THIS MOVIE WAS AN ABOMINATION!! Single handedly the worst movie i've watched in 2024 and probably will watch for the rest of the year.
Before anything, no hate to you if you liked this movie, we all like different things but gosh do i want to vent this out.
The most important of all was sense of scale, gosh this movie gave me a headache watching it just trying to comprehend the sense of scale, its constantly changing , no real anchor point to surrogate to , can't tell if kong was supposed to be 3000 KM tall or just 300 meters tall, the environment also made me puke given how their scale, terrain and size keeps changing .
second was sense of weight, these are beings that should weigh like THOUSANDS OF TONS, and here they are in screen looking like they're the 20 gram lizards fighting in bedroom wall, the PHYSICS WAS JUST DISGUSTINGLY BAD, when compared to the earlier movies, if you looked at godzilla 2014, every step that godzilla took had a weight, had an impact, had me holding my breath, where as in this movie, i don't give a shit cause godzilla's just out here flying across the sky like he weighs nothing. Same thing happened with the pacific rim franchise
The dialogues were the most cringe, topping madame web and morbius, like tf was that. the dialogues were basically either non sensical or straight up spoon feeding as if this movie was made for a 6 year old.
The CGI looked TERRIBLE in a lot of places. , when compared to the 2014 godzilla or the recent godzilla minus one. everything looked fake and plasticky.
TONS of plot holes- there's so many that i forgot half of em by the time i finished the movie.
Don’t ever get me started on the story , major plot points are just on autopilot as if they had CHATGPT write the general story and let a 10 year old filll in the gaps. It’s soo obvious they weren’t even trying to, like just look at the dialogue that podcast guy says when the tribe are doing something to disable the gravity ??!?! Like he just spits out a random junk of sci fi words in a series and we’re somehow supposed to just accept that as something beyond our knowledge and move on? Like anyone above 6th grade would know what he said literally had 0 meaning whatsoever.
This is coming from a monsterverse fan who absolutely loved the 2014 Godzilla movie, the kong skull island and even the king of monsters. These movies were peak of cinema in my opinion, like some of my most favourite movies , every monster feels like it could be real , every building destroyed, every step taken , every move of a titan is impact full and felt. Where as in comparison , the GvK and GxK buildings and the environment was just play dough to these monsters.
Even something as simple as the camera angles , every movie prior to the GvK had grounded and relatable camera angles to surrogate to the audience on the scale and reality of things where as in the recent iterations , camera is just a floating third person video game ass controller floating all over the place .
And what did they do to my boy kong , in skull island he was this menacing ruthless ape that raised fear every time he was on screen, yet lovable and understandable at the end. I understand trying to show him as smart and human for connections but it feels out of character from what I expect from a monster. I liked rampage even tho the gorilla there was human in a lot of ways , it fit for that world and the universe they had around it where as here for kong he went from this menacing gorilla to this 6ft4 half hairy human who suddenly do sign language , set up series of tom and jerry ass complicated and planned out traps , smirking at Godzilla like , I cannot take him seriously after all this . Like I wouldn’t be surprised if in the next film he just straight up starts doing a Fortnite dance

Dear family,
Gojo did not return. He was actually possessed by Yuta Okkotsu aka the worst fucking guy ever. So in this suicide note, I write about how much I hate Gege Akutami and I wish that every single character that has partaken in the Shinjuku fight to go fuck themselves for being useless.
I want to especially dedicate this to Hakari Kenji. You have been fighting Sukuna's side hoe for months and we have not seen a single progress from you. Your IQ is trash, you are trash, you cannot even fight a 1v1 against Uraume. I hope you know that the only cool thing about you is that your domain expansion is confusing as fuck.
I want to dedicate the second part of this suicide note to Megumi Fushiguro. You are worthless. I have to say, the only thing good about you is your dad. Your dad is hot even though broke and probably has skid marks. I want you to know that your fake ass angel girlfriend is the cause of all this bullshit.
This one is for you Todo. You lost an arm and went MIA for the rest of the fucking story until the end of the fight. You came back with that stupid ass vibraslap or whatever the hell and now you decide to show your bitchass face in front of us? Choso died. He died and you came back just to steal his death's attention.
Yuta Okkotsu. You are trash. You are a gary stu. You are not unique. The only unique thing about you is your monster girlfriend that is probably 12 years old. You sideline Yuji so much it's not funny bro just get the hell out of here. Your cursed technique has caused nothing but fucking plot holes since the moment you came into life. I want you to get out of Gojo's body RIGHT NOW. At this moment, I want you to fuck off. Let Gojo rest.
With this final message, I leave one last words. Fuck you Gege Akutami. If this continues, I will make a binding vow to stop drawing JJK completely in return for Gege to stop his bullshit.
Sign, Kyou.

Wtf??? I didnt expect that at all. I honestly don’t know how to feel about it I think gojo should have been the one to come back. I guess we’ll have to see what happens in the next chap. I can already see people jumping to conclusions over this chapter lol
I wanted to take a second and talk about what this chap means for the manga going forward.

1. Yuta is most likely going to die LOL. Mei mei specifically mentions that in most scenarios the probable outcome is that Yuta will die. The only way he could survive is if yuta’s ct is discarded after the transfer. There’s absolutely no way Yuta will live on in Gojo’s body after this lmao he’s going to have to die.
   
2. Yuji is sidelined now that Yuta is back as Sukuna’s main threat. I feel so bad for him. Maybe he’ll help out but I think him and todo were doing just fine.
   
3. Because Gojo’s powers are back and Sukuna is in bad shape, this is likely when Sukuna will start “going all out” like Uraume mentioned.
   
4. Nitta arrived but there’s no sign of nobara😭 I haven’t lost all hope just yet. We were literally told that key plans were being hidden from Yuji so it’s possible that nitta and shoko just aren’t telling Yuji about nobara until she’s needed.
   
5. Yuta taking over Gojo’s body isn’t THAT bad. A lot of people point out that Gojo’s body is being used as just a tool but I think yuta’s intention here is to become more of a monster than gojo. In doing so, he’s relieving gojo from the burden of doing horrible things like killing the higher ups. He wants to do more horrible things so that gojo can die being more at peace in a sense. But I still think gojo should have come back.
   
6. This was likely Yuta’s plan that Todo mentioned a few chapters back. So Yuji probably has no idea this is Yuta in Gojo’s body.
   
7. What happens to rika now? Wasn’t she bonded to Yuta’s body? Is she just gone?
   

First off, Yuta is in Gojo's body using Kenjaku's technique. So uhhhbbb Mods take away literally half the souls of the people in this sub. I know we just got 200k, but we're going to have to lower that down to 100k.
Second off, this means Gojo is now dead, dead. No more Gojo return memes, no we're so back, nothing. He's dead. He lost his brain. Physically and mentally , he can't come back anymore. The only possible way is for him to come back as a cursed spirit via the explanation that he didn't die from WCS but instead due to physics(space shifting). u/Memeenjoyer_ and u/ChrisAnIntellectual I am sorry for losses.
3rd Yuta and the gang are discussing the pros and cons of this strategy. Their using it as a plan d when everyone else is out of commission. They also discuss the morality of taking over Gojo's body, in which Yuta tells them "to grow a pair and stop being a bunch of sorry as bums"....... jk he just said "fuck moral we're fighting Jujutsu satan we don't got time for morals and also we're you bullying Gojo into being the strongest by himself?"
By the way theirs a 50 percent chance that after Yuta's 5 minute timer he will either die or be permanently stuck in Gojo's body....... so yeah it's guaranteed Gojover and maybe Yuover, we'll have to see.
After this we see Gojo and Yuta talking about Yuta's bloodline and how Uro said that that Yuta is related Fujiwara, and Gojo Said he's related Sugawara. In which Gojo Saud that Yuta might be related to both......... Yuta is never beating the main character or favorite allegations. Yuta your in my top 5 favorite characters but please stop stealing Yuji's spotlight.
After Gojo said this he then starts glazing Yuta, saying genetics wise Yuta was born better than him, so he shouldn't be wasting it. After which he then grills Yuta for his sloppy CE(I'm guessing CE control). Basically he's saying "Hey Yuta you should rob me of six eyes, cause with it you would be absolutely cracked my guy."
Gojo then talks about higher up nonsense Yada Yada, who cares. Yuta then tells Gojo not to be a monster.... which doesn't mean much now when he's dead, but it's the thought that counts right Yuta. Gojo then gets a flashback of Geto leaving him.
Then we get a scene of FUCKING RIN AMAI, YES THAT MOTHERFUCKER WHO GOT BULLIED BY PLANE CHICK, AND HELICOPTER MAN. He creates pudding which he shows off to Shokoa and which Yuji eats(blud can solve world hunger but nah I guess). Shoko then tells him to help the medics by supplying the brains of the injured with Sugar.
Then we see Shoko and Yuta talking, and it's about how Yuta's body is kind of cooked, and how he's going to transfer his brain on to Gojo's body.
It then cuts to Sukuna and Yujo having a domain clash in which Yuta is using UV it seems, and Sukuna is using Malfunctioning Shrine but it looks a bit different(at least to me) also theirs hair or something wispy along the edges of UV(probably just to show the clashing of domains or something). It also says that Gojo found a way to counter Sukuna's open barrier domain. By the way don't forget Yuji and Todo are right next to them so either their getting blended up or getting brain damage pick your poison.
Also Choso fans we saw him for literally one panel in the first page, but hey at least we saw him right?(Choso revival in 262 trust)
So now we have the summary of the chapter let me summarize both my emotions and the subs emotions as well as noth stocks and everything else in general.
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
Okay but on a serious note.
Stocks: Gojo stocks are now dead, they are now cheaper than Megumi stocks, seeing how he literally can not come back as I said before on this post. The only way to earn money from Gojo stocks are from flash backs and and Sukuna glazing him. -85%, not -99% seeing how he did contribute.
Yuji stocks got a hit seeing how he literally had like 2 or 3 panels in which he was their. One the panels was him eating pudding. Also despite Yuji literally ripping into Sukuna chest, Sukuna literally just shoves him off to glaze Yuta. So like -5% to '7%
Todo stocks like Yuji got a slight hit seeing how he was put aside in this chapter, but seeing how he didn't get shoved and ignored by Sukuna I'll say a -1% hit to his stocks.
Sukuna stocks like normal are chaotic as hell, but I'll say it did go up seeing how he did pull out domain expansion with nothing going wrong it seems. Also he did smile and glaze Yuta which is often a sign of bad things. +5%
Should stocks are surprisingly affected by this chapter, as we see her helping Yuta recover and switch bodies, so like +20% seeing how this is a major play.
RIN AMAI FUCKING RIN AMAI might have gotten a raise in stocks. By how much I can't fucking decide, but hey it rose so..... congratulations Amai fans. If you guys exist or not
Yuta, Yuta, Yuta, Yuta. Literally has like a 99% increase in stocks right now. Bro might be the honored one, he's beating the main charactefavorite allegations. He survived WCS, he had the most panel time, he had the most dawg energy in tbe chapter, he copied Kenjaku's technique, got Gojo's body and the six eyes, and mow has access to Limitless. Also he might be JJK Naruto seeing how he might be related to both Fujiwara and Sugawara, so bro really has the genetic advantage, bro was right when he was talking with Ryu, blud is blessed. THE ONLY REASON HIS STOCKS DIDN'T GO UP BY 100% IS BECAUSE THEIRS A CHANCE HE MIGHT DIE AFTER THE 5 MINUTES.
Megumi stocks...... you know the drill every chapter he doesn't do anything he gets his stocks lowered.
Okay so that covers stocks, now on to emotions. I personally feel conflicted. Cause on one hand this chapter was a huge middle finger to Yuji and Todo, on the other hand Yuta is back and he's in my top 5 favorites, on the other, other hand I wanted him to comeback by himself with complete Rika and then use a maximum technique or something not coming back as Gojo(plus it jeopardizes YutaxMaki), also the other other other hand this chapter is stopping us from getting premium Sukuna slander like the good old days before 236.
While I like Yuta it felt like Gege rushed it in order to make it so that Gojo doesn't comeback, also Yuta is becoming to overpowered its not even funny anymore. This chapter was also flashback Kaisen we literally had 3 pages of the current fight the rest was literally flashbacks.
So overall I'd give it a 6.5 to 7.5 or I guess a 7, I genuinely might of liked it more if it switched to Uruame vs Hakari just for more access to Hakari slander.
Now the sub right now is up in flames, Yuta fans are basically ascending, Gojo fans are up in flames seeing how this is the second worst thing to happen to them(236 is #1), Hakari fans are existing(blud got 2 panels), Yuji and Todo fans are literally 1 plane ticket away from doing illegal things to Gege, Choso we're slowly recovering until the 3rd panel of the first page, Shoko fans are crawling out of their rocks, Amak fans are existing somewhere I think? And Sukuna fans are quite literally befuddled, bamboozled, and hoodwinked. They don't know if their goat is cooked or if he has something up his sleeve(asspull)
So uh yeah thanks for reading all that.
Also, 2 weeks break so fuck you I guess

and seeing in its hole the deadly, trailing brute, implored it with fawning speech to aid him in his sore plight. Whereat the snake asked of the foolish creature as a gift the load which he had taken on his back; and the ass refused not its request. Ever since then do trailing reptiles slough their skin in old age, but grievous eld attends mortals. The affliction of thirst did the deadly brute receive from the braying ass, and imparts it with its feeble blows.
Come now and learn that the forms of the chersydrus and of the asp are alike in appearance. 360 Signs of a malignant nature follow on his bite: all the skin upon the flesh, dry, loathsome, and bloated with putrid sores, breaks out from below, disclosing a clammy wound, while innumerable and fiery are the pangs which overcome the man, and sudden swellings are raised upon his limbs, plaguing him by turns now in this quarter now in that. This is the snake that first beneath some shallow mere wreaks his truceless malice upon the frogs; but when the Dog-Star dries up the water and drought is upon the floor of the lake, then upon dry land he becomes dust-like and shabby, 370 as he warms his grim body in the sunshine, and with hissing tongue he haunts the thirsting ruts along the highways.
After him you shall learn of the amphisbaena, less in bulk and slow of gait, two-headed, ever dull of eye. From either end a blunt chin protrudes, the one far from the other. Its body is earth-coloured and wears a skin ragged, speckled, and sheeny. This snake, when it comes to full growth, do wood-cutters, as though they had cut for a walking-stick a stem of twisted wild-olive, strip of its skin as soon as it appears, 380 before the note of the cuckoo in spring. The amphisbaena benefits those with afflicted skin when crippling chilblains break out upon the hands of men overcome with cold, also when the bonds of their sinews slacken and weary.
You shall learn too of the scytale, like in appearance to the amphisbaena, though thick, and bulkier down to its useless tail, for the skytale is of the thickness that men make the haft of a mattock, while the amphisbaena's bulk is that of a maw-worm or of such earth-worms as the earth breeds after a shower. Nor at spring's oncoming, after it has quitted gully and hollow cleft 390 in the season when earth brings reptiles to light, does it browse upon the waving shoots on the fennel's branch, when it clothes its limbs with their new skin beneath the sun; rather does it retire to hedges and glades and lurk deep in slumber and feed upon what the earth may chance to yield, nor does it stave off its thirst for all its desire.
Consider too the king of snakes {basilisk}, small indeed yet far excelling all others: his head is pointed; he is golden-hued and three palms' width in outstretched length. Truly none of the heavy-coiled monsters of earth 400 abide his hissing when to feeding-ground or forest or in craving for a watering-place they dart forth at noontide, but they turn and flee. His bite swells a man's body, and from the limbs the flesh falls away livid and blackening. Nor even will a bird pursuing its track above the corpse, be it eagle or vulture or raven that croaks of rain, nor yet any species of wild beast that pastures upon the hills, feed upon it; such the terrible stench that it sends forth. Yet if so be that fatal greed draws one of them near in ignorance, 410 death and a swift ending are wrought for it on the spot.
Learn now the doom inflicted by the dryinas, which others call chelydrus. It makes its home in oaks or maybe Valonia oaks and dwells in mountain glens. For after it has deserted the water-weeds, the marsh, and the congenial lake, and is hunting molurides and small frogs in the meadows, it is sent speeding in expectation of the gadfly's distasteful onslaught; whereat slipping swiftly into the stem of some hollow oak it coils itself and builds its lair in the depths of the wood. 420 Its back is of a smoky hue, but in the flatness of its head it resembles the hydrus, and from its skin exhales a hateful air, as when about the damp horse-skins and hides the scraps of leather ooze beneath the paring of the tanner's knives. And truly, when it strikes the hollows of the knee or on the sole of the foot, a stifling smell is diffused from the flesh; also there rises up a dark swelling about the victim's wound; moreover he is distraught, hateful distress shackles his mind, and his body is parched with suffering. His skin hangs loose about him, so consuming is the fierce poison 430 which feeds ever upon him. and an encircling mist, veiling his eyes, overcomes him in his sore affliction. Some men scream and choke, and their urine is stopped; or again they fall asleep and snore, oppressed with frequent retchings, or from their throat discharging a bilious or sometimes a bloody vomit; and last of all a dreadful plague of thirst sheds a trembling upon their limbs.
Learn and consider the green and dark-blue dragon, which once on a time the god of healing fostered in a leafy oak upon snow-capped Pelion 440 in the vale of Pelethronius. Radiant indeed does he appear, but in his jaw above and below are arrayed three rows of teeth; gleaming eye are beneath his brows, and lower down beneath his chin there is ever a beard of yellow stain. Yet when he fastens on a man he does not hurt as other snakes, even though his rage be violent, for the wound upon the skin of one whose blood is drawn by his slender fang seems slight as that of a meal-nibbling mouse. From his earliest days the king of birds, the eagle, grows up cherishing fierce wrath against him, and against him with his beak 450 he wages a war of hate whenever he espies him moving through the forest, for every nest he lays desolate, devouring alike the young and the cherished eggs of birds. Nevertheless when the eagle has just snatched in his talons a lamb or a swift hare, the dragon will easily rob him, springing up from a thicket. The eagle avoids him: and then there is a battle for the feast. But as the eagle hovers round, the writhing snake is after him without cease, watching him with sidelong glance and grim eyes.
Should you chance to walk in some valley of limping Hephaestus's isle { Lemnos } or go to storm-beaten Samothrace - these lie far off in the Thracian Gulf, 460 where are Hebrus, the river of Hera of Rhescynthium, and the snow-crested mountains of Zone and the oaks of Oeagrus's son, where too is the cave of Zerynthus - you will find the long monster cenchrines, which men call the spangled lion, dappled with scales. His bulk and his length vary, but in a twinkling he sends upon the flesh a shower of putrid sores which will not heal, and these with their consuming poison feed upon the limbs; and ever deep in the belly the dropsy with its load of pain settles about the mid-navel. At the hour when the sun's rays are at their hottest 470 this snake eagerly resorts to rugged mountains, athirst for blood and on the watch for the gentle sheep, while beneath the tall pines of Saüs or Mosychlus the shepherds cool themselves, forsaking the tasks of herdsmen. Do you not dare, bold though you be, to face him in his fury, for fear he wind about and strangle you as he lashes your body all around with his tail, and gorge your blood after he has broken both your collar-bones. But in fleeing weave ever a crooked, manifold track, and baulk the beast's course by starting aside. 480 For by the many turnings and twistings of the spine he injures its ligaments; whereas he moves rapidly and at his swiftest when his path is straight. Such is the serpent which haunts the isles of Thrace.
There too are the bites of the gecko, hateful, though he is of no account. Of him the tale is current how the Sorrowing Demeter did him injury when she marred the limbs of him as a boy by the well Callichorum, after wise Metaneira of old had received the goddess in the dwelling of Celeus.
Harmless reptiles also there are however which feed in the forest, the brakes and thickets and gullies in the country; 490 and men call these Elopes, Libyans, and curling Mouse-hunters; and with them all the Darters and Moluri and Blind-eyes too which are reported innocuous.
Now all the simples and remedies for these ills, the herbs and the time to cut their roots, I will expound to mankind thoroughly and in straightforward fashion,- herbs by whose aid a man may heal the urgent pain of sickness. While the wound is still bleeding and painful, pluck your herbs freshly (this excels all other remedies) from some place where snakes feed in the thick wood. 500 Choose first the medicinal root of Chiron {centaury}; it bears the name of the Centaur son of Cronus, and Chiron once on a snow-covered col of Pelion found and took notice of it. Its waving leaves, like sweet marjoram, encompass it about, and its blossoms are golden to view; its root, at the surface and not deep-set, is native in the dell of Pelethronius. This when dry or while still green, after crushing in a mortar, mingle in a cotyle of pleasant wine, and drink. It is of service in every case; therefore men call it Panacea {"all-healing"}.
Assuredly let birth-wort which grows in the shade be commended; 510 the leaves it bears are like those of the woodbine with its ivy-shaped leaves, but its flowers are red with scarlet, while the odour diffused from it is heavy, and the fruit in the midst you will see to be like the wild pear upon the cordate pear-tree or the common pear. The root of the female shrub is rounded into a lump, but that of the male is lengthy and extends down as much as a cubit, and in colour it resembles the boxwood of Oricus. This you will search after as a surpassing aid against the dread blow of male and female viper. From it let a portion of a drachma's weight be mixed in a draught of tawny wine.
520 Furthermore take to yourself the treacle-clover as a protection against snakes, be it on some stony hill or in some steep glen (some call it Brief-flower, others would call it Trefoil) ; its leaves are like the melilot, but its scent is like rue. When however it sheds all its blossoms and its mottled leaves, it exhales a smell of bitumen. Then cut off enough seeds to fill the sauce-boat on your table, pound them in a mortar, and take to drink as a remedy against snakes.
Attend now and I will rehearse some compound remedies against disease. Grind down and take the strength-giving Sicilian root of fustic; 530 add a heap of the seed of the brightflowered agnus castus, savin, and the luxuriant rue, and pluck a shoot of the earth-pillowed savory, which in the forest spreads abroad fronds like those of the tufted thyme. Again take the root of the double-flowered asphodel, or else the upper portion of its stem; often with them too the seed which the enclosing pod ripens; or else helxine, which men call Clybatis and which delights in streams and flourishes ever in water-meadows. Drink them after crumbling them into a cotyle of vinegar or of wine which you have drawn. 540 Even with water you might easily escape death.
Consider now the excellent root of Alcibius's bugloss: its prickly leaves grow ever thick upon it, and it puts out a coronal of flowers like violets, but beneath them in the soil the root grows deep and slender. Alcibius a male viper wounded above the lowest part of his groin as he lay asleep upon a mound of uncleansed grain by the margin of a piled threshing-floor, straightway rousing him by the violence of the pain. Whereat he pulled the root from the ground and first broke it small with his close-set teeth as he sucked it, and then spread the skin upon his wound.
550 Again, if you pluck off the shoots of the sprouting horehound and drink them with bright wine you may ward of snakes : this is the plant which draws down the udder of a young cow which mothers not her first-born calf, and anon, swollen with milk, she cares for it. Herdsmen call it Meliphyllon {"honey-leaf"}, others Melictaena, for all about its leaves the bees lured by the fragrance of honey buzz busily.
Or else you should peel off the thin membranes of the brain of a domestic fowl, or pare fine some field basil and marjoram, or cut from a boar's liver 560 the tip of the lobe which grows from the 'table' and inclines towards the gall-bladder and the portal fissure. These then you should drink, mixed together or separate, with a draught of vinegar or wine, though a fuller cure will attend wine. And snip the foliage from the evergreen cypress for a potion, or all-heal, or the testicle which is fatal to the beaver, or that of the river-horse which the Nile beyond Sais with its black soil nurtures, and launches, a ruinous sickle indeed, upon the plough-lands. (For the beast, emerging from the muddy ooze of the river when the pastures grow green and the fallow has put forth grass, 570 tramples and leaves behind a deep track as long as that which it devours with its jaws as it cuts its returning swathe.) From it cut off a drachma's weight to match, and soak in water, shredding all together in a vessel.
And do not forget the wormwood or the berries of the slenderer bay; very serviceable too would sweet marjoram be, which flourishes in garden-plots and borders. And include curd from a nimble leveret or from a fawn of roe or red deer after separating the impurities, or the seminal purse which you have cut from a stag, or his paunch, which some indeed call the 'urchin' but others the 'intestinal snood'. 580 Take of them portions of two drachmas' weight and throw them into four cyathi of old wine and mix well. And do not overlook the succour afforded by the hulwort and the cedar-tree, the juniper berry and the catkins of the plane that invites to sleep in summer, and the seeds of the bishop's weed and the cypress of Ida ; for all these will heal you and will banish untold suffering.
Next consider another means of escape and protection from death, and take helxine and grind it in a round mortar 590 and pour in a cotyle of barley gruel, adding two cyathi of wine of ancient vintage, adding also an equal portion of gleaming olive oil; mix them by pounding and you will keep at bay the poison that bites like gall.
Take also to the sixth of a cotyle fragrant pitch and cut out the central pith from the green giant fennel; or grate the full-grown root of horse-fennel into juniper berries, also the seeds of the marsh-bred celery. The full depth of an alexanders 600 and two drachmas' weight of pungent myrrh: cut too the fruit of cummin that grows in summer and weigh them, or pour in at random and shake up unweighed. Then draw thrice a cyathus of wine and mix with them before drinking. Take to yourself a drachma's weight of fruitful spikenard and with it crumble into fresh-drawn milk an eight-footed crab ravished from the river ; some iris too which Drilon has fostered and the banks of Naron, the abode of Sidonian Cadmus and Harmonia, where as two fearsome snakes they move about the pastures. 610 Take next the thick-growing heath when in flower, round which the thronging bees crawl and feed; take too a young frond of the tamarisk that bears no fruit, an honoured prophet among mortals, which Apollo of Corope endued with prophetic properties and authority over men; with these green marjoram leaves and blossom in plenty, and tree-medick and the milky spurge. Bray all these in a mortar, and in the containing vessels medicate wine with them and take in one-tenth of a chous. 620 But of a truth the tadpoles' all too noisy parents, frogs, are excellent when boiled with vinegar in a pot; often the liver of the biting snake itself if drunk in common wine, or the poisonous head administered sometimes in water, at other times in a small quantity of wine, will help you.
You must not neglect the blossom of the sweet blue pimpernel with its closed eye, nor the all-healing marjoram, which men honour as Heracles's Organy; and with the Marjoram you should rub small a leaf of pot marjoram, and dry pellets of the savory that muzzle evil disease.
630 Be sure and take the well-watered rhamnus, like to the little Wild Lettuce; it ever clothes itself in blossom of white. The name whereby men call it is Good Companion, the men who dwell about the tomb of Tmolus and of Gyges on the steep of Parthenius, where horses that toil not pasture upon Cilbis, and where the Caÿster rises.
Attend now and I will tell you of roots that are a help against Serpents. First, learn the two kinds of viper's bugloss : of one the prickly leaf is somewhat like alkanet, since it is small, and the root which it extends is short and on the ground. 640 The other kind has robust leaves and stalks, is tall, grows purple with small blossoms all over, and puts out a head like that of a viper but rough on top. Of these two kinds cut off an equal portion and use as a remedy after shredding them on a block of wood or in a mortar or a hollow stone. Also you should make a paste of the roots of the eryngo and the flowering bearsfoot, and to these two add an equal weight of the campanula that flourishes about the hedgerows. Take too the heavy foliage of the field-basil upon the mountain and seed of the evergreen celery from Nemea ; 650 with them let the double burden of anise raise the scale that sinks with the weight of roots. These should you knead, and having mixed them in a single vessel you may cure one time the deadly bane of Male Vipers, at another the scorpion's wound, at another the bite of the poisonous spider, if you will crumble three obols' weight in wine.
Consider too the white pine-thistle and the dark kind also. The two are distinct: the dusky is like golden thistle in appearance; it puts forth a circle of leaves, its root is strong and dark, and it grows beneath shady mountain spurs 660 or in glades, shunning the sun. But the other you will find ever in the pride of its leaves, while the head lies low and bloated in the middle of them, and its root is whitish and honey-sweet to the taste. Reject the dark root of these plants, but of other stir a piece of a drachma's weight in river water and drink.
Take herbage of another kind that also bears the name of Alcibius, fill your hand full, and drink in a little wine. it was that when hunting beneath Phalacra's cliff, on Crymna's plain and about Grasus, and where lie the meadows of the horse, 670 as he hallooed to his Amyclaean whelps, he discovered through the anguished whimpering of his lion-hearted hound; for as it followed up a goat's trail along some woodland path it had received the female viper's stab in the watering corner of its eye. And with a howl it flung her off and readily ate the leaves of this herb and escaped deadly destruction.
Administer plenty of the sappy, oily bark of the castor oil tree, together with the leaves of the thick balm, or else the plant whose name is that of the sun's turnings, and which, like the glaucous leaves of the olive, 680 marks the path of the retreating scion of Hyperion. Take likewise the root of the navelwort, which in frosty weather draws out the painful chilblains on the feet of those with broken skin. Sometimes you may take the green leaves of the tall bindweed, or of hart's tongue, shearing off the stalk. Take too the Phlegyan all-heal, even that which the God of Healing was the first to pluck by the brim of the river Melas, when ministering to the wound of Iphicles Amphitryon's son, what time with Heracles he was burning the evil Hydra.
Now lay sudden hold on the marten's young or their mischievous mother, 690 and strip their fur over the flame of a fiercely blazing fire, and after rejecting all the inwards and the stomach's excrements, dress with holy salt, and then dry away from the light of the sun, so that its swift shafts do not shrivel the fresh carcase. But, when necessity comes upon you in anguish, rub the desiccated beast thoroughly with a rasp as though it were frail silphium or a round cake of dried milk, grating...

Readily, dear Hermesianax, most honoured of my many kinsmen, and in due order will I expound the forms of savage creatures and their deadly injuries which smite one unforeseen, and the countering remedy for the harm. And the toiling ploughman, the herdsman, and the woodcutter, whenever in forest or at the plough one of them fastens its deadly fang upon him, shall respect you for your learning in such means for averting sickness.
Now I would have you know, men say that noxious spiders, together with the grievous reptiles and vipers and the earth's countless burdens, are of the Titans' blood - 10 if indeed he spoke the truth, Ascraean Hesiod on the steeps of secluded Melissēeis by the waters of Permessus. And it was the Titan's daughter who sent forth the blighting scorpion with sharpened sting, when she compassed an evil end for Boeotian Orion, and attacked him after he had laid violent hands upon the immaculate raiment of the goddess. Thereupon the scorpion, which had lurked unobserved beneath a small stone, struck him in the ankle of his strong foot. But Orion's wondrous sign is set conspicuous, fixed there amid the constellations, 20 as of one hunting, dazzling to behold.
You for your part will easily chase and dispel all creeping things from farmstead and cottage, or from steep bank, or from couch of natural herbage, in the hour when, to shun parching summer's fiery breath, beneath the sky you make your bed on straw at nightfall in the fields and sleep, or else beside some unwooded hill or on the edge of a glen, where poisonous creatures feed in multitudes upon the forest, or beside the levelled perimeter of the threshing-floor, and where the grass 30 at its first burgeoning brings bloom to the shady water-meadows, at the time when the snake sloughs the withered scales of age, moving feebly forward, when in spring he leaves his den, and his sight is dim; but a meal of the fennel's sappy shoots makes him swift and bright of eye.
You may expel the hot and harmful doom that snakes bring, if you char the tined horn of a stag, or else set fire to dry lignite, which not even the violence of a fierce flame consumes. Cast also upon the fire the foliage of the male fern with its cloven fronds, 40 or take the heated root of the frankincense-tree mixed with an equal measure of garden-cress; and mingle the fresh, pungent horn of a roe, putting an equal weight of it in the balance. Burn also a portion no less heavy of the strong-smelling black cumin, or else of sulphur, or again of bitumen. Or you may ignite in the fire the Thracian stone, which when soaked in water glows, yet quenches its brightness at the least smell of a drop of oil. Herdsmen gather it for themselves from the river of Thrace which they call Pontus, where the Thracian shepherds 50 who eat ram's flesh so follow after their leisurely flocks. Again, the heavy-scented juice of all-heal stimulated over a fire, and the stinging nettle, and cedar cut with saws and ground to dust by their many-toothed jaws, produce in burning a smoky and repellent stench. With these means you may clear hollow clefts and couches in the woods, and may sink upon the ground and take your fill of sleep.
But if these things involve trouble, and night brings bed-time near, and you are longing for rest when your work is done, then gather to yourself among the eddies of some rushing river 60 the water-loving, leafy mint, for it grows in plenty by streams and is fed with the moisture about their edges, as it delights in gleaming rivers. Or you should cut and strew beneath you the flowering willow, or the strong-smelling hulwort, which has a most offensive odour; so too have viper's bugloss and the leaves of marjoram, aye, or of wormwood, which grows wild upon the hills in some chalky glen, or of tufted thyme from pasture-lands : tenacious of life it draws sustenance from a damp soil, deep-rooted, ever furnished with hairy leaves. 70 And you should mark the pale spikes of the low-growing fleabane and of the agnus castus, and the pungent stinking bean-trefoil. Likewise cut the rough twigs of the pomegranate, or else young and flourishing shoots of the asphodel, and deadly nightshade, and the horrid hypericum which injures the herdsman in the springtime when his cows are poisoned by eating the stalks; and further stems of the heavy-scented sulphurwort whose very odour scares snakes and chases them away should they approach you. so place some of these by you wherever you make a casual couch in the fields; others where snakes lurk, and a double quantity at their holes.
80 Now make in an earthen vessel or an oil-flask a paste of juniper berries and anoint your supple limbs - or of the heavy-scented sulphurwort; or else pound thoroughly in oil the dried leaves of fleabane from the hills, and likewise the healing salvia, adding the root of silphium, which the grater's teeth should grind small - many a time too have noxious creatures fled in terror from the scent of a man's spittle. But if you rub a caterpillar from the garden in a little vinegar, the dewy caterpillar with a green back, or if you anoint your limbs all about with the teeming fruit of the marsh mallow, 90 then you will pass the night unscathed. Also cast in and rub down in the stony heart of a mortar two leafy sprays of wormwood mixed with garden cress - an obol's weight is suitable - and with a pestle pound therein to smoothness a handful of fresh berries from the bay; then mould into rounds and put to dry in a shady, wind-swept spot; when dry break them in pieces in an oil-flask, and you can anoint your limbs with it at once.
If however you can cast snakes coupled at a crossroads, alive and just mating, into a pot, and the following medicaments besides, 100 you have a preventive against deadly disasters. Throw in thirty drachmas' weight of the marrow of a freshly killed stag and one-third of a chous of rose-oil, - essence which perfumers style 'prime' and 'medium' and 'well-ground' - and pour on an equal measure of raw, gleaming oil and one-quarter of wax. These you must quickly heat in a round, bellying pot until the fleshy portions are softened and come in pieces about the spine. Next take a shaped, well-made pestle and pound up these many ingredients in a mixture with the snakes; 110 but cast aside the vertebrae, for in them a venom no less deadly is engendered. Then anoint all your limbs, be it for a journey or for a sleep or when you gird yourself after work at the threshing-floor in summer's drought and with pronged forks winnow the high pile of grain.
But if you should chance to come upon biting creatures when your skin is un-medicined and you are fasting - that is the time when disaster strikes a man - you may readily save yourself by our precepts. It is the female snake that attacks with its bite those who encounter it; besides, it is thicker right down to the trailing tail, 120 and for that reason the doom of death will come more swiftly. But chiefly in summer must you be on your guard against harmful snakes, observing the rising of the Pleiads, those smaller stars which graze the tail of the bull in their course, when the dipsas either sleeps unfed with the young it broods, lurking in the recesses of its hole, or when it makes eagerly for its feeding-ground, or when therefrom, sated with the forest, it goes sleepily to its lair. Beware of meeting at the crossroads the dusky male viper when he has escaped from her bite and is maddened by the blow of the smoke-hued female, 130 in the season when, as the male covers her, the lustful female fastens upon him, tearing him with her foul fang, and cuts off the head of her mate; but forthwith in the act of birth the young vipers avenge their sire's destruction, since they gnaw through their mother's thin flank and thereby are born motherless. For alone of snakes the female viper is burdened with pregnancy, whereas oviparous snakes of the forest warm a membrane-enclosed brood. Beware too when the viper, having doffed the wrinkled scales of age, comes abroad again exulting in his new-found youth; beware when, after escaping in his hole from the trampling feet of deer, 140 he darts in fury his limb-corroding venom at men; for red deer and roe cherish a special anger towards long reptiles and track them down, exploring on every side stone-heaps, walls, and lurking-places, following hard after them with the dreadful breath of their nostrils.
Furthermore the snow-capped crags of Othrys too bear deadly serpents, and hollow gully and rough crags and woodland scaur, where haunts the thirst-provoking seps. It has a varying hue and not one alone, ever taking the colour of the place wherein it has made its hole. 150 Those that live in stony ground and cairns are smaller but fierce and irascible: no bite of theirs can fail of effect on man, but is malignant. Another's body is like a land-snail; yet another has scales of greenish hue which variegate its huge coil; and many there are that frequent dusty places and make their coils rough by wriggling in the sand.
Consider now the murderous asp, bristling with dry scales, the most sluggish of all snakes. 160 Its form is terrifying, but when in movement, it uncoils its weight slowly and ever seems to wear a fixed look in its drowsy eyes. Yet when it hears some strange noise or sees a bright light, it throws off from its body dull sleep and wreathes its coil in a circular ring upon the ground, and in the midst it rears its head, bristling in deadly fashion. Its length, horrible beyond that of any other of earth's creatures, measures a fathom, and its thickness is seen to be that 170 which a spear-maker fashions for a hunting-spear for fighting bulls and deep-voiced lions. Sometimes the colour spread over its back is dust-like, sometimes it is the yellow of a quince and sheeny, at other times an ashen hue, but often, when it grows dark with Aethiop soil, a smoky brown like the sludge which the many-mouthed Nile in flood pours into the sea, as it dashes against the waves. Above the brow over the eyes there appear, as it were, two calluses, while its eye beneath them glows bright red aloft over its coil and its dust-coloured neck swells up as it hisses continuously, 180 when in the violence of its wrath it fastens death upon wayfarers who meet it. It has four fangs, their underside hollow, hooked, and long, rooted in its jaws, containing poison, and at their base a covering of membranes hides them. Thence it belches forth poison unassuageable on a body. Be they no friends of mine whose heads these monsters assail. For no bite appears on the flesh, no deadly swelling with inflammation, but the man dies without pain, and a slumberous lethargy brings life's end.
190 Now the ichneumon alone escapes unharmed the asp's onset, both when it comes to fight and when it breaks on the ground all the baneful eggs which the deadly serpent is brooding, as it shakes them out from their membranes by biting them and crushes them in its destroying teeth. The form of this snake-tracking creature is that of the puny marten which seeks the destruction of domestic fowls, snatching them from their perches as they sleep, where they roost upon a beam or foster their feeble chicks, keeping them warm beneath their breast. 200 But when amid Egypt's rush-grown water-meadows they join with the wriggling asps in a fearsome struggle, forthwith the Ichneumon leaps into the river, strikes the slimy bottom with its paws, and rolling its small body smears its limbs at once with the mud, against the time when the Dog-Star's heat has dried its fur and made it so that no fang may rend it. And then it either springs upon the frightful head of the reptile with the flickering tongue and bites it, or seizing it by the tail, sends it rolling into the weedy river.
You would do well to mark the various forms of the viper. It may be long, it may be short; 210 for so Europe and Asia breed them, but you will not find them alike. Thus, in Europe they are smaller, and above the tip of their nostrils they are horned and white, those, that is, beneath the mountains of Sciron and the Pambonian steeps, Rhype, and the hill of Corax and hoary Aselenus; whereas Asia breeds snakes a fathom long and even more, such as are about rugged Bucarterus or are contained within the strong headland of Aesagea and in Cercaphus. The front of their heads is flat, and at the trailing end of its coil 220 the creature wriggles a stunted tail which is abundantly rough with dry scales. And this way and that through the brakes it strays with sluggish coil. But every male viper is seen to have a pointed head. In length he is sometimes larger, sometimes short, and in breadth of belly he is slimmer, while his tail stretches tapering away, and may be flattened towards the end of its trailing length or rubbed smooth of scales. But the eyes in his face turn blood- red when he is angered, and as his forked tongue flickers rapidly, he lashes the end of his tail. 230 Wayfarers call him the snaky Cocytus. Two fangs in his upper jaw, as they spit poison, leave their mark upon the skin, but of the female always more than two, for she lays hold with her whole mouth, and you can easily observe that the jaws have opened wide about the flesh. And from the wound she makes there oozes a discharge like oil or, it may be, bloody or colourless, while the skin around starts up into a painful lump, often greenish, now crimson, or again of livid aspect. At other times it engenders a mass of fluid, and about the wound small pimples 240 like slight blisters rise flabbily from the skin, which looks scorched. And all around spread ulcers, some at a distance, others by the wound, emitting a dark blue poison; and over the whole body the piercing bane eats its way with its acute inflammation; and in the throat and about the uvula retchings following fast upon one another convulse the victim. The body is oppressed also with failures of sense in every part, and forthwith in the limbs and loins is seated a burdening, dangerous weakness, and heavy darkness settles in the head. Meantime the sufferer 250 at one moment has his throat parched with dry thirst, often too he is seized with cold from the finger-tips, while all over his frame an eruption with wintry rage lies heavy upon him. And again a man often turns yellow all over his body and vomits up the bile that lies upon his stomach, while a moist sweat, colder than the falling snow, envelops his limbs. In some cases his colour is that of sombre lead, in others his hue is murky, or again it is like flowers of copper.
You would do well also to learn of the crafty cerastes, who attacks like the male viper, which he resembles in equality of size. 260 True, the viper is hornless, whereas the cerastes boasts sometimes four horns sometimes two, and his dust-coloured skin is rough, and it is his habit to sleep in the sand or in the ruts down a road. The viper writhing himself darts swiftly forward on a straight course with the long winding of his belly, whereas the cerastes rolls on with clumsy movements of his middle, meandering on a crooked path with his scaly back, like to the dinghy of a merchantman dipping its whole side in the brine when the wind is contrary, 270 as it forces its way to windward when driven back by the south-westerly gale. When the cerastes bites, the disfiguring wound turns callous all around like a wart, and livid blisters like drops of rain move round about the bite, dimly discernible to the eye. True, the man in whom the deadly cerastes strikes his mischief-working fang goes through less acute pain, but nine suns of suffering does he behold. And in either groin and the hams the trouble festers persistent ever, while his skin has a livid appearance. 280 And from their suffering little strength is left in the joints of those afflicted, and with difficulty do they escape death.
Next I will tell you what marks the blood-letting snake, which always sleeps in rocky ascents, making a small, rough lair under a hedge. There it has its lurking-place when it has gorged its fill. It equals a footprint in length, but as to breadth it dwindles tapering from the fiery head down. At times it is of a sooty hue, or again a reddish brown. It narrows moderately at the neck, and its tail is sharply compressed 290 and stretches flattened from the middle onward. In its forehead beneath its snow-white horns are planted two eyes, of which the irises are somewhat like those of locusts, and on high rises terrible its devouring head. And with an oblique and halting movement it ever steers its little body on its brief journeys from the middle of the back like the cerastes, scraping its belly over the earth, and with its scaly body it makes a slight rustling as though crawling through a heap of straw. But when first it bites, a swelling of dark, unhealthy hue rises, and a sore pain freezes the heart, 300 and the stomach's content turned to water gushes out, while on the first night after, blood wells from the nostrils and throat and ears, freshly infected with the bile-like venom; urine escapes all bloody; wounds on the limbs break open, hastened by the destruction of the skin. May no female blood-letter ever inject its venom into you! For when it has bitten, all together the gums swell from the very bottom, and from the finger nails the blood drips unstaunchable, while the teeth, clammy with gore, become loose.
If the tale be true, Bane-Helen coming from Troy was angered with this species 310 when her company beached their vessel by the tumultuous Nile as they fled before the dread onset of the north wind, what time she beheld Canobus, the helmsman, swooning on the sands of Thonis; for as he slept a female blood-letter, on which he had pressed, struck him in the neck and belched forth its deadly poison into him, turning his rest to ruin. Therefore Helen crushed the middle of its trailing shape, breaking the ligatures of the back about the spine, so that the backbone started from its body. From that day forward the blood-letter and the crooked-roving cerastes alone of snakes move haltingly, oppressed by their injury.
320 You would do well to recognise the form of the sepedon, which in other respects resembles the blood-letter in appearance, but it steers a straightforward path; moreover it is almost without horns, and its colour, like that of a carpet, is spread over a rough surface. Its head is heavy, but its tail appears short as it moves, for it curls the end like the rest of its body. Truly the wound of the sepedon is deadly and agonising, and its black, destroying poison pervades the entire body: upon the parched skin everywhere the hair withers and is dispersed like the down of a thistle when it is rubbed. 330 For from the head and the brows of the man who has been bitten the hairs break off and from the eyelids the dark lashes perish, while round spots bespeckle his limbs and leprous eruptions swiftly spread a chalk-like rash.
Again, the form of the dipsas will always resemble that of a small viper; yet death will come quicker to those whom this grim snake assails. Its thin tail, darkish throughout, grows blacker from the end forward. From its bite the heart is inflamed utterly, and in the fever the dry lips shrivel with parching thirst. 340 Meanwhile the victim, bowed like a bull over a stream, absorbs with gaping mouth drink past measuring, until his belly bursts his navel, spilling the too heavy load. Now there is a tale of ancient days current among men how, when the first-born seed of Cronus became lord of heaven, he apportioned to his brothers severally their illustrious realms, and in his wisdom bestowed upon mortals youth, honouring them because they had denounced the fire-stealer. The fools, they got no good of their imprudence: for, being sluggards and growing weary, they entrusted the gift to an ass for carriage, 350 and the beast, his throat burning with thirst, ran off skittishly....

Previous case
The infected deer are starting to become a real problem. That being said, as the title suggests, the worms are the least of my worries.
(If you're not familiar with what Orion Pest Control's services are, it may help to start here.)
On my drive home a few nights ago, I saw the reflection of eyes in the distance. As I slowed down, I discovered a buck standing in the middle of the road, head bent over gray fur.
It was eating an opossum. Or, more accurately, the worms puppeteering it were coiling around the opossum, their mouths leaving huge holes in the poor animal's fur as they dragged it between the deer's open jaws.
Like the infected doe I'd encountered before, the buck’s stomach was pulsating as the worms moved. Its fur was unruly, the white patch over its throat stained with layers of dried blood.
My stomach fluttered in disgust at the way the parasites protruded from its mouth. God, those worms… Steeling myself, I snatched my toolbelt off of the passenger seat along with the shotgun and went out to take care of it. Unfortunately, I only had regular shells that time. After the incident at the farm, I hadn't had the time to restock on salt shells. They would've made this process much faster and easier.
I just had to shoot it in the head, then pour salt on each worm afterwards. Same as before. No problem, right?
The sound that the worms made as they devoured the opossum made my skin crawl. The sliminess of their skin as they slithered around each other combined with the wet tearing of flesh and fur. Whatever you're imagining, I assure you that the noise was far more nauseating in real life.
Before the worms or their host had a chance to notice me, I took aim and pulled the trigger. The side of the buck's head exploded. It let out a deep, guttural groan as the worms dropped from around the trapped rodent.
The buck then lowered its antlers at me. Fuckfuckfuck! I sprinted for my car as it charged me, the worms flopping around as they were dragged across the road by their host. I got out of the way just as the buck's antlers pierced my G6's hood. It shook its head violently, my little car shaking along with it as it tried to get its antlers free.
Why was it so much more aggressive than the doe? Had it been infected longer?
Just as I raised the shotgun again, I felt something brush against my foot. I was so glad that nobody was around to see me yelp like a coyote as I expertly flailed away from the worm that had taste-tested my boot.
There was an ear-splitting, metallic groan as the buck got its antlers free. I stepped away from the worms as I fired again. The buck fell to the side, causing the worms to lurch to the ground like cut ropes. Heroically, I backed away from them even more as they began to convulse, fumbling with shaking hands to get the salt out of my toolbelt.
The area around me became much brighter as another vehicle made its way down the road. I got off to the side to lower the chances of getting hit, then otherwise ignored it as I finished the job by seasoning the parasites, grimacing as they writhed against their salty demise.
From behind me, I heard the oncoming vehicle start to slow down. I had just finished salting the final worm when the driver completely slowed to a stop. Glaring against the headlights, dread pooled in my stomach as I recognized the old, boxy blue Ford pickup. I'd seen it parked at the mechanic's shop every time I've had to go over there.
What was he doing here?
Coincidences don't exist in this line of work. I hadn't seen the mechanic since that day he'd turned me into a dog. I'd went out of my way to try to avoid him, which in hindsight, I probably could've been more subtle about.
It occurred to me to run. A frightened, primal impulse. But if I'm right about what the mechanic is, that'd be a horrible idea. They take cruel delight in hunting their prey down. Not knowing what else to do as my heart raced, I made sure that the buck and the worms were dead, shooting the infected animal in the head one last time. It didn't move. Neither did the worms.
The truck's door creaked open, then slammed shut. And with the sound of his boots on the gravel, I said a quick prayer, hoping that whatever god heard me would be a merciful one.
The mechanic grimaced at the dead worms, “Hoo, those things are nasty.”
All I could think of to say in my state was, “…Yeah.”
Brilliant, right?
He clicked his tongue, then walked over to my G6, shaking his head. “It sure did a number on this.”
For the first time, I got to see the extent of the damage that the buck had done to my poor little car. The hood was crumpled and riddled with several small holes. I had left it running, but after the attack, the engine had gone quiet. My dread worsened as I noticed that some sort of fluid was pooling beneath the front of the car.
The mechanic popped the hood, absent-mindedly nudging a dead worm out of the way with his heel as he examined my suffering car.
“Yeah, that's the fuckin’ radiator.” The mechanic commented. “This thing ain't going anywhere.”
You've gotta be kidding me.
I'm not a car person. I didn't know if he was messing with me or not. I stammered, “Are… are you serious?”
He closed my hood, “You see me laughing, puppydog?”
Prick.
“Please don't call me that.” I said, keeping my voice as even as possible.
He snickered, “What would you like me to call you, then?”
I replied, “Let's go back to ‘stranger.’”
He pursed his lips, “But we're really not strangers anymore, now, are we?”
I didn't like that he'd taken enough of an interest in me to want to use something other than a generic nickname for me. I didn't trust this. Not one bit.
The mechanic patted the G6's hood noisily before stepping over a worm to stand in front of me, “Well, I can tow this thing to the shop, then start workin’ on it in the morning. In the meantime, why don't you let me give you a lift?”
Oh, FUCK no.
“Thanks, but I have people I can call.” I replied, eyes on his chest to avoid his gaze.
He chuckled, “You really don't like accepting help when it's offered, do you?”
That was a warning. Don't push it.
Doing everything in my power to keep my voice calm, I asked, “Will you expect something in return?”
With a grin, he replied, “Just the pleasure of your company.”
I don't like this.
As much as I would've preferred to take my chances walking home and dealing with literally any other atypical animal that could be prowling the night, I was too afraid to wear the mechanic's patience any thinner.
He either read my mind or my thoughts showed on my face because he then added with a smirk, “You can bring your gun, if that'll make you feel safer.”
Unable to shake the feeling that I was going to the gallows, I reluctantly climbed into the passenger seat of his truck, flipping the safety switch on the shotgun before setting it on the floor against my leg.
The interior smelled pleasantly of black cherries. I'd expected the stench of motor oil. He wordlessly nativated the truck in front of my broken down car, then jumped back out again to hook everything up.
While he was busy with that, I quickly texted Victor and Reyna, ‘broke down. mechanic found me. taking me somewhere. not sure where yet.’
For good measure, I also shared my location with them. Afterwards, I jammed my phone back into my pocket, then peered into the side mirror to watch the mechanic. He was pulling on the chains he'd attached to my G6, testing their tightness. He looked like he was almost done.
My phone buzzed, but I didn't dare take it out again.
The mechanic climbed back into the driver's seat with a sigh. As the old pickup started down the road, my unease kept building. I felt like I shouldn't move or breathe too much, for some strange reason. This might sound dramatic, but I would've felt safer being trapped in a cage with a hungry lion. At least a lion would just shred me and be done with it.
I reminded myself that I was still wearing my toolbelt. He'd let me take the shotgun. I didn't know how effective salt, shells, or a silver blade would be against him, but it was slightly reassuring to know that I wasn't completely defenseless. Just slightly. The fact that he'd let me keep all of it told me that he didn't consider me a threat to him, even while armed.
The mechanic glanced at me, “I don't know about you, but I'm starving. I was on my way to Dillon's when I found you.”
Dillon's is an old 50's style diner that’s about a half hour walk away from my apartment. It's cheap, greasy, and gets the job done, especially when you're hungover.
The mechanic looked and sounded deceptively friendly as he spoke again, “Though, I am glad that we ran into each other! There's something that I've been wanting to discuss with you.”
That couldn't be good. I stared through the windshield, only looking over at him occasionally to avoid any possibility of him catching my eye.
The mechanic continued, “You remember when I told you the other night that you impressed me? I meant that. And humans don't normally impress me much, so… make of that what you will. However, you also tried to get smart with me and that is the shit I hate. You can be as polite as you want, but insolence is insolence, no matter how much you try to sugarcoat it.”
Even though his tone remained light, the nervous pit in my stomach grew into a gaping chasm. Was he still angry? And if he was, what did that mean for me?
The mechanic side-eyed me briefly as if he expected me to say something.
My phone buzzed in my pocket again. One of my coworkers tried to call me.
Another thing yinz need to know about dealing with the Neighbors: never use the words ‘I'm sorry,’ the reason being that an apology is an admission of a debt to them. If you have to atone for a transgression (and it is highly recommended that you do so), your phrasing matters.
I hoped that humbling myself would appease him, “My actions were a waste of your time and I absolutely regret them. It won't happen again.’
The mechanic snickered, “See, that's just it. You're so… fuck, what's the word I'm looking for? I heard it just the other day and it reminded me of you. Oh, right! Unctuous. You ever hear that word before?”
I told him I hadn't.
“It means someone who's insincerely polite. They tell you what you want to hear just to get what they want. Sound familiar, pup?”
He'd never been this ruthless in our interactions before. I needed to be careful.
Feeling my mouth get dry from impending panic, I shook my head, “That's not it. I just try to watch what I say. I don't mean for it to come off as disingenuous.”
Throughout this whole conversation, his smile stayed in place. He was enjoying making me squirm. As much as it killed me to give him that satisfaction, I couldn't hide it: even without that banjo around, I was terrified of him.
He replied, “You see why I'm glad we ran into each other? This is something that's been on my mind for a bit. Coulda gotten it outta the way a whole lot sooner, if you hadn't been hiding from me.”
I knew better than to insist that I wasn't avoiding him, especially since I was already on dangerously thin ice. And we were still far enough away from town that if he were to decide to pull over right then and there, no one would notice what happened to me until it was too late.
Swallowing back my nervousness, I asked, “What happens now?”
“That whole nasty business two weeks ago didn't need to happen. All you had to do was find your boss, which you already wanted to do anyway. But instead, you decided to be a smartass. From now on, don't get smart with me and just do your job. That ain't asking for much, is it?”
Trying to get more saliva in my dry mouth to swallow again, I hurriedly nodded, “No, it's not. I’ll do better.”
“Glad we're understandin’ each other, pup.”
Despite the mechanic's relaxed demeanor, I still didn't feel safe in that truck. We were getting closer to town. My phone didn't stop vibrating. I just hoped that he was taking me to where he said we were going.
There is a bit of conflict in our records as to whether or not the Neighbors can lie. Some sources state that they can only speak the truth, others say that they are able to be just as dishonest as humans. Either way, it's best to operate under the assumption that their intentions are to manipulate.
The mechanic then cheerily asked, “Now that we got that unpleasantness out of the way, I gotta know, how'd you get so good with a gun? I've seen ol’ blue eyes shoot, and that man can't hit the broad side of a barn, so I know he ain't the one that taught ya.”
Military records are public. If he learned even something as miniscule as my last name, it wouldn't be hard to identify me or my mom from there. The Neighbors have been known to seek out the family members of those who've slighted them. Entire bloodlines have been destroyed in this manner. I've seen it happen before, but that's a story for another time.
I can't stress this enough: never let a Neighbor learn your name.
I struggled to find a balance between being vague enough to protect myself, but detailed enough to satisfy him, “I wanted to learn how to defend myself when I was younger, so I found some good teachers.”
I must've missed the mark because the mechanic shook his head and chuckled, “You're doing it again. That annoying indirect shit. Why don't you try giving me a real answer, for once?”
Feeling my heart flutter, I muttered, “Armed forces.”
That was still vague. I didn't specify which of the armed forces. He could deduce when I served based on my age, but even then, that was still thousands of soldiers to sort through. Hopefully, that would be enough to protect us.
“Thank you for your service.” He said, his tone slightly mocking.
He could taunt me as much as he wanted. At least he accepted that answer. I just hoped that I wouldn't face any repercussions for being too vague earlier.
More streetlights were appearing. We were in town, getting closer to Dillon's. Assuming that he had been telling the truth about our destination.
This was the longest drive of my life. If the truck hadn't been going so fast, I would've been tempted to tuck and roll. And again… if the mechanic is what I think he is, he'd probably love it if I gave him the opportunity to chase me.
I had to know for sure, though. Just so that I knew how to properly deal with him.
Doing my best to sound meek (not hard, in the moment), I tried to word my question carefully, “Are you a Wild Huntsman?”
Once again, not taking the risk of typing or saying the ‘S’ word, especially since I haven't heard from that one person that commented that term on my last post.
Speaking of… are you still alive and in one piece, u/Holiday-Space?
The mechanic laughed, “Too afraid to say it, huh? Come on, I dare you!”
“No thanks.”
One of you is bad enough. Don't need any of your hunting buddies to show up.
The mechanic shook his head at me as he snickered, “Coward.”
Up ahead was Dillon's old purple neon sign. To my relief, the mechanic pulled into the parking lot. With it being so late, there were only two vehicles there besides the mechanic's truck (not including my comatose G6.)
Anxious to get out of there, I reached for the handle only for the door to swing open before I could grab it. The mechanic was holding the door open for me. I hadn't even heard the driver's side open.
See why I didn't try to run from him?
It took a lot of effort to sound sincere as I said, “What a gentleman.”
He nodded towards Dillon's, “After you.”
Even though the idea of having to spend more quality time with the mechanic made me want to crawl out of my own skin, I felt marginally safer in public. He wouldn't risk exposing himself when he has a shop to run. At least, I didn't think he would.
The girl that seated us blushed the moment she saw him. For her sake, I hope he doesn't ever decide to take advantage of her crush.
I was so keyed up that food was the last thing on my mind. It took our poor, flustered waitress asking me twice before I could order only a glass of water.
After she walked away, the mechanic leaned forward, forearms resting on the table as he said in a low voice, “You know, you don't have to act like a hostage, right?”
Wasn't I though? He did take me there against my will, after all.
I whispered, “Why am I here? What else do you want?”
“I already told you. I want your company. We're just talking. That's it.”
If that was true, then why go through the effort of intimidating me? Granted, he didn't have to do much. My mind raced as I tried to remember anything helpful that the boss could've told me. I recalled then that Victor had said that the mechanic couldn't do anything to him while he was still alive. There must be some sort of condition that has to be met.
The waitress scurried over with the mechanic's coffee and my water, turning an even deeper shade of red when the mechanic flashed an admittedly charming smile at her. When her eyes met mine, she looked somewhat embarrassed. It occurred to me then that to someone on the outside of all of this atypical nonsense, it probably looked like I was his extremely anxious and somewhat disheveled date.
Christ. Just kill me.
Now that I had humiliation to add on top of all of the other negative emotions I was experiencing, I sipped at the metallic-tasting ice water, grateful to give my parched tongue some relief.
As the mechanic added at least ten sugar packets to his coffee, he said, “Try to relax a little, alright? If I'd wanted to hurt you, I coulda taken care of that out on the road.”
Was that supposed to be reassuring?
After a deep breath, trying to lessen my nerves, I uttered, “You… want a little coffee with your sugar?”
He snorted, “Judge me all you want. It's like a drinkable candy bar.”
I stared down at my paper placemat that doubled as a menu. The last thing I wanted was to meet his gaze. It was harder to avoid it when seated together in a small booth. In retrospect, I think that's what he was counting on.
He'd said something alarming about Victor that made me reflexively glance up in shock, aiming to just look at his chest again. I don't even remember what he'd said.
The phone ringing in the kitchen… Mom kneeling down to hug me, making my shoulder wet… My father glaring at me through bullet proof glass…
I shook my head, blinking. What? Fingertips on my chin, leaning in as if to kiss me. The mechanic's eyes are hazel.
Our garage spray painted ‘MURDERER’... A fist pummeling my nose in the school hallway… My black kitten Maisie trotting towards me… That recruiter’s shit eating grin… Sargent Wilcox screaming, ‘Come on, you useless fucks!’... Yelling for a medic as I held my hands over Oliver's bleeding stomach…
Wait… what happened? A warm, gloved hand over my eyes. My cheeks were wet. When did I start crying? As I came to my senses, I recognized Reyna’s perfume.
The mechanic's voice made me stiffen. It's tone was sultry, with a menacing edge to it, “And who might you be?”
“No one.” She replied hurriedly, her voice bearing a slight quiver. She then whispered to me, “Let's go.”
Even though I couldn't see him, I could tell the mechanic was smiling as he told us that he'd see us later.
Due to our height difference, (I'm 6'1 while Reyna meets the requirements for the Lollipop Guild) her hand uncovered my face naturally as I stood up to leave. I refused to look in the mechanic's general direction. We rushed out. I could tell he was watching to see which car we'd go into. Fortunately, Reyna had the foresight to park behind the building.
I should also mention that Reyna had disguised herself. She wore red heart-shaped sunglasses and a scarf over her head, like a starlet from the golden age of Hollywood. She even wore platforms to try to appear taller. While it wasn't very discreet, it would hopefully keep the mechanic from recognizing her. Once we got to her Monte Carlo and peeled out, she ripped the sunglasses off.
Glancing into the rearview mirror for the what felt like the eighth time as Dillon's faded away behind us, Reyna frantically asked, “What did he do to you? I walked in and… you were just…”
He'd flipped through my mind like the pages of a book. I told her as much. She asked me if I was okay. I wasn't sure.
“We’re going to my place.” She informed me, checking the mirror again. “Vic and I agreed it's probably safest since the mechanic knows the least about me. And I'd love to keep it that way.”
I nodded, still unreeling from having my memories dug into, “Sounds good.”
Further on down the road, she noticeably stiffened when she saw a pair of headlights come up behind us. I reminded her that he didn't know what her car looked like. She didn't speed up, keeping the car at the speed limit to not draw attention to ourselves.
The headlights got closer. Turns out, it was just some impatient idiot with a lifted Dodge Ram truck. We both let out groans of relief when the ugly, oversized vehicle passed us.
“I never thought I'd actually be glad to see a pavement princess.” Reyna commented with a nervous laugh.
She then suddenly asked, “Is the mechanic an incubus?”
Feeling the beginnings of a headache behind my left eye, I answered, “I wish. That'd be a lot simpler.”
“Ah, okay. Wonderful. Lovely. And uh, don't worry about answering everything I say. I'm just kinda talking because I don't know what else to do, so if you want to ignore me, feel free.”
I ended up calling Victor, putting him on loudspeaker so that Reyna could hear.
He answered on the first ring, “What happened? Are you alright?”
I caught him up on everything. After I was done, he sighed, “Okay. If you don't mind me asking, when he got into your head, what did he see?”
“My sperm donor getting arrested, me getting beaten up in middle school, bootcamp, and a buddy dying after an ambush in Afghanistan.”
“Was your name used in any of those memories?”
“No.”
“Okay. That's good at least. I'm sorry you were forced to relive all of that.”
I didn't know what to say. Thankfully, Victor saved me from having to respond by continuing, “I was afraid of this. When a Hunter takes an interest in someone, especially someone that they can't take right away, they start off with trying to break the target down. Using fear and intimidation to make the person feel isolated, sometimes even driving them insane. The mechanic is trying to start that process with you.”
What he was saying checked out with everything that I'd researched about The Hunt. They are said to be attracted to bereavement, often pursuing those who've experienced a great loss or heartbreak. They interpret it as weakness. The more vulnerable their victim is, the easier it is for The Hunt to devour them. That explained why the mechanic had gravitated towards some of the most traumatic experiences of my life.
I'd read somewhere that they find brave, good-natured people especially appetizing, even though they're the hardest for The Hunt to take. By being unable to cry out when I was transformed, I think I’d unintentionally convinced the mechanic that I was that type of person. And it made him hungry.
Victor bitterly informed us, “He's not going to chase you tonight. He has your gun and your car. He knows you’ll go to him.”
Slowly, the fear became replaced with anger. And spite. The mechanic could disarm me and use my worst moments against me, but I resolved then that I wouldn't let that fucker intimidate me. I wouldn't give him what he wanted.
If he wanted to think I was something special, I'd give him something fucking special.
“Vic, can you get her things so that she doesn't have to deal with him?” Reyna asked.
Before he could answer, I shook my head, “No. I don't want the mechanic to think that I'm afraid. I mean… I am but he doesn't need to know that.”
Victor warned, “By confronting him, you could make the hunt more thrilling for him. That might encourage him to be more aggressive towards you.”
I shrugged, “I'm screwed either way. At least this way, I'm screwed on my own terms.”
For the first time in a long time, Victor sounded like he might've been smiling. I haven't seen him smile since before he showed up with that bandana covering his slit throat. “We can start by finding a hagstone. That's easier said than done… but, something's telling me that there'll be one at Beaver Run. Check there.”
According to our records, draugr have a limited ability to see the future. Maybe that ‘strange feeling’ was actually a premonition. It certainly wouldn't hurt to check.
“Tomorrow morning, while the mechanic is at his shop, it's hagstone time.” I announced.
“I'll help.” Reyna offered, but then quickly added. “Unless you need me to cover for her tomorrow, Vic.”
“If you wouldn't mind doing a half-day, that'd be best.”
“Okay, can do!”
Victor wished us luck, then hung up.
Forgive me, but I'm going to go off on a brief tangent: Reyna has a pet skunk. Her name is Fireball. I'm mentioning this because that little skunk was basically free therapy after the night I'd had. And in all my days of having to dig the little guys out from under people's houses, I never really had a chance to appreciate how cute they are.
“She can't spray.” Reyna assured me when the little critter trotted over to sniff me. For those that aren't aware, skunks are typically quiet, but when they do vocalize, they sound like weed whackers.
Reyna stared down at Fireball, “What are you ‘meeping’ at?”
Fireball stomped at her, then jumped back. In the wild, they do this when they're trying to intimidate predators, so if you encounter a skunk and they do this, it's best to back off. However, in Fireball's case, they might also stomp when they're feeling sassy.
Reyna put her hands up in an annoyed gesture, “What's with the attitude?”
The skunk stomped again. Reyna huffed, “Jeez, you act like you're starving to death. You still have food in your bowl, idiot! Just because you can see a little bit of the bottom doesn’t mean it's empty!”
After we quadruple-checked to make sure that every entrance into Reyna’s apartment was salter, I settled down on the couch to get some sleep. At one point in the night, Fireball ended up curled up in my lap. That healed me.
The search for a hagstone wasn't going to be an easy one. They're stones with holes in the middle, normally found near bodies of water. In the old tales, these stones are valuable tools against the Neighbors for a variety of reasons, one of them being they can protect against curses and ward off evil. They also have been said to allow humans to see things that would normally be hidden to us when looking through the middle of the stone.
In other words, if our records were accurate, it was the key to leveling the playing field when it came to the mechanic.
I was in the river not long after the sun rose. Even though the water was cold this early in the summer, my spite kept me warm. I dug through the riverbed for hours until I came across a white stone with a large hole in its lumpy center.
Good to know that Victor's newfound draugr intuition was accurate.
I have the hagstone hanging on a chain around my neck, tucked under my shirt. I wasn't sure what effect the hagstone would have on the mechanic. At the very least, maybe I could see what he actually looked like.
Later that afternoon, Victor called to tell me that my car was done. Moment of truth. Even with the hagstone, I wasn't looking forward to being in close quarters with the mechanic again. But I reminded myself that I wasn't going to let that sadistic fuck frighten me into hiding again. No more avoiding him.
The mechanic greeted me, boyish grin in place, “Long time no see, pup!”
Feeling the weight of the hagstone as a comforting weight around my neck, I said, “I was told that my car is done. Think I left my shotgun in your truck, as well.”
“You did. You left in such a hurry. Probably had a lot on your mind, I imagine.”
Fuck you.
He set my keys on the counter, along with my shotgun, then leaned forward to rest on his forearms, “Come and get ‘em.”
I didn't know if the hagstone would keep him out of my head and I wasn't about to find out the hard way. He already knew more about me than I was comfortable with. I kept my eyes low.
As I approached the counter, he suddenly stepped back, eyes narrowed. Unfortunately, he didn't lose that grin. That was a shame; I was hoping to wipe it off of his face.
The mechanic let out a short laugh, “I see you came prepared.”
I sounded braver than I felt, “Of course I did. Now, how much for the repairs?”
His smile turned mysterious as he gave me my total. He didn't come closer to the counter while I stood by it; I had to back up for him to be able to run my card. After that was done, he set it on the counter next to my other belongings, leaning against the back of some old clunker he had lined up to work on.
As I hurried to get my things, the mechanic suddenly asked, “You can't tell me that you ain't curious.”
“Curious about what?”
“‘Bout what I really look like.” He smirked, folding his arms across his chest. “Go on. Take a peek.”
As tempting as it was, it wasn't hard to deduce his ulterior motive, “You just want to know where I have the stone hidden.”
He chuckled, “Yeah, that's true. You got me there. But wouldn't you like to know what you're really dealing with?”
“I already do. I don't need to see a monster to know it's there.”
Judging by the way his eyes slitted, he did not care for that comment. I knew I was probably going to regret that later. He already wanted to hunt me for sport. What did it matter if I clapped back at him just one time?
His voice lowered, “When your heart stops, puppydog, you better pray the devil finds you before I do. You'll crave Hell before I'm through with you.”
Hoping that he couldn't see my hands shaking, I grabbed my things and got out without another word. The G6 was working even better than it had before the deer incident.
After that interaction… I think I'm going to look for more hagstones. And I'm going to restock on salt shells.

Synopsis: A Magus journey to save his world from mana contamination and make sure it don't fall back into the same path as he finds himself in an era before magic was developed.
Kai of the Sorcerer's Tower is one of the last mages left, barely surviving in a world ruled by creatures of the dark — where the era of mages ended, and most of the lands got contaminated with dead mana.
To save his world and fulfil his master's last wish, he put himself through a forbidden ritual, risking his soul being ripped into pieces to make his way into the past. In an era with abundant mana — an era yet to enter the Golden Era of Magic.
Things go wrong, of course, as they always do, and he finds himself thousands of years before the world fell to mana contamination — in the body of a young lord, Arzan.
All is not well, though, as the young lord was murdered by someone right at the cusp of a beast wave threatening the territory, while larger threats loom on the horizon.
There was a lot to do for Kai to regain his former strength in this time of primitive technology, but then again, he might just be able to change that.
Hello everyone, this is my first time posting on reddit. Hope you would like it!
Chapter 1
Sweat stung Kai’s eyes as he plunged his knife into the floor. He carved runes and Freyac syllables around him, wood splintering as his knife traced the erratic patterns.
He had, maybe, five minutes.
The cold floor of the Sorcerer’s Tower thrummed through him as the ritual circle released magical energy. The symbols were crude and unrecognisable, making him wonder if they were even going to work, but there was no choice.
While this was the most complicated ritual he'd ever done, he needed to make it work, to escape this place and to change things for the better.
He jumped in his seat as throaty and menacing shouts from outside echoed through the corridors.
They had found him.
His head snapped in fear, taking note of the shaky walls of the library. The wide room, once neatly organised, was now cluttered and disorganised with books scattered everywhere on the floor. Dust and cobwebs only added to the mess.
His breath came out in ragged puffs and he looked down at his scarred hands.
He drew the symbols faster. He needed to finish—now! But panic clawed at his chest, making him clumsy.
Footsteps echoed through the halls of the Sorcerer's Tower and he flinched.
The mana fiends were just outside.
The creaky, wooden door burst open behind him with a loud thud. Kai was fast on his feet, turning around to face the shadowy figure.
With the face of a bull and bulging muscles, the minotaur-like creature stood at seven feet, crowned by a pair of misshapen curved horns. Black lines ran through its arms and neck, and endless rows of fangs and protrusions stuck out from its back.
Its sharp claws seemed like they'd cut up the floor faster than Kai could with his knife.
It was covered in grey fur, interspersed with patches of dead skin from overexposure to the decayed mana.
Kai's heart thumped in his ears as he weaved his hand to the left, casting a [Gust] spell while visualising a strong force of wind knocking the corrupted monster down.
It hit its chest, making it screech and stumble back a few steps.
Kai tightened his fingers around the hilt of the knife.
The mana fiend got its feet under it again and lunged forward.
He felt his breath leaving his lungs at the sight. Before it could reach him, he rolled on the floor, dodging the charge while hacking its leg with the knife.
The fiend snarled threateningly as it slashed its claws at him in a swift motion. Kai prepared another spell and slid back, but he was too slow.
The spell structure broke apart and his vision wavered as he was thrown into a bookshelf, his knife skidding away.
Terrible pain hit him as he screamed in pain and touched his face.
Blood dripped on the floor as he stared at his palm. His left eye was bleeding. Was it even there?
“It gouged out… my eye,” he muttered, trying to fight through the pain.
He had severely underestimated the power of the mana fiend. Or maybe it was due to him being in this near-crippled state that his spells weren't as powerful.
Either way, I need to get up.
Kai shook his head and tried to stand.
Even if he couldn't see, he needed to go through the ritual. That was the only way to survive, but he had to fight off the mana fiend first.
The creature’s dark magic covered its claws, sending out blasts of corrupted energy that rippled and cut through the bookshelves as it got closer to him.
Kai grasped his left eye with one hand and, using his other hand, he cast [Mana Discharge], sending a blast of mana at the creature. It tried to block but was knocked back into a bookshelf, falling and crying out in pain.
Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't have used such a spell with high mana requirements, but he had no time.
He cast the spell [Blinding], making the monster see white.
Making his way through the fallen bookshelves, he searched for his knife and found it right next to a puddle of blood.
He picked it up and looked towards the mana fiend.
As soon as the Blinding spell died down, it picked itself up, flailing its arm around and lunging at Kai, who was anticipating such a move.
Before it could get close to him, Kai yelled, “Astrum Vosem!”
The knife glistened with mana, fire crackling within the blade as he surged forward, aiming at the monster’s neck. The mana fiend slashed at him again, but he ducked, barely avoiding the hit.
Casting another [Blinding] spell, he sent the monster stumbling back before plunging the blade into its neck. Flames crackled as he twisted the blade, aiming for the black lines.
The mana fiend fell to the ground immediately, black liquid spewing everywhere.
It cried out in pain, trying to grab Kai, but he didn't give it the chance and kept digging deep into its neck until it stopped whimpering.
Blood oozed from Kai’s eye and he suddenly noticed a deep cut on his arm. Pain numbed all his senses, but there was no time to focus on it.
“The ritual,” Kai coughed blood, realising that crashing into the bookshelf had given him internal injuries. He dragged himself on the floor until he was ahead of his preparation and felt like cursing.
A part of the ritual circle was smeared due to the blood splatter from the fight.
It was ruined.
Quickly deciding on his new move, he started scribbling frantically, drawing up a new ritual circle.
His fingers were cramping and slippery as he tried his best to draw the symbols in his mind. With one eye gone, it was much harder, and every mistake made him swear softly.
He heard more floor-shattering movements through the door. There was more than one mana fiend and the fight had attracted them to his hideout.
He needed to hurry. He only had a minute until they got here if he was lucky.
“Shit!”
He made a mistake and felt like banging his head against the floor. While keeping his remaining eye on the open door, he alternated between the ritual circle that was smeared with blood and one that was barely half complete.
He would never finish it in time.
Having no choice, Kai abandoned it and decided to take a gamble with a ruined ritual circle. A few of the lines were messed up, but he ignored it and focused on completing it.
Just one more line!
He frantically carved out the patterns, joining them with each other and let out a sigh of relief as he saw a completed ritual of intersecting circles. A part of it was barely recognizable due to the blood.
A [Cleansing] spell might have helped, but he was out of mana. The fight with the fiend had drained his reserves.
He heard a shrill voice and, as expected, soon several more creatures came inside, filling the room. They were all beasts filled with corrupted mana, but it didn't matter now.
He gave them a look and dropped the blood on his hands on the ritual circle.
In his heart, he only wished that the ritual circle would work as expected. That it would send him back to an era where he might still have a chance to stop the apocalypse from happening.
The symbols ignited, and an intense flash of white light enveloped the room. Threads of mana passed through his soul, drawing power to keep the ritual running as his body slumped on the floor. The fleeting moment came to an end when the world surrounding Kai went completely white.
The last thing he heard before he lost consciousness were the yells of the ugly monsters.
Kai flinched as a sharp pain assaulted his chest. His whole body was numb as he panted on the floor.
It felt like he had just stepped out of a prolonged period of floating in the cosmos. He didn't know how long it had been, but it definitely felt like years. Probably centuries.
A few seconds went by as he calmed down before the numbness disappeared and his eyes adjusted. Wait! His eyes!
He touched his left eye and found it intact.
It's healed completely!!
He didn't know how he had gotten his left eye back. The ritual wasn't supposed to heal him at all. It was only supposed to take him back in time.
Where am I? Am I really alive?
He was surprised that the ritual had worked, though he didn't know to what degree. With how crude it had been, there was a greater chance of it failing.
If death wasn't in front of him, Kai would have never gone for it.
At least it hadn't shredded his soul into pieces to be eaten by whatever lay beyond the afterlife, so that was a positive.
He looked around.
Kai was lying on a hardwood floor as he stared at the ceiling. Different carvings on the ceiling made him frown. He didn't recognise any of them.
He was supposed to have woken up in a cave or a forest, not in a room.
Something bubbled up in his heart and he felt unusual. His eyes immediately went to his hands and he quickly realised that the scars were gone. He gasped in horror and sat up straight.
The sudden movement caused a rush of blood to his head that made him dizzy.
“What in the Mersal's name is happening?”
He looked down on his physique.
His eyes grew wide as he noticed the tunic he was wearing was covered in blood. He opened the tunic button by button to reveal…
“Is that… a knife wound?” Kai said aloud in shock.
As he said the words, the wound slowly closed as if someone had used a healing spell on him. But that was impossible.
Something had gone terribly wrong with the ritual and one more look at himself was enough for him to realise that this wasn't his body. He had taken someone else's identity.
That realisation struck him like a mana bolt in the head as he gasped.
He breathed to calm himself down and noticed something he had been missing.
“There's mana in the air! Pure uncontaminated mana!”
All his thoughts and questions halted when a rush of fresh air hit his nostrils. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of being alive once and for all. His instincts made him get to his feet.
The air had a quality about it that brought tears to his eyes— Mana. Goosebumps covered his entire body.
He breathed in once again.
The mana in the air was so powerful it crackled with every breath Kai took. The sheer amount of mana left him wordless. This surpassed anything he had ever felt before.
Kai raised his hands, feeling all the energy that filled the air. It filled the entire room, and in his 40 years of life, he had never felt so much.
His ritual had worked, albeit differently than what he had hoped.
What is this place? Kai looked around from where he stood.
The room was bathed in an eerie light that emanated from what looked like another ritual circle beneath him.
His eyes widened at another peculiar thing as he took in the situation that he was in the middle of.
Arcane symbols were drawn all around him. The symbols were alien to him; not being one of the languages he knew and had learned. Some of them seemed similar to Hales Tongue, but he couldn't be sure since blood had spilt over them.
It was a completely different ritual circle than the kinds he knew of.
Questions became hurricanes in his mind after seeing the symbols. He tried to focus and understand his situation better.
Although the ritual had worked, he knew there would be complications since a part of it was ruined. Half-completed ritual circles were always volatile. As a result of it, he had even changed bodies.
If his assumption was correct, the ritual had only sent his soul back in time which had found a compatible body for him to control. It didn't make a lot of sense to him, but then again, the soul was a part of magical theory that had barely progressed in years.
It was too mysterious.
He decided to gather information and took a look around the room.
There was a four-poster bed draped with heavy velvet right behind him. The bed was extremely lavish apart from the poor draping skills. The rest of the bedside decorations were canopy hangings and ornate wood furniture, including storage chests and cabinets for personal belongings.
Whoever used to own this body was rich. Maybe a lord or a wealthy merchant, Kai contemplated, looking over the room.
He walked towards the bed and touched it. It had gone stone cold. Nobody had used the bed for hours.
The fireplace caught his attention. It was the main focus of the room, with the hearth having heraldic symbols carved above it. This time, he recognised the language as Manakrit.
His fingertips followed them as he contemplated the meaning of it. It was a common tongue that had spanned centuries, so it was hard to say which era he was in. His ritual was supposed to bring him to the past, but he hadn't gotten time to specify a date.
His wish was simply to go back as far as possible. However, he assumed 500 years was the limit for the ritual, so he must be around that period.
In the first place, it had been a suicidal attempt with an unknown chance of success. Yet things had somehow worked out.
Looking around, he saw a picture frame stuck on the wall from the corner of his eye.
Kai turned and walked towards the picture. It was an old man. His bald head and his stern gaze were pointed to his left, as he sat in a seat comfortably.
It's weird that the picture is just sitting there in the corner. Either some important individual or the owner of this place.
With the ritual, everything seemed odd.
The former body owner had wounds that were fresh in two or three places, including his hands and feet. The clothes were covered with slightly dried-up blood.
“What was the guy even doing? He wasn't trying a similar ritual to go back in time, right?”
His voice was strange. Hoarse, and deeper than he remembered.
Closing his eyes, he remembered his last few minutes in the tower. It was infested with bloodthirsty creatures. Every moment was tense, but in this room, there was a weird sense of serenity that he hadn't felt in a long time.
He was alive, at least.
He sighed in content and opened his eyes. breathing mana with a wide smile.
The mana in the air tempted him to extend his hand. He needed more light to see around the symbols.
His index finger swirled a little into a circle while he envisioned lighting up the central fireplace. Normally, this spell would’ve ignited a small fireball, but nothing came.
Strange.
Immediately, Kai took a few steps forward. He inhaled the air, feeling the energy in his bones, and tried the spell again, his hand moving attempting a simple spell even a 1st circle mage could’ve done in a blink.
He even muttered an incantation for added effect, normally reserved for harder spells.
“Astrum Octavia.”
Once again, he successfully failed.
He’d normally cast something so simple with just intent, but it wasn't working.
Something clouded his mind. He looked down on his new body and concentrated internally. He could sense mana and could feel his Mana Veins, even his Mana Heart seemed intact, but focusing on it, he realised that the body he was in was a Non-Mage.
He hadn't even started his magical journey and couldn't cast a single spell.
All the mana organs were intact, but he hadn't awakened as a mage. The realisation of it made him wince. Not only had he lost his body, he had also lost his strength. He used to be a 5th Circle Magus. Now, he was a mere mortal. Ordinary.
If he had really awakened in a cave or a forest, he might have been killed by wild beasts.
“This… can’t be true.” Kai's refusal to believe the reality of his situation overwhelmed his thoughts for a few more seconds as he closed his eyes to feel his insides. Seconds stretched to minutes as he contemplated his new reality.
He slowly took in the fact that he was no longer Kai. He was in someone else's body and had taken over him. He didn't know who that person was, but he had been killed by whatever ritual he had been attempting.
A few possibilities flashed by his mind. Maybe his soul had been dragged here by the ritual this man was attempting? Or his ritual of regression had simply only been for his soul rather than his body.
As soon as his soul had found a suitable vessel, it had taken over him.
Though, these were simply possibilities he wasn't sure of.
He decided to investigate.
“What’s that?”
His eyes followed the trail of the bloody ritual on the floor to find a piece of parchment.
Kai bent down to swiftly pick it up. The torn page lay between his fingertips, the words written on it were with blood.
Whoever had written it had poor penmanship, to say the least. He slowly read out the words.
“I will die and be reborn. Everyone will fear my might and the dawn of blood will arrive again.”
He dropped the parchment on the floor, wondering if he had come back in the past and inside the body of a cultist. But even if it was a cultist, the surroundings including the room didn’t sum up, and if he was somehow in the body of a noble who was a ritualistic devotee, things would only get worse from here.
“I don't want to deal with a cult. At least not when I'm basically powerless,” he muttered, frowning as his voice turned bitter.
Kai let the weight of the situation settle in, but the door sprung open.
He immediately looked to the side and saw a woman with widened eyes. Her eyes were on the floor seeing the symbols, syllables, lines, and curves; all of it. Then they fell on the owner of the room, bloodied and in the middle of this encounter, with his hands at his side.
That was him and he noticed the woman looked like a maid.
“I-” The maid opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
Kai stared at her, again feeling like he was simply going from one problem to another.
Ah shit! How do I get out of this one?
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This weekend, I am supposed to drive 7 hours to DC (and back) to play in a big tournament for a women's sports team that represents New England.
I am trans (MTF), and my team has been supportive.
I just asked about how the tournament would be for me, and they were very matter of fact that a number of people would be hostile both on and off the field, partly for cultural reasons.They said that I should just ignore it, but it sounds like it could be really, really rough in an unsupportive environment. There will be lots of players, families, and supporters there. I also know that I can easily make the headlines / become a vilified monster for anything I do there. Especially if I do well.
I've been training a lot for this (we all have), but I'm starting to realize that this might be a really, really bad idea. I am in recovery from a spectacular mental health crisis that led to a looong time in a psych ward. I am doing much better now, but in-person hate and hostility? I didn't want to be hate crimed for a sport I love. My therapist supports me cancelling.
It might be great, I know, but I don't think it sounds like the affirming, fun experience I signed up for. I'm doubting myself and I'm struggling to say no and cancel. Is this a bad idea, friends? What should I do?

I'm planning a campaign that combines the two modules. Both of these adventures take place in the same location and seem perfect to combine. I'm enjoying the ability to make the adventure much more freeform/sandboxy for the players and removing the parts that I don't like and adding parts that I do like. I spent some time putting together a timeline for the adventure as well as a few changes.
I'm interested to see hear some feedback. This is still a work in progress. My group is currently at the end of the Cragmaw Hideout and will be going to Phandalin next session. There's six party members all at 2nd level. There's a Dragonborn Vengeance Paladin, a Dwarf Artificer, human Twilight Cleric, Elven Divination Wizard, a Halfling Sorcerer of the Dragon and a Wood Elf Druid of the Moon.
I'm interested in hearing suggestions on some low level Wonderous Items to add tailored to the party.
Campaign Flow

1. Goblin Ambush on Triboar Trail
2. Rescue Sildar and Gundren Rockseeker from Goblins, escort them to Phandalin.
   1. LEVEL UP - Lvl 2
   2. The party sights a large flying creature near the mountains during the trip to town
   3. Introduce Harbin Wester
      1. He discusses the Dragon sightings of late
      2. He discusses rumors of another, smaller creature flying in the sky nearby.
      3. He discusses the sighting of a large group of orcs on TriBoar trail recently.
      4. He discusses the recent banditry on the TriBoar trail and his suspicion of the Red Brands involvement.
      5. Offers quests to warn and bring back Adabra Gwynn at Umbrage Hill. 100g for her safe return.
      6. Gundren Rockseeker offers 100gp to find his brothers at the Dwarven Expedition and return with them.
3. Dwarven Expedition AND Umbrage Hill
4. LEVEL UP - 3rd
5. Gnomengarde OR Clear out the Red Brand Hideout
6. Party is gifted the Manor
7. Logger’s Quest Camp
8. LEVEL UP - 4th
9. Butterskull Ranch AND Mountain’s Toe Quest
10. Venomfang OR Wave Echo Cave (Or Maybe Venomfang relocated to the Cave)
11. LEVEL UP - 5th
12. Axeholm AND Dragon Barrow AND Woodland Mance
13. LEVEL UP - 6th
14. IceSpire Hold

NPCS
Use what’s written in the module and use the following to change or fill in. Added alignments to help gauge their character’s virtues.
Harbin Wester (LN)
The Town Master of Phandalin. He’s an ex-adventurer turned sheriff and administrator. He’s in his mid-thirties, balding, and burly with a barrel chest and a thirst for dwarven ale. He wears a studded leather jack and carries a large club and a set of manacles everywhere he goes. He handles drunken fights and other minor crimes but he’s powerless against the gang of Red Brands. He doesn’t have the budget for hired men-at-arms so he has taken to bribing the Red Brands for peace.
He is committed to seeing the town prosper and making the area safer. He’s funded by the Lords of Neverwinter who plan to exploit the natural resources of the area. He wants to earn a comfortable life here and start a family.
Gundren Rockseeker (LN)
He’s looking for Wave Echo Cave but first wants assurance that his brothers are alive and well. Family is slightly more important than riches to him.
Sildar Hallwinter (LG)
Slider is a tall middle aged man who moves with the gait of a trained warrior. He’s reliable and trustworthy. His goals are to establish safe trade routes to Phandalin and build a manor of his own in the neighboring hills. He has a large family waiting for him in Neverwinter whom he misses dearly. He comes from lesser wealth and knows important people in Neverwinter.
Slider is looking for Iarno Albrech, human wizard and fellow member of the Lord’s Alliance who disappeared during his trip to Phandalin. He will stick around in Phandalin until Albrech is found. Then he will head back to Neverwinter and formulate a new plan with the Lords.
GoldTooth the Travelling Merchant and Pact of the Genie Warlock (NE)
GoldTooth is an obese half-orc who travels up and down the Sword Coast buying and selling Wondrous Items and antiquities. He arrives in Phandalin every seven to ten days. One of his sizable canine teeth is plated in gold with a ruby set in it. He is dressed garishly and is very flamboyant. A large number of valuable jewelry adorn his body. He travels in a sizable wagon painted with obnoxious colors and schemes. He has a retinue of ten veteran half-orc and human soldiers, two wagoneers and he owns a pair of Figures of Wondrous Power (Mastiff).
He currently has for sale:

• Lantern of Revealing (400gp)
• Wand of the War Mage (500gp)
• Goggles of the Night (500gp)
• Hat of Disguise (600gp)
• Javelin of Lightning (750gp)
• Pearl of Power (500gp)
• Potion of Healing (50gp)
• Potion of Stone Giant Strength (300gp)
• Potion of Fire Breath (300gp)
• Potions of Resistance (Cold, Acid, Poison, Fire) (150gp)
• Scrolls (1st): Absorb Elements, Magic Missile, Silvery Barbs, Command, Fog Cloud, Tasha’s Caustic Brew (100gp)
• Scrolls (2nd): Blindness/Deafness, Enlarge/Reduce, Knock, Spider Climb, Suggestion, Misty Step, Web (200gp)
• Scrolls (3rd): Clairvoyance, Daylight, Dispel Magic, Fireball, Fly, Haste, Hypnotic Pattern

PC’s can request a certain item that’s not listed here and he may have it after rummaging through his stocks. Common 60%, Uncommon 30%, Rare 10%
He can obtain most common, uncommon, rare items from Neverwinter or Baldur’s Gate but it will take time and a +25% upcharge.
QUESTS
Use the module’s descriptions and directions along with the following changes. These changes are to accommodate a six person party. Thus, more monsters and more treasure.
Umbrage Hill
Party is sent to warn Adabra Gwynn. There’s a shrine of Chantea in the mill. Adabra refuses to leave due to its 'protection' and shes state's that the party’s arrival is a sign of that. A DC 15 Persuasion check will convince her to leave. If she leaves and relocates to Phandalin, she could produce her potions in the lab at the Red Brand Hideout once it's been liberated.

• Describe a frost burn mark on the Manticore to hint that it tangled with Cryovain.
• Reducing him to half hit points, offering 5 lbs of meat or 50 gold will convince him to leave.
• If not killed, he’ll return later, more powerful. Perhaps he claims the Dwarven Expedition as his new lair.

Dwarven Expedition
Dazlyn and Norbus are brothers of Gundren Rockseeker. They are anxious (and greedy) to further explore this site and will initially refuse to leave unless convinced with a DC 12 Persussian check. They agree to let the party keep the Wondrous Items in exchange for all the gold and other valuables found.

• E5: 2 ochre jellies, Wand of the Warmage
• E7: 2 ochre jellies
• E8: 1 Wight and 3 Zombies. Bag of Holding (contains 100gp, scroll of Bane, potion of Water Breathing and a Pearl of Power)
• E9: 3 Ghouls and 1 Ghast. Clockwork Amulet

Gnomengarde
Party is sent to warn the gnomes of Cryovain. The Gnomes are valuable traders to Phandalin. They bring an assortment of gems in trade for food and durable items.
Outside the caves, baskets with pulleys allow for going up and down.They can carry one Medium sized or two Small sized creatures at once.
The Twin Gnome Kings tell the party that there’s a Mimic hiding within his kingdom and its already devoured two gnomes. If the party slays the Mimic, the King will give the Automatic Loading Crossbow Platform (ALCP) to the village. He’ll offer to send along three gnome engineers to assist with the reassembly.
The Automatic Loading Crossbow Platform (ALCP)
A rotating platform equipped with four heavy crossbows that reload automatically. Each crossbow comes with twenty bolts. Mounted above the crossbows at a height of 6 feet is a chair equipped with pedals that causes the entire contraption to spin counterclockwise, and with levers that reload and fire the crossbows. This clanking, clattering contraption is a Large object with AC 13, 45 hit points, and immunity to poison and psychic damage. Every time it loses 10 hit points, one of its crossbows breaks.
A creature sitting in the chair can use an action to rotate the device up to 360 degrees counterclockwise and fire up to four of its crossbows in any direction. Each crossbow makes the following attack.
Heavy Crossbow. Ranged Weapon Attack: +5 to hit, range 50/200 ft., one target. Hit: 5 (1d10) piercing damage.
A roll of 1 or 2 on an attack roll causes the crossbow to jam and requires an action to fix.
Note: The Mimic may need to be beefed up to present a better challenge to the party. Increase its Strength and Hit Points as needed.

“Bye, son, I love you.” “Thanks, Mom. Love you too.”
The dial tone sings, and just like that, the call is over. She said, “I love you.” Is this unconditional, Or a ticking time bomb until I falter, Fail all expectations of what I ought to be? Male, son, uncle, brother, nephew, one of the guys: Each filial prophecy a trillion little needles piercing my stone-touched heart, Sprouting pain in my veins, a viral infection of disappointment.
Who knows if I can ever be anything different?
My knees buckle, collapsing like a Jenga tower, Or a 50-story house of cards Whimpering under the weight of lead gargoyles on the ledge. I shrivel into my soft bedsheets which smell of home, tortilla-wrapping myself tight in a comfy black-and-white checkered blanket, Close my eyes, seek refuge From the rigid black-and-white world outside. Finally, for a moment, Life is just me, A squishy memory foam pillow tenderly cradling my head, And the gentle comforter holding me close, Providing me with the soft parental hug I long to have.
So strange to get it from a piece of fabric.
My mind, cursed with a squirrel’s brain space, floats away, Searching for more memories Where I longed for the blanket’s embrace. I open my eyes and find myself 10 years ago in our old silver minivan, Sitting quietly in my seat, staring at my twisted reflection In the window of our neighboring car, its exterior gleaming and trapped In an intricate web of warm sunbeams. A barrage of blame shakes me away. It is the sixth grade, And my embarrassing entrance Exam for the A+ Math Club has just caved in on itself, An axiom my parents seem too keen to drill into my head.
I don’t know what I did wrong.
Their monumental standards tower over me forevermore, Soaring high as the Giant’s castle toward which my life’s beanstalk yearns Only to be chopped at the last second, Leaving me fumbling 50 miles high. I scream and shout, about to shatter the ground, The wind howling and shrouding my horror.
I ache for Mom’s hand beside me.
The cold winter breeze whistles through the window into the present, Swirling around the blanket, Freezing my fingers, Snapping my mind back To remind me that a universe outside still exists. My stiff bones, all too feeble, cry out for me not to take another step. I’m trapped. Despite every muscle in my body telling me To hide, I get up, and Walk across the curly carpeted floor, its strands Lightly clinging to my toes ‘til I enter the black-and-white porcelain-tiled bathroom, watch sunbeams Bounce off the glistening silver slate, painting echoes of my vexing visage.
Looking in the mirror was a mistake.
My mind’s eye twists and turns the shiny picture before me, Until a grotesque little gargoyle glances back at me With its red, bloodshot eyes, The perils of wearing contacts for far too long. Filled with the clear unholy water from a decade of grief, Little salty droplets burst forth from The mirror monster’s monochromatic heart, Down a brutish lead face, gripping the mismatched carvings Before dropping to the baby puddle birthed below. The gargoyle’s stone-touched soul is slowly eroding.
So many tears that I might melt away too.
Maybe tomorrow I’ll explore the Plaza or Ross or Target or Downtown, Dash around busy thrift stores with my friends, Ferociously on the hunt for sales. But I know I will still be Afraid. Ashamed. Alone. I’ll wander the vibrant shops with their shiny neon signs. I’ll wait in long lines stretching the width of the white wall and back. I’ll spend hours looking at all the things I long to wear, I long to do, I long to be. Maybe one day. Maybe one day she’ll know and rejoice and accept me for who I am.
Or maybe it might take another lifetime for that.
Until then, I stand in a dimly lit bathroom, Staring at my reflection covered in beads of water, Hoping For love unconditional.

“Bye, son, I love you.” “Thanks, Mom. Love you too.”
The dial tone sings, and just like that, the call is over. She said, “I love you.” Is this unconditional, Or a ticking time bomb until I falter, Fail all expectations of what I ought to be? Male, son, uncle, brother, nephew, one of the guys: Each filial prophecy a trillion little needles piercing my stone-touched heart, Sprouting pain in my veins, a viral infection of disappointment.
Who knows if I can ever be anything different?
My knees buckle, collapsing like a Jenga tower, Or a 50-story house of cards Whimpering under the weight of lead gargoyles on the ledge. I shrivel into my soft bedsheets which smell of home, tortilla-wrapping myself tight in a comfy black-and-white checkered blanket, Close my eyes, seek refuge From the rigid black-and-white world outside. Finally, for a moment, Life is just me, A squishy memory foam pillow tenderly cradling my head, And the gentle comforter holding me close, Providing me with the soft parental hug I long to have.
So strange to get it from a piece of fabric.
My mind, cursed with a squirrel’s brain space, floats away, Searching for more memories Where I longed for the blanket’s embrace. I open my eyes and find myself 10 years ago in our old silver minivan, Sitting quietly in my seat, staring at my twisted reflection In the window of our neighboring car, its exterior gleaming and trapped In an intricate web of warm sunbeams. A barrage of blame shakes me away. It is the sixth grade, And my embarrassing entrance Exam for the A+ Math Club has just caved in on itself, An axiom my parents seem too keen to drill into my head.
I don’t know what I did wrong.
Their monumental standards tower over me forevermore, Soaring high as the Giant’s castle toward which my life’s beanstalk yearns Only to be chopped at the last second, Leaving me fumbling 50 miles high. I scream and shout, about to shatter the ground, The wind howling and shrouding my horror.
I ache for Mom’s hand beside me.
The cold winter breeze whistles through the window into the present, Swirling around the blanket, Freezing my fingers, Snapping my mind back To remind me that a universe outside still exists. My stiff bones, all too feeble, cry out for me not to take another step. I’m trapped. Despite every muscle in my body telling me To hide, I get up, and Walk across the curly carpeted floor, its strands Lightly clinging to my toes ‘til I enter the black-and-white porcelain-tiled bathroom, watch sunbeams Bounce off the glistening silver slate, painting echoes of my vexing visage.
Looking in the mirror was a mistake.
My mind’s eye twists and turns the shiny picture before me, Until a grotesque little gargoyle glances back at me With its red, bloodshot eyes, The perils of wearing contacts for far too long. Filled with the clear unholy water from a decade of grief, Little salty droplets burst forth from The mirror monster’s monochromatic heart, Down a brutish lead face, gripping the mismatched carvings Before dropping to the baby puddle birthed below. The gargoyle’s stone-touched soul is slowly eroding.
So many tears that I might melt away too.
Maybe tomorrow I’ll explore the Plaza or Ross or Target or Downtown, Dash around busy thrift stores with my friends, Ferociously on the hunt for sales. But I know I will still be Afraid. Ashamed. Alone. I’ll wander the vibrant shops with their shiny neon signs. I’ll wait in long lines stretching the width of the white wall and back. I’ll spend hours looking at all the things I long to wear, I long to do, I long to be. Maybe one day. Maybe one day she’ll know and rejoice and accept me for who I am.
Or maybe it might take another lifetime for that.
Until then, I stand in a dimly lit bathroom, Staring at my reflection covered in beads of water, Hoping For love unconditional.

Allow me to introduce myself. I go by Antique Ocelot, a moniker inspired by my love for collecting vintage treasures and my undying affection for our feline companions. Residing in the Central Time Zone, you'll often find me immersed in the worlds of horror games and superhero comics.
First things first, let's ensure we're all on the same page. I'm an adult enthusiast, and while the age of our characters may vary, I prefer my RP partners to be 18+ like myself. It's not about the content; it's about finding kindred spirits who appreciate a mature approach to storytelling.
Inclusivity is paramount to me, and I warmly welcome partners who embrace diversity, including the LGBTQ+ community.
When it comes to out-of-character chatter, count me in! I love connecting with my partners on a personal level, discussing our shared interests, brainstorming ideas, or simply sharing a laugh.
I find myself drawn lately to what people refer to as "comfort" roleplays. This is a type of split roleplay where we each give each other something the other has been craving. It's a concept I find inherently fair, especially when paired with the dynamic nature of doubling. Also, I am more than committed to doing my research for what my partner wants on their side.
I do of course come with a list of fandoms as well. Take a look!
Anime;. hack/SIGN, 20th Century Boys, Air Gear, Assassination Classroom, Astro Boy, Attack on Titan, Azumanga Daioh, Baccano!, Baki The Grappler, Big O, Black Cat, Black Lagoon, Bleach, Blood+, Blue Exorcist, Bungou Stray Dog, Claymore, Cowboy Bebop, Cyborg 009, Death Note, Detective Conan/Case Closed, Digimon, Dogs Bullets and Carnage, Dragon Ball Z, Elfen Lied, Eureka Seven, Evangelion, Excel Saga, Free! - Iwatobi Swim Club, Fullmetal Alchemist, Gakuen Alice, Ghost in the Shell, Girls und Panzer, Gravitation, Gunslinger Girl, Haikyu, Hamtaro, Hellsing, Hetalia - Axis Powers, Highschool of the Dead, Hunter X Hunter, Inazuma Eleven, Infinite Stratos/IS, Inuyasha, Jujutsu Kaisen, K, Kengan Asura, K-ON, Karin. Kill la Kill, Kuroko no Basuke, Lucky Star, Lupin III, Magical Girl Lyrical Nanoha, Monster, My Hero Academia, Naruto, Oban Star-Racers, One Piece, One Punch Man, Ouran High School Host Club, Outlaw Star, Pet Shop of Horrors, Pretty Cure, Puella Magi Madoka, Magica Rosario + Vampire, Rurouni Kenshin, Sailor Moon, Serial Experiments Lain, Shinzo, Soul Eater, Sword Art Online, Toaru Majutsu no Index, Tokyo Ghoul, Tokyo Mew Mew, Trigun, Trinity Blood, Witch Hunter Robin, Wolf’s Rain, Yu Yu Hakusho, Yu-Gi-Oh, Zatch Bell
Books; Animorphs, Artemis Fowl, Guardian of Ga'Hoole, Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, Redwall, Silverwing
Cartoons; American Dad, Animaniacs, Avatar the Last Air-Bender, Avengers Assemble, Batman The Animated Series, Ben 10, Danny Phantom, Ed, Edd, N’ Eddy, Family Guy, Generator Rex, Incredible Hulk The Animated Series, Justice League, Kids Next Door, Kim Possible, Looney Tunes, Ninjago, Powerpuff Girls, Rugrats, Scooby Doo, Spectacular Spider-Man, Static Shock, Superman The Animated Series, Teen Titans, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, The Batman, Thundercats, Tiny Toons Adventures, Totally Spies, Ultimate Spider-Man, Winx Club, X-Men Evolution, X-Men The Animated Series, Young Justice
Comics; Anything DC, Anything Marvel
Films; Terminator, Matrix, Pirates of the Caribbean, Lord of the Rings, Fast and Furious, Godzilla
Games; Alien Isolation, Batman The Arkham Series, Bio-Shock, BlazeBlue, Call of Duty, Crash Bandicoot, Dead Space, Dead or Alive, Deus Ex, Diablo, Dragon Age, Dragonball Xenoverse, FEAR, Fable, Five Night’s at Freddy’s, Halo, Left 4 Dead, Life is Strange, Mario, Mass Effect, Metro 2033, Mortal Kombat, Outlast, Persona, Pokémon, Resident Evil, Silent Hill, Sonic The Hedgehog, Soul Caliber, Spyro the Dragon, Tekken, Telltale Walking Dead, The Elder Scrolls, The Evil Within, The Last of Us, Undertale, Until Dawn, Wolf Among Us

~First~
(Wee! No focus today! ... I’m sorry. I’m just... not on earth right now. Ironic that I’m writing Science-Fiction while spacing out uncontrollably.)
Antlers, Assumptions and Artillery
Admiral Crosswind pauses mid sentence and Bjorn’s eyebrows rise up. They were mid meeting about a shift to things in relation to his official marriage and they were going well until this interruption.
“Excuse me.” She says before holding out her hand to signal Bjorn to stop as he rises to leave. She accepts the call. “Admiral Crosswind speaking. Who is this?”
“Hmm, you’re one of the few people who put these calls on Audio Only.”
“I’m mid meeting, this is to your benefit.”
“I see, it won’t matter much either way, this is not a formal inquiry. I am Observer Wu from Earth. I am making preliminary contact with all Undaunted assets and other such human born efforts.”
“Why would Earth require an Official Observer?” Crosswind asks.
“The state of the galaxy is well and truly beyond anything we expected, as such a properly trusted and vetted individual is needed to fully asertain things.”
“Weren’t full on samples, supplies and innumerable eyewitness accounts sent back to Earth?” Crosswind asks.
“Yes, which is why I was sent out. Without those samples and unrelenting number of testimonies things would have been dismissed entirely.” Observer Wu notes. “Could you please activate the visual part of this call? I would like to see who else is in the room with you before I speak further. And we must speak.”
“Very well.” Admiral Crosswind says and activates the call fully.
“So, you are Admiral Crosswind. A pleasure.” Observer Wu notes as his eyes clearly scan her several times.
“Likewise. With me is Sergeant Bjorn Veers. Due to his evolving circumstances he’s being taken off bodyguard duties and moved into Drill Instructor.”
“A bit of a step.”
“Things change when one marries their VIP.” Admiral Crosswind says.
“We were just finishing up anyways. I had accepted and was being officially informed of my duties and training times, but that can be sent to me later if you’d like to speak her alone.” Bjorn says.
“No, it’s fine. This is just a preliminary call. Nothing restricted, nothing secret. Just a few questions and clarifications. I’m going to be visiting at a time to be determined, so I need to know what to prepare myself for. The perspective of both a soldier on the ground and a commanding officer will be useful. I am told you are on a tactically advantageous world called Zalwore, what advantage is this and what is it like?”
“I will tell you what the world is, and Sergeant Veers can tell you what it’s like.”
“Acceptable, please continue.”
“Zalwore’s value is in it’s location. This system practically has two Axiom Laneways inside it, and several more going in different directions are a small distance away. This means that Zalwore is a massive trading and travel hub from which you can easily access over half of all galactic civilization with ease. So much goes through this system that having any kind of presence here gives you access to just about everything in the galaxy, because although it allows easy access to half the galaxy, the other half makes a point of coming through here to trade with the others. Peoples, ideas, materials, designs, news, all these things and much more flow through this world so consistently that only fools ignore the advantage.”
“Very interesting, and what about the world itself?”
“Very cold and dry. Think Tundra, but less snow than normal. Furthermore there are numerous vicious natural predators in the form of the Tundra Worm, a repulsive life form that is hyper aggressive and breeds at a sickening rate. Thankfully the communities of Zalwore are all in the Arcology Style, meaning massive superstructures that contain entire cities. These lay upon hypercrete shelves which the worms cannot penetrate.” Bjorn explains and Observer Wu thinks.
“How dangerous are these creatures?”
“If you’re willing to keep moving and make a point of stepping quickly when you feel the earth under you shift, then they cannot harm you. But if you stop to rest off of stone you will end up bitten. They’re not large enough to eat a man whole. But they will leave gruesome scars if given half a chance, no one’s died to these things, but not for lack of trying on the part of the monsters. Also if you have any pets and they get out of the arcology then they’re basically worm food. Literally. It’s the reason the damn things are breeding in so much excess.”
“I find it hard to believe a world with such threats is so well regarded.”
“Well as they say, location, location, location. Zalwore is the poster world for having an amazing location.” Admiral Crosswind says with a shrug.
“Sensible, now, what do you do on Zalwore?”
“This is primarily a training facility coupled with storage and dispatch. As just discussed, the location of the world is perfect. We can get people here with ease, we can get them from here with ease as well. Just perfect. So we produce things here from raw materials as well in our few factories as well and primarily use them for training.” Admiral Crosswind states.
“What form of training do you perform? IS it Axiom enhanced? Is it even possible to do that?”
“It is sir.” Bjorn says and Observer Wu glances at him before looking back and truly examining him.
“Sergeant Veers. Are you in fact human? Or is this merely a coincidence in that you have the same name and vaguely the same features of the Bjorn Veers that shipped out on The Dauntless.”
“I am Bjorn Veers from Earth yes.”
“You appear to gained several hundred pounds of muscle.”
“Yes sir.”
“May I ask why?”
“As you have heard sir, I am leaving bodyguard duties. My client, now my wife, is a workout fanatic. It rubbed off sir. Between the two of us we could theoretically drag off ninety percent of the armour used in training without the use of Axiom. With minimal Axiom assistance we can pick up and walk off with any two each.” Bjorn says and Observer Wu raises an eyebrow. “No sir, I am not the standard, I am unusually large and strong for a soldier.”
“I see, however I would like to know about Axiom enhanced training techniques.”
“There are, one can skip a lot of training when it comes to base drill learning and we have several tricks. Our most widely used one is based on the retention bands of a Healing Coma. We use it to basically give people a very vivid dream that teaches everyone the basics, but just knowing them is never good enough so the skills need to be ground in with drill and practice. It just speeds things up by several weeks and makes the main focus conditioning.”
“So this technique is primarily a transfer of information?”
“Yes, the original version of it is used in Healing Comas so that people can retain their memories. We basically have retention bands with nothing but training in them and use those on healthy people. This gives them the knowledge, but they need the experience and some emotional attachment to things, otherwise it’ll just slip away. We’ve tested it a few times, soldiers that train in their own way after getting the bands against soldiers that have proper drill afterwards. The ones with proper drill perform substantially better, but both can perform at an acceptable standard.”
“I see. Still, shaving multiple weeks off standard instruction?”
“At minimum. Usually new soldiers are being produced twice as quickly, sometimes three times as fast. We’re trying to stabilize that and then see if we can’t go for four.” Admiral Crosswind says. “I’ve overseen numerous new soldiers head out to allied worlds and I’m also in charge of recruiting and managing highly skilled assets to train further soldiers.”
“Is that so? So there’s a call for elite forces?”
“Of course, I’m not sure what kind of history Earth has with such things, but every now and then someone, or something shows up that needs special handling. When that happens you need the absolute best to deal with them. There are entire professions and cultures based around such. Bounty Hunting for example.”
“I see. That’s very... interesting. Are there concerns you’ve been having about working with humans?” Observer Wu asks.
“Only in that they have occasionally offered me poisonous foods without thinking.” Admiral Crosswind says. “If you’re looking for a non-human opinion on humans... energetic is one word that’s going to come up a lot.”
“It is is it?”
“Oh yes. Your race doesn’t seem to tire and keeps pace with ease. Another term you will hear a great deal of is Apex. It’s a term for races that are more action prone than others. It doesn’t matter how powerful a species is, if they don’t have the reactions to actually move when things go wrong, then they’re not Apex.”
“And how are Apex species regarded?”
“Generally well, although more timid species tend to be more cautious around them. Not openly though, too many jobs in emergency services are filled with Apex peoples for anyone to bare much of a grudge.”
“Would Apex species also have a higher criminal bent to them?’
Marginally, but yes. Think of it like this. In an Apex you don’t have to train people to do SOMETHING when things start happening. But the reflex can still be trained in. So criminality as a learned behaviour? That also leads to people with reflexes.”
“... Hmm, this implies that most people of the galaxy freeze up when things start going wrong.”
“They do. It can happen in humans now and again from my understanding. However as I said, it can be trained out.”
“I understand. Now...” Observer Wu begins to ask before a buzz on Admiral Crosswind’s desk cuts him off.
“Yes?”
“Uh ma’am? Your next meeting has arrived.”
“Right, well... inform them that the Observer from Earth is currently occupying my time and ask them to please wait.”
“I’m willing to simply stand back and watch.” Observer Wu offers.
“Thank you, Bjorn, I’m going to take you up on your earlier suggestion. Head on out but expect my email.”
“Ma’am, yes ma’am.” Bjorn says getting up and moving out. It’s Migalla and Jacob “Oh hello again you two, training going well?”
“Fairly. What’s going on? Who is this?” Migalla asks as she enters the room followed by Jacob.
“I am Observer Wu, my species on the homeworld still struggles to understand the galaxy, so I have been sent. I am conducting an initial conversation with the places and peoples of interest. Zalwore is one. May I have your name and rank?”
“Specialist Migalla Britghteyes.”
“Captain Jacob Shriketalon.”
“A pleasure, please ignore me. I am as my title insists, an Observer.” Wu states and both Migalla and Jacob share an odd look.
“An excellent idea, lets me get my work done while answering questions before they’re asked. Now then, how has Captain Shriketalon’s training proceeded?”
“Fairly well. His planning skills are improving, but currently his default when a plan goes wrong isn’t, have another plan, it’s extreme violence. Which isn’t always the best answer, but it’s a very punchy one.” Migalla says. “Still, if he’s ever boarded by pirates thinking they’re dealing with a cultural pacifist they’re going to be torn to shreds in short order.”
“Better than breaking a bottle of bubbly on a new ship.” Jacob jokes and Migalla scoffs.
“You’ve been enjoying that digestion tattoo too much.”
“Oh no, I’ve been enjoying it just enough I’m ragin’ for Cajun.” Jacob says with a big grin. “Besides, it’s fun to freak out some people with the chem scanners? Just walk through them, apologize for setting them off then eat what triggered it to ‘dispose’ of it.”
“I thought that woman was going to have a heart attack.” Migalla replies.
“You told me to case the place, seeing how they react to weird situations tells me a lot.” Jacob says and she sighs. “No really! Seeing how fast they showed up when she screamed told me about the reaction time of their security and how much I was able to talk them down afterwards told me how easy they were to fool! Very important things to know!”
“I don’t know how much of that was made up on the spot or actually planed.”
“What’s the phrase? Six of one, half a dozen of the other?” Jacob asks.
“May I assume our winged soldier is being taught how to plan out assaults? Why would he need or not already have that training at captain rank?” Observer Wu asks.
“I own my own ship and did before I signed up. I signed up explicitly to get better training. So while I’m a good pilot, mechanic and captain, I need more when it comes to hitting a target with something other than a broadside.”
“Not that much, he’s got a mean streak and mostly just wants a polish on his skills, which is what he’s getting from me.” Migalla states. “Any other questions or may we continue with this meeting?”
“Only one, that prosthetic is there any level of phantom limb syndrome or issues with it?”
“Superior to it’s original in every way. I have full feeling with no disassociation, it’s stronger, tougher and has everything I want from it, in it.”
~First~ Last

Prologue (Commencement)
Over footage of childhoods and adolescences of one James Theodore Davis ("Joker"), Leonard Pratt Lawrence ("Gomer Pyle"), Robert Evans ("Cowboy") and Peter Brown ("Snowball"); we know not all was well within the United States of America in the years leading up to the Vietnam War. But as the visions of all Marine Corps graduates tell, there is one mystery that leaves them baffled. They all wonder whilst the sounds of Johnnie Wright's "Hello Vietnam" plays what led to the downfall of Gunnery Sergeant Hartman under the titles.
Act I (Childhood Between the World Wars)
Scene I - Born on March 15th (the Ides of March) in 1927, Earle Gerheim Hartman is soon the only boy and middle child between six sisters of his - Lisa, Denise and Jennifer being the eldest each by one year separating him and each other; and followed by Jessica, Deanna and Leann being the youngest each by mainly one year separating him and each other. Earle's father Victor is a former Captain of the US Army's 1st Infantry Division who served with honor but earned shell shock from the Third Battle of Picardy which leaves him rifle-shy.
Scene II - If smothered in love and affection from his mother Teresa and his sisters, Earle feels stifled or totally overpowered which caused him great anxiety and rage. But he turns destructive, vulgar and quite aggressive even when there is nobody causing him turmoil. Earle only seems happy when he gets his way or even pushing his younger sisters around. From a very young age, Earle Gerheim Hartman has a peculiar fascination with the perversion of the feminine into becoming more of the masculine. He always clams up towards his older sisters.
Scene III - During long nights over suppedinner, Earle's sisters all discuss how they'll work their ways out of the Great Depression and hope to usher in a world of peace and femininity that will hopefully be a better way forward for humanity. Some of their time during summer and winter breaks is spent with their brother Earle dolling him up and making him look pretty. But these harmless gestures of fun are actually causing turmoil in their brother for he feels unclean and violated whenever he is with them. The world of femininity scares him.
Scene IV - Throughout his nightmares, Earle dreams of some overweight bald young man of about 18 years old wearing a psychotic grin and dead eyes holding a rifle in his hands whether in a bathroom-like space or even in a military barracks squad bay. Earle tries demanding the young man surrender the rifle to him but the man is determined to kill him. He refuses to let some nightmare figure toy with him as he raves and insults the figure until it shoots him right in the heart. This is a representation of the feminine Earle feels compelled to kill.
Scene V - It is when Earle is almost nine years old that he finds his father's Springfield hunting rifle in a cellar under the farmhouse that a feeling of power emerges. He uses the rifle to shoot at a dozen snakes, rabid dogs, squirrels and other vermin to keep them away. But it is killing and desecrating the corpses of the animals that Earle finds an outlet for his rage and sadistic hunger for power that the thrill of battle will someday provide. But his father Victor tries to steer him away via a book All Quiet on the Western Front which pisses Earle off.
Act II (Adolescence in World War II)
Scene I - At the age of 14 years old, young "Crazy Earl" is introduced by his sister Lisa to a school mate of hers named Christina who is 17 like her at a school party. Secretly, it is part of Lisa's plan to help heal her brother of the darkness poisoning his soul by helping him lose his virginity. Watching him swim in secret at Jones Park's lakes one summer, Christina opens him up as she seduces and mates with him. Horrified and violated at such a loss of his prized virginity, "Crazy Earl" races home and his sisters all know about it without telling to taunt him.
Scene II - Running away from home to escape his sisters, "Crazy Earl" finds himself outside the Twelfth Avenue Baptist Church which is home to a youth chapter of the Ku Klux Klan. "Crazy Earl" confesses he has from his birth hated the feminine figures in his life smothering him or having any power over him which the Chapter Wizard sympathizes with. They all hate white men being "feminized" by the multiracial crusades that America is embarking on against the Nazis of Hitler's Germany. And he tenuously makes a few tenuous "friends" there.
Scene III - Over the course of the rest of World War II, "Crazy Earl" is seduced by all the propaganda films and newsreels of United States Marines (soldiers who have more rigorous training than the army but are serving with the Navy as well) proving their savagery and masculinity in combat against Nazis, Italian "Blackshirts" of Mussolini and the Imperial Japanese Army forces or of Hirohito. Teresa and Victor are horrified by their Earle idolizing and collecting material related to firearms and General George Patton while also having Klan robes.
Scene IV - For as much as "Crazy Earl" Hartman hates the crusade against Nazi Germany being waged by his General Patton as though it was a war to kill his few friends who were part of the youth chapters of the Klan, he idolizes the attitude and speeches Patton gives. Both Hartman and Patton find thoughts of losing a war hateful to what it means to be a real American man - a fighter and killer. Victor cannot fathom what would be rather enticing about being a killing soldier but they are "Crazy Earl"'s only respites from the "prison" of femininity.
Scene V - With the knowledge that his virginity has been lost looming over his head, "Crazy Earl"'s hatred of all things feminine is only solidified as he becomes trauma bound to the Klan and even to the idea of serving only the masculine order of United States Marines. Upon his eighteenth birthday, "Crazy Earl" receives his draft card calling him up for military service - one which Hartman takes so he can enlist in the Marine Corps to flee from his family and Christina. Some of his "friends" who were raised by Klan members go with him to Parris Island.
Act III (Private - USMC in Korea)
Scene I - Taking the Santa Fe's El Capitan train from Emporia to Los Angeles before heading down by way of a San Diegan train to San Diego and the Marine Corps Base San Diego, "Crazy Earl" joins dozens of other young men in Basic Training with zeal and enthusiasm. He is eager to get some time on the front lines to leave a mark of blood and violence on the Axis armies in either Europe or the Pacific. But his cherry for officially sanctioned military violence remains un-popped by the time "Crazy Earl"'s training is complete after both V-E and V-J Day.
Scene II - During the time between the Second World War and the Korean War, "Crazy Earl" drifts from town to town across America under the cover of charity operations by the Marine Corps and in secret the Klan. Being a young man with an itchy trigger finger and unprocessed trauma over losing his virginity, he begins exacting his revenge by partaking in raids against minority neighborhoods and towns. But the nonfatal nature of the raids leaves him wanting actual blood which is when Private Earl Hartman is called back to serve the Corps in Korea.
Scene III - Tasting the thrill of blood and violence over the course of the First Battle of Pork Chop Hill starting on April 16th lasting until the 18th of 1953; "Crazy Earl" is a screaming, raving lunatic as he is going off and away at Chinese People's Volunteer Army (PVA) soldiers with a Browning M1918 machine gun and M1 Garand service rifle. His savagery was considered necessary to drive off the Japanese and win the battle for America. For his service in the final battles, "Crazy Earl" is awarded the Navy Cross. This is, to him, his own Iwo Jima.
Scene IV - Back at home, Victor and Teresa discover that their daughters' plan to help their brother purge all of his aggression from himself with help from Christina has resulted in a pregnancy that sired a son and daughter the latter is raising with help from her childhood sweetheart husband Kennett Pratt. News of this soon reaches the Corps in 1955 as the Vietnam War commences with American military involvement seven years away. With the knowledge he sired a son and daughter, "Crazy Earl" thinks of his family and the fate awaiting his death.
Scene V - On the verge of being processed out of the Corps on a Section 8, "Crazy Earl" begins showing signs of suicidal ideation over the thought of returning to the dreaded civilian life and reconnecting with his sisters that begat his trauma. But then his own inner demons begin berating him in his mind to say that if he quits on himself, the filth-ridden scourge that is both communism and femininity will win. Only a man hard of heart and cruelty-minded can beat back the looming tide, so "Crazy Earl" pulls himself together to pass his psych eval.
Act IV (Corporal/Junior Drill Instructor - USMC in-between Korea and Vietnam)
Scene I - Through grit, determination, and sheer physical prowess; young Hartman applies for training in the Military Occupational Specialty number of 0911 - Marine Corps Drill Instructor. Upon completion of the Drill Instructor School and receiving his 0911 MOS, Corporal Hartman is inducted into the 1st Battalion of Recruit Training Regiment. His fellow Junior Drill Instructors try to make him feel welcome, but passing glances at the 3rd Recruit Training Battalion which trains female Marine recruits begins to turn Hartman's bloodlust to max.
Scene II - The night of the Ribbon Creek Incident of April 8th, 1956 is a pivotal moment for Hartman in his very early days as a Junior Drill Instructor. Hearing of Staff Sergeant Matthew McKeon's harsh training routine being responsible for the drowning deaths of six recruits has the other drill instructors on edge for the fate of their beloved Corps. But Hartman finds a kindred spirit in the media and public's portrayal of McKeon as malicious. He wants to exact his wrath like McKeon to say everyone but him is weak (the wicked "feminine") or even evil.
Scene III - Hartman's time as a Junior Drill Instructor is marked by him breaking and training at Parris Island two of the most notorious murderers with Marine Corps service records - Lee Harvey Oswald in 1956 and Charles Whitman in 1959. The base's staff are disturbed that Hartman found kindred spirits in McKeon and now Oswald and Whitman for their hair-trigger bloodlust. They show a marksmanship that Hartman covets and wants to turn loose on the world as examples of truly motivated Marines that civilians and women aren't.
Scene IV - By the beginning of 1962, the Marine Corps uses Hartman's drill instructor as an excuse to get him back onto the front lines of combat away from the toxic influence he is having upon all his fellow Junior Drill Instructors. Taken out of his natural element and placed in a position where he will likely be killed by forces he could not break or take his own breed of wrath out on is the proverbial 'world of shit' for Hartman. He realizes he had to fall in love with his own hatred and wrath that got him into this and has to play it cool for some time.
Scene V - Whilst serving as a so-called "advisor" on the front lines of Saigon (eventually to be renamed Ho Chi Minh City) in Southern Vietnam, Hartman moves up ranks from Corporal through Sergeant and Staff Sergeant showing trainees of the Army of the Republic of Vietnam (ARVN) how to transition from the M1 Garand to the M14 service rifle. In between his originally scheduled two tours of Vietnam, Hartman is caught up in the dying gasps of his hometown's Klan chapter caught up in the social upheavals of the 1960s closing in all around him.
Act V (Gunnery Sergeant/Senior Drill Instructor - USMC in Vietnam) [First Act of Full Metal Jacket]
Scene I - Hartman is pulled away from serving his second tour on the front lines of Vietnam to become the top Senior Drill Instructor at Parris Island. He's eager for some misery and suffering to wreak upon some hapless recruits in getting his power back, but he knows that if he fucks up in any way by failing one recruit he is going to either get sent back to the front lines or be court-martialed right out of the Corps. This is a world of shit that Hartman is in as he reports over to Parris Island where he at last attains the coveted rank of Gunnery Sergeant.
Scene II - At last meeting one of his first platoons as a Senior Drill Instructor at MCRD Parris Island in 3092 for mid-late November 1966; Hartman starts tearing into his new recruits while Durrane and Seaton, his two Junior Drill Instructors or "Devil Dogs", watch him steal their thunder. Witnessing his cruelty towards Snowball, Joker, Cowboy and Gomer Pyle has Corporals Durrane and Seaton begin to run afoul of an entrenched toxic power structure Hartman is taking advantage of to remain with the Corps. Some marines sympathize with hippies.
Scene III - During the jelly doughnut confrontation between Hartman and "Pyle"; Durrane and Seaton see a useful skill that "Pyle" has as their ticket to removing Hartman's tyranny once and for all. They willfully start to become more lax in their security checks after leaving the rifle range to allow "Pyle" to rack up a full magazine of live 7.62x51mm NATO full metal jacket rounds whilst secretly rewriting their very regulations books to allow for "Pyle" to keep his rifle up until the night before 3092 is to ship on out - all of it from under Hartman's nose.
Scene IV - Whilst training his recruits, Hartman is reliving the culture and abuses that unleashed the psychotic martinet lurking inside him and conquering the forces of feminism, race equality and LGBTQIA+ rights that stink of Communism and threaten to pollute his ideals of masculinity. But his failure is assured on the night before the graduating recruits of 3092 are set to ship out for further training. He hears "Pyle" reciting drill commands and brandishing a rifle in 3092's Barracks' Head Latrine outside his quarters as the platoon sleeps.
Scene V - Bursting into the Head, Hartman confronts "Joker" and "Pyle". In his mind, Hartman sees his own nightmares of his childhood manifesting as he chooses to perpetuate it by antagonizing "Pyle" more as he demands the rifle so he can kill him with it. But the seeds of his abuse sow a total whirlwind as "Pyle" slays the monster to shoot Hartman dead through the heart before killing himself. As he lay on the Head deck dying, Hartman curses God and all his recruits for abandoning the perfect killing man as darkness consumes him.
Epilogue (Hell)
Finally arriving in some representation of Hell; Hartman is hounded by the spirits of people he chose to hurt as he bellows his obscenities and futilely tries to grab at and hurt them all again. If he chose not to reject or doubt the strength and love of his sisters over simple infantile play, Hartman might not be in the self-inflicted punishment he is in. Hartman can only lash out at the imps and visions around him - especially of "Private Pyle" that he's always hated everything and never wanted love from family or his friends, only death and violence. Roll credits...

It's a beautiful morning here in Lower Duck Pond. In the past few weeks, we have had a few special issues and... unforeseen circumstances that have led to three whopping weeks of news to catch up on. Be warned, this issue is LONG.
The new local prank show has been a favorite of the teens and local college kids. It has been a bit more problematic for others. Berry was officially the first victim, but the list would quickly grow. To date:
206 lunches stolen. 89 rude awakenings. 24 hats stolen. and 305 miscellaneous small shiny objects stolen. Sadly though, Stacy has had it the worst. She has been defecated on 286 times in the past three weeks. A phenomenal number. The poo was so acidic it damaged her hair so bad she has had to shave it. To the annoyance to the producers, yesterday she broke down and bought an umbrella. Lawyers and lawsuits are beginning to assemble. More on this story soon.
The annual Derby was a success, only a few major injuries were sustained.
Another interesting news story. Local landowner recently bought one of the abandoned chapels in the woods. With the help of some volunteers, myself included. To the chagrin of all of us, the centuries old chapel had a few surprises in store. I personally uncovered what turned out to be a burial chamber. Experts now believe the bodies are that of our towns first residents, including the alleged town founder, Gen. Ducky Mallard. The bodies are now on display in the local history museum.
Our local talent show was a bang. Lots of very unusual and interesting acts. Only one major injury occurred, although quite a few of us by the speakers had some minor hearing loss after Mary's 'singing' act. According to our good mayor, singing the frozen song- you know the one- in public is now punishable by fine.
YO WAS UP!!! ITS RANDY. YO I KNOW THIS SUPPOSE TO BE AN AD SPACE BUT WANTED TO SAY HI!!!! ---ITS YOUR BOY, RANDY!!!!
Hank's 'incident' and resultant legal case is currently being wrapped up. Luckily Hank will still be our head anchor man.
Catching heat has taken off. With several episodes being aired now, we are well into the season, and boy are we on the edge of our seats. Interestingly enough, with the episodes being aired on Friday night, the wine sales of our local grocers and increased by forty-two percent.
The recent crash course in technology conference was well appreciated among our older generation. In fact, it has inspired a new club! the The Geriatric Geeks with Gizmos and Gadget's Gathering is now taking place every Tuesday at Nine AM at Jerry's.
With the end of the school year... well we can say all hell has broke loose. Kids are getting into trouble left and right. Amanda's son in particular is being quite a little terror. Ding-Dong-Ditching is at an all time high, with rocks, eggs, and even pies being used. It has been so bad, there has been talk up at city hall about making summer school mandatory for all kids.
On the topic of little monsters, as many of you know I was held hostage by quite a few of my peers. Luckily all but one is out of the hospital. I only needed a few stitches and none of my property was harmed. The fun part was they didn't even get to watch the movie, and were sentenced to two hundred community service hours each. I have also paid James, our local high school football star, to watch out after the tree house, so anyone who wants to try something like that again, be warned.
An odd radio announcement was heard by locals a few days ago. It was mostly incoherent but was unsettling to us all. Authorities do not believe it to be a danger, although they are not sure what exactly it was. More on this later.
Our Artsy little town is once more hosting a new play. Signups are still open, but filling up fast.
Please someone tell me what this bet book is about. I've asked hundreds of people and all I get is a "don't worry about it".
We still need petitioners to sign the protected bike lane petition. This is a much needed thing for many of our citizens, so let the mayor hear our voice!
On some odd news, naked yoga night caused quite the catastrophe in traffic the other night. Everyone is out of the hospital now and back home.
According to an anonymous source, the mayor plans to further push the ban on the HOAs, and even plans to make it a central argument in his next campaign. On a similar note, campaign elections are just around the corner, and while the local officials have asked candidates to refrain from public campaigning so far, I have seen quite a few 'Vote for Dracula' signs out.
While this article has caught us up to a few days ago, there is an important subject I have left out. Days after school was out a massive flood of newcomers came to Lower Duck Pond, and many citizens were understandably upset, worried about them ruining our small town culture. This of course, will be something we have to figure out together, new comers and old timers alike. I shall be covering the plethora of news concerning this new group, and the vast dramatic changes that have happened these last few days. So stay tuned, I'll catch you later! -Ollie

Intro video(third person narration like old fallouts) War. War never changes. In the year 1945, your great-great grandfather, serving in the army, wondered when he'd get to go home to his wife and the son he'd never seen. He got his wish when the US ended World War II by dropping atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The World awaited Armageddon; instead, something miraculous happened. We began to use atomic energy not as a weapon, but as a nearly limitless source of power. People enjoyed luxuries once thought the realm of science fiction. Domestic robots, fusion-powered cars, portable computers. But then, in the 21st century, people awoke from the American dream. Years of consumption lead to shortages of every major resource. The entire world unraveled. Peace became a distant memory. It is now the year 2077. We stand on the brink of total war.
You’re an innocent citizen like most doing it’s job in society for a better future,but your life will fall soon in destruction and void. In this world,and the world to come,your life,any life, doesn’t matter. Because war. war never changes.
Start: It’s another day in Sanctuary Hills,a town north of Boston,you wake up in your little apartment and you go prepare in the bathroom,you see yourself in the mirror {Character creation} After washing your face and leaving yourr house you encounter your brother Mike,It’s an important day,you two proceed to the local Vault-Tec office where you two will take a test to enter the Vault 111 in case anything happens. You two enter the office and sign questionaries and do tests {Character S.P.E.C.I.A.L and skills editing}. After you finish you both go into a bar and drink. It’s the October 19th 2077,you wake up because someone is at the door,it’s the mailman who gives you a letter,you got accepted in the vault and you run to your brother’s apartment near yours,he will not get in the vault with you,he wasn’t in the list. You wake up,it’s the 23rd of October 2077,a morning you will never forget,the war has come and everyone is running in the vaults,the town is crumbling,those who didn’t get in the vault are robbing and doing anything to get enough resources to live in their bunkers.
You leave your home running and you see your brother near the streets that leads to the vault.
[HERE YOU CAN CHOSE IF YOU STAY WITH MIKE AND FIND SHELTER SOMEWHERE OR LEAVE HIM AND GO INTO THE VAULT]
Vault) You hug and say goodbye to Mike as you run in the vault,pass the gate and go to the entrance,you see a bright light from south and then a loud explosion and then you see your town and the city getting destroied. Just before the shockwave arrives the vault closes,in the vault the personell gives you your uniform and sends you in a chamber where you’ll get decontaminated,little did you know you’d get frozen for the next 210 years.
It’s the year 2287,you wake up in the chamber that starts opening,but there are no scientists,you see armed men dressed like shit watching you and the other dwellers,a man stands between all,he has a military armor,a laser rifle and a scar in the face,he says: <>. The armed men quickly cuff every dweller in the room,and you,they bring you outside where the sun burns your eyes,they put you in a rudimental truck and go. You arrive in a camp where the women (even the player if female) are sent in a way as clean,young,healty prostitutes,meanwhile the men get sent in the fields as slaves. A year passes,as you eat crumbs you see a man passing by,has a rotten face and body,souless eyes,he stares at you for some reason. After a while he comes to you,watches you for a minute and says “BrotheSister.. Are you really…”It’s mike,he got enslaved like anyone who managed to survive in sanctuary,he ghoulified.
Mike Shelter)_________________ You chose to stay with him and not leaving him alone, you find shelter in his garage. Before closing it you hear screams,people want to get in praying god you’ll let them in but then the light comes,your brother quickly closes the garage and brings you in the basement he built. The place sucks,dirt everywhere and a stockpile full of food and you spend the day silently. It’s the year 2081 and you wake up with some strange bruises in your body,your brother too is strange and you feel very bad,all your skin hurts and you nearly manage to stand up,Mike screams at you “What the fuck happened” You became a monster,you tought that strange feeling some days before was temporary but now you’re not a human anymore… It’s the year 2286,you are still alive,you go outside searching for your crops,your apartment is now a mess but you and mike managed to protect it for 200 years,when outside though you see a group of men that spot you. he has a military armor,a Hunting rifle and a scar in his face, he says: <> They put you in a truck with two other survivors they found in sanctuary,the discendents of your neighbours,they are stupid and malformed because of incest and radiation,and other scavengers from concord,the truck departs and stops in the slavers camp. The year is 2288 and Mike at dinner is very silent,you try to talk.
RECAP——————————————————————————————————— [So one starting point is you in the vault that got discovered from the slavers a year before when they enslaved the population of sanctuary and concord(2286),they managed to open it to enslave healty and clean workers and prostitutes killing all the scientists and personnel. The other is you remaining with your brother in his basement,you two ghoulified (THE PLAYER CAN BE A GHOUL FINALLY)the enslave you and discover vault 111]
——————————————————————————
[The two starting points merge]
After a chat he tells you a plan to escape the camp and departs. Some days later, a night he comes near your cell and says it’s time. You quickly act on the plan but the man,the so called Scarface is right behind you with 3 man armed with miniguns,he says:
IF VAULT START<>
IF GHOUL<> Mike still tries to escape with or without you but he doesn’t make it,<>
He kills Mike and puts you in a truck the next morning. While on the trip the truck gets attacked and you get saved from a group of people,they bring you in their village and take care of you and the other prisoners. They are called Minuteman… It’s the year 2290 and after training you’re ready for revenge….
GAME REVOLVES ON FINDING THE SLAVERS CAMP AND SCARFACE,YOU DON’T KNOW WHERE IT IS SINCE IS VERY HIDDEN AND THE TRUCK WAS CLOSED

I was asked on Tumblr if I believed there is more to Vengeance Clover than simply him being a genocidal maniac. I figured that I should share my thoughts here.
Clover's killing spree is motivated by his desire to deliver 'justice' to Monsterkind for what had happened to the Fallen Children but it's even deeper than that.
At the beginning of the Neutral Run Final Boss, Flowey revealed that he had Reset Clover's journey hundreds of times, each run ending in Clover's death with potentially even more in between. Can you imagine that, dying hundreds, maybe thousands of times but being unable to remember it?
Except, Clover definitely remembers. He can learn from previous runs, doing better each time and making different choices despite Flowey's insistence that he shouldn't remember anything. If a Monster can experience deja vu after a Reset, then a human like Clover would remember much more.
All that trauma, buried deep within Clover's subconscious, waiting to be let out. Eventually, that anger was released in the form of the twisted justice that we know Vengeance Clover for. He marched through the Underground, hunting down dangerous Monsters, potentially not even releasing that he would have never even considered something like this a few hours ago.
But despite the pain... despite the anger, suffering, trauma and corruption of Clover's morals, he still keeps a sense of honour. He doesn't attack Monsters that do not threaten him. He (in most instances I hope) honours Starlo's duel. He spares Martlet not once but twice. He even searches Zenith Martlet's memories not to find a weakness but for a reason to kill her.
And most notably, he fulfils the mission. Clover could have simply left the Underground, with no King and dozens dead. Instead, he takes the time to free the souls of his brethren, the reason he jumped into the Underground in the first place. The Axis fight alone proves to us that he cares deeply for his fellow humans. That devotion may have even been strengthened because of the pain that Monsters caused him.
Many people see Vengeance Clover as a mass murderer with extremist ideals.
What I see, is a kid with dreams of being a hero, tortured by a false god and Monsterkind's inability to see the errors of their ways. A kid who was forced to compromise his morals for the sake of survival. A kid who, despite the pain and suffering, still shows signs of goodness. A kid who became the very thing Monsters feared.
Humanity's Vengeance and Monsterkind's Punishment. True Justice.
That is who Vengeance Clover is.

Thank you to:
u/SpacePaladin15 for creating the Nature of Predators universe.
u/EdibleGojid, author of Dark Cuts, for proofreading.
EmClear, aspiring author, for proofreading
You, the reader, for your support. I love reading your comments.
Please consider reading the works of my proofreaders as they’re all authors of excellent stories and be sure to check the links below for more of my work and beautiful art from members of the community.
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Memory transcription subject: Sawvek, Junior Extermination Officer
Date [standardised human time]: October 5th, 2136
The shouting match has already started by the time I make my way from the gym all the way to the briefing area upstairs, echoing loudly enough to be heard from the far end of the hallway.
“Of course I should be the one to go!” Intalran squawks sharply, audibly flapping his one good wing with indignation. “He’s my trainee and this is his first time doing actual field work! I need to be there! You can’t seriously expect me to trust the job to that washed up old heretic? He’s going to imprint all his bad habits onto the kid and then I’m gonna have to fix them!”
“You have a problem with the way I do my job, Intalran?” Vaesh shouts back. “Last I checked, between the two of us I’m the veteran officer! I outrank you in years, experience, and competence! If anyone’s gonna give the kid bad habits then it’s gonna be you! Sawvek oughta be transferred under my instruction before you break the kid any further!”
Turning the corner I’m met with the sight of Intalran and Vaesh, my two mentors, one official and the other unofficial. They stand beside the call centre where Jonsco watches them, giving off the impression that he wished they’d both get eaten by predators rather than continue to argue next to his station. Between them stands Chief Orviks, the out-of-shape Farsul rubbing his muzzle in frustration as he attempts to manage his unruly officers and looking as though he’d rather be anywhere else.
“Experience!” Intalran ruffles his feathers, making himself look larger than he really is in a subconscious threat display. “Is that what you call it? You’re so worn and grey that I'm beginning to wonder if you’re even still qualified to be a field officer! You oughta swap places with Falram and make yourself useful by filling out paperwork, or better yet, just cash out your pension and retire!” He turns to look at the Chief, letting his feathers down slightly. “Besides the obvious issue of his heretical disregard for common sense, we also need to consider Vaesh’s ability to perform the job by himself! Sawvek is just a trainee! Sending an old has-been out with a completely inexperienced junior officer is just asking for trouble!”
The chief gives a long, protracted, and pained sigh as he slowly opens his eyes to look at the irritant avian in front of him.
“Are you implying that your training has been so inadequate that Sawvek is still unqualified to participate in field operations?” A cunning glint sparkles in the Chiefs eye as he speaks, ensnaring Intalran in a trap built of his own pride. “Perhaps I should consider Vaesh’s proposal to take him off your hands then since you admit you’ve failed to properly prepare him for his duties?”
“I’d be happy to take over the responsibility, Chief.” Vaesh leans back with his arms crossed in front of him, satisfaction self-evident in his tone.
“I admit nothing!” Intalran vehemently protests. “Sawvek is one of the best recruits we’ve had in the entire time I’ve been stationed at this guild hall, and that is in no small part due to the excellent training and oversight I’ve personally provided him! If anyone is ready to take on additional responsibilities it would be him!”
The statement seems debatable to me. Beyond the absolute bare essential instruction of how to operate our equipment in the first place, Intalrans idea of ‘training’ primarily seems to consist of throwing me to the predators in the simulator over and over and over again. The only personalised instruction he gives that I couldn’t just as easily, and probably less painfully, get from someone else are his constant lectures on the nature of predators, overlaid with so much religious conjecture that I’m sure he must have at least minored in theology.
I’m sure it’s his idea of ‘helping me’ with my predatory tendencies, and I’m sure he’s doing his best to advise based on his own experience living with similar problems himself, but lately my symptoms seem to be getting worse if anything, not better. My outburst on the train and the fight with my brother the other paw are proof enough of that without even getting into the issue of the Voice. It only seems to be getting louder and louder lately, more assertive, and more independent. It’s not real. I know that. It’s not really someone else, it’s me; the twisted, evil predator inside of me that refuses to die. That’s the part that truly terrifies me.
“Good,” the chief says, almost mockingly, “then you should have no problem with Sawvek being assigned to this task.”
Intalran opens up his beak, looking as though he’s about to speak before thinking better of it. He taps his talons repetitively against the hard tile as he paces the floor and collects his thoughts before finally giving voice to them.
“I demand to accompany them as an auxiliary support member!” The bird-brained fanatic lifts up a wing as though proclaiming some profound revelation to the masses. “A supervisory position and emergency back-up in case anything goes wrong!”
“Hmm…” Chief Orviks pauses, seeming to consider the idea rather than outright rejecting it.
“What?” Vaesh’s jaw goes slack and he looks towards the Chief. “You can’t do this to me! I don’t want his back-up! He’s not even supposed to return to the field until medical clears him for that fracture in his wing anyway!”
“My wing is feeling much better actually.” Intalran says, full of snark.
“Oh really?” Vaesh replies sceptically. “I suppose you wouldn’t mind if I tested that then?”
The old Gojid veteran slowly reaches out towards the wing Intalran still has in a sling and my feathered instructor recoils, flinching back from the threat.
“Hey!” He decries. “Watch it!”
Vaesh simply gestures towards Intalran as he looks at Chief Orviks, satisfied with his demonstration. The Chief, meanwhile, is not amused. His brow is furrowed and angry, his tail rigid, and his lips beginning to curl back into a snarl.
“That’s enough out of both of you!” He barks out his orders with a growl. “Intalran, I’m letting you go with them, but only in an auxiliary capacity! This isn’t a reward! This is to get a little peace and quiet in this guild hall and to preserve the sanity of myself and everyone else in this building! Vaesh, you’ll just have to deal with him yourself! If we could refuse to work with people just because we don’t like them then this department would never accomplish anything! Neither of you has the authority to ‘demand’ anything or tell me what I can or can’t do! You will obey orders and you will do so to the letter or I’ll have you both on permanent desk-duty! Is that understood?”
“Yes, Chief.” The two enemies speak in unison, finally agreeing on something for once in their lives, and all it took was the threat of sanction directly from the Chief himself.
“Good.” He says, finally relieved for it all to be over and done with. “Now get out of my sight and get to work!”
The three of us don’t waste any time, departing the room as swiftly as we can lest we bring about the Chief’s ire once more.
Rushing into the equipment area I stop in front of my locker, an old and rusted thing desperately in need of a new coat of paint. The door pulls open with a bit of resistance and I retrieve my undersuit, a tight fitting body-suit of flame retardant fabric designed to tamp down on wool, feathers, and quills to preserve the integrity of the equipment and add an extra layer of protection. Stepping into the garment and allowing it to travel up my legs, I pull it over my shoulders like a second pelt before sealing it with the zipper across the front. Next comes the chrome, the heat resistant, reflective outer shell that provides the Exterminators with our distinctive appearance. The bottom half of mine are already staged and ready to go, tucked neatly into my boots. I stuff my feet inside and pull the pants up, slinging the attached suspenders over my shoulders and securing the front buckles. A protective hood made of the same material as the undersuit goes over my head next, pulled down around my neck and out of the way until I need it. I throw on the shining silver jacket quickly and back myself into one of the work packs that line the wall, a self contained breathing apparatus that plugs directly into our helmets. With a shake it comes loose and I bend forward, pulling the straps into place at my hips, shoulders, and chest. I throw the helmet over my head, allowing it to dangle around my neck by its chord, and slip my paws into a pair of thick, toughened gauntlets. Finally, I finish by loading myself up with all the other assorted odds-and-ends that make up our standard kit: Backup pistol, knife, communicator, spare ammo, flashlight, first-aid pack. All in all, I made good time.
Vaesh is already fully suited and waiting for me as I turn around.
“Remember Vrienna.” He advises me, “Let me check your suit integrity.”
“Right.” I suppress a shudder, thinking of what it would be like to burn to death while entombed in the bulky and claustrophobic suit, barely able to move as the flames eat me from the inside out. “Thanks.”
While Vaesh checks over the seals and shielding I look over at Intalran, still struggling to get his suit on with his wing in a sling. It's a shame he hadn't been wearing his suit the day of the Bloodbath. The added cushion from the gauntlets might have saved his wing.
“That's not regulation, Intalran.” Vaesh critiques with wry amusement. “If you can't get your suit on properly that's fine. You can just stay here and let us handle the mission by ourselves.”
“I'm not done yet!” Intalran snaps back. “And I'm coming whether you like it or not!”
Taking one last look at us while he mentally prepares himself, Intalran pulls his tender appendage out of its sling and slides it through the sleeve with a grimace. He finishes putting on his kit slowly and with great care, favouring his uninjured wing and self-splinting the other across his chest.
“Ready.” He declares provocatively, challenging Vaesh to say otherwise.
The old Gojid simply shakes his head in mild disbelief, resigned to his fate, and the three of us make our way to the vehicle garage in the rear of the building. Claiming one of the trucks in the fleet as our own, we start blazing down the highway with sirens blaring, Vaesh at the wheel while I take the passenger side seat and Intalran sits in the back.
“So what kind of job are we responding to anyway?” I ask aloud as we turn off onto an exit heading for the suburban outskirts of the city. “I think I missed the brief.”
“You didn't miss much.” Vaesh answers. “A certain someone interrupted it before it even really got started.”
“That primitive in dispatch didn't have anything meaningful to say anyway.” Intalran says, leaning forward to poke his head up into the front row. “All we know is that some old lady called in a report about a predator skulking around out back behind her shed. It could be nothing, just a panicky Venlil starting to lose it in her old age, or it could be something more serious. The more rural areas outside the city-proper get more predator incursions from the surrounding forests; not many, we do a good job of keeping the beasts at bay, but more. There's also a few Humans living out there that managed to break containment, harboured by tainted traitors.”
“You mean their exchange partners, Intalran.” Vaesh disputes the point. “If any of them had broken any actual rules they’d be in custody already.”
“Maybe they have?” Intalran counters. “That's just something we’ll need to determine when we get there. There's a reason we maintain files on them and track their movements after all, and if we have the opportunity to expunge a source of corruption from our fair city? All the better.”
“You can't just presume guilt, Intalran.” Vaesh says, growing increasingly tired with the conversation. “You need evidence, and I won't be hauling anyone down into the brig without it.”
“I don't presume anything, Heretic.” Intalran reclines moodily back into his seat. “I know. Maybe not the specific act of debauchery, but certainly their primordial sin.”
Vaesh just sighs, choosing to let the tension linger rather than continue in pointless arguments as he drives along, keeping weary old eyes fixed on the road ahead.
“What do you think it is, Vaesh?” I ask, filling the vacuum of empty silence.
“Hopefully nothing.” He answers. “Hopefully it's just a lonely old woman who wants to have a nice chat with some strapping young Exterminators. Too bad for her she’ll have to settle for us.” Vaesh chuckles at his own joke and I can't help but wave my tail a little myself. “We’ll just make a point of looking around, ask a few questions, and give some reassurance so that people feel safe. That's really what this job is about at the end of the paw, past all the heroics and the speeches. Just trying to make people feel safe.”
“And…” I press the issue with some trepidation, “if it's not nothing?”
“Then we make it safe.” Vaesh looks out the window, thoughtful. “If I had to guess, I’d say a shadestalker. They've been acting strange lately, getting bolder than normal, venturing closer and closer to the city. We’ve got a few packs living out in those woods, but we’d know it if there were that many in town. We're probably looking at a lone predator at worst. Between the two of us though, even that shouldn't be an issue as long as we can keep a level head.”
“You mean the three of us?” Intalran butts into the conversation yet again.
“No,” Vaesh grips the steering wheel hard, “I don't. You are authorised to supervise. That is all. Don't you even think of getting involved if we have to deal with an actual predator.”
“Of course…” Intalran relents, but I don't believe it for an instant.
At long last the armoured truck arrives at its destination, pulling into the driveway of a run down old home built in an outmoded, classical style that looks as though it's seen better days. Buzzing outside lights give a dim view of the front yard, aided by the headlights of the truck. A small flower bed, its inhabitants artificial, sits beneath dusty front windows and a white mailbox, painted with little faded paw prints, accompanies a small paved path of cracked stone that leads to the front door. The impression I get looking at it is as if slowly, bit by bit, its owner had gradually lost the ability to care for it, defeated after a protracted battle by the power of entropy.
“What a brahking dump, eh Killer?” The Voice announces itself. “Someone really oughta burn this shack down to the ground and build something that ain't an eyesore.”
“Shut up!” I whisper to myself, but not quietly enough.
“Say something, Sawvek?” Vaesh looks at me curiously.
“No, just got something caught in my throat is all.” I give a happy tail wave, overtly signalling that everything is fine.
“Probably just nerves.” Vaesh nods as we exit the vehicle and approach the front door. “Happens to everyone.”
The door opens, revealing an old Venlil woman with grey wool, turned white with age, who looks at us through squinting eyes and supports herself on a homemade wooden cane.
“Oh, Officers!” She greets us excitedly. “I'm so glad you came!!”
“Of course, Ma'am,” Vaesh says softly, “we take your concerns very seriously.”
“Thank you! Thank you!” The old Grannie seems almost beside herself with gratitude. “I can't tell you how nice it is to have someone listen!”
“So, what can you tell us about the predator you saw?” Intalran asks, looking rather disinterested in what was evidently becoming a rather mundane and tedious false alarm.
“Oh, the predator!” She shakes at the knees as she talks, a fragile twig swaying in the breeze. “It was awful! Why don't you dearie’s come inside and I’ll tell you all about it? I’ve got tea and fresh strayu!”
“That sounds lovely, Ma’am.” Vaesh steps inside and I follow.
“I'm not interested in snacks.” Intalran answers curtly. “If you don't have an actual problem for us to solve then we should be on our way back to the station in case something important comes up.”
“But this is important!” The old woman insists. “I’ve just been so scared to leave the house ever since those Humans took over the capital! It reminds me of the raid that took my husband from me. Now there's one living just down the block and I don't know what I’ll do if it sees me! I'm defenceless! It’ll eat me for sure!”
“A Human you say?” Intlrans interest peaks. “On second thought, I think I will come inside and you can tell me all about it.”
The interior of the house is old and horribly out of date with strange, tacky decor that hasn't been in style since before my own parents were born. Despite questionable choices in colour palette and ornamentation though everything is neat and tidy, well maintained and clean. Clearly the exterior then was the exception rather than the rule, a consequence of inability rather than inattention.
It's a wonder her family allows her to stay in a degrading house she can't properly care for without at least offering to pitch in and help her in her old age. A wonder that is, until we pass by three framed portraits of young space corps officers hung side by side, a folded flag of the Republic stored inside ceremonial cases beneath each one. The photographs have faded with age and not one of the officers looks to be older than my brother.
We're seated at a large dining table with five chairs and only one placemat. Our host begins setting the table, bringing plates and cups a plenty. From within an old, rustic strayu forge she pulls a loaf, still warm, and places it in front of us.
“Oh, this is so nice.” She says as she places a tea kettle atop the hot forge. “It's just like having the boys home again.”
“Very nice, Ma’am.” I respond as I look over at Vaesh and Intalran for direction.
“You said something earlier about a Human causing you trouble?” Intalran asks, shifting the focus back to business.
“Humans?” The old Grannie exclaims, looking about, confused. “Oh, I’m dreadfully scared of what those predators will do to me if they find me here all alone. There's one that moved in just down the block from me! Is that why you're here?”
Intalran groans in frustration and looks up at the ceiling.
“You called us, Ma’am.” I say in the same patient tone I use when my own mother's memory lapses. “You said something about seeing a predator out near your shed?”
“Oh, yes!” She perks up once more. “The shed! There was something out there, but I don't know what! I’ve been too scared to leave the house and check ever since. My eyes aren't what they used to be, but I could feel it watching me with hungry eyes.”
“Don't worry, Ma’am.” Vaesh reassures her, placing a gentle paw on her shoulder which seems to soothe her nerves. “We’ll take care of it. Could you show us where you first saw the predator?”
“Oh, of course.” The old woman slowly walks over towards a window next to the forge overlooking the back of the house. “It was right out there.”
Peering out the window reveals a sizable backyard, layered with snowfall, and containing a rickety old tool shack. Imprinted into the snow are a regular series of depressions, positioned near the shed, and leading off into a wooded grove in the distance. Predator tracks.
“Shadestalker,” Intalran looks out with interest, “so it seems there is something out there after all.”
“Sawvek,” Vaesh takes charge at once, “you're coming with me. Intalran, you stay here and keep the civilian safe. If anything happens, radio for backup.”
“What?” Intalran casts a confused and belligerent look at the Veteran Exterminator. “No, I’m coming along. You're not ditching me that easily.”
“You're only here to watch,” Vaesh pushes the point, “not to participate.”
“How am I supposed to supervise from inside the house while you two go trekking off into the woods?” Intalran counters.
“Figure it out and don't follow us.” Vaesh dismisses him before turning to me. “Come on Sawvek. It's time to put Intalran's training to the test.”
The two of us exit the house, returning to the truck where we retrieve our heavy flamers and sling them over our shoulders. I don my helmet and connect the air hose from my SCBA, watching as the heads-up display inside my mask flares to life and mounted lights illuminate my view. A crackle of radio static enters my ears as the internal com unit comes to life.
“I’ll take point on this one.” Vaesh says over the radio. “You watch our rear and keep that weapon ready. Stalkers are ambush predators and there's no telling where this one could be.”
“Yes, Sir.” I answer, flicking my safety off.
Making our way to the back yard the two of us stop, Vaesh inspecting the tracks while I maintain an overwatch.
“It looks like we were right,” he says, rising from the ground and waving me forward, “two sets of tracks to the forest, one coming and one going. Our predator paid a visit here before returning to wherever its nest is. Come on, let's go.”
We carry on into the snowdrifts, past the welcoming glow of civilization into the dense copse of trees. In another time this might have been a pleasant walk in the park, a stroll through a bit of carefully managed greenery meant to foster the beauty of the natural world and shine a bit of hopeful light into the night. This park, however, is long past its glory days. Unshoveled snow covers up winding walkways, leaving perilous tripping hazards hidden beneath its white blanket, and up above burnt-out street lamps stand like hauntingly solemn sentries over the encroaching darkness. The stars overhead twinkle in the black, peeking through gaps in overgrown, grasping tree branches that sway in the bitter cold wind.
At one time there were a lot of parks in Twilight Valley, or at least that's what I’ve been told. Now there are hardly any left, abandoned by the city in the wake of budget cuts brought about by the collapse of the city's industrial dominance. There just wasn't money in the coffers anymore for public works and the Park service had been all but gutted and disbanded. These days random outcroppings of forest are all that remain, a reminder of what once had been and a place where elusive predators can seek refuge.
The Guild has tried to do what they can to cleanse the areas as much as possible, but to little avail. Budgetary constraints, red tape, and the inevitable rise of more pressing problems always seem to impede progress, turning the overgrown groves into a perpetual nuisance that's often talked about but rarely acted upon. They're like a sore that refuses to heal, irritating, but not so bad that it warrants a trip to the hospital. Occasionally one will get cleaned up and cut down, bought out by businessmen looking to build themselves a new parking lot.
As I watch the murky shadows shift and turn in the gloom beneath the glare of my headlight I can't help but wish that this park was one such place. Ahead of me Vaesh stops cold, holding back a paw telling me to halt.
“Quiet.” He says softly over the speaker. “Did you hear that?”
I cease all movement, listening attentively for any sound of a predator sneaking up on us, my eyes straining for any sign of motion as my heartbeat begins to accelerate.
Crack
Vaesh and I swivel around in-sync as the sound of a snapping branch almost makes me jump out of my suit. Our flamers rise to the ready in anticipation of the looming threat bearing down on us.
“Relax,” Intalran's voice chirps over the comms system, “it's only me.”
“You damn fool!” Vaesh shouts back, amplified directly into my ear. “We could have torched you! I told you to stay at the house!”
“But you didn't torch me,” Intalran shrugs nonchalantly, “and I told you I wasn't staying behind.”
“Now is not the time for this Intalran!” Vaesh starts up, once again ready to get into a shouting match in the middle of the mission. “Get back to the house or-”
Rrrraaaaarrrrrr!
An angry, hissing roar comes off to our right and the three of us turn to look. The quadrupedal creature is long and supple, possessed of a wild strength native to such monsters evolved to survive by stealing the flesh of others from their bones. Binocular eyes shine out at me in the dark, reflecting the light from our lamps with sinister intent upon its elongated, triangular face. Its abrasive body is covered in a dense fur composed of innumerable tiny quills, puffed out with its hackles raised, making it appear even larger. A real shadestalker.
I should be terrified, indeed, my heart is racing and I can feel the adrenaline surging through my body from the fear, but somehow it seems… lesser. It's hard to say whether the lack of mind-rending terror is a consequence of all my training, my own warped, predatory psyche, or simply that my prior brush with death had hardened me against such fears. Perhaps a combination of all three?
Whatever the case may be, the creature in front of me truly only bore a passing resemblance to the monster from the simulations. It was smaller for one thing, perhaps simply immature, or maybe a female? That isn't the only difference however. Its fur is sleek and glossy, not ragged and matted. It appears well-fed and nourished rather than starving and blood-mad, a point of concern for a different reason, but it meant that, for the moment at least, the beast was holding still rather than charging in a suicide rush. Perhaps that's not the only reason though? Its left leg is held aloft in the air, likely injured in some capacity and making it all the more crucial that we put it down before it can escape, but it seems intent on standing its ground. Guarding something… Why would an ambush predator announce itself to prey in the first place?
“We’ve killed bigger speh than this brahking mongrel, Killer.” The Voice calls out to me, strangely supportive. “Now quit analysing it like a pathetic coward and get to it!”
I shake my head to dislodge the distraction and look over at Vaesh and Intalran, both seemingly fixed to the spot as all four of us watch one another in a tense stand-off, just waiting for someone to make the first move.
“I… I think it's scared of us?” I say over the radio, never taking my eyes off the dangerous beast in front of me. “It seems like it’s trying to scare us away.”
“Haven't I taught you anything, Kid?” Intalran answers. “Predators don't feel emotions like you and me! They're incapable of it! So don't try to empathise with that monster! It's just trying to deceive you! All it wants is for you to turn your back so it can enjoy the thrill of the chase and savour the taste of fear in your blood!”
Slowly, very slowly, Vaesh takes a paw off his flamer and draws his service pistol, taking deliberate aim at the immobile stalker.
“I'm going to try to take this thing down clean,” he says as he lines up his shot, “but if I miss, cover me.”
“Don't be an idiot, Vaesh!” Intalran decries over the radio. “It doesn't matter if it dies ‘clean’. What matters is that it's purged in holy fire! You're only putting yourself at risk relying on a sidearm! You’ll never get a vital shot with a shard at this range!”
“It matters to me, Intalran.” Vaesh answers, resolute, his focus steely. “It matters to be better than the predators we hunt. Besides, the flamers may be more certain, but I’d prefer not to risk letting it get that close in the first place.”
“Brahk this!” Intalran shouts, ripping free a pocket flamer from his belt with his good wing.
Noticing the sudden movement, the shadestalker turns its head at the last moment, just as Vaesh squeezes out a round from his pistol. The shard misses the intended mark, but still manages to strike true, lodging itself in the beast's shoulder as it roars with pain and rage. An excellent shot, but not good enough.
The simulations may have been wrong about some things, but one thing they weren't wrong about was the velocity at which an enraged predator can move. If anything, they may have underestimated its intensity. Even injured as it is, the shadestalker bears down on Vaesh with frightful speed as he dumps a magazine in its general direction with most of the panicked shots going wide of their target. In only a moment the predator has halved the distance between itself and Vaesh. In another moment it may be too late.
Deep within I can feel something stirring, something primal, something fierce, something trained, and something ingrained.
“Kill.” Whispers the Voice in my ear, it's words the sweetest of songs, and I obey.
My arms move of their own volition with practised ease, igniting the pilot light and bringing the weapon in my hands to bare as I shift my feet into a wide, forward stance with my tail stuck out behind me for balance. I brace myself for the pressure surge, going through the motions that had been drilled into me paw after paw until they’d become second nature, and I pull the trigger.
A stream of fire rushes out from the nozzle of the flammer, pushing me back as I strain my arms to hold it steady against the immense backpressure, and a stream of liquid fire arcs through the air striking the shadestalker in the chest as it pounces towards Vaesh. Vaesh doesn’t waste a moment either, demonstrating the accrued experience he’d gained from decades on the force as he leaps aside at the last moment, grasping the handle of his flammer with his left hand as he rolls and adding his own stream of molten gel to the inferno with his weapon held at his side.
The response from the shadestalker is immediate, letting out a horrendous, screeching wail that goes on and on. In the simulations the predators just disappear when they’re burned, but this was something else entirely. The beast runs in confused circles, clawing at the ground as chunks of blackened flesh fall away to expose bone and organ. It rolls in the snowbanks, a hopeless attempt to stop the burning and rub the napalm away from where it sticks to flesh, but that only prolongs its suffering as we pour more and more fuel onto the fire. Its body contrats, pulling into itself as muscle and tendon turn to cinders. In its final moments it seems to try, desperately, to crawl away from us, back towards whatever it had been so adamant to guard.
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” The mad cackling of the Voice reverberates in my head as I watch the grotesque execution take place, revelling in the suffering and pain.
My own thoughts, the ones separate from those of the Voice, have a far different reaction. Revulsion and fear. They flicker back to repressed memories of the past, to the last time I’d seen something like this, to the last time I’d done something like this. A flashback that overpowers all, bringing me right back to that paw, replaying the vivid scene in agonising detail as the world turns orange, awash with fire and blood.
This isn’t how prey should act. This isn’t how Venlil are meant to behave. I can feel myself almost split in two. On one side is the innocent young scholar, so naive and idealistic, a dreamer in search of a better future. On the other is the sadistic predator, a wild and dangerous thing. Angry, heartless, and cruel. They look at one another with derision and contempt, twisting my stomach in knots, hating each other, hating myself. Unnatural and wrong.
As the shadestalker breathes its last I let go of my flammer and collapse onto my paws and knees in the snow. The two personalities crash back together, becoming one again in a violent collision. Vomit spews from my mouth, splattering the inside of my mask and spraying out the front of its exhaust port. I rip the helmet free from my head and hack out a ragged series of coughs as I struggle to get fresh air back into my lungs. All I can taste, however, is napalm and smoke.
“There there, Sawvek.” Vaesh is at my side, patting me on the back. “Let it all out. Not an unusual reaction for a first time out. It’s just stress. You’ll be ok. Just breathe.”
“I’m fine,” I lie after a moment, wiping myself clean with the snow and rising to my feet again, “just… needed a bit.”
In the distance I can hear something. A small, frightened cry, that of a child, carried on by the frigid wind. It’s an eerie sound to hear in a place like this, utterly incommensurate with any logical sense, but not something that can simply be ignored.
“What is that?” I ask aloud to no one in particular, my feet dragging my forward as Vaesh and Intalran follow behind me.
Moving past the smouldering remains of the shadestalker I come to a small burrow carved into a nearby hill. My foot hits something hard as I draw near, kicking it into the wall, and when I look down I can see that it’s a large bone, stripped of meat and gnawed heavily, the marrow inside half-eaten. It’s a good thing my stomach is already empty or I would be losing it all over again as I dry heave.
“Hmm…” Vaesh looks at it with concern and no small measure of distaste himself. “It doesn’t look like something that came from a Venlil, but it’s hard to be sure. We’d best take a survey of the neighbourhood after this for any missing persons.”
The cry comes again, from deeper inside, but this time Vaesh and Intalran hear it too. Vaesh’s face grows dark and brooding while in contrast Intalran’s seem to almost shine with excitement. Poking my head inside I see them, three little mewling pups resting upon a small blanket. Their binocular eyes are closed, looking as innocent and helpless as could be with plump little bodies and tiny legs that stretch and flail feebly, nothing at all like the fearsome stalker outside.
“Nice find, Sawvek.” Intalran says, pushing me aside. “We almost missed these. Great work!”
“What… What do we do about them?” I ask, uncertain.
“There’s really only one thing to do.” Vaesh places a paw on my shoulder, but it gives little comfort. “This is one of the hardest parts of the job, but it needs to be done. They may look innocent now, but one day they’ll be just like their mother. They need to be dealt with before they become a threat to the herd.”
“They’re a predatory blight in the making,” Intalran says, looking down at the predator spawn with malice in his eyes, “nothing more than reservoirs of taint that need to be cleansed. There’s nothing hard about it.”
Intalran lifts his sidearm and points it at the nest, pulling the trigger without a moment's hesitation or an inkling of conscience, bathing all in a blazing stream of accelerants that set the soft bedding alight. He watches eagerly as the three infants meet the same fate as their mother, squirming and squealing in agony, confused and terrified as the world they barely know ends in conflagration and pain. I turn away, unwilling to watch any further, but the sound of their cries follows me unrelentingly.
“Weak and pathetic, Killer.” The Voice taunts. “This is what Exterminators do. This is what you do. Enjoy it.”
Vaesh tightens his grip on my shoulder, digging uncomfortably into the tough fabric with his fingers, before letting his paw slip away.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
I startle at the sudden noise, three deliberate gunshots ringing out into the air, and look over to see the tiny bodies of the shadestalker pups laying still. They’ve been eviscerated by shard-shots, splattered to bits by the explosive impact, bloody viscera quickly turning to ash. Peaceful silence reigns once more in the twilight air, broken only by the crackle of fire, their torment ended. There Vaesh stands above them, pistol in paw, the dancing shadows of the blaze casting a wicked visage upon his face.
“What was that for?” Intalran yells angrily, giving the old veteran a shove, upset at having his fun interrupted.
“Mercy.” he answers. “There’s no reason to make them suffer.”
The two Exterminators stare at one another in a tense silence.
“They can’t help what they are.” Vaesh insists, almost pleading with Intalran to bend, to understand. “You're simply being cruel for cruelty's sake. It’s… predatory.”
Intalran scoffs, insulted, and turns away.
“Mercy?” He asks rhetorically, his question overflowing with contempt. “There is every reason to make them suffer. They are evil. Evil in its purest form. They don’t deserve our mercy. Mercy to the predator is cruelty to the prey.”
He glances back at Vaesh with disgust before walking away, leaving us behind as the raging inferno slowly purges the den clean.
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A/N - I hope everyone is doing well and enjoyed this latest chapter. As you can probably tell this one is a direct continuation from last chapter and the two were originally conceived of as one, but obviously that would have been WAY too long for the character limit so it got split in the middle. I’ve still got some crossovers coming that have hit some minor delays and the next few mainline chapters will focus on Quinlim and the gang again after this recent batch of Sawvek heavy chapters. I may write a one-shot or two first though, we’ll see.
If you like the story then please remember to upvote, comment, and use the “!Subscribeme” function to be alerted to all new posts. I post as often as I can but real life has a tendency of getting in the way and my job makes it almost impossible to keep to any kind of schedule. Your engagement and support go a long way towards helping to keep me on track and motivated, so thank you very much for reading and I hope you'll stay tuned for next chapter!

Intro (skip if you're familiar with "the man in the suit"): "The man in the suit" is a analog horrocreepypasta based on a godzilla suit used for the early movies. The man wearing the suit, becomes obsessed with it, he doesn't want to take it off and eventually, this leads to his body "exploding" and fusing togheter with the suit, giving the man primal urges, and the characteristics/abilities of godzilla. (Original video: https://youtu.be/9NZDM5wAwpw?si=UU58q4rbf0ne3HDT)
What if something similar happened to the "monsters" in Indigo park?
Mollie Macaw, the "primary monster" in chapter one appears in three forms total: animatronic, cutout and monster. The animatronic form in broken down in the Rambleys railroad section, and it doesn't really make sense for Indigo to have more then one animatronic (hell, the location doesn't even make sense since the paper cutout is already there), so the monster Mollie chasing after you is VERY unlikely an animatronic. This is further proven by the fact that when Mollie gets decapitated, there are obvious signs of gore and blood, this is where the theory comes in.
When molly is decapitated, we can see flesh filling her entire neck, much like what is described in the "Man in the suit" video, the movements of the monster version are also very "organic" and looks like it is a mascot suit designed to be worn by a human (primal features could be attributed to the affirmationed theory). The monster also posses primal instincts such as hunting the player, and even the parrot ability to repeat what it hears (it is unclear weather AI Mollie posesses this ability or not). To me, this sounds similar to what happens in "The man in the suit".
FYI: I haven't really looked into if there are any other theories on this or if anything has been confirmed that contradicts this theory, so consider this the ramblings of a crazy man, but I'd like to hear what the community thinks about this.