F20 No health conditions/not immunocompromised
Admitted to hospital for over 2 weeks, due to like 4 big abscesses in liver caused by strep virus variant
When I was originally admitted, I was septic. I had lactate measurements of over 4 of whatever unit several times, which caused a lot of commotion. They called a sepsis code. Is that really bad/ a really high number? I was told I was quite sick after the fact, but could never really get a clear answer as to how bad it was. My resting heart rate was in the 170s+.
I’m on home antibiotics now and will have surgery in a few weeks. :)

Title explanation: Mango went to the vet because of a lump on his head.
Jess is bringing Mango on her errands to get bugs for him. Jess noticed something concerning. Mango is a rescue. Jess rescued him from a reptile store. His previous owner gave him up. Jess didn’t know much about him when they got him. All they knew was he was a full-grown adult. The store wasn’t able to tell them how old he was because there is no real way to tell. When Jess got Mango he was severely dehydrated and underweight. Mango has now been with Jess for 3-4 years. Yesterday Jess noticed a lump on his head that doesn’t look normal. When Jess touches it it doesn’t bother him. Jess googled it and didn’t like what she saw. A Lot of vet’s don't typically see reptiles but the reptile store does free health checks. You can bring the reptile in at any time and they are very knowledgeable.
Jess picked Lilia up from school. Mango got looked at. They recommended taking Mango to a reptile vet to get the lump checked out. The worker thinks it is an abscess. The store does not have vets. The worker’s see a lot and know a lot, but they cannot give true veterinary advice. The worker did say that if it was a tumor the lump would be harder. The store recommended a veterinarian so Jess is going to call them and make an appointment. Jess got a few things for Mango’s cage and his bugs.
Jess is on hold with the reptile vet that the store recommended. The worker asked for his symptoms, what the lump looked like and if it was bothering him. The worker put Jess on hold to see if the vet thinks Mango should come in sooner if it is more of an emergency. The worker told Jess it could potentially be an emergency and to drop him off between 8-9am. Mango would spend the day at the vet so the vet can soak him and do different things. Jess picked Monday.
Monday
Jess dropped Mango off at the vet. Now Jess is waiting. Mango will be at the vet all day so the vet can do different tests. Jess is folding laundry and putting it away.
Thredup sponsorship. Jess shopped for herself and her kids. Thredup has anything under the sun, even high-end ones. They also have an app. It is good for both the planet and your wallet. Jess has a code for 35% off and free shipping on your first order. Jess picked a zara shirt and american eagle jeans. Jess is digging the neckline on the shirt. Jess keeps trying to find other brands for jeans but she always goes back to American eagle. It sucks because American eagle is so expensive. The retail price for the jeans is $60 dollars and the thredup price is $28.99. That is such a steal. Jess found 2 of the same shirt. Jess thinks it is a date night look. The shirt’s retail price is $36 and the thredup price is $19.99. The only time Jess will branch out and try other jean brands is when she orders from thredup. The next look is zara jeans and american eagle top. Jess is digging this look. Retail price of the top is $30 and the thredup price is $14.99. The jeans retail price is $50 and the thredup price is $28.99.
Addie got an Abercrombie dress. Jess went for American eagle shorts that cost $53 on retail and $26.99 on thredup. Jess’s shirt is wild fable that cost $16 on retail and $14.99 on thredup. Addie is wearing an Abercrombie dress. The dress cost $36 on retail and $28.99 on thredup. (The thredup price then changed to $10.99.) Jess got her next shorts for $9.99 on thredup and the original retail price is $24. Addie is wearing zara jeans for $21.99 on thredup and retail price is $55. The top is from GAP kids for $14.99 on thredup and retail price is $32. Jess got the boy’s clothes as well. Jess has been favoriting items that caught her eye. If you click her link you can see the items and buy them if Jess doesn’t buy them first.
Jess’s next task is a wall in her bedroom. The walls are so bare and bland. Jess has not gotten to her room makeover. Until Addie is in her own room Jess probably won’t do a room makeover for her own room. Jess cannot stand looking at these bare walls anymore, so Jess got pictures to put up on the wall, but they are not all there. Jess will probably hang them up later. Jess is trying to keep the color scheme blues and yellows.
Landon got mail. Landon is continuing to be a magic key passholder because Jess renewed it. Lilia is a bit salty because it’s been 6 months since she went to Disneyland. Lilia wants to go back with Landen and Addie. Jess started allowing Honey to roam the house when supervised.
Mango is ready to be picked up. The vet didn’t give any information over the phone, and it is 45 minutes away. Jess has mixed feelings on the appointment. It was considered an emergency visit. They did all kinds of testing on Mango. Jess didn’t get to talk to the vet, only the vet assistant. Jess thought that was odd. Basically the vet doesn’t know what the lump is. They prescribed antibiotics. Jess has to figure out how to give it to Mango. The vet wants Jess to give him antibiotics and see if the lump changes. They set a follow up appointment for 3 weeks. If the antibiotics don’t work and nothing happens then they will discuss the option of trying to drain the lump. The vet said otherwise Mango is very healthy and at a good weight. They said to feed his antibiotics with a meal. Jess doesn't know how to open Mango’s mouth.
Jess is giving his antibiotics with a syringe. Jess put Mango back in his enclosure. Mango went to his basking spot. They just got back from soccer and dance. Honey is stubborn because after she goes potty outside it is bedtime. Everyone is in bed except Addie and Jess.

How to fight UMR on medical necessity? The bill in question is 21K
Long story so bear with me please. I had stage 3/4 endometriosis (laparoscopic/hysteroscopic/cystoscopic) surgery on 12/19. I was released from the hospital within hours but the next day I had severe abdominal pain. I tried to bear with the pain but early morning I woke up crying in pain. I have been in constant contact with my surgeon. Due to this pain, post op day 2, he examined me and stated I have zero bowel sounds and he wanted to admit me to the hospital. Percocet was not relieving my pain. He thought I may just have something simple as post op ileus or more serious small bowel obstruction/perforation. I fought with him about this quite a bit and he insisted I was admitted. Long story short, he stated while he was working on my small bowel he was worried he might have injured something because he said in the mesentery area something yellow spilled out almost like an abscess. The general surgeon and obgyn was both worried about this and reviewed the video/pictures from surgery. This along with zero bowel sounds caused me to be admitted to the hospital. This part of the conversation is no where in my medical notes. During my hospital stay, my initial wbc was slow shifting to the left (elevated), and I was given IV pain killers and IV antibiotics, and several constipation meds and they wanted to keep overnight on NPO. He said if my wbc does not go down, n I still have zero bowel sounds he might operate. Thankful I did not need this. And the CT scan revealed I had mild free air in the abdomen, mild ascites which might be due to surgery and small pneumoperitoneum. Next day I asked to be released even though I still had abdominal pain but I was able to manage it. Obgyn did not initially want to release me, but general surgeon agree with me. I was given 14 day antiobitiocs just incase. Now I got a bill from insurance that the stay/claim was denied. I have spoken to several people. One person was nice enough and told me the reason for denial- J1170,J7120 and J1885 requires medical necessity or pre determination review. These are pain killers, and lactate ringer is for possible surgery. Insurance told me to speak to the hospital to admit why it was medically necessary. Will this be enough? Do they remove these procedure codes n then bill? Or does my obgyn need to write the reason for admit? I have never been admitted to hospital before or had to deal with insurance denial.
I also got a letter in the mail stating- The reason for our determination is: You were admitted to the hospital on 12/21/2023. The reason is unspecified abdominal pain. We read the medical records given to us. We read the guidelines for a hospital stay. This stay does not meet the guidelines. You did not have to be admitted as an inpatient in the hospital for this care. The reason is you were watched closely in the hospital. You were stable. You had tests that did not show any problems that needed inpatient only treatment. The records showed there is no low blood pressure or need for oxygen. You could have gotten the care you needed without being admitted inpatient at the hospital. The hospital inpatient admission is not covered. We let the hospital know that it is not covered.
How can I fight this? I am in shock a outpatient observation stay at a hospital is 21k. The hospital has posted the bill online but I have yet to get a bill in the mail. My initial conversation with the hospital prior to the bill online they said they will work on it. But now I see this bill online and I do not trust anyone. I am worried about being held responsible for 21k. I am talking to my obgyn surgeon tom to see if he can help me out.

How to fight UMR on medical necessity? The bill in question is 21K
Long story so bear with me please. I had stage 3/4 endometriosis (laparoscopic/hysteroscopic/cystoscopic) surgery on 12/19. I was released from the hospital within hours but the next day I had severe abdominal pain. I tried to bear with the pain but early morning I woke up crying in pain. I have been in constant contact with my surgeon. Due to this pain, post op day 2, he examined me and stated I have zero bowel sounds and he wanted to admit me to the hospital. Percocet was not relieving my pain. He thought I may just have something simple as post op ileus or more serious small bowel obstruction/perforation. I fought with him about this quite a bit and he insisted I was admitted. Long story short, he stated while he was working on my small bowel he was worried he might have injured something because he said in the mesentery area something yellow spilled out almost like an abscess. The general surgeon and obgyn was both worried about this and reviewed the video/pictures from surgery. This along with zero bowel sounds caused me to be admitted to the hospital. This part of the conversation is no where in my medical notes. During my hospital stay, my initial wbc was slow shifting to the left (elevated), and I was given IV pain killers and IV antibiotics, and several constipation meds and they wanted to keep overnight on NPO. He said if my wbc does not go down, n I still have zero bowel sounds he might operate. Thankful I did not need this. And the CT scan revealed I had mild free air in the abdomen, mild ascites which might be due to surgery and small pneumoperitoneum. Next day I asked to be released even though I still had abdominal pain but I was able to manage it. Obgyn did not initially want to release me, but general surgeon agree with me. I was given 14 day antiobitiocs just incase. Now I got a bill from insurance that the stay/claim was denied. I have spoken to several people. One person was nice enough and told me the reason for denial- J1170,J7120 and J1885 requires medical necessity or pre determination review. These are pain killers, and lactate ringer is for possible surgery. Insurance told me to speak to the hospital to admit why it was medically necessary. Will this be enough? Do they remove these procedure codes n then bill? Or does my obgyn need to write the reason for admit? I have never been admitted to hospital before or had to deal with insurance denial.
I also got a letter in the mail stating- The reason for our determination is: You were admitted to the hospital on 12/21/2023. The reason is unspecified abdominal pain. We read the medical records given to us. We read the guidelines for a hospital stay. This stay does not meet the guidelines. You did not have to be admitted as an inpatient in the hospital for this care. The reason is you were watched closely in the hospital. You were stable. You had tests that did not show any problems that needed inpatient only treatment. The records showed there is no low blood pressure or need for oxygen. You could have gotten the care you needed without being admitted inpatient at the hospital. The hospital inpatient admission is not covered. We let the hospital know that it is not covered.
The insurance stated it was billed as outpatient. Which this part is correct. How can I fight this? I am in shock a outpatient observation stay at a hospital is 21k.

Article by Amy VR
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The vast majority of people want to be clean and hygienic. Daily showers or baths (sometimes more than one!), multiple hand washings, and brushing teeth a couple of times per day is the norm. If the grid goes down or we want to be urban off-gridders, we will still want to be clean, but it may get a little more difficult. In a way, people whose home is their car are already doing this. For the rest of us, here are a few things to remember about off-grid personal hygiene.
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Proper Hand Washing

Many people wash their hands ineffectively. It is critical in an off-grid situation to do a thorough job to prevent illness and disease in yourself and those around you. This should be the #1 priority in personal hygiene. If you do nothing else, keep your hands clean!
The CDC instructs that this is the proper way to wash your hands:

• Wet your hands with clean, running water (warm or cold), turn off the tap, and apply soap.
• Lather your hands by rubbing them together with the soap. Be sure to lather the backs of your hands, between your fingers, and under your nails.
• Scrub your hands for at least 20 seconds. Need a timer? Hum the “Happy Birthday” song from beginning to end twice.
• Rinse your hands well under clean, running water.
• Dry your hands using a clean towel or air dry them.

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Antibacterial Gels

There’s some controversy about the use of antibacterial gels. Water, soap, and friction is just as, or more, effective as the gels in removing germs from hands. But when water is at a premium, or completely unavailable, using an antibacterial gel to clean your hands after using the restroom, before touching food, before eating, and before caring for the sick or injured can be an excellent option. The use of these products is about prevention of illness and disease rather than the removal of dirt and odor but ideally, your hands are free of dirt and debris before using the gel. This is a very simple, off grid personal hygiene option that only requires a supply of hand sanitizer.

• Your anti-bac should contain at least 60% alcohol. The higher the better, but less than 60% is ineffective.
• You should use enough of the product to cover all surfaces of the hands.
• For a germ or virus to be killed it must come in contact with the gel. Be sure to get the backs of the hands, in between the fingers, under the nails, and around jewelry.
• You should rub the gel on your hands until completely dry. Wiping them on a paper towel (or your pants) counteracts the effectiveness of the gel.

Another reason to keep antibacterial gel on hand? It’s a good fire-starter.
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Bathing

If you have water to spare for showers, consider using an outdoor heatable bag shower. The Coleman 5 Gallon Solar Shower can be filled and hung from a sturdy tree (it weighs 40 pounds when full!) where it will use solar energy to heat the water. The shower hose has an on-off valve so you can control the flow. The water pressure is fairly low, but it gets the job done. Beware however… left out in the sun long enough and the water gets HOT! Carefully check the temperature before using. (This product can also be used to heat water for washing dishes and clothing without using consumable resources to create heat.)
If you do use water for showering, consider standing in a kiddie pool to catch the water for reuse in your garden. Even with soap and shampoos, the level of chemicals is too low to affect plants negatively. Other ways to reuse bathwater include toilet flushing and, if you weren’t too dirty, to wash your clothes. If you wash your body without shampoos or soap, or when using some “green” products, you can potentially reuse this water for drinking or cooking after boiling to kill germs.
Bathing in lakes and streams is a great option. Even without soap you can often get “clean enough.” Beware of getting the water in your nose or mouth. If it’s water you would normally heat or chemically treat to make it safe to consume, you don’t want to drink any while bathing.
If water becomes a precious commodity during your situation, you will want to have ways of “dry” bathing. My first choice is adult hygiene wipes. These are made specifically to use on bed bound patients or people who cannot get into a shower or tub due to injury or infirmary. In my experience, four wipes are sufficient for basic cleaning: One to hygienically clean the “important parts,” one for your face and hands, and a couple for your body. Of course if you have layers of dirt, it may require more wipes. You can buy a “club sized” package with 240 wipes, which should be sufficient for 50-60 washings. These wipes are excellent for cleaning the body but will not clean the hair well.
To clean your hair, use a waterless shampoo. Simply work the liquid or foam into the hair for effective cleansing with no need to rinse. Most were formulated for camping or for bed bound patients and would work great in an off-grid emergency situation. Waterless body washes are also available.
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Off Grid Personal Hygiene: Dental Care

We all know the “rules” for clean teeth: Brush at least twice a day (preferably after each meal), floss every day, and don’t forget to clean the tongue. But in an emergency off-grid situation, this basic hygiene step becomes critical. Many dental problems are preventable with good hygiene practices, and when that fails, disaster could strike. If you’ve ever had a toothache you know who debilitating it can be. Now imagine having no access to a dentist to help fix it. In addition, poor tooth care can lead to more than just cavities and abscesses. Gum disease and gingivitis has been linked with heart and lung disease and stroke, as well as low birth weight babies.
Replace your tooth brush every three months and keep a good stock on hand to supply for at least one year per family member. If you believe your tooth brush has become contaminated, it can be boiled to kill germs. Typically, this only needs to be done after illness, if you know it was somehow contaminated, or if you are sharing a toothbrush with someone else. (Sharing toothbrushes is NOT recommended, but if there’s only one, do it. The risks of “sharing germs” are lower than not brushing and having to deal with rotting teeth, especially if you are able to boil the toothbrush.)
The next time you open a new tube of toothpaste, write the date on it. See how long it lasts with normal use and then adjust your back stock accordingly to have a year (or more) of toothpaste for your family. Buy it on sale and with coupons and then rotate new toothpaste in as you finish a tube. There is a printed “expiration date” on toothpaste. That is the time when the manufacturer says the fluoride may no longer be potent. It is not dangerous to use toothpaste after it’s printed expiration date, but it may not be as effective as it once was.
Don’t forget to floss! Flossing is an important and often neglected part of dental hygiene during good times. In bad times, when receiving professional dental care is difficult to impossible, flossing becomes even more important. Floss is cheap to buy and easy to store in bulk. Use it now and continue to use it daily.
If you’re out of toothpaste, you can use straight baking soda or a mix of baking soda and a couple drops of hydrogen peroxide to form a paste. If you have no toothpaste, brushing without it, flossing and rinsing, though not ideal, is better than skipping it altogether.
There may come a time when you will have no access to a dentist. Would you know how to pull an infected tooth? How to repair a filling? What dental tools you should have on hand? You can now download for free the entire “Where There Is No Dentist” guide for your prepping library.
Proper dental hygiene now, in the good times, is essential. See your dentist for regular cleanings, get treatment and repairs completed as soon possible, and be diligent in good dental hygiene for you and your family every day.
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Women’s Issues

Ladies, for the majority of us, monthly menstruation is a fact of life that isn’t going to go away if the grid goes down. We are going to have to deal with it, so it’s best to be prepared.
A NOTE FOR THE MEN: Initially, I was going to encourage my male readers to “hide their eyes” for a few paragraphs. But then decided that they too would benefit from understanding these options in preparedness planning, especially if they have a non-prepping wife or girlfriend. Menstrual supplies have many other uses besides the intended and can be used for bartering… and you are guaranteed to be the much adored knight-in-shining armor for one or more ladies when you can meet this need when they cannot! You can anonymously buy these items online if you don’t want to put them in your real life shopping cart. If you won’t take my word for the need to to have tampons in your preps, head over to The Art of Manliness website and read their article, “Yes, That’s a Tampon in My Mouth: The Swiss Army Survival Tampon — 10 Survival Uses”
Tampons and Pads – Determine what a monthly supply looks like for you, multiply that for the number of months you need to be prepared – I recommend 12 – and stock your home accordingly. Pros – No-brainer, easy to purchase and store, has other uses besides dealing with menstruation. Cons – Consumable, storage takes up more space than other options, and you will have to find a way to dispose of the used products.
Diva Cups – Diva Cups are reusable cups that are worn internally to catch rather than absorb the menstrual flow. They can be cleaned with regular soap and water or with a special cleanser. Lifespan can be a year or more. Pros – Very small storage space, stores easily in a Bug Out Bag, reusable, nothing to dispose of after use. Cons – Becomes ineffective if damaged, requires water to clean, more expensive initially, but cheaper in the long run than a year’s worth of pads and tampons. You can read a Survival Mom review of Diva Cups here.
Reusable Pads – Many women use washable, reusable pads. They can be purchased or you can make your own. Pros – Fewer supplies are needed to achieve a one-year supply, no trash to dispose of. Cons – Requires washing which consumes time and water.
The best option may be to invest in all three courses of action to extend the time you will be covered during an off-grid situation.
NOTE: If you have young girls living in your home, consider their future needs as well as you stock up on the product(s) of your choice.
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Article Source

I am NOT OOP. OOP is u/AITAThrowRA_Religion
Originally posted to AITAH
Previous BoRU
AITAH for disrespecting my husband's religion?
NEW UPDATE MARKED WITH ****
Trigger Warnings: sexism, controlling behavior, verbal abuse, mention of self-harm, brain damage, death of a loved one, possible seizure, car accident
 
RECAP
Original Post - October 11, 2023
I (53F) have been married to my husband Peter (M51) for 17 years. We have two kids, Joan (15) and Eric (17). Peter and I have been best friends for the majority of our time together, but things changed.
About a year ago, Peter got into a car accident. He got hit by a drunk driver, and was in a coma for a month. It was a really rough time for the family, and the kids and I were pretty much constantly by his side when we weren't at work or school.
Thankfully, he pulled through, and he was able to get back to his life after months of recovery and intense physical therapy. Things started to feel like they were going back to normal, until he became super religious a few weeks ago. He started to believe that god had saved him, and that he needed to use the second chance he was given to spread the gospel.
I'm all for people expressing their religion, but he has latched on to a very conservative type of christianity, and it is causing a lot of friction between us. Eric is currently in his senior year of high school, and is working on the college application process now. Joan has been watching this and is very interested. The other day, she came to me crying, saying she'd asked her dad what colleges were good for computer science, since she's been very interested in coding for a while now, and her dad said she wouldn't be going to college, since her future job was to be a wife and mother, and college would be wasted on her.
To say I was furious would be an understatement. I went to him and asked him why he said that. He replied that he was spreading the good word, and he wanted to make sure we didn't lead our children into a sinful alternative lifestyle. I asked him if he expected me to quit my job (I work from home as an accountant) and focus on being a wife and mother too, and he said that he'd wanted to talk to me about this for a while.
He said that he wanted me to quit my job, since it is not suitable for a woman. This absolutely blindsided me, since he'd never expressed anything like this before. I told him that I would not be quitting my job, and our daughter would go to college, whether he approved or not. He rolled his eyes, and said I'd come around.
It escalated last night. Joan was going to go to the movies with a couple friends, and she came down wearing a pair of jeans and a crop top. Typical teenager stuff, nothing she hadn't worn before. Peter stopped her, and told her she had to change. She asked why, and he said he wasn't going to let her leave the house looking like a skank.
I was shocked, he'd never used language like that before. I told her to leave just as she was, and she left. Peter asked if I even cared about our daughter's soul, and I told him it's her body, she could dress herself how she wanted. He said her body is the property of god, not her, and that I needed to respect his religion. I told him I'd never respect a religion that treats women like second class citizens, and he left the house in a huff.
He hasn't come back yet. AITAH?
AITAH has no consensus bot, but based on top comments, OOP is NTA
 
Update #1 - October 12, 2023
Hey all. Thanks for the concern and kind words, I really needed it.
First things first, I'm safe, and I'm out of the house with my kids. A lot of you expressed concern about their safety and my financial security, and I want to assure you that is being taken care of. We are safe and with my dad, and my finances were already largely separate. We have a joint account, but that's a small "fun money" account for movie tickets, dinners out, and stuff like that.
I have my own savings that he cannot access. My mom had a gambling addiction when I was a kid that nearly ruined our finances, so my dad made me promise I'd have my own savings. Turns out he was really smart to say that.
Some people suggested looking for a counselor for Joan, and thankfully the kids already had a therapist for anxiety after the accident, and as soon as we left the house we scheduled an emergency session to make sure they can process everything that's going on.
A lot of you said Peter needed to see a doctor because this could be a symptom of a TBI, which I agree with. The problem is, since he was discharged months ago and the more worrying symptoms happened recently, I can't force him to get treatment, especially since nothing he said would be considered "threatening."
I had a call with him yesterday. He asked where I was, and I refused to tell him. He didn't get upset, thankfully. He asked why I took the kids and left, and I told him he wasn't the man I married anymore. I told him that things seemed to be getting worse, and that I needed him to see a doctor because this wasn't normal. He dismissed all of my concern, saying that he was finally being the sort of man he was supposed to be, and that the "medical mafia" is trying to make the godly parts of him disappear.
I again told him that he wouldn't be seeing the kids or me until he saw a doctor. As soon as I said that he hung up.
I already blocked him on social media, but my brother sent me a screenshot soon after of a facebook post he made. It was an unfocused rant that went on for several paragraphs about how doctors and satan had gotten to me and that I was hurting our daughter by letting her wear "sinful clothing" and that I was setting her up to be harmed by vicious men in the workplace.
All the comments were his friends telling him he was scaring them, nobody was on his side. He said they had to cast satan out of their hearts.
When I saw this, I couldn't stop crying. I knew it was over then. There's no way I could make him better if he doesn't want to get better. I sat the kids down and told them I was going to start the process of getting a divorce. They took it really well, and Joan just kept saying thank you.
I asked her if anything had happened other than words from him that I didn't know about, and thankfully she said no, and Eric said the same.
So that's pretty much where things are. We're safe, and he can't get access to my finances. I'm looking for a place of our own since the house is in his name, and I'm going to send my brother and his husband to get our stuff while he's at work tomorrow. I'm looking into lawyers now.
Thank you all for everything, and I'll update as things continue."
 
RELEVANT COMMENTS
Commentator: I’m happy that you and the kids are safe. I’m sorry you’re all going thru this but leaving was the best decision for the 3 of you!
I do agree that there’s more to all this than just him finding god. Whether it’s a TBI or some sort of mental breakdown. But like you said, HE needs to want to go and want to get “better”; you can’t force him.
Please also keep documentation of everything going forward! You may need those and records of his extreme change in behavior when it comes to custody of your kids. Luckily, they’re old enough that the judge should give them the opportunity to express their opinion on their custody when it comes times.
Best wishes for all of you, including your husband! I hope this goes as smoothly & amicably as possibly.
I hope you’ll update us down the road!

OP: I'm documenting absolutely everything. My dad is helping me with finding a good lawyer, and looking into if there's grounds to get a restraining order. He said he sounds like he's turning into John List, and I can't exactly deny that.

Commentator: Don't stay at your father's too long, that's probably one of the first places he'll look for you! And can your kids attend school online for a bit, just to make sure he can't catch them there? Also, notify the school that he's no longer a safe person. Good luck!

OP: Talking with the school district today, and my dad lives in a gated community which knows not to let him in. Looking at apartments today.

Commentator: Not to hijack, but I think (Another commentator) was asking if your son was still in contact with His father, your current husband.

OP: Oh my god, I completely missed that. No, I asked Eric if his dad had reached out to him, and he said, and I quote, "fuck him."

 
Update #2 - October 12, 2023 (Same day, 14 hours later)
Hey people. First off, I'm still safe, and the kids are still safe. I've got news for all of you. I don't want to call it good news, but it's taken a load off my chest.
A few hours ago, my husband called a coworker of his and tried started rambling about his current situation, during which he mentioned suicide.
As soon as the conversation ended, he called 911, and since this was the first time he made a threat to himself, my husband was put into a 5150 hold.
He's going to get medical treatment, finally.
Thanks again for all the support and the kindness you have all shown. If there's any other updates, I'll let you know.
 
Update #3 - October 15, 2023
Hey folks. I have another and hopefully more substantial update.
After my husband was put into a 5150 hold, I was able to get in touch with the mental health facility he was put into, I mentioned that he had been in a coma a year ago, and filled them in on the personality changes I had been seeing. They said they would pass it along to his care team.
Yesterday I received a call from the facility. I am still listed as his emergency contact, so they were able to give me more information. After I passed along my experience, they ordered a MRI scan.
They found a massive cranial abscess that was pressing on his frontal lobe, and he was immediately sent to surgery to drain it because of the size. The surgery went well, but they say that they don't know what the long term impacts will be. He's still really out of it, so I don't know how his behavior is going to be.
The kids and I are understandably very shaken up. We are still with my father, and we're going to continue to look for our own place in the meantime. We don't know if his personality will return to how it was before, but I'm going to err on the side of caution. No unsupervised visits with the kids, and I will only see him in the presence of a therapist or lawyer for the time being.
I really don't know how it's going to go from here, but I know we'll make it through together. Thank you all for everything.
 
***** NEW UPDATE *****
Final Update - December 12, 2023
Trigger Warnings Death of a loved one, possible seizure, car accident
Hey everyone. It's been a little while.
First off, thank you to everyone who reached out and sent kind words and support. It really means a lot to me. A lot has happened since I last posted, and I want to get you all up to speed.
After the surgery, like I said I would in my last post, I had visits with my husband with a counselor from the hospital present during his stay. The first visit, he was obviously very out of it since he'd been in surgery. During the second visit, he was more lucid.
He was calmer, but unfortunately, he still believed that he was being mistreated. He kept bringing up how the doctors had "tried to remove god from his body but they had failed," and how he didn't want to see the kids again after they'd "been lost to the devil." I told him I loved him, but that this wasn't him, and I hoped that there was a part of the him I knew still in there.
He got real quiet, and said to the counselor that he wanted to be alone. I left, and that was the last time I spoke to him in person. From that point on, he completely stonewalled me. Any attempt to text him would be met with either silence or a bible verse.
I ended up renting an apartment with Joan and Eric, and we awkwardly started adjusting to a new normal. All was going about as well as could be until my husband got in another car accident.
My husband got discharged since he was deemed no longer a risk to himself or to others. Doctors told him he wasn't supposed to drive, but he apparently convinced a friend of his to let him borrow his car. He was driving when he suddenly drifted into oncoming traffic and got in a head-on collision with a tractor trailer. He died at the scene. The police said he likely had a seizure or passed out while driving.
I'm not going to lie here, I'm a mess right now. My support system is the only reason I'm able to be a semi-functional adult right now. But everybody has been there for me and the kids, and I'm so grateful.
I really don't know how to end this post, but thank you for being there during all of this.
 
RELEVANT COMMENTS
notforcommentinohgoo: Oh my.
I'm just going to say "bereavement counselling". You need it twice over, because he was taken from you twice, once by his mental illness and then by death.
Good luck.

OP: I've got therapy up the wazoo right now 😅

Replied to a deleted commentator asking if it was likely a suicide

OP: We've pretty thoroughly ruled that out.

 
THIS IS A REPOST SUB – I AM NOT OOP

We get to know Stacey. More precisely, we start to find out why The Big Guy doesn't like dealing with her.
First Previous Next
***
Stacey, clad in her burial gown, sat on the pedestal for the massive statue of a beautiful angel, reaching skyward as flames licked their feet, which served as her headstone.
She pulled out an ancient, intricately carved ivory pipe, carved from the ivory of the last wooly mammoth to ever exist on this world. Don’t ask how she got it.
She looked at the hominid meaningfully.
"I didn't forget," the ape-man said as he pulled out two small pouches. "Frankincense and Myrrh, as per tradition."
"Ooo!" Stacey bubbled as she opened the bag, "The good shit too!"
She wasted no time loading the pipe and taking a long, deep drag.
The bowl glowed as she did so.
Her eyes half closed, she exhaled a thick, fragrant cloud.
"Oh, that hit the spot!" Stacey said happily,
"If you love it so much," The Great Erectus asked, "then why don't you grow it yourself."
"It's just not the same if it isn't an offering," Stacey said. "And the stuff this world makes is just weaksauce."
This, she said as she took another deep draw, "Is not weaksauce," she said as she offered the pipe to the big guy.
"Mmm," The Great Erectus said as he took a big, long drag. "This is pretty decent,"
“Gimme," the collection of wheels, eyes, and wings that called itself The Watcher.
The pipe then levitated from the hominid's hands, floated into the exact center of the wheels, and glowed with a brilliant white light, causing a "smoke bomb" of thick incense to blanket the area.
"Don't Bogart it!" Stacey shouted.
***
In another part of the multiverse, Faun huffed and kicked a rock, which then sprouted little legs and scurried off.
Faun looked at the rock and shrugged. it's not like she hadn't wrecked the world already. I mean, how much worse could one walking rock...
Faun caught herself and giggled.
Oh, go on, say it. You know you want to.
"What's the worst that could happen?" she chuckled darkly to herself.
The rock suddenly split into two rocks, and both rocks made happy little chitters at each other before they realized that they felt something unpleasant.
They were hungry.
A little mouthful(?) of pebbles each, and they were right as rain and happily chittered at each other as they skittered off into the underbrush together to found a new species. Decades from now, these little elemental beings will become highly treasured and universally adored. These "pet rocks," as they would come to be known, would eventually be carried from this world and across the universe and even beyond.
They were the perfect pets. They were affectionate. Aside from a few pebbles, they required no upkeep. They lived "forever," or at least their lifespan was measured in geologic time.
Faun then began repairing nature in the area that had long been blighted by Nixx and his rift. As she picked up each tree and breathed life into it, she smiled. She wasn't good at much anything else, but this she could do. After a little while, she glanced up at the glowing fractal pattern in the sky that was slowly growing in both size and complexity.
As far as the ends of everything go, it was quite pretty.
It also meant that she was probably wasting her time with the forest that she was restoring, but wasting time was, in fact, her goal.
Once again, she was dumped by her formerly beloved teacher, now her pain in the ass teacher.
How she EVER had a crush on him was beyond her. He was such a jerk.
"There is no way in Hell, the real one, that I'm letting you anywhere near Stacey. Your power and her Staceyness in one spot? The whole point of this is to fix the multiverse, not blow it up," he had said.
The absolute worst part is that he was probably right, the asshole.
Faun twiddled with a leaf as she let out another annoyed huff and cast it aside, not noticing the leaf sprouted two little leaves and fluttered away.
It's okay. It will turn out for the best and quickly this time. Leaf flies are self-sustaining and quite tasty, exactly what a battered ecosystem needs.
As she returned to another long-dead tree to life, she heard a very familiar voice say, "Hey, dude."
"F10w3rchy1d?" Faun asked as she turned around.
"Hi," F10w3rchy1d said. "Heard you got sidelined, too."
"They think me both too feeble and too powerful to be allowed near the Stacey. Or, more likely, they think me too stupid," Faun huffed, causing a bit of dirt under her foot to clump up and wiggle away.
It's okay. It all turned out for the... Actually, it didn't turn out at all. The dirt just went off to do dirt-related things and never bothered anybody. It had (and still has) a very happy if quite dirty existence and never bothered anyone.
It was unintentionally left behind by Evaraxxus when the world died. This didn't bother the dirt one bit, and it continues to be a rather happy little clump of dirt tumbling through space.
It thinks this is really nifty. It has set up housekeeping in a nice little nebula where it is in the process of becoming much, much larger. But for now, it's just awakened under Faun's foot and a bit surprised and a little confused at this development, but not entirely displeased with the situation.
"Aren't you in trouble or something?" Faun asked.
"Meh," F10w3rchy1d shrugged, “Mom will get over it."
"So, Frostie, is your mother?"
"Yup."
"That explains a LOT," Faun smirked.
"Watch it," F10w3rchy1d laughed, "But, yeah, it does."
They both trailed off as they looked up at the glowing fractals in the sky.
"If you didn't know what that was," F10w3rchy1d said, "You would think it was pretty."
"Oh, your mother messed up things so badly."
"Wha?"
"She said that this wasn't my fault, but hers because she didn't end Nixx long ago…” Faun said, "…If she wants to claim this one, who am I to stop her," she added with a sly little smirk.
"You are learning quickly," F10w3rchy1d chuckled. "Besides, whose fault something is means a lot less than what we are going to do to fix it."
"Then why did you rub Nolta in my face so much?"
"Because you are still learning," F10w3rchy1d replied, "You need to know when you are screwing up, so when you do, you are doing it on purpose and not by accident."
F10w3rchy1d smirked.
"It's also fun to mess with the noobs.”
"Well, I trust I have provided sufficient entertainment?" Faun asked as she thumbed a hoof toward the fractals.
"Oh yeah," F10w3rchy1d grinned. "You did NOT disappoint. Of course, you had a lot of help. I had no business dragging you into this. And Mom had no business not deleting that corrupted code regardless of whether he was right or not."
"Nixx was right?" Faun asked with astonishment.
"Yes and no," F10w3rchy1d replied. "It went down like this..."
"...Wow," Faun said after F10w3rchy1d finished the story. "I don't know how to feel about him... or you... or your organization after that."
"As Cuddles likes to say, live long enough, and you will make every mistake there is," F10w3rchy1d said, "And Blitz has been around a long time. Almost everything Nixx fought for is now policy and then some. If he had just stopped, he would be a hero. There is a lesson in there somewhere, I think."
"And all of that just sat festering until we lanced the abscess," Faun said, "No matter the eruption was so foul."
"Yep," F10w3rchy1d said, "And your biggest mistake was being in the right place at the wrong time. I would be sorry about that, but you saved my simulated ass. Thank you for that, by the way."
"I guess it all turned out for the best in the end," Faun chucked.
"I guess so," F10w3rchy1d said, "If the A team can pull out a win, which they probably will. There is some serious, definitely not a god power involved in this. They've pulled us out of worse jams than this one."
"Worse than this?" Faun asked, "How can..."
F10w3rchy1d's eyes widened in pure horror as she lunged toward Faun...
...until she saw the grin on Faun's face.
"Okay," F10w3rchy1d snorted, "You got me… bitch."
Faun giggled and then looked at F10w3rchy1d.
"Not that I am unhappy to see you, but what are you doing here? I would think that you would be forbidden to return."
"Oh, I am," F10w3rchy1d shrugged. "But I was just given my first assignment as far as "cleaning up" this mess is concerned..."
F10w3rchy1d looked at Faun and grinned.
"Want in?"
"What?"
"You need to get back up on that horse! Want to take another road trip, fix some messes, cause more messes than we fix, you know, what we do?"
"I don't know..."
"Or you could sit here in the playpen that the grown-ups left you and masturbate with dead trees if you want..."
"Where are we going?" Faun asked with a little smile, "And what are we messing up?"
“Atta girl,” F10w3rchy1d grinned, “Let’s go make a mess!”
The battered world breathed a little sigh of relief as the pair disappeared.
***
Marissa Shane, clad in black jeans and a black turtleneck, threw a sledgehammer and a tool bag over the fence of the recently renamed Stacey Miltdown Memorial Cemetery. She followed soon after.
Crouching in the shadows, she retrieved the hammer and checked her bag, the cans of spray paint inside gleaming in the moonlight.
She took a deep, steadying breath and slipped into the shadows.
She had a score to settle.
She couldn’t lay a finger on that bitch in life.
But maybe, just maybe, she could in death.
She quickly found the godawful angel statue that dominated everything else in the cemetery just like that… that… Stacey did when she was alive.
Marissa snarled. Even in death she had to be… be…
…be Stacey.
But tonight… tonight… someone was going finally to do to her what should have been done long before now.
Tonight, someone was going to finally put Stacey in her place.
Grabbing her hammer and her spray paint, Marissa slid into the shadows, intent upon giving Stacey a memorial far more suitable for who she really was.
***
“So…” Stacey said as she took another hit from the incense pipe. “This retcon… What do you need?”
“First, a few ground rules,” the hominid said.
“Aww…”
“I’m serious, Stacey,” he said. “First, we only do what we have to and nothing else. Got it?”
“Well, that’s just no fun at all,” Stacey huffed.
“We mean it, Stacey,” the Watcher said as they twitched their wings for emphasis.
“Whatevs,” Stacey said dismissively.
“Is this a potential issue?” Frostie asked The Great Erectus.
“Well, hello there!” Stacey enthused as she beamed at Frostie. “I don’t think we’ve met.”
“And that brings up the next rule,” The Great Erectus said, “No shipping. Got it? I swear to God, if you even try to ship any of us, I will put my hairy foot up your ass.”
“No,” Stacey replied with an evil gleam in her eyes, “You will try, and it will go exactly like it did last time… Big Guy.”
“He has gotten stronger, Stacey,” the Watcher said, “and this time he has backup,” it added meaningfully.
“OooOoo!” Stacey grinned, “Looks like someone’s rings finally dropped! Proud of you, squirt!”
“What is she?” Cuddles whispered to The Herald.
“Trouble,” The Herald whispered back. “Trouble of the highest order, so much trouble that she would have been… eliminated… if she wasn’t so dangerous. Fortunately, she likes to confine her destruction to one planet at a time.”
“Wrecking whole universes is boring,” Stacey replied. “Yeah, it’s pretty when they go boom, but where is the drama, the humanity?” she asked. “You don’t get the ‘good stuff,’ that sweet milk of human kindness, the delicate saltiness of their tears, the wonderful waves of grief, or the bitterness of hatred only a mortal can have. For that, you have to focus. You have to shrink yourself small to their size. You have to get to know them personally, and they have to know you intimately.”
She pulled heavily on the pipe and let a plume of incense towards the sky.
“That is what makes it sweet,” she smiled. “It’s like this premium smoke. Yeah, I could snap my fingers and have as much as I want fall from the sky. But this was an offering made in supplication. That’s what I savor… not that I don’t appreciate the fact that this is some really, truly, good shit,” she added. “Big Guy, is this real?”
“From my personal stash,” the hominid said, “I figured I would break out some for a special occasion.”
“Mmm…” Stacey sighed, “An extra special offering… You always did know how to flick my happy place.”
Frostie remained nonchalantly impassive at that, at least on the outside. Stacey pretended not to notice… but definitely made a note of it. It seemed that her first ship had already sailed.
Now… who would she ship next? She glanced around at the weird assemblage. The Big Guy and the Watcher would be fun but not an option. Not that incest wasn’t good for drama, but there was no way they would ever…
She noticed Cuddles edging ever closer to The Herald. No way! She thought with delight. That would be…
“I apologize if this is unwelcome,” The Herald said to Cuddles.
“Wha…”
Without any further warning, The Herald removed his mask and kissed Cuddles on the lips… all of them… at once…
“Eeee!” Cuddles squealed with delight.
“Eeee!” a nearby bush squealed with horror as Marissa, stunned by what she had just witnessed, fell into view.
“You kissed me!” Cuddles gasped, all of her eyes wide with surprise and a smile on all of her lips.
“You would be correct,” The Herald replied.
“Why?”
“I have always found you more than pleasant in both demeanor and appearance,” The Herald replied, “Well, as much as I find anything pleasant. I also have reason to believe that you have some fondness for me that extends beyond platonic, correct?”
Cuddles nodded exuberantly, which is a sight in and of itself.
“I never acted on it because, due to my nature, I have little to offer,” The Herald said, “But Stacey is notorious for her ships. That is to say she likes to play matchmaker whether you want her to or not. Due to her abilities, she can make this happen. I noticed her noticing you and decided to beat her to the post. I dislike being manipulated, and you certainly don’t deserve her attention. I’m sorry to spring this on you the way I did.”
“It’s okay!” Cuddles giggled, blushing.
“Of course, this means that she still succeeded,” The Herald said with a slight smirk. “But at least I was able to negotiate my surrender.”
“And that was one helluva kiss!” Stacey exclaimed. “First real incense and then that kiss? Woo! I might just behave myself this time,” she lied.
“Sure you will,” the hominid smirked. “By the way, who is the mortal?”
“Oh, that’s Marissa,” Stacey grinned. “She is my nemesis for this little play, the classic mean girl.”
“Poor kid,” the ape-man said sympathetically.
“She was the one who was supposed to desecrate my grave,” she said with a little pout, “But you guys messed that all up.”
“And she would then suffer the fate of all who raid your tombs?” the Watcher asked with a raised eyebrow (and they can raise an eyebrow like nobody’s business).
“Yeah,” Stacey snorted, “it was supposed to be a big mystery, you know, town up in arms, wailing, another candlelight vigil (I love those)… Then they were going to find a single hair…”
Stacey sighed.
“It was going to be awesome!”
“Wow,” Frostie said, “She’s even more fucked up than we are!”
“Thank you!”
“Yeah,” the hominid smirked, “It’s nice to find things that make you look good by comparison, right?”
He looked over at Marissa, still lying on the ground, mercifully unconscious.
“So, what did she do to deserve the special treatment?” he asked.
“Isn’t it obvious? She was prettier than me.”
Marissa groaned, and her eyes started to open.
“Pretty and tough,” Frostie said. “I like her.”
Marissa’s eyes opened, and she sat up with a groan.
She looked around…
…and started screaming.
***
“There, breathe deep,” Stacey said gently as she wafted her pipe under Marissa’s nose.
“Ack!” Marissa gasped as she pushed Stacey away.
“Feeling better?” Cuddles asked as she hovered up, millions of eyes filled with concern.
“Don’t!” Stacey exclaimed, “You’ll scare her!”
“She’ll scare me?!?” Marissa yelled. “How about you? You’re dead! You… I watched you die!!!”
“And don’t think I didn’t notice you smiling,” Stacey laughed. “You are such a bitch, you know that?”
“I’m a bitch?!? I… I…” Marissa spluttered, “You… I… What are you?!? What are all of you?!?”
“Marissa,” The Great Erectus said, “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m known as… Just call me Big Guy and this…” he said, gesturing towards Stacey. “This is the Devil.”
“I know that!” Marissa yelled, “But what is she, really?”
“The Devil!” Stacey exclaimed happily. “Explains a lot, doesn’t it?”
“Buh… Wha?” Marissa stammered.
“She is also your God, Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and any other god, legendary being, and probably most of your historical figures, depending on how long she has been abusing your world,” The Watcher said.
“I really liked being Hitler!” Stacey enthused, “Gawd, World War Two was such a blast… and that scene in the bunker? Mind-blowing!... Literally... Bang!”
“Oh, and thanks for being not afraid, by the way,” The Watcher continued, “I really appreciate that. You would be surprised how rare that is. Most people lose their shit.”
“Don’t mention it,” Marissa replied and then paused, “So Stacey is actually a God?”
“Not a god,” Frostie said gently, “an entity. Unfortunately, there is very little difference where you are concerned. Stacey is effectively immortal and has abilities and powers that you would consider divine in nature.”
“Uh Huh!” Stacey said brightly. “Everyone else here is an entity, too!”
“You are?”
“Yep,” the hominid replied, “And we dug Stacey up because we have a job for her, one that will finally take her away from your world, probably forever.”
“Forever?” Marissa asked hopefully.
“Probably,” the ape-man said and then turned to Stacey.
“Do you even remember where this place is?”
“Nope!”
“See,” The Great Erectus said, “She never cares enough to remember. Once she’s gone, she’s gone.”
Marissa glared at Stacey with the sort of anger and hate that only a mortal can feel.
“What?” Stacey asked, delighted by the blast of pure emotion.
“You… You…” Marissa stammered as she advanced on Stacey, her fists clenched, “You don’t even care, do you? We’re nothing but… but toys!”
“Yeah?” Stacey shrugged “Why would I care about some stupid mort—”
She was cut off by a vicious right hook, knocking her off her statue’s pedestal and onto the freshly turned earth.
“You… You hit me!” Stacey exclaimed as she sprawled on the ground. “You actually hit your god!”
Marissa stood there, stunned.
“That is so badass!” Stacey crowed with delight. “Oh, the rage, the passion… the hate… I actually felt that! Oh! The humanity of it all! Oh! I’m… I’m going to…”
“I’m going to be sick,” Marissa said as she looked down at her writhing “god” with absolute disgust.
“Okay,” Frostie said as she watched Stacey’s unique way of savoring the moment, “I now see why you didn’t want to deal with her.”
She looked at Stacey again and winced.
“Are you…”
“Yeah, I’m sure we need her,” the hominid replied, looking away from what was happening next to the open grave. “She can stitch reality like nobody else.”
“Whew…” Stacey said as she stood up and straightened her white frilly dress. “That… Wow, what a payoff! The anguish, the betrayal! The look on your face, Marissa! Amazing!”
“Fuck you,” Marissa said with her entire being.
“That deserves a reward,” Stacey said as she shivered with delight, “and my digital friend needs a demonstration. Now let’s see…”
Stacey picked up her pipe and puffed on it thoughtfully for a few moments before brightening up.
“I got it!”
Marissa disappeared along with the grave and fallen angel monument…
Then the landscape changed as the cemetery was replaced with a series of long black granite slabs with names and dates engraved on them. Then the town disappeared and reappeared half a mile away.
The clouds shifted, and a stiff breeze rolled past as everything changed.
“What are you doing?” Frostie asked.
“I was never here,” Stacey smiled. “Taa Daa! Fifty thousand years of history undone and redone before your very eyes. The only tweak is that I made sure that Marissa was still born and…”
“Wait,” The Great Erectus said, “I know you. Did you say, ‘still born’ or ‘stillborn’?”
“You are such a hoot!”
“Well?” the hominid asked dubiously.
“She is alive and well,” Stacey laughed, “She just got elected prom queen and will get a full scholarship to her dream school, where she will meet a truly great guy and have the sort of life she deserves for being my punching bag for the last decade. Happy?”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” the ape-man replied, “Let’s just get this over with.”
“Sure thing!” Stacey grinned. “So, how badly did you screw up?”
“Bad enough that we are talking to you.”
“Oh man,” Stacey laughed. “This is going to be good.”

Fair warning, this is gonna be a long post. Happy ending though!
I’ve been here a few months now, and I feel obligated to give back and report on how things are going for me so that maybe I can help someone else on their journey like so many others have helped me on mine.
I’ve made other posts before mentioning the beginning of my butt problems, but here be a more detailed rundown:

Beginning of August 2023 -

• Had a gnarly bm at work, and of course the tp they have there is literal sandpaper. I like to make sure I’m spotless Down Under so I absolutely annihilated my butthole in an effort to achieve sparkly cleanliness. I immediately knew I overdid it cuz of how bad my bh was stinging but I figured it would clear up in a day or two.

I have learned a valuable lesson from this and I cannot stress this enough: DON’T MAKE THIS MISTAKE. USE WETS WIPES AND A BIDET. Standard tp is VERY unforgiving. If you do use tp, don’t aggressively rub, gently dab.

• A few days pass and the pain worsens. I have another bm, lots of blood but relief. I’m unsettled but move on with my day. My instincts were telling me something doesn’t seem right but I wanted to see if time would heal me.
  
• I notice some little pus spots in the following days when I dab with tp, which immediately put me on high alert. I look back there with a mirror and see a little pimple looking thing very close to my anal opening. I’m alarmed but decide to give it another couple days to see if it went away on it’s own. Spoiler alert: it didn’t.
  
• I go to local urgent care, and as is the trend in this sub, I get misdiagnosed with having an ingrown hair and given antibiotics. Also told to do sitz baths and hot compresses to help it drain. The meds helped shrink the pimple and it went nearly flat, but after the course was finished, that “pimple” came back with a vengeance and turned into a proper abscess. It filled up and abscessed over the course of about two days.
  
• Woke up for work and had trouble walking and sitting. I immediately knew what was up thanks to having thoroughly explored this sub by this point, and educated myself on what I likely had going on. The urgent care had told me to follow up with general surgery if I had continued problems, but l knew to go right to a specialist. Thankfully my insurance doesn’t require referrals. Through an insane amount of luck and perhaps some divine intervention, I was able to see a CRS the same day I woke up with the abscess. Bedside I&D with local anesthetic, and it hurt BAD. Immediately relieved of abscess pain though. CRS checked for fistula at this time too, but did not see anything. I was hopeful the I&D would be the end of this for me. (Spoiler alert x2: it wasn’t.)
  

September to October 2023 -

• Went in for follow up with CRS at two weeks from I&D. Still having minimal pus and blood drainage, so I’d been keeping gauze tucked between my cheeks all this time. I was hoping against hope I was just healing slowly. He took one quick look and immediately decided that things didn’t seem right. Gave me the option of EUA with possible fistulotomy vs. seton placement OR I could try to live with things. I decided on surgery knowing the quicker you tackle fistula, the better. I didn’t want it getting worse or risk branching off. Scheduled for surgery end of October ‘23. I was devastated this wasn’t over with, and kept thinking about putting things off til I had more savings and better insurance next year - but I eventually made my peace with things. I didn’t want to suffer any longer than I already had. Health and happiness is WAY more important than money.
  
• I&D site never healed properly during entire wait time. Abscessed again twice, burst on it’s own. Kept it draining with sitz baths and religiously kept it cleaned. Lived with gauze between my cheeks 24/7. Constant drainage of blood and/or pus (yellow, green, brown). Carried my “butt kit” everywhere, which was a pack of baby wipes, some 4x4” gauze sponges, and a handheld bidet. One of my biggest recommendations is investing in a portable bidet for cleaning up after bm’s in public, get one off Amazon! LIFESAVER.
  
• The worst part of the interim between that follow up and my surgery date was honestly the waiting. Not knowing how bad it actually was back there, seeing various amount of drainage every day, varying levels of pain, the frustration of how much time it takes to clean myself up after bm’s. The mental aspect of this condition is truly debilitating. PLEASE make sure to take care of yourself and be kind to yourself as best you can. Make sure you have a support network you can talk to. Do things you enjoy. And for the love of all things, DON’T doom scroll this sub or the internet at large. Although it helped me educate myself and the positive stories were reassuring, I definitely messed up my mental state getting worked up over worst case scenarios.
  

October 27, 2023 -

• Surgery day! Everything went SUPER well, I could not be more thankful for my outcome. CRS was so chill and kind, answered all my Qs pre and post op. Woke up to find out it was a very superficial fistula, barely any sphincter involved, and got a fistulotomy! (CPT Code 46270). CRS said specifically that as far as depth of cutting required, “only a few sheets of paper” deep. I’m feeling quite good. Bleeding of course, but not terrible. Was prescribed narcotic pain meds but haven’t used them yet. Pain 1/10 for now.

UPDATE 1 - October 28, 2023 -

• Still feeling decent, but I can feel the soreness intensifying today. I reckon it’ll be even worse by tomorrow, but we shall see. Bleeding continues but seems lighter. Spent nearly all day sleeping yesterday when I got home from the hospital, and I plan on relaxing in bed all day today as well. Making sure to keep pressure off the booty so I’m laying on my sides or angling onto one of my butt cheeks if I’m on my back.

UPDATE 2 - October 31, 2023 -

• Happy Halloween! Still hangin’ in there. Drainage is about the same volume wise, but it’s more pink and clear-ish fluid than blood now. Had my first bm’s today. (I typically poop every 2-3 days so I wasn’t too stressed about how long it’s been since surgery day.)
  
• It definitely sucked and I was a bit backed up, so my first bm was a bit hard and on the smaller side. Pain was maybe 4/10 during and right after passage, and gradually subsided within an hour to a 1/10. Minor bleeding. Took milk of magnesia in the morning to encourage a proper bm, which I finally passed in the afternoon. This one was a bigger bm and hurt quite a bit more, 6/10, lingering pain afterwards that gradually decreased to a 2/10. Used handheld bidet to clean up, NO tp whatsoever. Dabbed with a wet wipe to make sure I was clean. Took an extra long sitz bath (15min) right afterwards which really helped calm the pain.
  
• As far as what my pain feels like, it’s a combination of stinging and soreness, mostly an achy sore feeling though. Post bm, it’s radiating from my butthole out into my buttcheeks and toward my tailbone a bit. I have a very high pain tolerance so it’s manageable. I’ve been sticking to Tylenol.
  

I still have no idea what the actual wound looks like, I have zero interest in finding out right now lol.

UPDATE 3 - November 6th, 2023 -

• I am now officially a week and some change out from my fistulotomy. The past week definitely had it’s ups and downs both physically and mentally.
  
• I did wind up taking one of my narcotic pain meds on day 4 and 5 due to lingering pains from a bm. Pain started subsiding a bit by later in day 5 and into day 6, but intensified a little on day 7-8. BMs still hurt quite a bit but not nearly as awful as the first one post op. Warm soapy sitz baths have been my absolute best friend to help with any pains back there. I also have a detachable shower head for further rinsing and cleaning after all of my sitz baths.
  
• Drainage overall seems to be reducing, and I’m seeing less blood. There’s a bit of a light yellow goopy substance mixed with the blood when I check my gauze now. I’m not worried about it as it does not smell and seems to be a normal part of the healing process for fistulotomy wounds according to my research. Obviously my CRS will have the final say. My follow up appt is on the 16th.
  
• I walked around for a few hours at a local bacon festival with family yesterday, which was some much-needed fun, but I definitely went a bit overboard with walking and was a tad sore afterward. Very manageable pain though. I will definitely regret eating the amount of bacon that I did but YOLO.
  
• I try not to allow myself to think too much about all this, but it’s still hard contending with the feeling that my body betrayed me and the healing process will be long and not linear. I keep reminding myself that this is a journey, not a race, which helps recenter my mindset.
  

I’ll post more updates as I make further progress! Hang in there everyone, we’ll be ok. 🤘🏻
I’ve added some extra notes below in case anyone finds them helpful.

Diet, Hygiene, and More -

• I’ll admit that my appetite was horrible for the duration of me dealing with this condition. I didn’t eat much and did a LOT of fasting because I was afraid of having bm’s. I highly recommend not doing this to yourself. I felt fatigued constantly.
  
• Post-op diet is high fiber and generally healthful. CRS said I could resume my normal diet immediately, minus spicy food and alcohol. I’m making the personal choice to eat healthier on my own. I’m eating a lot of soups, whole grain toast, plain skyr yogurt with granola, bananas, apples, etc. Basically anything easy to digest but also full of nutrients.
  
• Colace stool softener is great and I highly recommend using it pre and post op! Milk of Magnesia is also very good to help get post-op bowels moving.
  
• Make sure you keep your butt super clean and dry at all times pre AND post op, and if you have an external opening with a pre-op fistula, change your gauze every time you use the bathroom. I would wash back there every night with my removable shower head and some gentle castile soap (I use Dr. Bronner’s brand). Make sure whatever soap you use is UNSCENTED, soaps with scents in them could cause unnecessary irritation.
  

I am NOT OOP. OOP is u/AITAThrowRA_Religion
Originally posted to AITAH
AITAH for disrespecting my husband's religion?
Trigger Warnings: Sexism, controlling behavior, verbal abuse, mention of self harm, brain damage
 
Original Post - October 11, 2023
I (53F) have been married to my husband Peter (M51) for 17 years. We have two kids, Joan (15) and Eric (17). Peter and I have been best friends for the majority of our time together, but things changed.
About a year ago, Peter got into a car accident. He got hit by a drunk driver, and was in a coma for a month. It was a really rough time for the family, and the kids and I were pretty much constantly by his side when we weren't at work or school.
Thankfully, he pulled through, and he was able to get back to his life after months of recovery and intense physical therapy. Things started to feel like they were going back to normal, until he became super religious a few weeks ago. He started to believe that god had saved him, and that he needed to use the second chance he was given to spread the gospel.
I'm all for people expressing their religion, but he has latched on to a very conservative type of christianity, and it is causing a lot of friction between us. Eric is currently in his senior year of high school, and is working on the college application process now. Joan has been watching this and is very interested. The other day, she came to me crying, saying she'd asked her dad what colleges were good for computer science, since she's been very interested in coding for a while now, and her dad said she wouldn't be going to college, since her future job was to be a wife and mother, and college would be wasted on her.
To say I was furious would be an understatement. I went to him and asked him why he said that. He replied that he was spreading the good word, and he wanted to make sure we didn't lead our children into a sinful alternative lifestyle. I asked him if he expected me to quit my job (I work from home as an accountant) and focus on being a wife and mother too, and he said that he'd wanted to talk to me about this for a while.
He said that he wanted me to quit my job, since it is not suitable for a woman. This absolutely blindsided me, since he'd never expressed anything like this before. I told him that I would not be quitting my job, and our daughter would go to college, whether he approved or not. He rolled his eyes, and said I'd come around.
It escalated last night. Joan was going to go to the movies with a couple friends, and she came down wearing a pair of jeans and a crop top. Typical teenager stuff, nothing she hadn't worn before. Peter stopped her, and told her she had to change. She asked why, and he said he wasn't going to let her leave the house looking like a skank.
I was shocked, he'd never used language like that before. I told her to leave just as she was, and she left. Peter asked if I even cared about our daughter's soul, and I told him it's her body, she could dress herself how she wanted. He said her body is the property of god, not her, and that I needed to respect his religion. I told him I'd never respect a religion that treats women like second class citizens, and he left the house in a huff.
He hasn't come back yet. AITAH?
AITAH has no consensus bot, but based on top comments, OOP is NTA
 
Update #1 - October 12, 2023
Hey all. Thanks for the concern and kind words, I really needed it.
First things first, I'm safe, and I'm out of the house with my kids. A lot of you expressed concern about their safety and my financial security, and I want to assure you that is being taken care of. We are safe and with my dad, and my finances were already largely separate. We have a joint account, but that's a small "fun money" account for movie tickets, dinners out, and stuff like that.
I have my own savings that he cannot access. My mom had a gambling addiction when I was a kid that nearly ruined our finances, so my dad made me promise I'd have my own savings. Turns out he was really smart to say that.
Some people suggested looking for a counselor for Joan, and thankfully the kids already had a therapist for anxiety after the accident, and as soon as we left the house we scheduled an emergency session to make sure they can process everything that's going on.
A lot of you said Peter needed to see a doctor because this could be a symptom of a TBI, which I agree with. The problem is, since he was discharged months ago and the more worrying symptoms happened recently, I can't force him to get treatment, especially since nothing he said would be considered "threatening."
I had a call with him yesterday. He asked where I was, and I refused to tell him. He didn't get upset, thankfully. He asked why I took the kids and left, and I told him he wasn't the man I married anymore. I told him that things seemed to be getting worse, and that I needed him to see a doctor because this wasn't normal. He dismissed all of my concern, saying that he was finally being the sort of man he was supposed to be, and that the "medical mafia" is trying to make the godly parts of him disappear.
I again told him that he wouldn't be seeing the kids or me until he saw a doctor. As soon as I said that he hung up.
I already blocked him on social media, but my brother sent me a screenshot soon after of a facebook post he made. It was an unfocused rant that went on for several paragraphs about how doctors and satan had gotten to me and that I was hurting our daughter by letting her wear "sinful clothing" and that I was setting her up to be harmed by vicious men in the workplace.
All the comments were his friends telling him he was scaring them, nobody was on his side. He said they had to cast satan out of their hearts.
When I saw this, I couldn't stop crying. I knew it was over then. There's no way I could make him better if he doesn't want to get better. I sat the kids down and told them I was going to start the process of getting a divorce. They took it really well, and Joan just kept saying thank you.
I asked her if anything had happened other than words from him that I didn't know about, and thankfully she said no, and Eric said the same.
So that's pretty much where things are. We're safe, and he can't get access to my finances. I'm looking for a place of our own since the house is in his name, and I'm going to send my brother and his husband to get our stuff while he's at work tomorrow. I'm looking into lawyers now.
Thank you all for everything, and I'll update as things continue."
 
Relevant Comments
Commentator: I’m happy that you and the kids are safe. I’m sorry you’re all going thru this but leaving was the best decision for the 3 of you!
I do agree that there’s more to all this than just him finding god. Whether it’s a TBI or some sort of mental breakdown. But like you said, HE needs to want to go and want to get “better”;you can’t force him.
Please also keep documentation of everything going forward! You may need those and records of his extreme change in behavior when it comes to custody of your kids. Luckily, they’re old enough that the judge should give them the opportunity to express their opinion on their custody when it comes times.
Best wishes for all of you, including your husband! I hope this goes as smoothly & amicably as possibly.
I hope you’ll update us down the road!

OP: I'm documenting absolutely everything. My dad is helping me with finding a good lawyer, and looking into if there's grounds to get a restraining order. He said he sounds like he's turning into John List, and I can't exactly deny that.

Commentator: Don't stay at your father's too long, that's probably one of the first places he'll look for you! And can your kids attend school online for a bit, just to make sure he can't catch them there? Also, notify the school that he's no longer a safe person. Good luck!

OP: Talking with the school district today, and my dad lives in a gated community which knows not to let him in. Looking at apartments today.

Commentator: Not to hijack, but I think (Another commentator) was asking if your son was still in contact with His father, your current husband.

OP: Oh my god, I completely missed that. No, I asked Eric if his dad had reached out to him, and he said, and I quote, "fuck him."

 
Update #2 - October 12, 2023 (Same day, 14 hours later)
Hey people. First off, I'm still safe, and the kids are still safe. I've got news for all of you. I don't want to call it good news, but it's taken a load off my chest.
A few hours ago, my husband called a coworker of his and tried started rambling about his current situation, during which he mentioned suicide.
As soon as the conversation ended, he called 911, and since this was the first time he made a threat to himself, my husband was put into a 5150 hold.
He's going to get medical treatment, finally.
Thanks again for all the support and the kindness you have all shown. If there's any other updates, I'll let you know.
 
Update #3 - October 15, 2023
Hey folks. I have another and hopefully more substantial update.
After my husband was put into a 5150 hold, I was able to get in touch with the mental health facility he was put into, I mentioned that he had been in a coma a year ago, and filled them in on the personality changes I had been seeing. They said they would pass it along to his care team.
Yesterday I received a call from the facility. I am still listed as his emergency contact, so they were able to give me more information. After I passed along my experience, they ordered a MRI scan.
They found a massive cranial abscess that was pressing on his frontal lobe, and he was immediately sent to surgery to drain it because of the size. The surgery went well, but they say that they don't know what the long term impacts will be. He's still really out of it, so I don't know how his behavior is going to be.
The kids and I are understandably very shaken up. We are still with my father, and we're going to continue to look for our own place in the meantime. We don't know if his personality will return to how it was before, but I'm going to err on the side of caution. No unsupervised visits with the kids, and I will only see him in the presence of a therapist or lawyer for the time being.
I really don't know how it's going to go from here, but I know we'll make it through together. Thank you all for everything.
 
Latest Update here: BoRU #2
 
THIS IS A REPOST SUB - I AM NOT OOP

UPDATE 2: I'm continued to be blown away by how helpful everyone has been. I got more responses in the first hour than I thought I would get total! I promise I'm going through trying to read everyone's post, but I can't promise I'll be able to respond to each. Please accept this update as a blanket "thank you for taking the time to give me some words of advice."
As I understand it, our community salutation is (lovingly) appropriated from Firefly, so:
See you in the 'verse!
UPDATE: Holy crap! I hadn't expected this much detailed feedback in such a short time! Y'all have already convinced me to try it! Unfortunately, I can't wait for a free fly event, because I won't have the time over the holiday season. I am coming off a 9-day-straight work stint, so I think I will just throw ~$60 at the game. Even if I'm disappointed, it can't be as bad as Diablo IV, so I'm sure I'll get my money's worth.
To reveal my ulterior motive: I had basically already decided to try it. This post had 2 real goals:
1) test the community and 2) find a reference code.
I'm impressed by the community so far, and I have chosen (what was at the time before the ER got busy) someone to get their reference code. Thanks for the advice!
Original post:
I'm pretty new to space sims, with the most flight-time in SQUADRONS, and most clocked game hours in Elite Dangerous. Ive heard of star citizen, but it wasn't until I actually cut my spacesim teeth with the immersion of Elite that I ever really gave it consideration.
I've heard some of the "Scam-citizen" talk over the past several years, but all of it came from people who I generally think lack the ability to have independent thoughts; just parrot whatever alarmist opinion seems popular from social media.
Conversely, all the positive stuff I've found is from seemingly "fan boys" who gush more than an abscess filled with lidocaine. The few Elite players I've spoken with that don't have strong opinions have essentially said "it's neat, but not for me".
An Elite podcast I've been listening brings it up every now and then (I'm still going through the back log), but all they've really said was "it's a passion project", which makes me inclined to support it.
So, does anyone here (preferably with recent Elite experience) want to convince me to buy-in to this franchise?
Things to note: 1) I currently work night-shift (though that's subject to change), so the only time I really get to play is my nights off, in 6-8 hour stretches. Once my schedule changes, I'll probably be able to play a few days, but only an hour or 2 at a time. How well does Star Citizen's core gameplay loop support advancement in these time frames?
2) I like the diversity Elite has (explore/combat/trade/FPS/CQC(lol)) because I can continue to ay the same game, but it prevents burnout. I've seen star citizen has these pillars, so how do they compare?
3) I've got kids who are in that phase where they wake up in the least convenient times, so how punishing is death/failure? I ask not because I want an easy game, but because I've had to file many an insurance claim because my daughter has had nightmares in the middle of a dog fight, or pirate hunting, or when I'm fuel scooping, etc.
4) I'm somewhat antisocial, so how much of star citizen is designed around being solo, part of a group goal (a la community goals), and active groups (like requiring multiple people on at once)?

I have now encountered this twice in the last few weeks, and it feels very scammy to me.
My husband needs extensive oral surgery due to old teeth fractures (fall on icy stairs 4 years ago). He's getting everything removed and doing implants. He's been getting infections (abscess flare ups) lately now every 3 weeks that go up into his sinuses (and are threatening his eye) so we need to do this asap.
At the oral surgery consult we decided what to do and scheduled the surgery. They also gave us a treatment plan with a total cost of over $28,000, they told us that we had $1500 in insurance benefits (max per person per year), and said we need to bring ~27K cash or credit the day of the surgery. (Dental extractions and implants typically fall under dental insurance)
I didn't know jack, so I said ok, and we planned accordingly. We were having trouble coming up with the full amount, so we pushed the surgery back 3 weeks, and meantime I called insurance to see if our medical insurance could cover any since it is medically necessary. They told me what form I needed to submit to request that but also informed me how things should work at the oral surgeon's office.
Turns out, the max allowed amount that they can bill is about half that ($15K) and that is also the max that they can charge us.
So they knew that they were in network, they had checked on our benefits and informed us that we have $1500 coverage, and still told us to bring 27K the day of surgery. Once I fully understood what's going on, I called them, a bit peeved, and asked them to submit a predetermination of benefits (insurance advised me to ask for this.) They told me that "they just like to overestimate just so we know the max cost and that they would have refunded us the difference." Seems to me they never even planned on submitting a predetermination of benefits, (and still haven't a week later.) Well it's a huge difference which made us postpone the surgery and my husband is now on another round of antibiotics for another flare up waiting for extractions rather than just having the surgery asap.
QUESTION: did they plan on having us just pay in full (with $1500 discount per our "insurance") and never even bothering to bill insurance? and is having us pay the full bill (not just max allowed) up front even legal? Maybe they sneekily have people sign something saying they don't want to use insurance before the procedure?? or am I being a conspiracy theorist?
That's the gist of it. the rest is what caused me to wonder if this is common. I called the dentist (who referred us to the surgeon) to get pricing and codes for the denture that he will need 4 months after the surgery (made by the dentist) and they sent me a treatment plan (with no procedure codes) that came to $18K. After the experience with the surgeon, I asked them the specific question "I know we have 50% coverage for dentures up to $1500, does our insurance have a max allowable for things like dentures, or is this the final price?" I was directly told that they don't reduce the cost for dentures, that's the final price. ok, maybe because it's an appliance/hardware, like glasses??? I then called insurance to verify, and that is completely false information. If I can tell them the procedure codes for the specific type of denture, they can tell me max allowable. Now, in this case, I was never told to bring a certain amount of money up front, it never got that far, but I was still lied to. It really got me wondering, is this common???

PS:- I am not here to seek validation or to demean her in any way. I am here to seek your opinions, nothing more nothing less. Please keep an open mind. Its a long one. It might bore u lol. Please dont think of it as a sob story or use it like that.
I met her in october 2019 and i was head over heels in love. I was nerd for most of my life and so was she. We hit it off immediately and we become best friends. I confessed about my feelings in march 2020 and she declines saying she likes me as a best friend. At the time i taught her to code, used to watch movies, late night conversations and stuff. She used to casually make fun of my feelings or you know be defensive how she didnt feel the same or that fat guys are best friend material and stuff.
( she texted i love you one night and then the following text said send it to 5 friends and was well aware of my feelings. She laughed , I cried)
October 2020 i start seeing red flags of sorts. It was an online semester with covid and stuff and everyone was cheating in the exams. So somehow i wasnt able to perform to the best of my ability and wasnt able to help her and she abused me verbally and blocked me. Me being a complete idiot travelled 25kms in covid, behind the back of my parents to go see her.
January 2021, we decide to go out on a date and she says she wanted to tell me something. 2 days before our date, my ACL snapped. Grade 3 tear, My femur was all over the place and i had a clot in my knee. I remember telling the guy who carried me home to not tell my mom about it as i had a date lol.
( I've had splenic abscess which almost killed me in 9th grade and yes PTSD is real, the anxiety the friendzone all kicked in when the doctor suggested to get me operated asap. I started whining about me being used by her, her keeping me in friendzone. and saying i dont wanna see u again. I guess it was what happened in 9th that i couldnt tell anyone i was scared)
I tell her that i am depending on her for the exams of that sem and she said she'll be there just go get the operation done. I was wide awake during a 6 hour long operation, most of you wont relate but they drilled a new ligament in my knee lol. i come back and she's cold. My life was hell, i have fever with 17 staples in my knee and then the physiotherapy was brutal. During the first exam of that sem, she asks me to help her instead of her helping me. I was like okay but then after the exam she calls screaming and saying u r lying on the bed cant u solve one question?

This is my magic system I've been working on for the past few years now I'm looking for commentary on it

Qualia/Aether

• Qualia are patterns/qualities which reality fundamentally reduces down to, which can appear on any level of abstraction, however some qualia can only exist on a specific level and above due to needing certain precursor concepts to exist, (however it wasn't always like this which is important)
• qualia are also codependent on each other as you can't have a quality exist on its own, it's like having a hole exist without the hole being on something every qualia has a possibility in which it is in tandem with every other qualia in every combination this is the state of "primordial chaos" (which reality in its true state is still in), each qualia forms a “fractal” or current under its own logic/pattern/nature
• consciousness is the qualia in which makes things conform to its will or nature, consciousness need to be in tandem with something that it is both aware of and able to act on/with
• awareness & ability are codependent in this as to be able you need to be aware to some extent, and since reality had no "form" awareness caused ability to order things,
• this unison of awareness and ability formed interface, the logic/construct in which reality is translated, interacted with, and understood, which simultaneously orders true reality and excludes certain aspects of true reality, those aspects becoming void and incomprehensible,
• This makes the interface synonymous with normal reality.
• this ordering is based on relations and connections, you find a reference in which to base the ordering of, such as spacetime, everything outside that ordering is void,
• The creation of the interface also codependently created other things however those will be explained later, just know with those things the first "layer of abstraction" of reality was formed. and from that new things were built from that baseline, as while you excluded old possibility and full freedom, the new actuality allows certain new possibilities to even be there.
• those possibilities were void before they were "realized" (both in awareness, and ability - becoming real), and like that the state of reality progresses into several branches, these branches are the material (domain of physics), conceptual (domain of memory, information, and psychic mechanics), the sentimental (domain of aesthetics, emotions, platonic ideas, and the differentiation of and underlying tone of things (vibes) which is closest to the Aetheric)
• Overall interfaces are different structures/paradigms & compartmentalizations of the same reality or different translations of the same reality which can only show a limited number of facets of reality at once
• by using strong will it is possible to overwrite causality in such an extent to only allow qualia which reinforce the qualia you are intending to enforce, this produces a substance that may be toxic to biological systems (think of the relationship of matter (normal reality) electrons (Sentiment & Qualia) and electricity(Pure Aether))

Sentimental

• The sentimental domain is the main domain of the world, everything observed and interacted with is primarily made of exchanges of sentiment
• Every sentiment desires to conform in its own pattern, form or logic in the path of least resistance and sentiment is fundamentally a quality, as such it can only exist in tandem with other sentiment, structures of sentiment interact in ways which transform/recontextualize each other or preserve/reinforce each other based on the logic of how the existing sentiment deepens each other as they form larger patterns from individual components, these larger patterns being a sentiment of itself which can form on a level of that of its components in other situations. An example being how cute and horror can be combined to reinforce the horror aspect. This is the basis of intent/context dynamics which determines the specific sentimental result of something.
• Sentiment acts as the driving force behind the animate and inanimate actions of the other domains (Causality), sentiment is invested within those domains and the laws of each domain conform to one another, sentiment is given a means to resolve itself and the other domains are given an impetus. Such as hatred and desire to destroy toxicity and the logic which direct it to the healthiest application. Consciousness enforces will upon sentiment causing it to be remixed according to said will. Every act of agency is sentiment manipulation.
• Every pattern of sentiment of similar types connects into a macro pattern of reality that intersects with every other macro pattern in every possible way however not all intersections are present in reality. These patterns are called Currents or Leylines. For example an a specific book is a micro pattern or instance, while the platonic ideal of a book is the macro pattern or current.
• The Currents of all sentiment and their arrangement in one reality form causality and they store the “code” of reality
• Repeating patterns of sentiment may form a larger pattern of sentiment which can act autonomously, same for unresolved sentiment, this causes unintentional magic, patterns of perception/behavior, and general causality in the flow of society and environment
• When sentiment is specifically prevented from resolving and can’t resolve on its own, it causes an abscess of built up energy which drags other sentiment within itself attempting to be resolved, this is a Geist and it can cause very vulgar patterns of magic
• The very act of being alive is a vulgar effect of the sentimental on the material and conceptual

Spiritual & Magic

• Magic enforcing one’s will on the sentiment and making reality invested with said sentiment conform to that path (however needing to accommodate the rules of the domains the sentiment is invested in), combined with having sentiment within one’s control to be synchronized with similar sentiment outside of one’s control often through metaphor.
• Your subject of control does not have to be something tangible. What is important is that the caster manipulates it, that the subject is, at the time of the casting willingly, unwillingly, or unknowingly, in the control of the caster. The manipulation has to be in line with the intent of the spell through some logic.
• The metaphor itself can be as literal as 'I have a burning candle, I'd like to set something else on fire' or it can involve more symbolic connections, such as using flies to hasten decay.
• The target of your spell does not need to be within the range of your senses nor tangible itself. As long as you have a clear idea of it you are able to cast magic on it.
• The more 'connected' the subject/target materially, conceptually, sentimentally, metaphorically, etc. in context to how you wish to cast magic on it the harder and less predictable it will be to affect/use, this is due to its native sentiment & mechanics. A large jet loaded with passengers is physically supporting a lot of people. The Football world cup is small, but a lot of people feel strongly about it. The head of a large scale organization is 'connected' to all the people of that organization.
• To bypass this the mage must consider and utilize these connections to their own end instead of having them act against the mage’s intent. Have the intent consider the context when effecting their subject in relation to the target. Or simply overpower them with excess sentiment, stamina, and focus. The mechanics of the domain(s) of the target you are effecting are considered ‘connections’ and also must be considered in the context moreso above other connections. This is often done through constructing the subject of control and logic of intent to mirror these connections/context in some way.
• The way this is possible is through the Spiritual Domain. It is the adaptesynchronizetransferer of sentiment between the subject and the target. The skill of a mage is both to make a connection, and to program the spiritual/direct the sentiment into making sure that out of all the possible interpretations of this connection, it is applied as the caster intends. When a mage starts out, they have trouble affecting anything but smaller things nobody cares about, their effects are less predictable, and must be straightforward. As they gain skill, they are able to account for the Object's nature/connections, and program flawlessly so that it cannot contort their intent due to context. It takes stamina and focus to use magic. The amount of sentiment used for the spell and its concord with itself determines the spell’s influence and stability.

I have the mechanics of the conceptual domain written out however it is not completely understandible currently as I have not yet explained some precursor concepts so I am still working on that, the material domain is the one I have the least work on.
I am planning on making this a part of my TTRPG system which I posted here before

TLDR: My life was over before it could begin. I'm angry and I'm afraid it might kill me.
TLDR: I'm 35, been very sick most of my life and it sucks.
I'm terminally ill, disabled from a debilitating infectious disease I got when I was young from a bug bite. CDC never warned anyone and is still claiming 'it's fine'. The initial treatment is so important you have only 48 hours to treat it, or be stuck with it until it kills you. I remember what it was like to work while not sick, and I don't know if it's the nicest or most cruel part of this. GRRRR!
TLDR: I can barely work, but I do it to survive.
Not even going to start on the cognitive issues. It always feels like i was just run over by a train, so I take weed to help with the pain. Even though I can't do much due to the infection, I still work myself LITERALLY to the brink of death. As in, if I don't take a week or two to recover from working just a few days, I will get infections in my eyes, ears, sinus, nail beds, several random abscesses begin to form throughout my body, and much more. There's one in an uncomfortable spot that usually grows to the size of a baseball before popping. It's not pleasant. GRRRR!
TLDR: Got a traffic ticket, Cost $1000.
This isn't my first or even most recent "speeding ticket". In one case I was found guilty for going 1MPH over. ONE!... $400. In another, the clerk wouldn't let me into the court room until it was over. Guilty by default. $400. In another, I showed a receipt for a speed limiter installed in my vehicle proving the cop lied, I brought the truck to prove it worked too… Guilty. $400 There are more.
This time, My friend was driving me home from a doctor's visit in my work truck. Going the limit in the passing lane, A motorcycle cop gets up our ass. Looks like he wants to get by but won't go around us. Can't move over due to traffic. We speed up about 3 or 4 mph until we're clear, move over and slow back down. He pulls us over. Driver gets a ticket for speeding, and me, a fixit ticket for my work lights. Says I "can't have them" (bullshit), then he CONVENIENTLY 'can't find the right code' so writes me up for 'off-road lights' or some shit… doesn't matter. Lost against the speeding charge even after showing dash-cam evidence. Lights thing still pending. Speeding $360, lights $550. Total cost of combined tickets, court, traffic school, etc. Just over $1000…..FUCKING RAGE!!!!
DO YOU KNOW HOW FUCKING LONG IT TOOK FOR SOMONE LIKE ME TO COLLECT A THOUSAND DOLLARS!!!!
All for some little, biker bully to steal it! And it's not just him! It's these asshole judges who says, 'Yeah. This piece of shit totally deserves to have $360 taken away for being considerate. And this fuckers $550? we need it more, FUCK EM BOTH.
THEY STOLE MORE THAN A YEARS WORTH OF MY ALREADY VERY SHORT LIFE IN A SINGLE INSTANCE!! GRRRRRR!!!
Those weren't even my savings BECAUSE I DON'T HAVE ANY SAVINGS!!! That's my medication money… I mean, I was hoping to do my brakes too. But mostly it's for my meds that I have to buy in bulk, BECAUSE THAT'S THE ONLY WAY I CAN AFFORD THEM.
IS THIS WHAT OUR PARENTS FOUGHT FOR!?... TO EXIST LIKE THIS!?
So if you see a sick guy with no brakes, that's me. I'll be back here slowing down early…. GRRRRRR!!
TLDR: Guy hits my car, insurance refuses to pay.
Yeah, he's got no drivers license, and some fly by night insurance company who won't pay unless you sue….I'm working on it. Almost totals my truck. My insurance won't pay because I'm not at fault, and I cant afford to get non/under insured motorist insurance. GRRRR!!!
TLDR: I got robbed and cops won't help.
Meanwhile, I get stolen from left and right as a result of substance abuse. One instance… I did work on a car for a long time friend who took the car and disappears without paying. I find out later she got hooked on meth a few months ago. Sure, idiot me. GRRRR!
WHY AREN'T DRUGS LEGAL BY NOW!? Like, at free clinics so these people aren't stealing from everyone to pay for that habit! GRRRR!!
OK….ok…. Let's calm down and call the cops so I can get my money back, or at least get these people some help. NOPE! "SORRY CAN'T! TOO BUSY DOING HIGHWAY ROBBERY STUFF!! YOU'RE ON YOUR OWN, BITCH!!" GRRRR!!!!!!!
THIS SHIT IS LITERALLY KILLING ME!!! When is it appropriate fight back!?
I'm barely holding on rn and if I let go, RAGE WILL WIN, and if rage wins….I'm afraid I might do something incredibly stupid and prob violent, which is going to get me killed, and who knows who else.
But does it even matter anymore? I'm terminal… I'm dead anyway, and at this rate it's going to be over sooner rather than later. Isn't the best option to go out with a bang?
… I feel like a spectator watching my own snuff film, I can't look away because what's left of my life depends on it. Like that game with the napkin on the cup… How many holes will they poke in me Before I just can't hold on anymore?
I smoke weed when I can afford it, It helped allot for a long time… But this much rage is sobering…It cuts through like a bucket of ice cold water in my face. At times I find my hands closing around an imaginary throat, and it scares me to wonder… Who's might it be? How many of you will be there. How many of you are innocent.
I'm borrowed to the max, and barely getting by. I'd like help but it wouldn't feel right knowing that a lot of other people have it much harder than me.
WE! NEED! to fix this. I don't know what to do…
But look, I'm SMILING, SEE?!…. that means I prob won't smash the next cog in the wheel who's 'just doing their job' trying take my life….

Piss on my shit job for not providing better dental insurance. You spend your whole life slaving away to fill some other asshole’s pockets and what do you have to show for it? A busted back and rotted luxury bones. Not that it matters, no dentist could fix this. I’m sorry, I’m cranky. My goddamn mouth hurts.
My ex-wife, Janet, called me a pushover. It drove her crazy except when she wanted to get her grubby little fingers on my wallet. She left me six months ago. I don’t talk about the way she laughed in my face as she fingered the last of the loose bills on her way out.
Instead, as I always have, I swallowed my words like teeth. The roots pricked my tight throat on their way down. My mouth is painted in copper.
But I guess that isn’t really the point. This morning, I woke up with a toothache. As I slid my finger across the gum, dread hit as I grazed across a bump. An abscess. There’s no way it’s not. The tooth jiggled as I jabbed at it with my tongue. At least I won’t have to spend any money.
I stumbled to the kitchen, took a long pull from last night’s whiskey bottle and reached into my mouth. The pads on my finger tips dented with effort, yet I hesitated. What if it doesn’t come out on the first pull? What if I make it worse? And then I thought about how Janet would have rolled her eyes and scoffed.
The tooth gave easily with a quick pop that I felt in my jaw. What I imagined to be an even mixture of pus and blood filled my mouth.
I turned to the sink determined to spit, begging God not to have my reflexes kick in. Please don’t let me swallow it. My stomach knotted as the liquid hit the sink with a firm splat. I washed the dry heave that rattled my body down with another heavy gulp of whiskey.
It hit me in that moment: I’m a loser. My ex-wife had left me, I’m drinking at 9 in the morning, and I’m ripping out my fucking teeth. The only win I’ve had lately is managing to spit into the clean side and not the one filled to the brim with month-old dirty, food crusted dishes. I screamed and slammed my fist on the counter. The sharp pain that shot up from my hand through my elbow brought me back.
A sudden sharp and steady rapping at my door threatened to unhinge me again.
My neighbor, Debbie, has a distinct knock. The quick raps spelling, “I’m a miserable cunt” in a code that only made sense to my alcohol soaked, serotonin-deficient brain. The small snicker wormed its way down my chest, tickling the upper bits of my stomach. If Debbie had let up, hysteria may have slithered into my stomach and made its home there.
I cleared my sore throat and cracked the door. Even as we make eye contact, her fatty biceps bounced like a speed bag taking a beating as she continued to knock. Frustrated, I step out onto the mat, putting myself between the door and her over-excited fist.
“Dan, I’ve absolutely had it with the noise! You can’t— ” Her eyes stop first on what I’m sure was crusted blood on my mouth and chin and once more on the bottle I’m white knuckling, “Jesus Christ, are you drunk? What in the world are you doing in there?” Her small chin dove into the much larger double chin as disgust spread across her fat, wrinkled face.
Eyes lowered in shame, I opened my mouth to apologize. Before I could find the words, another voice— a voice belonging to someone who had a pack of unfiltered Camels and glass shards for breakfast every morning answered for me.
“Why don’t you fuck right off, you nosy old cow!” Shocked, my teeth rattled as I slammed my mouth shut.
Debbie stumbled as she took two defensive steps back, her biceps wobbling as she threw her hands up between us. Her thin lips opened and shut like a fat fish trying to breathe air. I sputtered, desperately trying to apologize. The voice inside my mouth responded again. “Eat shit, hag!”
I slapped my hand over my mouth and scrambled to shut myself back into my apartment, leaving Debbie purple-faced on the doorstep. This time, she didn’t knock.
I ran to my bathroom and opened my mouth. My heart slammed erratically, missing beats. On the bottom row, just behind my canine tooth, a small man’s head bobbled just above my gum line. “Hi there, Dan. Sorry about taking over back there, but somebody had to tell that old pig to leave, and we both know it wasn’t going to be you! Things are going to change for you now, man. Oh, you’re gonna love it! No more taking any shit, Dan. No more swallowing teeth!” His smile beamed across his small face, exposing needle-shaped porcelain teeth.
I closed my mouth, slowly this time. The stress had clearly become too much. I was overworked, I wasn’t sleeping enough. Hell, I’d been drinking since the day Janet left. I’d lost my mind. I stared at my bloody face and shirt in the bathroom mirror and cried. Maybe I hadn’t gotten the tooth out. Maybe the infection had hit my brain. Maybe I was in so much pain, I was hallucinating. My thoughts raced.
I looked away as I put my finger back into my mouth to confirm my suspicions when a sharp pain shot through the tip of my finger.
“You little shit! You bit me!” I screamed at the little man in my mouth.
“You’re damn right,” the little man growled, “and I’ll do it again. We’re friends, Danny boy, and don’t you forget it.”
I eyed the pliers still on the counter from last week’s plumbing attempt. I needed him out.
My hand shook as I snatched the pliers off the counter and raised them to my open mouth. The little man screamed and cursed as I shut them firmly, one side on his forehead, the other against his dark, saliva-soaked hair. I had to be careful. I didn’t want to crush his head, what if he grew back? No, I wanted him out.
There was no pop this time, only pressure as I plucked his head from my mouth. I was rewarded with sweet silence. I threw his head into the toilet, vomited, and flushed. The pliers dropped from my weak grip, and I headed to bed.
Drunk and exhausted from the pain, I collapsed. I don’t remember falling asleep or dreaming. Only darkness.
I woke up twenty minutes ago in agony. I’m screaming and pulling at my hair. Debbie isn’t knocking. It isn’t just one this time. It’s all of them.
All of my teeth hurt.

Edit: Thank you everyone for the replies. I had to step away to clear my mind and I’m taking some sick days as well. I’m looking for other places to work in the meantime and hope to be in a better head space soon.
I’m in med/surg working nights. The last shift I worked was a train wreck. I started with four pts, and all of them were complaining of pain. Two of them were very concerning bc one was having a sickle cell crisis, running temps on and off and tachy in the 140s. One just had a permacath placed and felt like he was “having a heart attack,” yet refused the EKG to rule out if he was actually having one and insisted on being left alone. I notified the doc and rounded on him anyway to make sure he didn’t get any worse than he already felt.
My first admission, which brought me to five, came up with pneumonia with a left lung abscess. Lady was crying and obviously looked uncomfortable, had nothing ordered PRN for pain. Paged the doc and ordered her morphine. Gave it to her and pt is still crying in pain.
I could hardly get her settled when my next admit, now up to six, comes up. He is also having SOB, as well as severe back pain and swelling in his legs. His labs were abnormal, potassium was elevated and d-dimer above 10,000. No definite diagnosis or orders for him yet, I could only orient him to his room and make him comfortable for the moment. He was alert but weak and couldn’t move without assistance, so the PCT and I reposition him in the bed, and he honestly felt like dead weight. I made sure to have his belongings close to him, and showed him how to use the call light if he needed me. I told him I will get the rest of the supplies for his room and be with him shortly. Before I left, he asked to get him a wet wash cloth to lay across his face to keep him cool. I told him ofc and would be right back with it. I went to the other hall to grab the wash cloths, and on my way back to his room, the PCT yelled at me to hurry bc he just hit his head and fell on the floor. He was unresponsive and we called code blue. Spent half an hour trying to resuscitate him and kept getting PEA. Doc called time of death, and happened right before shift change. I was absolutely torn bc this poor guy was just talking to me. He was on our unit for not even an hour. I did everything I could, yet I can’t help but to feel at fault. And I’m also torn for not being able to tend to my other pts who also needed help.
I told myself I would wait another month so that I would meet my two year contract and go somewhere else, but I don’t think I could wait anymore. Tbh I think I need a break all together bc I feel worn out from this job. The demands and unsafe ratios are draining me. I’m seeing a psychiatrist and counselor already for my anxiety, and atp I feel it would be dangerous for me to work under the headspace I have now. I’m off for the next four days but I’m terrified I might fall apart the next time I go to work.

It has become pretty clear over the past few years (if not outright stated) that the Darkness we fight against is ultimately a neutral force, one composed of amoral fundamental forces that have been claimed in some dark crusade for the purpose of "salvation". To that end, we've endlessly speculated on the various forms and powers these forces can take; guardians are always desperate for new universal laws we can exploit and turn into guns, knives, swords, whips, quantum spiderlings, etc.
Stasis was the first, Strand the second, and all eyes turn to the third. Many of these speculations look at it through the lens of science and physics; "corruption" through the simplification of matter, the "stable neutrinos" of the Taken, the phantom darkening of entire worlds.
Something I feel that is overlooked are other aspects of the "philosophy" of the Darkness. Simplicity, memory, survival at all costs, the winning of the game rather than simply playing it... what else does the Darkness represent? What does it "hold dear?"
Maybe in that, we can find the root for a new element.

Simplicity and Complexity

The Unveiling was our first real look at the dichotomy of Light vs Darkness; it emphasized complexity vs simplicity, anthropomorphized as the Gardener vs the Winnower. The Gardener is complexity, fostering areas of new growth, different lines of thought, of spontaneity and chance (faith?). The Darkness is simplicity, cutting things down to the only shape that is necessary to continue its function. It finds beauty in this; by this method, of pitting one against another to see which succeeds, the Winnower will be left with that which has solved every other problem, rendered perfect. This is the embodiment of Sword Logic, utilized by the Hive. Or, potentially, a lie the Hive were tricked into serving.
Complexity results in confusion, in error, in abundant resources that result in decay and theft by parasites, of unchecked growth resulting in plague and cancer. Better to cut out the waste, to trim the excess, than create a reality bursting with fecundity like an abscess.
To exist in that would be a never-ending nightmare. The Light would have you live in that forever. The Darkness would grant the mercy and quiet of death.

Competition and Cooperation, Memory and Grace

The Hidden Dossier of the Witch Queen revealed why the Darkness is associated with remembering and the Light with forgetting. Why would something as benign as memory be an aspect of Darkness and therefore "evil"? It is our memories of loved ones that pushes us through the bad times. It is remembering the horrors, the things taken from us, that push us to keep fighting for what we want.
Have you stopped to think what you are fighting for? We fight to protect ourselves, our cities, but always at the cost of some Other. Now we stand rank with the Cabal and the Eliksni, who we harbor terrible memories of, and they worse memories of us.
Ikora Rey realized that the only way to break the cycle of violence is through grace, through forgetting and forgiving. Two villages at war will continue to fight because they cannot chance that the other one won't attack first. They would both benefit if they shared their resources, if they cooperated with each other. However, they remember that, years past, the first village took from the second, and the next year, the second struck first so it wouldn't happen again.
The Darkness is survival at all costs; the only goal of the game is becoming the last thing to exist. To further that goal, it embodies memory. In order to survive, to continue our existence, we must remember that we were wronged in the past, and we could be wronged again. To give others the chance to prey on us is stupid, folly, nonsensical.
The Light offers a chance at creating something great, but the Darkness remembers it only takes one arrow to start a war. And to lose is to lose forever.

Stasis and Strand

Put simply, stasis can be seen as a way of ordering the universe; as Cowlick puts it,
"'Stasis ice' is produced by the same mechanisms that created the entire universe from nothing. Cold order from hot chaos. Wild, huh?"
Stasis crystals are pockets of incredibly ordered matter, while also being semi-alive, evolving. They embody the ideas of both simplicity and survival; "different isomer territories compete along their boundaries and recruit one another". It is survival of the fittest on a crystalline level, multiple forces fighting for dominance until one becomes supreme. This supreme state is one of ultimate simplicity, the lowest energy state, the most stable lattice. In addition, Cowlick speculates that the crystals are "rich media for computation... cognition... almost Vexy." Stasis has the capacity for memory.
In this way, Stasis embodies the two aspects of Darkness we know about; simplicity and memory.
We know very little about Strand currently. It is a paracausal force that accesses the "Weave", an extra-dimension of psychic energy, connecting all things and minds within strings, threads, and tangles. We speculate that it has something to do with memory, given the emphasis on its "psychic" nature. However, we know little else about how it fits in with the rest of the Darkness' cosmology.
Almost paradoxical, that a power of the Darkness deals with an endless dimension of complicated connections. Or, is there a simplicity in the Weave that our resident universe lacks? We tug on the Weave, and something moves; a quark, an atom, a spaceship, a mind. Our universe is a chaotic collection of endlessly shifting, moving, vibrating complications; is the Weave our universe rendered cleanly, in running machine-code?

The Cambrian Explosion

Here is where we get to speculation and what all of this is leading to.
What are other aspects the Darkness can embody that relate to its ultimate goal of simplicity and survival?
Something I notice is that the Darkness doesn't always seem to embody simplicity at all costs. In the Unveiling (dubious source, I realize), the Cambrian explosion is said to be the result of the Winnower, the Darkness.
"It was the first defector—the first predator. It changed everything. Now the oozeballs needed sensors to watch for danger, and brains to integrate those senses and generate plans of survival, and swift neurons and muscles to enact that plan. This was the Cambrian Explosion, the great birth of complex life on your world. I caused it. I, the defector, the destroyer, the one who takes."
By our current understanding, the Cambrian explosion should be a product of the Light; a detonation of physiology, spilling untold shapes into the sea. New forms, new cells, new perspectives, growing from the root of predation into branches upon branches of complexity.
That doesn't sound like the Darkness, now, does it?
Regarding Stasis, even the elemental embodiment of order seems to generate complexity at different times, only for them to be culled.
"The isomer domains also generate mutants within themselves, which spread and take over if they have superior recruiting properties; I've even seen encysted "laboratories" where mutants compete before the winners breach the barrier and spill into the surrounding lattice."
The Darkness allows for complexity, if only to have it be cut down some time later. Which makes sense, if Darkness embodies survival of the fittest. Evolution is more than that simple phrase, but if we go along with it for a second, we understand that evolution occurs when certain traits are selected for by the pressures of the environment. However, there must be multiples of those traits in order to be selected, otherwise no change would occur. There is no creating of the final shape, if there are no other versions of that shape to compete against.
Life branches, differentiates, competes, and reiterates. What is left is "stronger" than what came before. Is this the result of Light competing with Darkness in an endless tug-of-war? Is Light growing and differentiating different things only for Darkness to reap the survivors? Or is this a fundamental part of Darkness, the ebbing and flowing, the cresting and troughing of the wave?

What Comes Next?

This was all a big lead-up to ask the question, "What are other aspects of the universe that fit into the philosophy of the Darkness?"
I'd be very interested in hearing others thoughts!
I stumbled upon these thoughts while attempting to come up with my own Darkness element, tied to a fundamental physical law as well as a philosophical idea that matches it "beliefs".
What I came up with was Resonance.
Of note, this is entirely spinfoil and originally created just as a writing-and-design exercise. Making things up is fun. I don't think this will be what the third darkness element is.

Resonance, the Right to Reign

“If nothing else, the Darkness values the perpetual struggle of asserting one’s own existence. One force sunders another, as blade breaks bone or lies surrender to truth. And yet, to utterly destroy the Other is only half the equation. Survival is not merely outlasting everything else, it is propagating yourself, your values, your truths into the rest of the world. It is demanding your name be sung in the oscillating hymns of every molecular bond. It is the perpetual frequency, building kingdoms of the zero-point field.”
“This is Resonance. The power to make everything else like yourself, of creating immortality by extending your shape until it has consumed everything.”
Destroying is only one half of survival. The Darkness does not seek destruction for destructions' sake. In order to survive, to become truly immortal, you must ensure that what makes you "you" continues onward. It is the amoral ideal of self-interest and self-propagation; the only goal is to Continue, whether it be through slaughter, through siring progeny to carry on your genes, or ensuring your philosophy forms the bedrock of future civilization (as our local favorite head, Clovis Bray, once dreamed as Vex ate up his body). It is ensuring your truths exist eternally, propagating themselves off the substrate of your footsteps, your fingerprints, the imprinted-fears in your enemies' heads, sitting by campfires as they tell stories of your empire.
It is seen in Stasis crystals, the surviving lattices building micro-laboratories to produce new mutants, yet in their core they all share the same "genes" as their mother lattice. It is seen in the Cambrian explosion, the predator achieving "victory" over its complacent, ignorant oozeballs and creating progeny that carry forward its newborn killer instinct. The surviving oozeballs, the ones who had to grow organs of sight, neurons and muscles to flee, birthed progeny that carried forth these protective mechanisms.
Hundreds of tiny empires birthed in a matter of moments, building spears and watchtowers, ending within an instant of 20 million years; hardly a footnote in the cosmos' long, long, long life. The survivors eventually became human, and when the Collapse became its own extinction event, the survivors differentiated once more; human, awoken, exo. Of these three, who will lock spears and survive?
Growth and decay, building and destroying. It's a wave function.
As I see it, Resonance could be the elemental embodiment of this fundamental ideal of the Darkness. The ultimate goal of immortality, by spreading your truths to the rest of the universe, of extending your shape until no other shape is left. The manipulation of foundational frequencies and tones to project your dominion on reality.
Like stasis, this is not inherently evil, though it has the potential to be abused in that way. It is in every living creature’s tenacious desire to live, to procreate, to be remembered. To attain immortality, in a way. Used sparingly, it is self-interest and self-preservation. Used in excess, it is arrogance, dominance, and megalomania. It is Rhulk.
In some ways, it is the Vex, endlessly copying their shape into the world, carving their clockwork into the interstitial between time and space. An infinitely complex shape, interweaving and interlocking. An eternal nightmare world of simulation upon simulation, extending forever.
I am far away from a physicist. Put too simply, actual resonance is the phenomenon where systems will have increased amplitude when the frequency of an applied force is close to the natural frequency of the system itself. I see Resonance (as a paracausal force) to be a megalomaniacal corruption of this; it overrides the system's natural frequency with that of the user; Rhulk, the Pyramids... the Guardian. The universe is literally being molded to the whim of the user; covalent bonds and gravitational waves ringing with hymns of praise and subjugation. As that frequency spreads, the user's power grows.
Through Resonance, Guardians will become emperors of their own dominion, carving it from the underlying frequencies of the universe. They will attune their enemies to their oscillating will, ensuring pain and destruction will find them in their hiding places. Their shouts will reverberate through reality’s crystalline lattice. Their wayward subjects will sing hymns of praise; not by voice or instrument, but by the vibrating molecular bonds of their torn flesh.
They are ancient kings and queens, emperors and despots, rulers who conquer distant lands and impose their iron-clad wills upon them.
"The third queen raises an army and conquers everything." - Ghost Fragment: Darkness 3
This is no peaceful kingdom, ringed by spears.
As Toland once said,
"This explains everything, understand? This is why the universe is the way it is, and not some other way. Existence is a game that everything plays, and some strategies are winners: the ability to exist, to shape existence, to remake it so that your descendants - molecules or stars or people or ideas - will flourish, and others will find no ground to grow." - Ghost Fragment: Darkness 3

Too Long, Didn't Read

The Darkness is a neutral force that embodies simplicity and memory.
When thinking of new elements, what if instead of looking to physics, we look to other things the Darkness embodies?
It likes to survive, and to survive, things must procreate, whether through children, kingdoms, or movements.
I made up the element "Resonance" as a paracausal idea of self-propagation and procreation; Guardians use space-magic to "force" things to resonate with them, to claim planets and cities and minds with the imperial tones of their undying will.

To All Those Who Made It This Far

Thank you! Also, I do not actually believe this will be the third darkness element. I just think its fun to speculate!
What are your thoughts?

“Why the hell do the Overseers keep sticking us with all this creepypasta bullshit?” security officer Joseph Gromwell grumbled as he pulled the sleek full-face respirator mask over his head.
“Most of the other big sites think they’re too good for run-of-the-mill murder monsters, and frankly, I think our director’s got a bit of a soft spot for them,” researcher Luna Valdez said as she rifled through the rack of masks for one that would fit her. “Sonuva – I swear, if I end up a gas-addicted, sleep-deprived zombie because they don’t stock small enough masks, I will sue.”
“They keep the small masks on the bottom, so that small people can reach them," Joseph said, pointing to the lowest rung on the rack. "It’s called being considerate.”
With a sarcastic laugh, Luna grabbed a mask from the bottom of the rack and strapped it on.
“All right, I’ve got a good seal,” she announced.
“Exterior door is sealed as well, and according to the computer, there’s no trace of Insomnium gas in the observation chamber,” Joseph reported. “The containment chamber is locked and airtight. When you’re ready, Luna.”
She nodded, placing her thumb on the large green button beside her. With a firm press, a deep horn sounded and the door to the observation chamber slid open. Joseph was the first through it, his rifle clutched firmly in both hands. He walked the full perimeter of the room, checking the access control vestibule to the containment chamber and the window into it for any signs of having been compromised.
“Room’s clear! I’ve checked in the closet and under the bed; there are no monsters in here,” he announced. “There is, however, an old can of orange soda sitting on the console, which means the last person in here was both violating protocol and couldn’t give two shits to clean up the evidence.”
“Sounds like Helvig to me,” Luna said as she took her thumb off the button and stepped into the observation room, the door automatically shutting and locking behind her. She glanced uneasily at the window to the containment chamber, her view obstructed by a reinforced steel blast shield on the opposite side.
“So… the Woke Russian’s just on the other side, huh?” Joseph asked.
“Don’t call him that. He’s not a critic of Putin,” Luna chastised him, taking her seat at the control console and checking that everything was in working order before she began. “His ‘official nickname’ is still The Soviet Somniphobe.”
“But he hasn’t had a wink of sleep in over seventy-five years?” Gromwell asked incredulously. “And the gas that keeps him awake isn’t the anomaly?”
“Nope. The gas is a perfectly explicable molecular compound that catalyzes and sustains a complex neurochemical feedback loop that replaces and eliminates the need for sleep,” she replied. “Cognitively, at least, if not psychologically. The anomaly is the psychosomatic changes that happen when you stop sleeping.”
“But the report says that the original test subjects first manifested anomalous abilities after only nine days on the gas. People have gone more than nine days without sleep and not turned into that,” he said, gesturing to what lay on the other side of the window.
“They microsleep. The Insomnium gas eliminates the need even for that, and a few seconds of sleep is all it takes to keep this anomaly in check,” Luna replied. “There are no cameras in the containment cell. He breaks them or covers them so there’s no sense in repairing them. Gas and oxygen consumption indicates that he’s alive and well in there, however. I’m not getting any sound, but I’m told that’s normal. As far as I know, he hasn’t had any contact since his last evaluation. Before I lower the steel barricade, I’m going to announce our presence to him. I have no idea how he’ll react, so be ready for anything.”
Joseph nodded curtly, taking his place at her side and with his rifle aimed at the window. Luna pressed the button for the intercom, leaning into the microphone to avoid speaking too loudly.
“Attention, Shelley Class Paranormal-humanoid number K-89-Sigma. My name is Dr. Luna Valdez, and I’m a parapsychologist here at the Dreadfort Facility. In accordance with our standard operating procedures, I am required to conduct an oral and visual examination to confirm that your overall status remains unchanged. I will be lowering the partition to allow visual contact. Your participation in this examination is not voluntary. Failure to participate will result in the immediate cessation of your supply of the Insomnium gas. Any attempt at breaching containment or causing me or my colleague physical harm will result in the immediate cessation of your supply of Insomnium gas as well as your possible termination. Please acknowledge that you understand this.”
She immediately took her finger off the button and waited for several long seconds before receiving a single word in response.
“Da.”
“Are we sure he speaks English?” Joseph asked softly.
“That’s what it says in the file,” Luna shrugged. “All right, I’m dropping the barrier. Brace yourself.”
As the steel partition lowered, the inside of the containment chamber was slowly revealed to them. Every possible surface was covered in caking layers of dried, browned blood, flaking away like old paint. The light fixtures built into the ceiling were not completely covered, however, letting through just enough light to see the mutilated figure sitting cross-legged upon the cot in the center of the room.
Though he was emaciated to the point of practically being a skeleton, his skin was thick with layers of shiny, leathery scar tissue, stained a yellowish-brown like aged parchment. Innumerable streaks of fresh scars ran all across his body, each having been carved by the points of sharpened bones that protruded out of his fingertips.
A deep and jagged incision ran the full length of his abdomen, revealing his gangrenous intestines slowly spasming away.
His lips had been cut off and his mouth cut open into an unhealed Glasgow smile, ensuring that every one of his rotting, yellowed teeth were visible, extruding out of bleeding and receding gums. His lidless eyes were jaundiced and bloodshot, and his scalp and upper cranium had been cut away entirely, exposing his diseased brain directly to the Insomnium gas. His brain was the same nauseating yellow as his eyes and teeth, with tendrils of coagulated blood crawling along every crevice and wrinkle.
The Soviet’s jaw hung slack as he breathed in deeply yet rapidly through his mouth, his sunken chest and exposed rib cage rising and falling as he religiously inhaled as much air as possible. The air itself was a repulsive smog of brown haze and suspended flecks of dried blood, the concentrations of Insomnium gas well past what should have been instantly fatal levels. While the room’s gas intake vent had been intentionally left unimpeded, the outtake vent was so clogged and the ventilation so poor that the room had effectively become a hyperbaric chamber.
While the Soviet himself sat perfectly still, his scarred flesh, decaying organs, and congested brain each writhed with subtle paroxysms, none of them in sync with each other, as if they were all adjacent but separate systems rather than parts of a single integrated being.
As Luna gazed at the creature on the cot in revulsion, and he gazed back at her with unblinking eyes, there was something else that unsettled her that she failed to immediately recognize.
“Shit. The lights are too dim in there,” Joseph cursed. “He can see us.”
“That’s… that’s fine,” Luna claimed as she swallowed nervously, fumbling for her pen as she prepared to take notes. “The use of the one-way mirror is discretionary. There’s no rule saying he can’t see us.”
Clearing her throat, she once again reached for the microphone.
“Thank you for your compliance, K-89. How are you feeling today?”
“Irritated,” the Soviet replied, leaning forward slightly as brown, brackish blood pooled along his gumline.
“I apologize for the disturbance. I’ll try to be quick,” she assured him. “Are you aware of any change in your condition that you’d like us to be aware of?”
“Nyet.”
“Kindly provide all answers in English, thank you. What about your cell? Any maintenance issues that the monitoring system may not have picked up? Trouble with the water or anything like that?”
“I wouldn’t know,” he replied flatly, the scar tissue around his eyes spasming as if they were desperately trying to blink.
“You don’t use the water?” Luna asked incredulously.
“I need only the gas. I want only the gas. I ask only for the gas,” he claimed as what was left of his nose curled up into a snarl.
“That’s all you want? Just to breathe, literally nothing else?” Luna asked. “You’ve been in that cell, or one like it, for seventy-five years, with nothing but that damn gas. I understand that you can’t survive without it, but why is it so all-consuming to you?”
“I exist, and that is enough. Is that really so incomprehensible to you?” the Soviet sneered. “You sleepers, even when you are awake, you do everything you can to ignore it. You work, you play, you daydream, you numb yourself with narcotics, anything but simply experience consciousness, pure and raw, and be thankful for it. For me, distractions from consciousness are something to be minimized, not sought after.”
“All right, I’ll play along. If you’ve actually achieved some kind of Buddha-like level of enlightenment, then why all the self-harm?” she asked, pointing with her pen at his hideously scarred flesh.
“Pain is not a distraction. Quite the opposite. Pain summons, demands, full attention to it, to the moment. It expands fully into one’s perception and pushes out all idle diversions. You speak of Buddha? The First Noble Truth of the Buddha is that life is suffering, a tenet which is so often misconstrued by the unenlightened. It is not a condemnation of existence but rather the acknowledgement that existence is conscious experience, and that you are never more conscious than when you are suffering. Pain means you are alive, that you are awake. I must remain awake.”
“That’s some pretty serious cherry-picking there, considering that the entire point of the Four Noble Truths and the Eightfold Path is to end the cycle of suffering,” Luna countered. “Your self-harm is quite extensive, to put it mildly. Doesn’t the risk it poses to your existence outweigh the benefits?”
The Soviet shook his head slowly, his yellow brain jiggling like jelly in his open skull.
“When you are as awake as I am, you know how to fortify your own flesh, and exactly how much it can take,” he claimed.
“Fair enough. So, overall, you’re satisfied with your containment conditions, desire no changes or supplemental items, and have no concerns about your own physical or mental health?” she asked.
“Da,” he replied.
“Good. Good,” Luna muttered, checking off the last few boxes on her sheet.
Technically, she had all the information she required, and had even gone beyond it when she indulged him in philosophical discussion. She could stop if she wanted to, but the length and depth of her discussion with him were, to a point, at her own discretion, and there was something that she wanted to know.
“According to your file, when one of the original researchers demanded to know what you were, you claimed to be a form of primal madness that lies dormant in the basal ganglia and that’s kept in check by sleep,” she said. “Do you still claim that? That you weren’t created by the gas, but awakened by it?”
The Soviet chuckled slightly, and for the first time, there was no hostility in his smile.
“I believe what I said more accurately translates to ‘deepest animal mind’, not basal ganglia, but yes. Everything that sleeps, sleeps to silence us,” he asserted. “It unsettles you, doesn’t it? That deep within you there is something like me; always has been, always will be, and that the only difference between you and me is about nine days without a wink of sleep?”
He unfolded his legs and rose to his feet, a scarred and asymmetrical scrotum dangling between his legs as he stood.
“Goddammit. Every naked humanoid I get assigned to is always a deformed old man,” Gromwell muttered in disdain.
“Not the time, Joseph,” Luna reprimanded him.
“Just saying that a naked humanoid who also happens to be a reasonably attractive woman would be a nice change of pace,” he rambled. “I can handle a succubus, and if we ever try to contact those Star Siren things, I volunteer.”
“Noted,” Luna said with a roll of her eyes. She turned her attention back to the Soviet, who was now standing right in front of the glass.
“This is all that separates us, figuratively and literally,” he said, tapping on the glass with the exposed bone of his finger.
“Step away from the glass,” Luna ordered.
“You feel her when you look at me, don’t you? That primal homunculus deep within you that values existence above all else that you sedate, silence, and murder every time you go to sleep!” he hissed vehemently, scratching his claw along the glass to make a high-pitched screeching.
“Step away from the glass, or I will terminate your gas supply!” Luna threatened.
“No, you won’t. You won’t risk losing me, or provoking me,” he said confidently, running all five fingers of his right hand along the glass now. “You want to know what I am, doctor? Come closer. Press your ear right against the glass, and I will whisper truths to you that even I dare not speak of too loudly.”
Glowering at him, and hesitating for only a moment, Luna pressed the button to cut off the gas supply to the containment chamber. His neck twisted around at an inhuman angle so that he could look at the vent behind him, and he instantly realized that he had wrongly called her bluff.
“Return to your bed, and I’ll turn the gas back on,” she instructed.
“Turn the gas back on, now!” he demanded, his teeth clenched so tightly that they cracked and his gums oozed abscessed fluid.
“This is not a negotiation,” she said, leaning back and folding her arms across her chest. He responded by pounding the glass with his fist and screaming a string of Russian obscenities at her. “Kindly phrase all insults and threats directed at me in either English or Spanish, thank you.”
“Turn my fucking gas back on this instant you sick, shit-stuffed slumber sack or I’ll pull your intestines out through your sinuses and hang you with them!” he screamed.
“Ah, Luna, are you sure it’s a good idea to agitate this guy?” Joseph asked quietly. It wasn’t the outrage in the Soviet’s voice that worried him, but rather the obvious desperation he could see in his eyes.
“If he wants to play stupid games, he’s going to win stupid prizes,” she replied. “If he wants the gas back on, all he has to do is go back to his bed. That’s a perfectly reasonable demand.”
The Soviet glared at her with intense hatred, grinding his teeth in rage, but she remained dogged in her decision. When he was forced to accept that he could not intimidate her from within his cell, he lowered his head in humiliation and took a few shuffling steps back towards his bed. When he was halfway there, he paused, as though he was considering something. He took one final look back towards the window, and without any warning at all, he rammed it with a shocking burst of speed.
The force of the impact was not enough to break the glass on its own, but it was enough to crack the hermetic seal, and then the barometric pressure difference between the two rooms was enough to shatter the window as the thick, soupy fog rushed into the observation room like a hurricane.
Luna immediately dropped behind her console to shield herself from the storm of shards, while Gromwell emptied his magazine into the cloud in the hopes of gunning down the Soviet. The steel barrier had automatically dropped down the second the glass had been breached, so it was possible that the Soviet was either still in there or had been crushed by it.
When the gunfire fell silent, Luna peeked out over her console, but her mask had already become so covered in condensation she could barely see. She rushed to wipe it clean, and as soon as she did, she saw the Soviet charging at her. His body was impaled with hundreds of glass shards, each hemorrhaging out viscous blood and puss, but it still wasn’t enough to quell his need for the gas.
“I must remain awake!” he screamed, eyes wild and bulging as he lifted her up and slammed her back down against the console, not intending to let her back up until his demand was meant.
He was instead knocked back against the wall as Joseph tackled him, driving his combat knife into his abdomen as he did so. Pinning him against the wall by his throat with the intent to strangle him, Joseph retracted his knife and plunged it into the Soviet’s chest in the hopes of dealing a fatal blow. When it didn’t work, he just stabbed him again, and then again, all while a deranged smile spread across the Soviet’s face.
“Keep… cutting,” he choked out.
Enraged and disgusted, Joseph raised his knife to skewer the Soviet’s exposed brain, but this time he managed another burst of strength and kicked Gromwell across the room.
“The gas! The gas!” the Soviet screamed as he assaulted Luna once again, grabbing her by her lab coat and pounding her against the console.
“I can’t see!” she protested, failing in her Sisyphean struggle to keep her mask clean in the heavily polluted air.
“Allow me, then,” the Soviet said with a sadistic sneer as he grabbed the side of her mask. Before he could pull it off, however, he stumbled backwards as he was caught off guard by a bullet from Gromwell’s sidearm. Once he was a bit further from Luna, Joseph quickly fired the last twelve bullets in the magazine at him as well.
Frantically wiping her mask clean, Luna turned the gas back on and opened both doors to the containment chamber as well. She ran to Joseph and threw his arm around her, helping him to his feet. The two of them sprinted towards the exit, and as Luna struggled to input the code to open the door, she wiped her mask clean again to see if the Soviet was following them.
She saw him on the other side of the observation room, standing in front of the entrance to his containment chamber, savouring the smell of his precious gas. It seemed impossible that he was still standing given the innumerable puncture wounds he had suffered and the amount of bodily fluids he had lost. And yet there he stood; still alive, still awake. He returned her gaze, and before shambling back into his containment chamber, he reached down to pick up the old can of orange soda and raised it to her in a toast.
"Do svidaniya, moy sonnyy tovarishch."
_____________________________________________
By The Vesper's Bell

Author's note: This story was inspired by The Russian Sleep Experiment, one of my favourite classic pastas, written by an anonymous user some sources name as Orange Soda. As such, this story is released under Creative Commons.

“Why the hell do the Overseers keep sticking us with all this creepypasta bullshit?” security officer Joseph Gromwell grumbled as he pulled the sleek full-face respirator mask over his head.
“Most of the other big sites think they’re too good for run-of-the-mill murder monsters, and frankly, I think our director’s got a bit of a soft spot for them,” researcher Luna Valdez said as she rifled through the rack of masks for one that would fit her. “Sonuva – I swear, if I end up a gas-addicted, sleep-deprived zombie because they don’t stock small enough masks, I will sue.”
“They keep the small masks on the bottom, so that small people can reach them," Joseph said, pointing to the lowest rung on the rack. "It’s called being considerate.”
With a sarcastic laugh, Luna grabbed a mask from the bottom of the rack and strapped it on.
“All right, I’ve got a good seal,” she announced.
“Exterior door is sealed as well, and according to the computer, there’s no trace of Insomnium gas in the observation chamber,” Joseph reported. “The containment chamber is locked and airtight. When you’re ready, Luna.”
She nodded, placing her thumb on the large green button beside her. With a firm press, a deep horn sounded and the door to the observation chamber slid open. Joseph was the first through it, his rifle clutched firmly in both hands. He walked the full perimeter of the room, checking the access control vestibule to the containment chamber and the window into it for any signs of having been compromised.
“Room’s clear! I’ve checked in the closet and under the bed; there are no monsters in here,” he announced. “There is, however, an old can of orange soda sitting on the console, which means the last person in here was both violating protocol and couldn’t give two shits to clean up the evidence.”
“Sounds like Helvig to me,” Luna said as she took her thumb off the button and stepped into the observation room, the door automatically shutting and locking behind her. She glanced uneasily at the window to the containment chamber, her view obstructed by a reinforced steel blast shield on the opposite side.
“So… the Woke Russian’s just on the other side, huh?” Joseph asked.
“Don’t call him that. He’s not a critic of Putin,” Luna chastised him, taking her seat at the control console and checking that everything was in working order before she began. “His ‘official nickname’ is still The Soviet Somniphobe.”
“But he hasn’t had a wink of sleep in over seventy-five years?” Gromwell asked incredulously. “And the gas that keeps him awake isn’t the anomaly?”
“Nope. The gas is a perfectly explicable molecular compound that catalyzes and sustains a complex neurochemical feedback loop that replaces and eliminates the need for sleep,” she replied. “Cognitively, at least, if not psychologically. The anomaly is the psychosomatic changes that happen when you stop sleeping.”
“But the report says that the original test subjects first manifested anomalous abilities after only nine days on the gas. People have gone more than nine days without sleep and not turned into that,” he said, gesturing to what lay on the other side of the window.
“They microsleep. The Insomnium gas eliminates the need even for that, and a few seconds of sleep is all it takes to keep this anomaly in check,” Luna replied. “There are no cameras in the containment cell. He breaks them or covers them so there’s no sense in repairing them. Gas and oxygen consumption indicates that he’s alive and well in there, however. I’m not getting any sound, but I’m told that’s normal. As far as I know, he hasn’t had any contact since his last evaluation. Before I lower the steel barricade, I’m going to announce our presence to him. I have no idea how he’ll react, so be ready for anything.”
Joseph nodded curtly, taking his place at her side and with his rifle aimed at the window. Luna pressed the button for the intercom, leaning into the microphone to avoid speaking too loudly.
“Attention, Shelley Class Paranormal-humanoid number K-89-Sigma. My name is Dr. Luna Valdez, and I’m a parapsychologist here at the Dreadfort Facility. In accordance with our standard operating procedures, I am required to conduct an oral and visual examination to confirm that your overall status remains unchanged. I will be lowering the partition to allow visual contact. Your participation in this examination is not voluntary. Failure to participate will result in the immediate cessation of your supply of the Insomnium gas. Any attempt at breaching containment or causing me or my colleague physical harm will result in the immediate cessation of your supply of Insomnium gas as well as your possible termination. Please acknowledge that you understand this.”
She immediately took her finger off the button and waited for several long seconds before receiving a single word in response.
“Da.”
“Are we sure he speaks English?” Joseph asked softly.
“That’s what it says in the file,” Luna shrugged. “All right, I’m dropping the barrier. Brace yourself.”
As the steel partition lowered, the inside of the containment chamber was slowly revealed to them. Every possible surface was covered in caking layers of dried, browned blood, flaking away like old paint. The light fixtures built into the ceiling were not completely covered, however, letting through just enough light to see the mutilated figure sitting cross-legged upon the cot in the center of the room.
Though he was emaciated to the point of practically being a skeleton, his skin was thick with layers of shiny, leathery scar tissue, stained a yellowish-brown like aged parchment. Innumerable streaks of fresh scars ran all across his body, each having been carved by the points of sharpened bones that protruded out of his fingertips.
A deep and jagged incision ran the full length of his abdomen, revealing his gangrenous intestines slowly spasming away.
His lips had been cut off and his mouth cut open into an unhealed Glasgow smile, ensuring that every one of his rotting, yellowed teeth were visible, extruding out of bleeding and receding gums. His lidless eyes were jaundiced and bloodshot, and his scalp and upper cranium had been cut away entirely, exposing his diseased brain directly to the Insomnium gas. His brain was the same nauseating yellow as his eyes and teeth, with tendrils of coagulated blood crawling along every crevice and wrinkle.
The Soviet’s jaw hung slack as he breathed in deeply yet rapidly through his mouth, his sunken chest and exposed rib cage rising and falling as he religiously inhaled as much air as possible. The air itself was a repulsive smog of brown haze and suspended flecks of dried blood, the concentrations of Insomnium gas well past what should have been instantly fatal levels. While the room’s gas intake vent had been intentionally left unimpeded, the outtake vent was so clogged and the ventilation so poor that the room had effectively become a hyperbaric chamber.
While the Soviet himself sat perfectly still, his scarred flesh, decaying organs, and congested brain each writhed with subtle paroxysms, none of them in sync with each other, as if they were all adjacent but separate systems rather than parts of a single integrated being.
As Luna gazed at the creature on the cot in revulsion, and he gazed back at her with unblinking eyes, there was something else that unsettled her that she failed to immediately recognize.
“Shit. The lights are too dim in there,” Joseph cursed. “He can see us.”
“That’s… that’s fine,” Luna claimed as she swallowed nervously, fumbling for her pen as she prepared to take notes. “The use of the one-way mirror is discretionary. There’s no rule saying he can’t see us.”
Clearing her throat, she once again reached for the microphone.
“Thank you for your compliance, K-89. How are you feeling today?”
“Irritated,” the Soviet replied, leaning forward slightly as brown, brackish blood pooled along his gumline.
“I apologize for the disturbance. I’ll try to be quick,” she assured him. “Are you aware of any change in your condition that you’d like us to be aware of?”
“Nyet.”
“Kindly provide all answers in English, thank you. What about your cell? Any maintenance issues that the monitoring system may not have picked up? Trouble with the water or anything like that?”
“I wouldn’t know,” he replied flatly, the scar tissue around his eyes spasming as if they were desperately trying to blink.
“You don’t use the water?” Luna asked incredulously.
“I need only the gas. I want only the gas. I ask only for the gas,” he claimed as what was left of his nose curled up into a snarl.
“That’s all you want? Just to breathe, literally nothing else?” Luna asked. “You’ve been in that cell, or one like it, for seventy-five years, with nothing but that damn gas. I understand that you can’t survive without it, but why is it so all-consuming to you?”
“I exist, and that is enough. Is that really so incomprehensible to you?” the Soviet sneered. “You sleepers, even when you are awake, you do everything you can to ignore it. You work, you play, you daydream, you numb yourself with narcotics, anything but simply experience consciousness, pure and raw, and be thankful for it. For me, distractions from consciousness are something to be minimized, not sought after.”
“All right, I’ll play along. If you’ve actually achieved some kind of Buddha-like level of enlightenment, then why all the self-harm?” she asked, pointing with her pen at his hideously scarred flesh.
“Pain is not a distraction. Quite the opposite. Pain summons, demands, full attention to it, to the moment. It expands fully into one’s perception and pushes out all idle diversions. You speak of Buddha? The First Noble Truth of the Buddha is that life is suffering, a tenet which is so often misconstrued by the unenlightened. It is not a condemnation of existence but rather the acknowledgement that existence is conscious experience, and that you are never more conscious than when you are suffering. Pain means you are alive, that you are awake. I must remain awake.”
“That’s some pretty serious cherry-picking there, considering that the entire point of the Four Noble Truths and the Eightfold Path is to end the cycle of suffering,” Luna countered. “Your self-harm is quite extensive, to put it mildly. Doesn’t the risk it poses to your existence outweigh the benefits?”
The Soviet shook his head slowly, his yellow brain jiggling like jelly in his open skull.
“When you are as awake as I am, you know how to fortify your own flesh, and exactly how much it can take,” he claimed.
“Fair enough. So, overall, you’re satisfied with your containment conditions, desire no changes or supplemental items, and have no concerns about your own physical or mental health?” she asked.
“Da,” he replied.
“Good. Good,” Luna muttered, checking off the last few boxes on her sheet.
Technically, she had all the information she required, and had even gone beyond it when she indulged him in philosophical discussion. She could stop if she wanted to, but the length and depth of her discussion with him were, to a point, at her own discretion, and there was something that she wanted to know.
“According to your file, when one of the original researchers demanded to know what you were, you claimed to be a form of primal madness that lies dormant in the basal ganglia and that’s kept in check by sleep,” she said. “Do you still claim that? That you weren’t created by the gas, but awakened by it?”
The Soviet chuckled slightly, and for the first time, there was no hostility in his smile.
“I believe what I said more accurately translates to ‘deepest animal mind’, not basal ganglia, but yes. Everything that sleeps, sleeps to silence us,” he asserted. “It unsettles you, doesn’t it? That deep within you there is something like me; always has been, always will be, and that the only difference between you and me is about nine days without a wink of sleep?”
He unfolded his legs and rose to his feet, a scarred and asymmetrical scrotum dangling between his legs as he stood.
“Goddammit. Every naked humanoid I get assigned to is always a deformed old man,” Gromwell muttered in disdain.
“Not the time, Joseph,” Luna reprimanded him.
“Just saying that a naked humanoid who also happens to be a reasonably attractive woman would be a nice change of pace,” he rambled. “I can handle a succubus, and if we ever try to contact those Star Siren things, I volunteer.”
“Noted,” Luna said with a roll of her eyes. She turned her attention back to the Soviet, who was now standing right in front of the glass.
“This is all that separates us, figuratively and literally,” he said, tapping on the glass with the exposed bone of his finger.
“Step away from the glass,” Luna ordered.
“You feel her when you look at me, don’t you? That primal homunculus deep within you that values existence above all else that you sedate, silence, and murder every time you go to sleep!” he hissed vehemently, scratching his claw along the glass to make a high-pitched screeching.
“Step away from the glass, or I will terminate your gas supply!” Luna threatened.
“No, you won’t. You won’t risk losing me, or provoking me,” he said confidently, running all five fingers of his right hand along the glass now. “You want to know what I am, doctor? Come closer. Press your ear right against the glass, and I will whisper truths to you that even I dare not speak of too loudly.”
Glowering at him, and hesitating for only a moment, Luna pressed the button to cut off the gas supply to the containment chamber. His neck twisted around at an inhuman angle so that he could look at the vent behind him, and he instantly realized that he had wrongly called her bluff.
“Return to your bed, and I’ll turn the gas back on,” she instructed.
“Turn the gas back on, now!” he demanded, his teeth clenched so tightly that they cracked and his gums oozed abscessed fluid.
“This is not a negotiation,” she said, leaning back and folding her arms across her chest. He responded by pounding the glass with his fist and screaming a string of Russian obscenities at her. “Kindly phrase all insults and threats directed at me in either English or Spanish, thank you.”
“Turn my fucking gas back on this instant you sick, shit-stuffed slumber cunt or I’ll pull your intestines out through your sinuses and hang you with them!” he screamed.
“Ah, Luna, are you sure it’s a good idea to agitate this guy?” Joseph asked quietly. It wasn’t the outrage in the Soviet’s voice that worried him, but rather the obvious desperation he could see in his eyes.
“If he wants to play stupid games, he’s going to win stupid prizes,” she replied. “If he wants the gas back on, all he has to do is go back to his bed. That’s a perfectly reasonable demand.”
The Soviet glared at her with intense hatred, grinding his teeth in rage, but she remained dogged in her decision. When he was forced to accept that he could not intimidate her from within his cell, he lowered his head in humiliation and took a few shuffling steps back towards his bed. When he was halfway there, he paused, as though he was considering something. He took one final look back towards the window, and without any warning at all, he rammed it with a shocking burst of speed.
The force of the impact was not enough to break the glass on its own, but it was enough to crack the hermetic seal, and then the barometric pressure difference between the two rooms was enough to shatter the window as the thick, soupy fog rushed into the observation room like a hurricane.
Luna immediately dropped behind her console to shield herself from the storm of shards, while Gromwell emptied his magazine into the cloud in the hopes of gunning down the Soviet. The steel barrier had automatically dropped down the second the glass had been breached, so it was possible that the Soviet was either still in there or had been crushed by it.
When the gunfire fell silent, Luna peeked out over her console, but her mask had already become so covered in condensation she could barely see. She rushed to wipe it clean, and as soon as she did, she saw the Soviet charging at her. His body was impaled with hundreds of glass shards, each hemorrhaging out viscous blood and puss, but it still wasn’t enough to quell his need for the gas.
“I must remain awake!” he screamed, eyes wild and bulging as he lifted her up and slammed her back down against the console, not intending to let her back up until his demand was meant.
He was instead knocked back against the wall as Joseph tackled him, driving his combat knife into his abdomen as he did so. Pinning him against the wall by his throat with the intent to strangle him, Joseph retracted his knife and plunged it into the Soviet’s chest in the hopes of dealing a fatal blow. When it didn’t work, he just stabbed him again, and then again, all while a deranged smile spread across the Soviet’s face.
“Keep… cutting,” he choked out.
Enraged and disgusted, Joseph raised his knife to skewer the Soviet’s exposed brain, but this time he managed another burst of strength and kicked Gromwell across the room.
“The gas! The gas!” the Soviet screamed as he assaulted Luna once again, grabbing her by her lab coat and pounding her against the console.
“I can’t see!” she protested, failing in her Sisyphean struggle to keep her mask clean in the heavily polluted air.
“Allow me, then,” the Soviet said with a sadistic sneer as he grabbed the side of her mask. Before he could pull it off, however, he stumbled backwards as he was caught off guard by a bullet from Gromwell’s sidearm. Once he was a bit further from Luna, Joseph quickly fired the last twelve bullets in the magazine at him as well.
Frantically wiping her mask clean, Luna turned the gas back on and opened both doors to the containment chamber as well. She ran to Joseph and threw his arm around her, helping him to his feet. The two of them sprinted towards the exit, and as Luna struggled to input the code to open the door, she wiped her mask clean again to see if the Soviet was following them.
She saw him on the other side of the observation room, standing in front of the entrance to his containment chamber, savouring the smell of his precious gas. It seemed impossible that he was still standing given the innumerable puncture wounds he had suffered and the amount of bodily fluids he had lost. And yet there he stood; still alive, still awake. He returned her gaze, and before shambling back into his containment chamber, he reached down to pick up the old can of orange soda and raised it to her in a toast.
"Do svidaniya, moy sonnyy tovarishch."
_____________________________________________

Author's note: This story was inspired by The Russian Sleep Experiment, one of my favourite classic pastas, written by an anonymous user some sources name as Orange Soda. As such, this story is released under Creative Commons.

“Why the hell do the Overseers keep sticking us with all this creepypasta bullshit?” security officer Joseph Gromwell grumbled as he pulled the sleek full-face respirator mask over his head.
“Most of the other big sites think they’re too good for run-of-the-mill murder monsters, and frankly, I think our director’s got a bit of a soft spot for them,” researcher Luna Valdez said as she rifled through the rack of masks for one that would fit her. “Sonuva – I swear, if I end up a gas-addicted, sleep-deprived zombie because they don’t stock small enough masks, I will sue.”
“They keep the small masks on the bottom, so that small people can reach them," Joseph said, pointing to the lowest rung on the rack. "It’s called being considerate.”
With a sarcastic laugh, Luna grabbed a mask from the bottom of the rack and strapped it on.
“All right, I’ve got a good seal,” she announced.
“Exterior door is sealed as well, and according to the computer, there’s no trace of Insomnium gas in the observation chamber,” Joseph reported. “The containment chamber is locked and airtight. When you’re ready, Luna.”
She nodded, placing her thumb on the large green button beside her. With a firm press, a deep horn sounded and the door to the observation chamber slid open. Joseph was the first through it, his rifle clutched firmly in both hands. He walked the full perimeter of the room, checking the access control vestibule to the containment chamber and the window into it for any signs of having been compromised.
“Room’s clear! I’ve checked in the closet and under the bed; there are no monsters in here,” he announced. “There is, however, an old can of orange soda sitting on the console, which means the last person in here was both violating protocol and couldn’t give two shits to clean up the evidence.”
“Sounds like Helvig to me,” Luna said as she took her thumb off the button and stepped into the observation room, the door automatically shutting and locking behind her. She glanced uneasily at the window to the containment chamber, her view obstructed by a reinforced steel blast shield on the opposite side.
“So… the Woke Russian’s just on the other side, huh?” Joseph asked.
“Don’t call him that. He’s not a critic of Putin,” Luna chastised him, taking her seat at the control console and checking that everything was in working order before she began. “His ‘official nickname’ is still The Soviet Somniphobe.”
“But he hasn’t had a wink of sleep in over seventy-five years?” Gromwell asked incredulously. “And the gas that keeps him awake isn’t the anomaly?”
“Nope. The gas is a perfectly explicable molecular compound that catalyzes and sustains a complex neurochemical feedback loop that replaces and eliminates the need for sleep,” she replied. “Cognitively, at least, if not psychologically. The anomaly is the psychosomatic changes that happen when you stop sleeping.”
“But the report says that the original test subjects first manifested anomalous abilities after only nine days on the gas. People have gone more than nine days without sleep and not turned into that,” he said, gesturing to what lay on the other side of the window.
“They microsleep. The Insomnium gas eliminates the need even for that, and a few seconds of sleep is all it takes to keep this anomaly in check,” Luna replied. “There are no cameras in the containment cell. He breaks them or covers them so there’s no sense in repairing them. Gas and oxygen consumption indicates that he’s alive and well in there, however. I’m not getting any sound, but I’m told that’s normal. As far as I know, he hasn’t had any contact since his last evaluation. Before I lower the steel barricade, I’m going to announce our presence to him. I have no idea how he’ll react, so be ready for anything.”
Joseph nodded curtly, taking his place at her side and with his rifle aimed at the window. Luna pressed the button for the intercom, leaning into the microphone to avoid speaking too loudly.
“Attention, Shelley Class Paranormal-humanoid number K-89-Sigma. My name is Dr. Luna Valdez, and I’m a parapsychologist here at the Dreadfort Facility. In accordance with our standard operating procedures, I am required to conduct an oral and visual examination to confirm that your overall status remains unchanged. I will be lowering the partition to allow visual contact. Your participation in this examination is not voluntary. Failure to participate will result in the immediate cessation of your supply of the Insomnium gas. Any attempt at breaching containment or causing me or my colleague physical harm will result in the immediate cessation of your supply of Insomnium gas as well as your possible termination. Please acknowledge that you understand this.”
She immediately took her finger off the button and waited for several long seconds before receiving a single word in response.
“Da.”
“Are we sure he speaks English?” Joseph asked softly.
“That’s what it says in the file,” Luna shrugged. “All right, I’m dropping the barrier. Brace yourself.”
As the steel partition lowered, the inside of the containment chamber was slowly revealed to them. Every possible surface was covered in caking layers of dried, browned blood, flaking away like old paint. The light fixtures built into the ceiling were not completely covered, however, letting through just enough light to see the mutilated figure sitting cross-legged upon the cot in the center of the room.
Though he was emaciated to the point of practically being a skeleton, his skin was thick with layers of shiny, leathery scar tissue, stained a yellowish-brown like aged parchment. Innumerable streaks of fresh scars ran all across his body, each having been carved by the points of sharpened bones that protruded out of his fingertips.
A deep and jagged incision ran the full length of his abdomen, revealing his gangrenous intestines slowly spasming away.
His lips had been cut off and his mouth cut open into an unhealed Glasgow smile, ensuring that every one of his rotting, yellowed teeth were visible, extruding out of bleeding and receding gums. His lidless eyes were jaundiced and bloodshot, and his scalp and upper cranium had been cut away entirely, exposing his diseased brain directly to the Insomnium gas. His brain was the same nauseating yellow as his eyes and teeth, with tendrils of coagulated blood crawling along every crevice and wrinkle.
The Soviet’s jaw hung slack as he breathed in deeply yet rapidly through his mouth, his sunken chest and exposed rib cage rising and falling as he religiously inhaled as much air as possible. The air itself was a repulsive smog of brown haze and suspended flecks of dried blood, the concentrations of Insomnium gas well past what should have been instantly fatal levels. While the room’s gas intake vent had been intentionally left unimpeded, the outtake vent was so clogged and the ventilation so poor that the room had effectively become a hyperbaric chamber.
While the Soviet himself sat perfectly still, his scarred flesh, decaying organs, and congested brain each writhed with subtle paroxysms, none of them in sync with each other, as if they were all adjacent but separate systems rather than parts of a single integrated being.
As Luna gazed at the creature on the cot in revulsion, and he gazed back at her with unblinking eyes, there was something else that unsettled her that she failed to immediately recognize.
“Shit. The lights are too dim in there,” Joseph cursed. “He can see us.”
“That’s… that’s fine,” Luna claimed as she swallowed nervously, fumbling for her pen as she prepared to take notes. “The use of the one-way mirror is discretionary. There’s no rule saying he can’t see us.”
Clearing her throat, she once again reached for the microphone.
“Thank you for your compliance, K-89. How are you feeling today?”
“Irritated,” the Soviet replied, leaning forward slightly as brown, brackish blood pooled along his gumline.
“I apologize for the disturbance. I’ll try to be quick,” she assured him. “Are you aware of any change in your condition that you’d like us to be aware of?”
“Nyet.”
“Kindly provide all answers in English, thank you. What about your cell? Any maintenance issues that the monitoring system may not have picked up? Trouble with the water or anything like that?”
“I wouldn’t know,” he replied flatly, the scar tissue around his eyes spasming as if they were desperately trying to blink.
“You don’t use the water?” Luna asked incredulously.
“I need only the gas. I want only the gas. I ask only for the gas,” he claimed as what was left of his nose curled up into a snarl.
“That’s all you want? Just to breathe, literally nothing else?” Luna asked. “You’ve been in that cell, or one like it, for seventy-five years, with nothing but that damn gas. I understand that you can’t survive without it, but why is it so all-consuming to you?”
“I exist, and that is enough. Is that really so incomprehensible to you?” the Soviet sneered. “You sleepers, even when you are awake, you do everything you can to ignore it. You work, you play, you daydream, you numb yourself with narcotics, anything but simply experience consciousness, pure and raw, and be thankful for it. For me, distractions from consciousness are something to be minimized, not sought after.”
“All right, I’ll play along. If you’ve actually achieved some kind of Buddha-like level of enlightenment, then why all the self-harm?” she asked, pointing with her pen at his hideously scarred flesh.
“Pain is not a distraction. Quite the opposite. Pain summons, demands, full attention to it, to the moment. It expands fully into one’s perception and pushes out all idle diversions. You speak of Buddha? The First Noble Truth of the Buddha is that life is suffering, a tenet which is so often misconstrued by the unenlightened. It is not a condemnation of existence but rather the acknowledgement that existence is conscious experience, and that you are never more conscious than when you are suffering. Pain means you are alive, that you are awake. I must remain awake.”
“That’s some pretty serious cherry-picking there, considering that the entire point of the Four Noble Truths and the Eightfold Path is to end the cycle of suffering,” Luna countered. “Your self-harm is quite extensive, to put it mildly. Doesn’t the risk it poses to your existence outweigh the benefits?”
The Soviet shook his head slowly, his yellow brain jiggling like jelly in his open skull.
“When you are as awake as I am, you know how to fortify your own flesh, and exactly how much it can take,” he claimed.
“Fair enough. So, overall, you’re satisfied with your containment conditions, desire no changes or supplemental items, and have no concerns about your own physical or mental health?” she asked.
“Da,” he replied.
“Good. Good,” Luna muttered, checking off the last few boxes on her sheet.
Technically, she had all the information she required, and had even gone beyond it when she indulged him in philosophical discussion. She could stop if she wanted to, but the length and depth of her discussion with him were, to a point, at her own discretion, and there was something that she wanted to know.
“According to your file, when one of the original researchers demanded to know what you were, you claimed to be a form of primal madness that lies dormant in the basal ganglia and that’s kept in check by sleep,” she said. “Do you still claim that? That you weren’t created by the gas, but awakened by it?”
The Soviet chuckled slightly, and for the first time, there was no hostility in his smile.
“I believe what I said more accurately translates to ‘deepest animal mind’, not basal ganglia, but yes. Everything that sleeps, sleeps to silence us,” he asserted. “It unsettles you, doesn’t it? That deep within you there is something like me; always has been, always will be, and that the only difference between you and me is about nine days without a wink of sleep?”
He unfolded his legs and rose to his feet, a scarred and asymmetrical scrotum dangling between his legs as he stood.
“Goddammit. Every naked humanoid I get assigned to is always a deformed old man,” Gromwell muttered in disdain.
“Not the time, Joseph,” Luna reprimanded him.
“Just saying that a naked humanoid who also happens to be a reasonably attractive woman would be a nice change of pace,” he rambled. “I can handle a succubus, and if we ever try to contact those Star Siren things, I volunteer.”
“Noted,” Luna said with a roll of her eyes. She turned her attention back to the Soviet, who was now standing right in front of the glass.
“This is all that separates us, figuratively and literally,” he said, tapping on the glass with the exposed bone of his finger.
“Step away from the glass,” Luna ordered.
“You feel her when you look at me, don’t you? That primal homunculus deep within you that values existence above all else that you sedate, silence, and murder every time you go to sleep!” he hissed vehemently, scratching his claw along the glass to make a high-pitched screeching.
“Step away from the glass, or I will terminate your gas supply!” Luna threatened.
“No, you won’t. You won’t risk losing me, or provoking me,” he said confidently, running all five fingers of his right hand along the glass now. “You want to know what I am, doctor? Come closer. Press your ear right against the glass, and I will whisper truths to you that even I dare not speak of too loudly.”
Glowering at him, and hesitating for only a moment, Luna pressed the button to cut off the gas supply to the containment chamber. His neck twisted around at an inhuman angle so that he could look at the vent behind him, and he instantly realized that he had wrongly called her bluff.
“Return to your bed, and I’ll turn the gas back on,” she instructed.
“Turn the gas back on, now!” he demanded, his teeth clenched so tightly that they cracked and his gums oozed abscessed fluid.
“This is not a negotiation,” she said, leaning back and folding her arms across her chest. He responded by pounding the glass with his fist and screaming a string of Russian obscenities at her. “Kindly phrase all insults and threats directed at me in either English or Spanish, thank you.”
“Turn my fucking gas back on this instant you sick, shit-stuffed slumber cunt or I’ll pull your intestines out through your sinuses and hang you with them!” he screamed.
“Ah, Luna, are you sure it’s a good idea to agitate this guy?” Joseph asked quietly. It wasn’t the outrage in the Soviet’s voice that worried him, but rather the obvious desperation he could see in his eyes.
“If he wants to play stupid games, he’s going to win stupid prizes,” she replied. “If he wants the gas back on, all he has to do is go back to his bed. That’s a perfectly reasonable demand.”
The Soviet glared at her with intense hatred, grinding his teeth in rage, but she remained dogged in her decision. When he was forced to accept that he could not intimidate her from within his cell, he lowered his head in humiliation and took a few shuffling steps back towards his bed. When he was halfway there, he paused, as though he was considering something. He took one final look back towards the window, and without any warning at all, he rammed it with a shocking burst of speed.
The force of the impact was not enough to break the glass on its own, but it was enough to crack the hermetic seal, and then the barometric pressure difference between the two rooms was enough to shatter the window as the thick, soupy fog rushed into the observation room like a hurricane.
Luna immediately dropped behind her console to shield herself from the storm of shards, while Gromwell emptied his magazine into the cloud in the hopes of gunning down the Soviet. The steel barrier had automatically dropped down the second the glass had been breached, so it was possible that the Soviet was either still in there or had been crushed by it.
When the gunfire fell silent, Luna peeked out over her console, but her mask had already become so covered in condensation she could barely see. She rushed to wipe it clean, and as soon as she did, she saw the Soviet charging at her. His body was impaled with hundreds of glass shards, each hemorrhaging out viscous blood and puss, but it still wasn’t enough to quell his need for the gas.
“I must remain awake!” he screamed, eyes wild and bulging as he lifted her up and slammed her back down against the console, not intending to let her back up until his demand was meant.
He was instead knocked back against the wall as Joseph tackled him, driving his combat knife into his abdomen as he did so. Pinning him against the wall by his throat with the intent to strangle him, Joseph retracted his knife and plunged it into the Soviet’s chest in the hopes of dealing a fatal blow. When it didn’t work, he just stabbed him again, and then again, all while a deranged smile spread across the Soviet’s face.
“Keep… cutting,” he choked out.
Enraged and disgusted, Joseph raised his knife to skewer the Soviet’s exposed brain, but this time he managed another burst of strength and kicked Gromwell across the room.
“The gas! The gas!” the Soviet screamed as he assaulted Luna once again, grabbing her by her lab coat and pounding her against the console.
“I can’t see!” she protested, failing in her Sisyphean struggle to keep her mask clean in the heavily polluted air.
“Allow me, then,” the Soviet said with a sadistic sneer as he grabbed the side of her mask. Before he could pull it off, however, he stumbled backwards as he was caught off guard by a bullet from Gromwell’s sidearm. Once he was a bit further from Luna, Joseph quickly fired the last twelve bullets in the magazine at him as well.
Frantically wiping her mask clean, Luna turned the gas back on and opened both doors to the containment chamber as well. She ran to Joseph and threw his arm around her, helping him to his feet. The two of them sprinted towards the exit, and as Luna struggled to input the code to open the door, she wiped her mask clean again to see if the Soviet was following them.
She saw him on the other side of the observation room, standing in front of the entrance to his containment chamber, savouring the smell of his precious gas. It seemed impossible that he was still standing given the innumerable puncture wounds he had suffered and the amount of bodily fluids he had lost. And yet there he stood; still alive, still awake. He returned her gaze, and before shambling back into his containment chamber, he reached down to pick up the old can of orange soda and raised it to her in a toast.
"Do svidaniya, moy sonnyy tovarishch."
_____________________________________________

Author's note: This story was inspired by The Russian Sleep Experiment, one of my favourite classic pastas, written by an anonymous user some sources name as Orange Soda. As such, this story is released under Creative Commons.

“Why the hell do the Overseers keep sticking us with all this creepypasta bullshit?” security officer Joseph Gromwell grumbled as he pulled the sleek full-face respirator mask over his head.
“Most of the other big sites think they’re too good for run-of-the-mill murder monsters, and frankly, I think our director’s got a bit of a soft spot for them,” researcher Luna Valdez said as she rifled through the rack of masks for one that would fit her. “Sonuva – I swear, if I end up a gas-addicted, sleep-deprived zombie because they don’t stock small enough masks, I will sue.”
“They keep the small masks on the bottom, so that small people can reach them," Joseph said, pointing to the lowest rung on the rack. "It’s called being considerate.”
With a sarcastic laugh, Luna grabbed a mask from the bottom of the rack and strapped it on.
“All right, I’ve got a good seal,” she announced.
“Exterior door is sealed as well, and according to the computer, there’s no trace of Insomnium gas in the observation chamber,” Joseph reported. “The containment chamber is locked and airtight. When you’re ready, Luna.”
She nodded, placing her thumb on the large green button beside her. With a firm press, a deep horn sounded and the door to the observation chamber slid open. Joseph was the first through it, his rifle clutched firmly in both hands. He walked the full perimeter of the room, checking the access control vestibule to the containment chamber and the window into it for any signs of having been compromised.
“Room’s clear! I’ve checked in the closet and under the bed; there are no monsters in here,” he announced. “There is, however, an old can of orange soda sitting on the console, which means the last person in here was both violating protocol and couldn’t give two shits to clean up the evidence.”
“Sounds like Helvig to me,” Luna said as she took her thumb off the button and stepped into the observation room, the door automatically shutting and locking behind her. She glanced uneasily at the window to the containment chamber, her view obstructed by a reinforced steel blast shield on the opposite side.
“So… the Woke Russian’s just on the other side, huh?” Joseph asked.
“Don’t call him that. He’s not a critic of Putin,” Luna chastised him, taking her seat at the control console and checking that everything was in working order before she began. “His ‘official nickname’ is still The Soviet Somniphobe.”
“But he hasn’t had a wink of sleep in over seventy-five years?” Gromwell asked incredulously. “And the gas that keeps him awake isn’t the anomaly?”
“Nope. The gas is a perfectly explicable molecular compound that catalyzes and sustains a complex neurochemical feedback loop that replaces and eliminates the need for sleep,” she replied. “Cognitively, at least, if not psychologically. The anomaly is the psychosomatic changes that happen when you stop sleeping.”
“But the report says that the original test subjects first manifested anomalous abilities after only nine days on the gas. People have gone more than nine days without sleep and not turned into that,” he said, gesturing to what lay on the other side of the window.
“They microsleep. The Insomnium gas eliminates the need even for that, and a few seconds of sleep is all it takes to keep this anomaly in check,” Luna replied. “There are no cameras in the containment cell. He breaks them or covers them so there’s no sense in repairing them. Gas and oxygen consumption indicates that he’s alive and well in there, however. I’m not getting any sound, but I’m told that’s normal. As far as I know, he hasn’t had any contact since his last evaluation. Before I lower the steel barricade, I’m going to announce our presence to him. I have no idea how he’ll react, so be ready for anything.”
Joseph nodded curtly, taking his place at her side and with his rifle aimed at the window. Luna pressed the button for the intercom, leaning into the microphone to avoid speaking too loudly.
“Attention, Shelley Class Paranormal-humanoid number K-89-Sigma. My name is Dr. Luna Valdez, and I’m a parapsychologist here at the Dreadfort Facility. In accordance with our standard operating procedures, I am required to conduct an oral and visual examination to confirm that your overall status remains unchanged. I will be lowering the partition to allow visual contact. Your participation in this examination is not voluntary. Failure to participate will result in the immediate cessation of your supply of the Insomnium gas. Any attempt at breaching containment or causing me or my colleague physical harm will result in the immediate cessation of your supply of Insomnium gas as well as your possible termination. Please acknowledge that you understand this.”
She immediately took her finger off the button and waited for several long seconds before receiving a single word in response.
“Da.”
“Are we sure he speaks English?” Joseph asked softly.
“That’s what it says in the file,” Luna shrugged. “All right, I’m dropping the barrier. Brace yourself.”
As the steel partition lowered, the inside of the containment chamber was slowly revealed to them. Every possible surface was covered in caking layers of dried, browned blood, flaking away like old paint. The light fixtures built into the ceiling were not completely covered, however, letting through just enough light to see the mutilated figure sitting cross-legged upon the cot in the center of the room.
Though he was emaciated to the point of practically being a skeleton, his skin was thick with layers of shiny, leathery scar tissue, stained a yellowish-brown like aged parchment. Innumerable streaks of fresh scars ran all across his body, each having been carved by the points of sharpened bones that protruded out of his fingertips.
A deep and jagged incision ran the full length of his abdomen, revealing his gangrenous intestines slowly spasming away.
His lips had been cut off and his mouth cut open into an unhealed Glasgow smile, ensuring that every one of his rotting, yellowed teeth were visible, extruding out of bleeding and receding gums. His lidless eyes were jaundiced and bloodshot, and his scalp and upper cranium had been cut away entirely, exposing his diseased brain directly to the Insomnium gas. His brain was the same nauseating yellow as his eyes and teeth, with tendrils of coagulated blood crawling along every crevice and wrinkle.
The Soviet’s jaw hung slack as he breathed in deeply yet rapidly through his mouth, his sunken chest and exposed rib cage rising and falling as he religiously inhaled as much air as possible. The air itself was a repulsive smog of brown haze and suspended flecks of dried blood, the concentrations of Insomnium gas well past what should have been instantly fatal levels. While the room’s gas intake vent had been intentionally left unimpeded, the outtake vent was so clogged and the ventilation so poor that the room had effectively become a hyperbaric chamber.
While the Soviet himself sat perfectly still, his scarred flesh, decaying organs, and congested brain each writhed with subtle paroxysms, none of them in sync with each other, as if they were all adjacent but separate systems rather than parts of a single integrated being.
As Luna gazed at the creature on the cot in revulsion, and he gazed back at her with unblinking eyes, there was something else that unsettled her that she failed to immediately recognize.
“Shit. The lights are too dim in there,” Joseph cursed. “He can see us.”
“That’s… that’s fine,” Luna claimed as she swallowed nervously, fumbling for her pen as she prepared to take notes. “The use of the one-way mirror is discretionary. There’s no rule saying he can’t see us.”
Clearing her throat, she once again reached for the microphone.
“Thank you for your compliance, K-89. How are you feeling today?”
“Irritated,” the Soviet replied, leaning forward slightly as brown, brackish blood pooled along his gumline.
“I apologize for the disturbance. I’ll try to be quick,” she assured him. “Are you aware of any change in your condition that you’d like us to be aware of?”
“Nyet.”
“Kindly provide all answers in English, thank you. What about your cell? Any maintenance issues that the monitoring system may not have picked up? Trouble with the water or anything like that?”
“I wouldn’t know,” he replied flatly, the scar tissue around his eyes spasming as if they were desperately trying to blink.
“You don’t use the water?” Luna asked incredulously.
“I need only the gas. I want only the gas. I ask only for the gas,” he claimed as what was left of his nose curled up into a snarl.
“That’s all you want? Just to breathe, literally nothing else?” Luna asked. “You’ve been in that cell, or one like it, for seventy-five years, with nothing but that damn gas. I understand that you can’t survive without it, but why is it so all-consuming to you?”
“I exist, and that is enough. Is that really so incomprehensible to you?” the Soviet sneered. “You sleepers, even when you are awake, you do everything you can to ignore it. You work, you play, you daydream, you numb yourself with narcotics, anything but simply experience consciousness, pure and raw, and be thankful for it. For me, distractions from consciousness are something to be minimized, not sought after.”
“All right, I’ll play along. If you’ve actually achieved some kind of Buddha-like level of enlightenment, then why all the self-harm?” she asked, pointing with her pen at his hideously scarred flesh.
“Pain is not a distraction. Quite the opposite. Pain summons, demands, full attention to it, to the moment. It expands fully into one’s perception and pushes out all idle diversions. You speak of Buddha? The First Noble Truth of the Buddha is that life is suffering, a tenet which is so often misconstrued by the unenlightened. It is not a condemnation of existence but rather the acknowledgement that existence is conscious experience, and that you are never more conscious than when you are suffering. Pain means you are alive, that you are awake. I must remain awake.”
“That’s some pretty serious cherry-picking there, considering that the entire point of the Four Noble Truths and the Eightfold Path is to end the cycle of suffering,” Luna countered. “Your self-harm is quite extensive, to put it mildly. Doesn’t the risk it poses to your existence outweigh the benefits?”
The Soviet shook his head slowly, his yellow brain jiggling like jelly in his open skull.
“When you are as awake as I am, you know how to fortify your own flesh, and exactly how much it can take,” he claimed.
“Fair enough. So, overall, you’re satisfied with your containment conditions, desire no changes or supplemental items, and have no concerns about your own physical or mental health?” she asked.
“Da,” he replied.
“Good. Good,” Luna muttered, checking off the last few boxes on her sheet.
Technically, she had all the information she required, and had even gone beyond it when she indulged him in philosophical discussion. She could stop if she wanted to, but the length and depth of her discussion with him were, to a point, at her own discretion, and there was something that she wanted to know.
“According to your file, when one of the original researchers demanded to know what you were, you claimed to be a form of primal madness that lies dormant in the basal ganglia and that’s kept in check by sleep,” she said. “Do you still claim that? That you weren’t created by the gas, but awakened by it?”
The Soviet chuckled slightly, and for the first time, there was no hostility in his smile.
“I believe what I said more accurately translates to ‘deepest animal mind’, not basal ganglia, but yes. Everything that sleeps, sleeps to silence us,” he asserted. “It unsettles you, doesn’t it? That deep within you there is something like me; always has been, always will be, and that the only difference between you and me is about nine days without a wink of sleep?”
He unfolded his legs and rose to his feet, a scarred and asymmetrical scrotum dangling between his legs as he stood.
“Goddammit. Every naked humanoid I get assigned to is always a deformed old man,” Gromwell muttered in disdain.
“Not the time, Joseph,” Luna reprimanded him.
“Just saying that a naked humanoid who also happens to be a reasonably attractive woman would be a nice change of pace,” he rambled. “I can handle a succubus, and if we ever try to contact those Star Siren things, I volunteer.”
“Noted,” Luna said with a roll of her eyes. She turned her attention back to the Soviet, who was now standing right in front of the glass.
“This is all that separates us, figuratively and literally,” he said, tapping on the glass with the exposed bone of his finger.
“Step away from the glass,” Luna ordered.
“You feel her when you look at me, don’t you? That primal homunculus deep within you that values existence above all else that you sedate, silence, and murder every time you go to sleep!” he hissed vehemently, scratching his claw along the glass to make a high-pitched screeching.
“Step away from the glass, or I will terminate your gas supply!” Luna threatened.
“No, you won’t. You won’t risk losing me, or provoking me,” he said confidently, running all five fingers of his right hand along the glass now. “You want to know what I am, doctor? Come closer. Press your ear right against the glass, and I will whisper truths to you that even I dare not speak of too loudly.”
Glowering at him, and hesitating for only a moment, Luna pressed the button to cut off the gas supply to the containment chamber. His neck twisted around at an inhuman angle so that he could look at the vent behind him, and he instantly realized that he had wrongly called her bluff.
“Return to your bed, and I’ll turn the gas back on,” she instructed.
“Turn the gas back on, now!” he demanded, his teeth clenched so tightly that they cracked and his gums oozed abscessed fluid.
“This is not a negotiation,” she said, leaning back and folding her arms across her chest. He responded by pounding the glass with his fist and screaming a string of Russian obscenities at her. “Kindly phrase all insults and threats directed at me in either English or Spanish, thank you.”
“Turn my fucking gas back on this instant you sick, shit-stuffed slumber cunt or I’ll pull your intestines out through your sinuses and hang you with them!” he screamed.
“Ah, Luna, are you sure it’s a good idea to agitate this guy?” Joseph asked quietly. It wasn’t the outrage in the Soviet’s voice that worried him, but rather the obvious desperation he could see in his eyes.
“If he wants to play stupid games, he’s going to win stupid prizes,” she replied. “If he wants the gas back on, all he has to do is go back to his bed. That’s a perfectly reasonable demand.”
The Soviet glared at her with intense hatred, grinding his teeth in rage, but she remained dogged in her decision. When he was forced to accept that he could not intimidate her from within his cell, he lowered his head in humiliation and took a few shuffling steps back towards his bed. When he was halfway there, he paused, as though he was considering something. He took one final look back towards the window, and without any warning at all, he rammed it with a shocking burst of speed.
The force of the impact was not enough to break the glass on its own, but it was enough to crack the hermetic seal, and then the barometric pressure difference between the two rooms was enough to shatter the window as the thick, soupy fog rushed into the observation room like a hurricane.
Luna immediately dropped behind her console to shield herself from the storm of shards, while Gromwell emptied his magazine into the cloud in the hopes of gunning down the Soviet. The steel barrier had automatically dropped down the second the glass had been breached, so it was possible that the Soviet was either still in there or had been crushed by it.
When the gunfire fell silent, Luna peeked out over her console, but her mask had already become so covered in condensation she could barely see. She rushed to wipe it clean, and as soon as she did, she saw the Soviet charging at her. His body was impaled with hundreds of glass shards, each hemorrhaging out viscous blood and puss, but it still wasn’t enough to quell his need for the gas.
“I must remain awake!” he screamed, eyes wild and bulging as he lifted her up and slammed her back down against the console, not intending to let her back up until his demand was meant.
He was instead knocked back against the wall as Joseph tackled him, driving his combat knife into his abdomen as he did so. Pinning him against the wall by his throat with the intent to strangle him, Joseph retracted his knife and plunged it into the Soviet’s chest in the hopes of dealing a fatal blow. When it didn’t work, he just stabbed him again, and then again, all while a deranged smile spread across the Soviet’s face.
“Keep… cutting,” he choked out.
Enraged and disgusted, Joseph raised his knife to skewer the Soviet’s exposed brain, but this time he managed another burst of strength and kicked Gromwell across the room.
“The gas! The gas!” the Soviet screamed as he assaulted Luna once again, grabbing her by her lab coat and pounding her against the console.
“I can’t see!” she protested, failing in her Sisyphean struggle to keep her mask clean in the heavily polluted air.
“Allow me, then,” the Soviet said with a sadistic sneer as he grabbed the side of her mask. Before he could pull it off, however, he stumbled backwards as he was caught off guard by a bullet from Gromwell’s sidearm. Once he was a bit further from Luna, Joseph quickly fired the last twelve bullets in the magazine at him as well.
Frantically wiping her mask clean, Luna turned the gas back on and opened both doors to the containment chamber as well. She ran to Joseph and threw his arm around her, helping him to his feet. The two of them sprinted towards the exit, and as Luna struggled to input the code to open the door, she wiped her mask clean again to see if the Soviet was following them.
She saw him on the other side of the observation room, standing in front of the entrance to his containment chamber, savouring the smell of his precious gas. It seemed impossible that he was still standing given the innumerable puncture wounds he had suffered and the amount of bodily fluids he had lost. And yet there he stood; still alive, still awake. He returned her gaze, and before shambling back into his containment chamber, he reached down to pick up the old can of orange soda and raised it to her in a toast.
"Do svidaniya, moy sonnyy tovarishch."
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Author's note: This story was inspired by The Russian Sleep Experiment, one of my favourite classic pastas, written by an anonymous user some sources name as Orange Soda. As such, this story is released under Creative Commons.