… shiny container. Usually, strange things such as this may be only of brief interest to the troll, but this was different.
The troll, letting out a squeaky growl, steps back from the foreign object and retreats into the darkness of the cave. It knows the origin of the lantern, and, for the third time in its life, it felt true horror.
In its rabid mind, a faint image burns itself into the troll’s head. An impression of powerlessness, alit by fire.
Impressions of bands of metal skins. Metal skins who wield magic and fire at their fingertips. Small, but stronger than he is. He flees, away from the fire, the danger, and the metal skins.
That is when he trips over a line made of hard material, only visible through touch.
He tries to crawl to his feet, but he is unable to, the wire snares his ankles, preventing him from getting to his feet. He tries clawing at his feet, however his claws is unable to reach… and after he tries harder, a bright light flashes— and cuts his arm off.
He roars in horror, then screams louder as he takes in the sight of the thing that cut off his arm, the silhouette next to the fire. A metal skin. This one was clad in shiny, scaly plates, its flaming blade pointed at the troll’s head… then lunged into its skull.

Any insight welcome. I (50F) had FAI surgery with labral repair January 2019. I had a few good years, but in late 2022 the pain came roaring back. It’s now affecting my activity level dramatically, my sleep, and my back. I’m lightly miserable >50% of the time. Long story short, I saw a surgeon in my health system and was found to have another tear. He said I don’t need a replacement and referred me out. So here’s the bulleted summary:
Surgeon 1: don’t need a replacement, see labral guy.
Surgeon 2/labral guy: repair or debridement, quick recovery.
Changed jobs, went to surgeon who did 2019 surgery: PT, then came back. Recommended labral reconstruction with cadaveric graft. Four weeks non weight bearing
Insurance now says out of pocket with original guy will be about $7k, despite my paying for broader network, which includes him.
Surgeon 4 in network/inner circle: recommended repeat imaging but without contrast this time and likely need total hip replacement.
Needless to say, I was stunned. Four surgeons, four different recommendations. At least they all agree that it needs to be fixed?!?
We have serious female longevity on both sides of my family. Reaching 90+ is not unreasonable. That’s a factor in my decision. OTOH, my quality of life is an issue. I’ve always been super active, running, weight training, HIIT, skiing, kayaking, etc. I know I will have future limitations regardless of which route I choose. I’m getting super restless.
If this group would be so kind as to share their insights/experience, I’d really appreciate. Please be candid. I don’t offend easily. Also, I am a nurse practitioner, but I work critical care and pulmonary. Ortho is 0% my wheelhouse. I do understand how to interpret research though, but I’m not finding anything that leans one way or the other.
Any insight and personal experience would be greatly appreciated. Thank you in advance.