Urgent Plea: Save Jasper & Tigger from Preventable Deaths My beloved feline companions, Jasper (18) and Tigger (9), are facing dire health challenges. Due to an unexpected job loss, I've fallen behind on their veterinary insurance payments. Without this crucial coverage, their lives are in immediate danger. Jasper, my sweet senior cat, is battling chronic kidney disease. He requires ongoing care, including specialized medication and regular vet visits, to manage his condition and maintain his quality of life. Without insurance, I cannot afford the expensive treatments he needs to survive. Tigger, my energetic younger cat, is experiencing a series of unexplained health issues. He needs urgent diagnostic tests and potential treatment, which will be financially impossible without insurance coverage. His life hangs in the balance. These two precious souls have brought immeasurable joy and companionship into my life. Losing them due to preventable circumstances would be devastating. I'm reaching out to the compassionate community of animal lovers, pleading for your help to save Jasper and Tigger. Your generous donations will directly fund: * Jasper's essential kidney disease treatment and medication * Tigger's diagnostic tests and potential treatment * Reinstatement of their life-saving veterinary insurance Every dollar counts and will make a profound difference in their lives. Please consider donating whatever you can, no matter how small. Sharing this fundraiser with your network is also incredibly helpful. Time is of the essence. Every moment without insurance puts their lives at greater risk. With your support, we can ensure Jasper and Tigger receive the care they need to thrive. Let's come together to save these two precious lives from preventable tragedy.
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SaveJasperandTigger

This is a catalog of known Daedra Lords, the ones whose nymics were stripped from or not recorded in the codex of Xarxes by judgment of stealth or habit or base instinct. And they had hereupon been made wanderers unto their own kind, without law or limit to guide them, and they became unchecked sums that unleashed vermin and void mockery. This is why they are not our ancestors.
CHAPTER 1: THE MISGUIDED STUDENTS
In times just before the Akatosh had declared the time of Dawning. Lorkhan's presence would first become apparent to digitals of Oblivion, whose cross-woven and restitched nymics had become most familiar with the un-shapes of the void, so Lorkhan was free to influence them as a comrade and hide no essential portion of his nature. Therefore Lorkhan took for himself students from their cohort, and sought to corrupt their ways into the path of the non-essential center and make them into spirits of rupturing, hunger, mutation or decay.
Lorkhan's disciples were six in sum and called Boethiah, Molag Bal, Sanguine, Clavicus Vile, Hircine and Mehrunes Dagon. These spirits learned their ways ways of unseen fire, treachery, slovenry, deceit and savagery under the tutelage of Lorkhan like so:
It was Boethiah who learned from Lorkhan's movements and sword-styles such that it would be her domain to be the strider of non-nymic and the attempt of adaptations into the non-digital, this is why he is a spirit of deceit.
It was Molag Bal who by a bare urge, saw into the underskin of Lorkhan's image, and by a micro glimpse saw the inner machinations of his black and hungry heart. Molag Bal saw the innate aspect of the heart as his own station, and would make it his mission to subjugate the wheels to the effect of total annihilation.
It was Sanguine who adopted attitudes of the preeminence of urge before all manners and matters of Motivation. It is such that he became a spirit of unchecked humors to the effect that he is the image of razor-fine decadence. It goes without saying that Lorkhan is his most Jubilant Inspiration.
It was Clavicus Vile that became a spirit of the wicked oath and bitter consequence. Lorkhan taught Clavicus Vile to ways of swindling by offering to him corruptions of cosmic exchange. Sages say that Clavicus Vile intends to use abuses of exchange and cyclical motion in order to gain imperishable dominion over the cosmic cycle.
It was Hircine, The Goat of Chase, and Deer of Sport. Lorkhan taught him the urges of savage murder, greed, thrill and hungers as the onus of the vengeance of living breath.
The case of the Mehrunes Dagon is a peculiar one. As he is the only one of the students of Lorkhan to have enjoyed the prosperity of a prior nature as a God of Harvests and Evening Records. The Sun-Runner Digitals say that this spirit was imbued with a bio-mechanical nature through a fusion of nymic razors. An act usually credited to the Errant Craftsmaiden, Merid-Nunda. It is said that the Mehrunes Dagon learned his stride of ambition from the proud musings of Lorkhan, and that to this day the Mehrunes seeks to free his cherished master from the bowels of Nirn.
CHAPTER 2: THE TRIBE OF NON-DIGITALS
Auri-El, in his divine grace, wanted to make Nirn as hospitable as possible for the passing of souls upon it, for he knew that mortal existences were tragic. It was therefore that Auri-El saw it proper to attempt to draw out some of the void beasts in an effort to soothe the aches of mortal existence. As a method of imprisonment Auri-El commanded Trinimac construct the moons, out of the hollowed skins of Lorkhan. He set them into their trajectories so that they would gather up all of void beasts that Auri-El would draw out(an act that the Khajiit call "The Lunar Lattice").
The Next Daedra are of an especially taboo nature, due them having been among the void beasts that Auri-El attempted to draw from the Nirn. These spirits are corrosive and volatile and have been known to proliferate their destruction across the whole Aurbis. These spirits are three in sum: Namira, Sheogorath, Nocturnal
Namira is Arch-Villainess of The Universe, Death-Queen and Limbo Matriarch. A spirit of unbounded non-digital. She was among the first of the spirits drawn out of the impure world, and one of only two to be drawn directly out from the Heart of Lorkhan. As such she remains central to the downfall of all reality. Her hunger is a matter of total darkness, all that has been mangled and consumed by her is lost and cannot even be refitted with a suitable nymic.
Sheogorath is a two-tone mad tyrant, he fancies himself another name in old forms typically unknown or unseen. His nature as a non-digital is as unique and multivariate as the effervescence of every folding of the Aether. But his modes are contradictory and his thoughtform is riddled with droning nonsense that never settles to coherent truth. It is said that when Auri-El drew him up out of the Heart of Lorkhan, he was of another form, one of such unapologetic mockery that he was actually immediately sealed within the moons, but its rhythms and cascading struck dissonance with his own and he became what we see now, an escapee of asylum.
The Nocturnal Spirit has evaded all attempts at census therefore, it lacks any recorded nymic. Therefore for simplicity she shall be called "Nocturnal." Records of this spirit are neglible at best, leaving only Scant traces of Absences, and Preeminence of Shadows. Great thefts of whole swaths of creatia from the surface world are often to the credit of her and her cohort. Digitals that have scoured the surface worlds for signs of her presence often return to the surprise that their nymics have been swapped by sleight of hand, an issue which has come to cause great conflict among houses. Auri-El was able to track her possipoints by constructing the crystal tower, and as such was able to draw her out of the earth with great ease. however, her stealth still got the better of him and she remains on the prowl. Scribes say that this is why the moons appear most often at night.
CHAPTER 3: THE ERRANT CRAFTSMEN
In times just after the Dawning it came to the matter of decision for the Auriel-Trinimac who would become the eight members of the eidetic lens. The Gods who would be remembered evermore as the root-infolding and the foundation of all proper hosts. Auri-El in his divine grace sought to include only the finest geniuses, artisans, logicians and philosophers in this folding. So that whatever world might need to be built for the sake of ever-continued knowledge, would be of stout and strident nymic.
These next Daedra Lords are among those who had been rejected by Auri-El as members of the Eidetic Lens. For they were unable to hide, or laid bare deceitful natures that wafted the selfsame destruction that Lorkhan would soon bring upon them. They are four in sum, and are called: Vaermina, Hermaeus Mora, Merid-Nunda, Mephala.
Vaermina is Known as Prince of the Umbrian Moment and Foul Omen. Her station is as a fascination with the macabre and the amplifications of suffering. Her architecture is always a device for the sinister and the irreconcilably traumatic. Auri-El first encountered this spirit in the twilight hour of the eidetic lens, where she attempted to sneak under the guise of a friendlier spirit. Auri-El slew this one by way of the Triumvirate, and now she is but a simple shade of dissent and a sleep devil.
Merid-Nunda is more commonly referred to as Meridia in this day and age. However, her station remains just the same, a traitorous glimmer-witch. It was Auri-El's intention to offer this one a nymic within the Eidetic Lens, so that she might breathe life ever-after into the worlds possible. But Merid-Nunda rejected Auri-El's Arkayn politic and preferred to cavort in her boundless spectral anomalies. An issue which has brought forth a monster or two in the Aurbis.
Hermaeus Mora was explicitly constructed by Auri-El as a candidate for the scribe of the Eidetic Lens. However, it became apparent that, by no fault of his own, his proclivity for the maintenance of moment coincided too readily with the station of Auri-El. And in wanting no dispute of equivalence Auri-El shunned him away. Since then Hermaeus Mora had set his gaze firmly upon the shriven fragments of knowledge which bubble up out of chaos. A fixation which has corrupted him completely.
Mephala's history is inconclusive, incomplete and incoherent. Her station has evaded all record. But what is known of her is that she was and still is a great architect, although her machinations are beyond scope, and decidedly convoluted. Auri-El once considered enlisting her as a member of the Eidetic Lens, but she rejected such petitions on the grounds that she preferred her preeminent menagerie be kept a secret only the misfortunate would bear.
CHAPTER 4: MISCELLANAEUM MALEFICUM HAERETICUM
These Daedra Lords are from miscellaneous periods along the possipoints of the Arenaead and as such fill a unique category of spirits whose pasts are checkered and natures are blasphemous. These daedra lords are three in sum: Azura, Peryite and Malacath
Azura, Prince of The In-between Hour, Queen of the Not-Quite, Lord of The Liminal. Signals of this spirit are questionable in nature, and always bent on deception. Azura has taken upon many roles of Auri-El in his absence as of late. An issue which has caused him much displeasure. The Khajiit of the Elswhere have credited this spirit with mythic roles belonging to Auri-El, and even go so far as to suppose her overwhelming sympathy for the creature.
Peryite was once A Faithful and Obedient Servant of Auri-El as The Barrier of Oblivion, The Bastion-Between, Solar Regulator and The Gate Aggregate. Now he serves a multitude of splintered and fragmented roles, however, still retaining the characterstic of cycle-collection. He was initially constructed by the Errant Craftsmaiden Merid-Nunda, whose incomplete weavings, while strong could not always withstand the test of all fiberings. It is as such that the Taskmaster's great breadth could not withstand the great tides of all Oblivion for eternity and so he is shattered. His station only a faint remembrance of forgotten importance. He is now a petty God of The Infirm and The Forlorn Watcher.
It Is said that when the Nirn was created, The Eidetic Lens set themselves into the world like eight precious gemstones. Such that their exuberance would shine through us and guide us as resplendent teachers. Trinimac was no different, some great warriors of Truth and Heroism were able to wear the Mantle of Tri-Nymic without effort. These heroes would be mythically indistinguishable from the God himself. Some say Malacath, Daedra of The Forlorn Oath was born from the bloody death of one of these heroes, during a fateful battle with the prince of treachery.

The earth opened and the monsters came, and it was the end of the world. But it didn’t feel like it because we were still here.
There was never a time I can remember where the creatures did not lurk in the shadows, kidnapping stray helpless children or hapless adults; sometimes it would be that someone of Golgotha would go missing and whispers over breakfast would be the consequences of it. Funerals were frivolous, even if there were sometimes candles lit in the absence of the missing. Generally, it would be the elders that would sit around wooden tables, hum old hymns and maybe they would whisper a few kind words to Elohim or Allah or perhaps a more pagan variety; I came from a fully loaded Christian household where the paganistic murmurs were often seen as little better than the monsters that came from the earth.
Whatever the case may be, it was simple mourning, simple human mourning and it was sad and miserable and more numbing every time I’d see it happen. Sometimes it would be Lady (she was an old shamanistic-style woman with tattered robes and graying hair, even some whiskers on her chin too) that would culminate a hymn in the streets with her incense or more for the missing, but it was Christian and good in that way. Always about Jesus, always good clean words and simple gospels that were quiet and weak.
It was a young woman that’d gone missing sometime the previous night; there’d been a patrol sent out among the old ruins too because the missing girl was the daughter of a Boss. The Bosses were distinguished leaders in Golgotha, due to their tendency for extreme and untempered cruelty and whenever someone crossed a Boss or whenever a Boss lost something precious, everyone took notice, because the Bosses controlled the functions of Golgotha. It just so happened the Boss whose daughter went missing was also the fellow that controlled the water supply. His name was Harold and that wily sonofagun shut off the pumps that moved ground water into our homes. He was the only one with the key and said he’d not divulge it to a soul if the girl wasn’t returned.
Some of the boys on the compound cultivated a posse with impassioned cries of mutual aid and such, but Boss Harold, no matter how much they threatened or how many of his fingers they snapped in their desperate grasp for humanity, would not comply. Most of the boys surmised it was likely the girl was dead and her remains would be impossible to find due to the way monsters tended to grind bones into powder and dry swallow even the gristle of our fragile bodies; there’d be nothing left—or if there was anything left of her it wouldn’t be her any longer (assuredly she’d be a husk or unworthy of saving). When hard torture failed, the boys cried for more reason, and yet Boss Harold would not budge. The old Boss said, “I’ll stop the motor of the world until she’s found!”
A group of rabblerousing youths had absconded with his daughter or so he said; the reality was much more likely that she had run from home of her own free will either by wanderlust or ignorance. When all was said and done, the families came to me and said, “Hey, Harlan, buddy, pal, you’ve lost weight. You’re looking good, Mister Harlan, did you get a haircut?”
I’d heard about the girl. I’d heard about the posse sent out to Boss Harold’s abode—the compound ain’t that big—and knew they’d be coming for me because I was a scavver, a person that wades through the old ruins either for illusory history pages or weapons or even (and this one was a rare treat) lost people. I knew they’d come for my services and had already put together my pack for travels with rations and light tools—no gun; drawing attention in the old ruins was a dumb thing because sound could travel forever.
“I’m going,” I told the group that’d been sent for me, “I don’t reckon any of you’d like to come with me?” I looked over the dirty faces, the faces of men, women, children that could scarcely be called grown, and none stood out because they were all tired and dirty and I imagined I looked much the same.
Then a girl’s voice broke out from the crowd, and she stumbled forward from the line of strangers that’d come to see me at my door. “I’ll go!” she said, “I want to go with you, Mister Harlan.”
It was unsurprising. Youngsters always thought the old ruins were like a field trip, like maybe they’d find a souvenir for their sweetie and come home with a good story. Most didn’t come back, and those that did usually came back with scars beneath the skin from what they’d seen in the out there. It was like a game for them and when they saw what the world outside the walls held, they would retreat into themselves for fear. It wasn’t just the monsters. It was the ruins themselves, the overwhelming demolition of us; we were gone and yet we were here. It’s a hard thing to cope. I looked over the skinny girl with a grimy face; she couldn’t have been older than sixteen. Her hair was cropped very short, and I could see no immediate deformities that might slow my travels, so I asked, “What’d your parents say?”
Without flinching, the girl shouldered her pack straps with her thumbs and almost cheerily answered, “They’re dead, sir.”
“Don’t call me sir.” I stepped nearer her, looked over her face and saw perhaps a will I’d not seen in some time. Maybe she would be more of a help than a hinderance. “Do you have everything you need?”
“Yes.”
“Then we leave immediately.” I shouldered my own pack and followed up with, “Do not bring any fucking guns.”
“Got it! No fuckinguns.” Her tone was sarcastic, but not unserious. It was the best I could hope for, and besides it was always better whenever I travelled with someone else.
We took off from my small hidey-hole and moved through the narrow stretches of street, tall metal and concrete stood on either of our sides, mostly housing and hydroponics, with a few spots with stools where a person could stop in for a drink of cool water. Although a few of the Bosses had toyed with the idea of expanding the hydroponics so that we might produce corn whiskey in bulk, this was scrapped when the math was done; the space was insufficient for such luxuries, but this did not stop some from fermenting small berries in batches when no one else was paying attention. Wine was incredibly rare, had a moldy taste to it, but was sweet and a further reminder of maybe why we held on. I liked wine pretty good, but sometimes I’d find an old bottle in the ruins or get a jug of liquor from one of the far settlements and that’s what I really cherished.
“You ever been out of town?” I asked her.
“No.”
“Don’t act a hero, don’t be funny out there, don’t make noise, don’t get in my way. If I tell you something, you do it without questions.”
First, I heard her footsteps fall slowly, then more quickly before she answered me as though she had to stop and think about what she was going to do next; perhaps she was having second thoughts? “Don’t try to scare me from the ruins,” she said, “I’ve wanted to go out there for years now and everyone always says there’s old stuff. Our old stuff. Stuff that used to belong to us.”
“Used to belong to us? What do you mean?”
“Humans or whatever. It used to be ours.”
“It hasn’t been ours within my lifetime. Leave it to them, because it’s theirs now. If you find some small thing out there that you like, then take it, but otherwise, it ain’t home no more.” There was no need for me to elaborate on who I meant whenever I said them, because anyone knew exactly who they were: the creatures from beneath the earth, the demons, the monsters.
We came to the outer sections of town near the gate and the walls stood high over our heads while morning breeze kicked up spirals of sand wisps across the ground. The walls were probably fifty or sixty feet tall, and several yards thick with titanium and concrete and rebar; along the parapets of our fortifications were patrolmen that watched the horizon and fired at anything that moved with fifty-caliber bullets. The men up there, and they were mostly men (the show-off types), wore ballistic weaves, bent and tarnished war helmets of the past, and carried mottled fatigue colors on their bodies like for-real militiamen. There hadn’t been an attempt on Golgotha from the monsters in days; it was a quiet week.
The nearest dirt street spilled into an open square with sandbag barricades overlooking the gate from atop a small hill. I waved down Maron. Boss Maron wore boots and an old-school cowboy hat with an aluminum star pinned on its forehead center; he swaggered over, “Going out, Mister Harlan?” His mustache caterpillar wiggled, nearly obscuring a toothy grin.
I nodded.
“It’s ‘cause Harold ain’t it?”
I nodded.
“You know that crazy bastard had some of my guards lock up the boys that stormed his home? If you ask me, he deserved whatever pain those fellas brought to him for shutting the pumps off.”
I idly studied the sidearm holstered on his hip then looked at the nearby guards by the gate, each with automatic weapons slung across their chests. “You still locked them up, didn’t you?”
Boss Maron spat in the dirt by his feet and laughed a little dry. “Sure did. Harold’s got the key to the water, and I won’t be crossing him. Don’t want the riffraff questioning Bosses.” He flapped his hand at the notion then swaggered away and waved at his guards to open the gate. The one nearest a breaker box on the righthand side of the gate opened the electrical panel, flipped a switch then the hydraulics on the gate began to decompress as it unlocked and rusty gears began to rock across one another to slide the great, tall metal door open.
“Try not to lose any fingers or toes while you’re out there. Oh!” he seemed to take notice of the young girl following me, “Got a new companion? Does she know what’s happened to the last few that’s traversed those desperate lands with you?”
“Hm?” asked the girl.
“Oh? Harlan?” Boss Maron smiled so hard I’d think his mustache might fall of his face from the sheer tension of the skin beneath it, “He’s a real globetrotter, quite a dealmaker, but just don’t be surprised if he leaves you behind.” This was followed by a sick chuckle.
I refused to respond and merely watched the clockwork gate come to a full open while the guards on either side prepared to angle their guns at the opening like they half-expected something to come barreling towards them. The doorway was empty and through the haze of the wasteland I could scarcely make out the familiar angles of the old ruins far out.
The girl didn’t engage either, for which I was thankful.
Boss Maron wide-stepped closer then patted my shoulder and whispered in my ear, “Don’t forget the shiny flag.” He tucked a foil sheet into my front shirt pocket, “His daughter was due west supposedly. Good luck.” Then he clapped me on the back before returning to his post by the sandbags where a small table displayed his game of solitaire.
We moved through the gate, and I could sense the uneasy rhythm of the young girl’s movement just over my shoulder. As the gate closed behind us with a large and final shudder, I heard her breath become more erratic.
“The air feels thicker out here,” she said.
“It is sometimes,” I tried talking the nerves out of her, “It’s hot and cold all at the same time, ain’t it? Know what I mean? It’s hot devil air, but also you feel chills all over, don’t you?”
“Yeah.” Her pace quickened so that we walked alongside one another.
“It’s just the nerves. You get used to it. Or. Well.”
“Or?”
“Or you don’t get enough time to.”
“What did ol’ Maron mean about other people dying with you?”
“Not many people venture outside the compound and even fewer go into the ruins. It’s all very dangerous. Most don’t make it back. That’s all he meant.”
“But you do. Make it back, I mean.”
I sighed. “I do, yeah.”
“My name’s Aggie, by the way. Sorry I didn’t say that before, Mister Harlan.”
“What’d your parents do when they were still around?”
“Dad was a farmer that worked with the hydroponics and Mom was a general fixer. She liked making clothes when we had the material.”
“Good people, it sounds like.”
“Sometimes,” said Aggie, “Hey, please don’t let me die, alright?” The words weren’t constructed so much as blurted; they came as a joke but did not seem like one.
“Okay.”
For a mile out in a measured circle, there was open sandy, flat ground stretching from around the perimeter walls of Golgotha; all the clutter, junk, and buildings had been disposed of years prior to grant the compound’s snipers comfortable sights in all directions. The openness went out for a mile and in every direction, one could see the ruins, the crumpled dead vehicles, half-snapped spires that lie in angles, and the gloom-red tint in the air that seemed to emanate from the ground like heat waves off fire. It was scarred air, where the creatures had unearthed some great anomaly from beneath the dirt. In honesty, it was like passing through the foul stench of death and painted everything in a blood hue. It stank and it was hot and it was cold.
We moved in relative silence; only the sounds of our boots across granular dirt or the clink of zippers whenever either Aggie or I was to readjust the packs on our shoulders. As we came upon the edges of the ruins, where we entered the red mist, and the air was alien. Finally, Aggie cleared her throat and mentioned through mildly exerted breathing, “Think we’ll find her?”
“I don’t know,” I answered. “Keep quiet and whisper. We can talk but keep it low.” We began to enter the thick of the ruins where ancient structures crept up on either side of us. “What made you come with me?” It was a question I’d wondered the whole time and figured her reasoning was weak.
“There’s not much home. I’d like to see some of the world before I go. Seems like things get worse and worse and for when I do leave this world, I want to see something other than the walls of home.”
“Fair answer.” Her reasoning was weak. “What if you’ve bit off more than you can chew?”
“Maybe.” She followed this up with another question of her own,” What made you start venturing out?”
“I wanted to see something other than the walls of home.” I felt a smile creep around the corners of my mouth, but quickly tempered myself. “Whenever people go out on their own without a guide, they die. I doubt we’ll find Harold’s daughter.” I left a pause. “You’re nearly her age, ain’t you? Did you ever know her?”
“You speak like she’s dead for sure.”
“Most likely, she is. Did you know her?”
“No, but I guess I’m an optometrist.”
“Optimist,” I corrected.
“Whatever. She’s a piece of home. I feel like I’m old enough to take care of myself and I want to help people. Not everyone thinks that way, but we’re all one big family, aren’t we?”
“While I appreciate your thoughts on it, I doubt the daughter of a Boss would feel the same about you.”
“The Bosses protect us.”
The ruins began to swallow us whole as we ventured through the ancient pathways, broken asphalt and wreckage littered the wide-open street. A nearby, worn post named the path: Fif Aven. I’d gone there before and left most things untouched. Although there were a few open holes in the structures on either side—places where large entryways might’ve gone hundreds of years ago—they were mostly empty, black with shadow, and picked clean long long ago. Non ideal for an alcove of respite from the open air. We shifted down the street, my eyes darting from old signs and vehicles bent and rusted and abandoned. I motioned for Aggie to come closer as I sneaked through the rubble towards a wall where there were no entryways into the monolithic structures. We hugged the wall and moved with trepidation, sometimes climbing across overturned wreckage tiptoeing in our boots to muffle all sound. Every footfall felt like a scream.
“We should go on for another mile or so before we find a place to rest. I know one up the way.”
“Rest? Are you tired already? That’d burn what daylight we have,” said Aggie.
I shook my head, “The last thing you want is to be without your wits in a place like this. If you’re too tired to run, you’re too tired to live.”
“Aren’t they fast? If they catch you in the open, they’ll get you, won’t they?”
I thought of a lie then thought better, “Yes.”
“Oh.”
“If you see one. Don’t scream. Don’t even breathe. If they haven’t seen you, you still have a chance.”
The air grew wet and smelled of chlorine, and I snatched Aggie’s sweating hand in my own before grappling her into my arms; she was small and fought noiselessly for only a second before going still. I shifted us into a concrete doorway with a half-destroyed awning and whispered a quick hush as I glided us near a piece of wreckage.
I felt her tenseness leave and let go of her before she crouched alongside me in the shadowed cover of an old van that had, ages before, slammed into a nearby wall. The door of the vehicle had been removed and we angled in slowly, silently, crawling towards the rear of its cabin to peer from the broken windows, all the while hoping its old axles would not creak. Feeling her hand on my shoulder, I twisted round to look Aggie in the eye; terror erupted from her face in tremors while she mouthed the words: what’s that?
Simply, I put a finger to my lips and took a peek at the thing moving down Fif Aven. The creature was on the smaller side, closer to the size of a run-of-the-mill human, but twitched its muscles in a fashion that contested humanity. The thing walked upright on two feet, but sometimes used its hands to move like an animal. The most intricate and disturbing of its features, however, was its head. With vibrant green skin, with speckles of yellowed globules across the surface of its body (likely filled with creamy pus), with a mishappen balloon head that first opened in half with a mouth folded as an anus, dispersed a corrosive gas into the air while it deflated, then reinflated and quivered—the creature’s head moved as a sack filled with misty gas, wobbly and rubbery. It had no eyes, no other features besides that awful head.
We watched it go, stop, disperse its toxic mist into the air, then leave. I kept my eyes on it, nose and mouth tucked beneath the collar of my shirt, and glanced at Aggie to see she’d followed suit. The smell could choke.
Once I was certain the thing had decided to move well outside of earshot (not that it had ears) I motioned for Aggie to follow me out of the van, down the sidewalk, through an intersection of roads, and into a small opening in one of the smaller structures. Our feet were swift, and I was grateful she was graceful. We moved through the darkness of the structure, and I led with intimate knowledge of the place. There was a safe spot near the rear of the building. I reached out in the dark, felt a handle and pushed into a small closet and pulled Aggie through.
My lantern came alive and bathed us in a warm glow. Shelves across the small room were lined with various supplies I’d left. A few boxes of matches, oil for lanterns, a bedroll, blankets, and other miscellaneous baubles.
Aggie inhaled sharply, “I’ve never seen anything like that! It was. I don’t know. It was weird and gross. Little scary. Is that what they look like?”
I shifted around onto the floor and opened my pack while placing the lantern between my legs. “You’ve been up on the compound’s walls before, ain’t you?”
“Once.”
“Well, sometimes those things get closer to home. I don’t know what you’d call them. Some of the wall guys call them fart heads because when you shoot one in the head with a rifle it goes pfffft. Lotta’ that chlorine shit comes out of them too.”
“Do bullets kill them?” She asked while removing her own pack and fixing her legs alongside mine in the closet; it was a snug fit, but we managed. “Like really kill them or does it just empty those heads?” I could feel her shaking still.
“If you use enough, sure. Durable, but manageable if you have enough firepower. Those are small fries. Normally they wouldn’t sneak up on me though. Normally I’d smell them from far off before they ever get close.”
“Did I distract you?”
“Maybe.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
“It was bound to happen, I reckon.” I plunged my hand into my pack and removed a water gourd, taking a deep swallow from it.
She started, “Have,” she stopped then started again, “I wish,” another stop came then she gave up on whatever she was going to say and laid her pack across her lap, seemingly searching for something within.
“We should rest up here for a while. At least until you’ve calmed yourself. Then we’ll set out. Maron said the girl went west. You should have that detail in case this trip happens to be my last. I figured we’d search the northern area first then make our way south, but—I hope she ain’t south.” I exposed the face of my compass.
A thought seemed to occur to Aggie while she removed her own water gourd and took a healthy swig. Sweat glistened off her brow in the dancing light of the lantern, its fire caught in her pupils while she thought. “You don’t actually think you’ll find her, do you?”
I grinned, surprised. “Why do you say that?”
“You think she’s dead already, so why do it?”
“Because they’ll believe me when I come back. I suppose we’ll return in two days, maybe three, then tell them we found her corpse.”
“Well why don’t we just stay here for the remainder?”
“We’ll look for her,” I said.
“But why?”
“It’s the right thing to do, I suppose. Maybe your optometristism is rubbing off on me.”
“Don’t make fun of me,” said Aggie, but I could see her sheepish grin. She held out a hand flat across her eyes and watched the nervous tremors in her fingers.
“Just nerves,” I told her.
“It’s a little exciting.”
“Now that’s a dangerous thought,” I took another swig from my water gourd before returning it to my pack. “Do you know where your parents hailed from?”
“Somewhere up north. Cold lands, but it was hard not to freeze in the winter up that way. Said they came down here years before I was born, hoping they could find a place to settle, but it was all the same. That’s what they said.”
“Never been further north than Golgotha, if I’m being honest. I’m from a place that once was called Georgia, but I’ve not been there in years.”
“Is it true what they told me, Mister Harlan?”
“What do you mean?”
“Is it the same everywhere? Is there no place around that’s not got those awful things?”
“If there’s a place like that, I haven’t seen it yet.”
“Mom used to read to me when I was a little kid,” she said, “I never could pick up reading, but she loved old books that were written before bad times and in those books, people talked about things like green fields that stretched on forever, and places where water streams were clear enough to drink from. Do you remember anything like that?”
I chuckled while continuing to rummage through my pack, “Geez, how old do you think I am? All that was a long time ago.”
“Yeah. You think it’ll ever be like that again?”
I shook my head. “Wishful thinking.” Then I found what I’d been searching for and removed it from my pack. A small tin of tobacco; I sat to rolling a makeshift cigarette then lit it off the lamp.
“That smells funny.”
“Yeah.”
We shared the cigarette in the dark closet, passing it back and forth; her lungs, not being used to the smoke, forced from Aggie a few whimpering coughs that she tried to hide in the hem of her shirt.
I ducked the tobacco out beneath my heel and began reorganizing my pack so that it was less lumpy. “I hope you’re ready for it again. Like I said, that one you saw was a small fry. There’s bigger things out there. Worse things.”
“Should I go, or should I just stay here?” She hadn’t reorganized herself at all and remained seated while I shouldered my pack and peered through a crack in the door.
“Of course, you should come with me. I know it, you’re scared.”
“What if I make it worse and I attract one of those things right to you?” She asked.
I reached down and she took my hand; I lifted her to her feet and we met eyes, “Aggie, you’re coming with me. You’ll do fine. I promise.” It was not often that I’d try and charm someone, but I put forth a smile.
She smiled back and I shut off my lantern before leading her gently through the dark, into the open street where midday sun caught the ruins shadows long and deep. West was where the girl had gone and I intended to follow. Though I’d seen no signs of survivors, I was certain that if they’d braved the previous night, they were likely about in the daytime. Certainly, things would be made easier if I could cup hands around my mouth and echo my voice through the dead city like a game of Marco-Polo. Aggie maintained both energy and quiet alongside me as we moved through the rubble, vaulting over wide-open holes in the street where I could spy the arteries of the dead beast (the old sewer network).
We conversed frankly and in whispers when we came upon a place in the road that was impassible on foot due to a collapsed structure and we stalked more like wounded deer in a forest than humans in a city; our shoulders remained slouched, our bodies were huddled near to each other, and we delved into the dark recesses of another building—possibly a market from old days when patrons congregated for frozen fish sticks. There were massive steel shelves and we took their avenues till we came upon an aperture on the far side of the dark building. We shifted over the broken glass of an old torn out window and landed firmly on an open street.
Then came a sound like firecrackers and I felt cold and Aggies eyes went wide in the dull evening glow of the sun.
“Someone’s brought a gun,” I said.
Before she could say anything, I hugged the wall on our side of the street and moved down the sidewalk, following the sound of those gunshots.
“Maybe it’s someone that could help us?” she tried.
I shook my head.
“What do you mean?” she whispered a bit louder.
“It’s bad news,” I said, then came to a full stop at a corner while another hail of bullets spat from some unseen weapon and echoed all around; we were getting much closer. “Have you ever seen a dead body?” I asked Aggie.
She shook her head, but then stopped. “I was the one that found my mom. She was stiff and cold.”
“She went peacefully?”
Aggie shook her head, “Flu.”
“Any blood?”
“No.”
“If you’re not ready for blood, you might not want to look.”
We rounded the corner to find a small blockade of burnt-out vehicles creating a barrier between us and the action.
Two men with assault rifles fired at a creature towering over them. The creature in question stood thirty feet tall on spindly legs like a spider, but each of its legs were tumorous and its muscles were strangely uneven and mushy; although an arachnid may have eight legs, this one moved sluggishly along on no less than twenty shambling stilts so that the rounded body where the legs met looked more akin to a sea urchin. Several of its long legs stood out on its sides to angle its body through the narrow corridor of the street, its whiskery feet pushing along the walls of buildings overhead. Its whole body stank of wet dog and brimstone.
The men—they looked like young militiamen of Golgotha—staggered in awe of the thing and attempted to walk backwards while reloading. Another spray of bullets erupted from their rifles, and they were empty and the men screamed and one of them tripped across some unseen thing on the ground.
Quick as a fly, one of the massive creature’s legs sprang onto the prone man’s abdomen. Their was a brief cry of pain and then—I felt Aggie pinch onto my shoulder with her thumb and forefinger and I glanced at her to see she’d chewed into the corner of her bottom lip for purchase in response to such a fantastical display of awfulness—the man had no skin, no clothes, he’d been stripped to runny red fibrous tissue with strips of white muscle that twitched in the presence of the air.
“Oh god please god!” screamed the other man while watching his comrade writhe in pain beneath the stalky foot of the skin-taker.
I shuffled lower among the arrangement of vehicles we’d taken refuge behind and me and Aggie breathed softly, glancing eye contact while sitting in the dirt. There wasn’t anything to say.
The sound of the spider creature removing the second man’s skin was slower, torturous, seemingly enjoyed; his screams did not end for too long. I fisted my hands into my jacket pockets then stared at the ground between my knees. I felt Aggie’s thin fingers reach into my pocket and it took me flinching to realize she intended to hold my hand. She was shaking and I was shaking, but she was good and did not scream. And we held hands while we listened to the thick trunks of the spider creature shift on away. And we didn’t move. And we were statues frozen like we belonged among the dead ruins. And we didn’t move. And then Aggie shifted to look before I’d gathered my feelings and motioned me on.
“What’s that?” she asked as simply as she’d asked the color of the sky.
“Bad.” I shook my head and looked for an opening in the blockade of vehicles.
Two meaty blood ponds marked where the men were and on approach, I covered my face in the collar of my shirt; Aggie lifted her forearm to her nose. The stench of the beast and of the viscera was strong in the air.
I examined the ground then found one of their rifles. Standard M16. The strap on the rifle was frayed to ribbons and the barrel of the gun appeared to be slightly bent, but salvageable. I handed the rifle to Aggie and she took it.
“What about no guns?” she asked.
“There’s no bullets left. Besides, it’ll be good to bring it back.” Examining what was left of the bodies, my eyes went away and into my mind where all things become ethereal and difficult to grasp; I looked without seeing and imagined a place where green grass was, a place like in the books Aggie’s mother read. No grass here. Just misery.
“Who were they?” she asked.
“The men?”
“Yeah.”
“They sent out a patrol looking for Boss Harold’s daughter. Looks like we’ve found it. Never should’ve sent them.”
“I want to go home,” said Aggie.
“Me too.” I blinked and shifted around to look at her through the red hue that’d gathered between us. Try as I might, the smile on my face almost hurt. “If you stick with me, you’ll be safe.”
We took up in one of the safehouses I’d developed over the past several years, a room hidden up two flights of stairs and large enough to host a party. In the lantern glow we heated rations—eggs and hearty bread with water-thinned weak tomato paste—then ate in relative quiet so that the only thing heard were our jaws over the food that tasted bitter; food always felt slimy and bitter in the ruins where the demons reigned supreme. Their stink was on us. Like sulfur, like rot, like sorrow.
I rolled us each a cigarette and we smoked while looking out through a brackish window that overlooked the black street. No lights in the darkness save blinking yellow eyes caught for moments in dull moonlight whose owners quickly skittered towards an alley.
“How don’t you get lost?” asked Aggie.
“I do sometimes.”
“You could’ve fooled me.”
“I mean, I know the ruins fine enough, I reckon, but then I feel like I’m drowning in it every time I come here.” I took a long draw from my cigarette, finished it, then planted it beneath my boot.
“Did you have parents?” she asked.
“Everyone has parents.”
“What were they like?” Aggie held her cigarette out from her like she didn’t actually want it, but just as I looked over at her, pulling my eyes from the window, she jammed it into her lips.
“They were fine. Just fine.”
“Just fine?”
“Yeah.”
“I wish it was better,” said Aggie.
“Don’t imagine there’s ever been a point in history where we didn’t want it to be better.”
“Maybe.” She coughed through smoke.
I moved to dim the lamp and sat atop my bedroll. “You should sleep.”
“Don’t think I could sleep. I’ll have nightmares.” She pitched the remainder of her cigarette.
“Can’t be worse than the real deal.”I shut off the lamp and we laid in pitch black.
“How do you do it?” she asked.
“Most of the time, it feels like I’m not.” I stared at the ceiling I couldn’t see. “Go to sleep.”
At daybreak, we ate bread and water then gathered our things before setting into that awful wasteland. Sand gathered around our legs in wisps as we trundled tiredly onto the street of the ruins and Aggie said nothing. There wasn’t a thought in my mind as my joints protested at us climbing over the wreckage of an overturned semi-truck; first I went, then I hoisted Aggie up by her lanky arms then we jumped onto the other side, moving less like scouts and more like hungover comer-downers.
Passing through the ruins, each step feeling more like a glide and less creaky, Aggie spoke from over my shoulder as I kept my eyes sharp on the buildings’ shadows, “I doubt we’ll find her,” she said.
“What happened to the optimism?” I shifted to catch her face; she seemed dejected, tired, perhaps disillusioned by the previous day’s happenings.
“I didn’t know there were things like that in this world. Like that spider thing. Those men didn’t stand a chance.”
I shook my head, and we continued moving. “There are worse things still over the horizon. Most assuredly there is. Now you asked me before why I come out here in these ruins, why I’ve trekked the wasteland, and I’ll give you the opportunity to ask it again—maybe I’ll have something different to say.”
“Okay. Why then?”
“Because,” I kicked at a half eroded aluminum can left on the ground, “Places like Golgotha, or even where I’ve come from, there’s nothing like the red sky or the open road. There are no ties, no people. There’s only the next step.”
She took up directly beside me as we turned onto a street corner where the sidewalk mostly remained intact. “Sounds stupid to me.”
“There it is then.”
“Sorry,” she muttered, then she spoke even more clearly, “I didn’t mean it like that. I just don’t get it.”
“It’s because I’m a dealmaker,” I said.
“That’s what Maron called you before, wasn’t it?” Aggie absently stared at the sky, at the edges of the high spires overhead that seemed to swallow us whenever clouds passed over the sun. “What’s that mean?”
“It means it’s harder for me to die.”
“Just luck, if you ask me.”
I clenched my jaw. “Probably, it is. Yeah.”
Then, with time, we came to the garden. A place in the ruins where greenery existed—even if the plants that grew from the soil were otherworldly and aggressive. There was the solitary sound of dirt catching crags in the structures as hard wind pushed silt through the narrow streets of the ruins, then there was also the sound of a flute, a flute made of bone and skin. The sound was sickly sweet, illusive, something no human could play even if they listened carefully and practiced for hundreds of years. There was the flute, the greenery, the clacking of hooves against old stone that’d risen from the earth much the same as the demons.
Aggie whispered, “What’s that music?”
I reached out my hand so that she would hold it and I tried to smile. “There are worse things still over the horizon.”
Her delicate scrawny fingers wrapped around my own and though I felt her trembling, she trusted me (I hoped she really did). I led her towards the garden, through a walkway with tall obelisks of flame on either side. “What is this place?” whimpered Aggie.
“If you are asked your name, tell it plainly without hesitation,” I said, “Do not leave my side. Do not run.”
“Where are we going?” her eyes scanned the garden, the flames dancing in the midday reddish light, the trees bent at impossible angles, the glorious green grass that looked cool and soft. I’d been in awe the first time I’d seen it.
I smiled, “Just like your mom’s old books. Green grass.”
The flute grew louder as we came closer and the hoof beats on stone shifted with enthusiasm.
There in the center of the garden stood Baphomet, ten feet tall, feminine midsection with goatish head and legs. It pranced with the flute to its mouth, and the tune resounded playfully all around. The creature danced across an area of stones in the center of the garden, a place where there were rock tables and chairs and sigils upon the ground—amid the open furniture, there stood a throne of human bones and near where Baphomet played its wily tune, there was a covered well, rope tautly hanging from its crank as if there was something heavy on the other end.
I smelled you coming, said Baphomet. Even as it spoke, it continued to play its flute without pause. Its muscular shoulders glistening with reddish sweat, its horns gloriously pointed and reveled in its merriment.
“Let us convene,” I said, mouth dry and feeling heady.
Convene?
“I’m here for the girl.”
I felt Aggie shift uncomfortably beside me, but I kept my eyes locked on Baphomet.
It seems you have one already.
“She came west, towards here two days ago. She was a runaway. You have her.”
Come, Harlan, come and dance with me. Baphomet did not stop its flute or its dancing.
I sighed. “I’m here to make a deal.”
Baphomet froze, allowing the boney flute to drop from its goatish lips. Its animal eyes casually switched between me then Aggie, before it turned to face us completely. A deal?
“Y-yes,” I nearly choked.
You’ve brought so little to bargain with. Baphomet shifted and walked to its throne to sit, clacking its long nails against the armrest. Unless. The creature allowed the word to hang against my brain like a splinter.
I lifted the hand holding Aggie’s. “A deal,” I tried.
Quick as a flash, Baphomet disappeared in a haze of black smoke then reappeared over Aggie’s shoulder. I dropped her hand and stepped away while the creature exhausted dew from its nose before sniffing Aggie’s ear.
Aggie swallowed hard, “Harlan?” she asked, “What’s it doing?”
“I’m sorry, Aggie.”
Baphomet took its hands through her short hair and inhaled sharply. A long tongue fell from its mouth and saliva oozed before it snapped its snout shut. The pleasure will be all mine.
“Harlan, let’s go—I want to go home.” Aggie’s tears rolled down her face in full while the large hand of Baphomet lightly squeezed her cheeks into a pucker.
You are home.
Baphomet took Aggie and moved her casually; her legs moved feebly, knees shaking.
Sit darling. Said Baphomet, motioning to its throne. Aggie took the chair and the creature snorted approval.
The demon moved jauntily to the well, where its strong arms began to roll the crank; with each rotation, the sound of cries grew closer. Until finally, all limbs pulled backwards in bondage, there dangled Boss Harold’s daughter; deep cuts and blood painted her mangled, distorted body. She’d been pushed into the well belly first, suspended by her wrists and ankles. I bit my tongue.
“Oh god,” I heard Aggie say. It sounded like a far-off girl from an unknown planet.
Baphomet lifted the girl from her bondage then sliced the rope with a razor-sharp fingernail. I hesitantly moved closer to the scene and removed my jacket.
RoyalRoad
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Like every other RE FAN, I was greatly disappointed in Welcome to Raccoon city, it could have been a fantastic resident evil reboot film, but it wasn't. But I'm Not gonna elaborate more because it's all pretty much been said already.
I decided to just put out a fun little story for how I would start a reboot and do my own resident evil trilogy.
Film 1, Part 1: RE 0 & 1
We open with a 11 year old boy, Chris Redfeild, walking in the rain, he walks past rows of graves in this cemetery, he walks all the way until he comes across a small statured girl. She holds a bright red umbrella above herself, “what are you doing here Claire” Chris says. Claire responds, saying she was just visiting mom and dad, Chris tells her that Mr and Mrs Walker were panicking back at home. Claire just gives Chris a look of sadness, Chris embraces his sister, and they mourn their parents. They both hear a scream, Chris tells Claire to stay there, Chris walks towards where the scream came from, and he spots a woman. Dead, but in her neck are puncture marks…in the shape of human teeth.
CUT TO BLACK
A montage of newspaper clippings go by as the opening credits roll, each newspaper clipping being bits and pieces of resident evil lore. Stuff like “Orphan brother and sister escape car crash” “Walker Family Adopt boy and girl” “Umbrella Police Scholarship” “Claire Elza Walker: All star biker” “S.T.A.R.S: Rise of The Super Cops” etc…
10 YEARS LATER, 1998
Chris wakes up in his bed, alone, next to him is a note. “sorry babe, got called in while you were asleep, see you tonight, love you~Jill” Chris lets out a long Sigh, he gets up and prepares a small breakfast for himself. He turns on his television as he eats, the morning news claims A 15th victim has been found, they discuss the fact that all of this madness occurred in the span of 2 months. Chris calls his sister Claire, she doesn't pick up. Chris leaves a voicemail to her.
NEXT SCENE
Jill Valentine, a police officer and member of the elite Police Team, S.T.A.R.S She walks the halls of the RPD, equipped in her uniform and gear. As she heads through the department, she passes by a good looking rookie cop working at the front desk. She eventually makes it to where she was heading, the S.T.A.R.S office, residing in the office are Bravo team and Alpha Team. Barry welcomes Jill with a warm hug, Wesker walks up behind her, and she salutes him as their captain. They all discuss how the murders have been getting much worse, especially with the description of what the 15th victim looked like when they found him. Brad mentions how chief irons is not letting them onto the case for whatever reason. Barry tries to defend it, saying that maybe he doesn't want to lose his top officers. Wesker objects against what Barry said, and tells everyone that the chief probably has something to do with it. Rebecca objects against Wesker, and he doesn't try to respond.
NEXT SCENE
We cut to a train riding through the Arklay mountains and Forrest, A man with a long black mullet sits alone in his seat, he stares at a photo of him, Chris, and Claire, in front of the umbrella corporation. It's Billy coen. A woman with a trolly cart passes by and asks him if he would like anything, Billy orders a basic water. He notices that the woman's eye is bleeding, he gestures to her about it, and she heads straight to the bathroom nearby. Billy turns to look back out the window, brushing off what he just saw.
NEXT SCENE
Chris is walking through Raccoon city, Wearing his “Made in Heaven” brown Leather Jacket. He visits the RPD with a bag of food, he walks up to the front desk, and he tells the young cop at the desk that he is there to bring food to Ms Valentine. Jill heads down with Barry, Brad, and Rebecca at her side. Chris delivers them all their sandwich orders, Jill's food box says “The Jill Sandwich” Barry and they all laugh at her, saying that it should be a real thing. Jill gives Chris a long kiss, and Rebecca looks at them adorably. Wesker walks downstairs and greets Chris, Wesker gives him a firm handshake. Chris gets an odd feeling when being around Wesker. Wesker offers Chris the opportunity to train on the force, telling him that he could probably be a member of S.T.A.R.S one day, Jill smiles at Chris about that opportunity. Barry agrees with Wesker. Chris says that he is fine with where he is at, jokingly saying he doesn't wanna steal Jill's thunder.
NEXT SCENE
Chris sits back in his apartment, the news is talking about how umbrella is beginning a secret project with the military. After the news report, we see an advertisement for the various nationwide umbrella pharmacies. Chris ignores the advertisements as he heads to the fridge to grab a beer. The phone rings, Chris answers, “Chris, hey! It's Billy”, Chris is speechless.
NEXT SCENE
Chris walks towards the raccoon city pond at 10 PM, he sits at a bench, he has a flashback to when he was a kid, a month after his parents died. Chris was sitting in that sane bench, alone, until some drunk guys from his highschool came up to him and tried to push him, he ignores them and they just leave him be, then they see a kid sitting under a tree, reading a book on Greek mythology, with the dog Cerberus on the cover. They proceed to give the kid a hard time, and it's Billy, they try to steal Billy's stuff, Chris comes up to them and proceeds to kick their behinds to kingdom come. Chris helps Billy up, they introduce themselves, and they become friends, they sit on the bench together and then we cut to the present, Chris is sitting alone again. He looks at a duplicate of the same photo that Billy had, he hears the voice of a girl screaming “HELP!” Chris immediately runs towards where the scream is coming from. He pulls out a combat knife from the holster of his boot. He finds a girl, her face is turned away from completely, but her backside appears covered in blood, Chris tries to get a good look at her, but she refuses, it's only until she collapses suddenly that Chris gets a look at her. Her face…it's been half eaten off.
NEXT SCENE
30 minutes later, the police arrive at the park, Chief Irons is there too, they question Chris about everything, Chris answers all the questions he can. He tells them how he got called to meet up at this park by an old friend of his, the Chief gives him a look of suspicion, then when the reporters come along, irins immediately put on his TV face, with a performance that would make Broadway actors blush. The police tell Chris that he is free to go, a reporter catches him as he is leaving, asking him what happened. Chris responds saying “I don't know, why don't you ask the chief”.
NEXT SCENE
Chris enters his apartment, washing off the blood of the woman he had held in his arms. There is a knock at his door, it's Rebecca Chambers, she tells Chris that she heard the report about what happened in the park. Rebecca comes to ask for Chris's honest words, not as a cop, but as a friend. Chris tells her everything that happened, and she is in shock. Afterwards, Chris's phone says that he received 1 new message an hour ago, it was while he was waiting for her at the park. It's Billy, he's panicking in the message “Chris! Don't go to the park! I won't make it! Please, call the police, come find me, I'm in a train, we crashed in the middle of Arklay! Hurry please!”
NEXT SCENE
Chris and Rebecca drive out to Arklay, Rebecca says that she called in the bravo team. Until they arrive, they should look for the train that Billy was talking about. They walk through the Forest, they spot a torn off part of the train here, a small fire spot there, and then finally, a huge claw mark in a tree, right next to a fresh pool of blood. Chris and Rebecca examine it, then they hear growling behind them, but not normal growling. They turn, and they see a dog behind them, savage white eyes, bloody drool, and chunks of its body are gone, exposing its meat and bone. The dog leaps at Rebecca, and Chris immediately kicks it away, Rebecca pulls her gun and shoots it. It appears dead, and then gets back up 30 seconds later. They are in complete shock, they question how it's not dead, and they continue to try and kill it, it doesn't go down…until a second gunshot hits the dog directly in the skull, and its head blows completely. “Chris…? Is that you?” “Billy!?” “Is that your friend Chris?” Chris and Billy embrace, Billy has one half of a pair of handcuffs wrapped around his wrist, it's covered in blood.
NEXT SCENE
Jill gets called off work, she finally shows up back home to her and Chris's apartment. “Babe! I'm home! Are you here?” Jill walks around, looking for him. She tries to call friends, asking them if they have seen Chris, they haven't. Jill eventually finds a note on the table, it's a note from Chris. He is telling her in the letter that he went to meet up with his best friend Billy, saying that he came back to town. Jill lets out a sigh of relief, and she heads to the bathroom to take a shower.
NEXT SCENE
Billy tells Chris and Rebecca what had happened, there was this trolley woman who delivered him a beverage, he noticed that her eye was bleeding, and she headed for the bathroom. A few hours later he called Chris, telling him that he was almost gonna be off the train, he told Chris that he wanted to meet up at the park where they hung out. But moments after he called, he heard a loud groan of pain coming from the same bathroom that the woman went into, Billy questions “has she been in there the whole time?”. Billy knocks on the door, he asks her if she is ok, then he hears a responding knock on the other side of the door. Then the knocking repeats, and gets more intense, more violent, and more intense. Until finally, the train employees come and break the door down. They just unleashed hell. The woman had become a nearly unkillable zombie, she bites the first guy, then the second guy, then the third, and it just expands and spreads, as death and decay happened over the course of 2 hours, to where they are now. Billy said that he got handcuffed to a door as bait for the monsters, it was by some crazy selfish man. He got eaten when he tried to run..Billy said he got out when he found a gun in a security officer's pocket, he struggled to grab it, but he eventually did, he shot off the lock of the cuffs.
NEXT SCENE
Chris, Billy, and Rebecca proceed to investigate the train, Billy led them back. The carts are all busted down, the front cart is completely demolished. They hear a loud ominous roar in the distance, Chris says that they should try to avoid whatever in God's name that was, they know it was definitely something bad.
NEXT SCENE
Wesker and Barry are sitting with the alpha team in the STARS office, late at night. Just going over all the reports of the murders, and then going over the recent event that happened at the park, they see that Chris was there. They ask chief irons about it, and irons says that he thinks Mr Redfeild has something to do with them. He is a possible suspect of all the murders. Barry and Wesker don't believe him one bit, and they continue to investigate the crimes. Irons says that the Bravo team left to investigate some kinda train crash.
NEXT SCENE
The three head into the train, they spot various corpses, all in different states of death and decay, each one worse than the next. Rebecca vomits from the sights along with the smell. Chris and Billy discuss what they've been respectively doing during the past 2 years. Chris says that he met and is now dating a babe cop, he tells Billy that Jill is the best girl he's ever had in his life, besides his mother and sister of course. Billy is so happy for his friend. As they continue to see the most grotesque things ever, Billy finally says that he had gotten a promotion to be a top scientist in the umbrella corporation, he worked on a team, the men being named John, William, Marcus, and We—rebecca tells them that the bravo team is almost there. Billy says that he wanted to surprise Chris, he wanted to spend time with his best friend again. He asks about Claire. Chris tells Billy that Claire is currently an all star motorcyclist at her school, she's going by the professional name of Elza Walker(Her full name is Claire Elza Redfeild). After the trip down memory lane is over. Enrico, a member of the Bravo team, finally finds Rebecca and them. The rest of the bravo team follows close behind shortly after.
NEXT SCENE
Barry knocks on the door of Chris and Jill's apartment. Jill answers, Barry asks Jill if she saw Chris, Jill says that he is out with his best friend. Barry hands Jill the report about what happened at the park. She is in speechless shock. She immediately tries to call anyone, and absolutely begs them to be honest “Have. You. Seen. Chris!?”
NEXT SCENE
Chris, Billy, Rebecca, and Bravo team walk to the back end of the train, they encounter…a giant spider. They shoot at it, and it immediately runs away, giving them no time to react. They search for it. They hear crawling from the other side of the walls. They search for a good few minutes, until they hear the pain-filled scream of Enrico, they run to where he was, and they see the spider wrap itself around Enrico's body, biting into his skull. Enrico's body suddenly gets up. He is dead, but his body is still alive, a puppet vessel for the Spider… this…Spider Man runs towards them. Its movements are a mix of a human and a spider. It's incredibly disturbing. They cannot seem to get a clear shot of it, all they can do is run…they lock it into a room. It just claws at the glass, trying to break it, they know it's only a matter of time until it breaks through.
NEXT SCENE
Wesker in his office, receives an anonymous call, the call tells him that a Bravo team is in the Arklay Forest, investigating an event that may have something to do with the crisis of murders. Wesker, seeing this as an opportunity to finally get something done, and put an end to this 2 month long madness, they do not have time to call Barry or Jill. All the remaining STARS operatives get geared up, Brad starts up a chopper and the team proceeds to head for Arklay, they don't tell the Chief.
NEXT SCENE
Everyone in the train continues on, they continue to face various small monsters, they encounter savage Crows flying through windows, baby spiders the size of an average skull hatching from giant eggs. Piles of leeches in the shape of humans, etc. They all finally agree that they have to call in for backup, they need to get out of there and tell the entire city and RPD what had happened. Then they can investigate further.
NEXT SCENE
Alpha Team flies over the forest, Wesker observes the whole area with his binoculars. Until he finally spots the light of the train. Wesker orders them to land.
NEXT SCENE
The crew of the bravo team are running back to the area that they entered from. They run, frantically trying to avoid the various monsters they encounter. They eventually get out, but two unknown members of the bravo team didn't make it out. They don't have time to mourn however, and they try to head back to their vehicles. More dogs appear, and they are chasing them close behind, almost getting them. Chris is the one lagging behind, he trips over a loose branch. A dog leaps at him…until a gunshot hits it straight away from Chris. “This way Chris!” Wesker says. Alpha team showed up in the nick of time, proceeding to slay all of the dogs and monsters coming at them.
NEXT SCENE
“Why would Chris not call me about this?” Barry exclaims he doesn't know either. They proceed to look into things further. They call Wesker, but he doesn't answer. “Amazing, now our oh so great leader is nowhere to answer.”
NEXT SCENE
Everyone in the forest has been brought up to speed on what has happened so far, they don't know where these monsters came from. They need to report back to the RPD, tell the Chief everything, and announce to raccoon city and the world what they saw, but the plan won't be happening. They hear the roars from earlier, they feel rumbling beneath their feet, and forest from the bravo team is stabbed and thrown away into the darkness by a giant claw. It's…a giant man…creature…thing…its heart and chest organs are exposed, it's uglier than sin, it's right hand is bigger than it's left, equipped with a giant claw, and it's twitching uncontrollably(it is the tyrant T-001). It lets out a huge roar. Everyone is paralyzed in fear. They all try to process if this is real, is this all just a dream, is there no human shaped abomination of God in front of them. Wesker is the only one of them all that is not scared one bit, he truly is their brave fearless leader, he earned his STARS. Wesker tells them that they need to run, he shoots the monster directly in its heart, and they run as fast as they can. They head for the chopper, but Brad beats them to it; he proceeds to leave them all as he flies away, screaming and terrified. Wesker yells “Coward” towards brad. The tyrant lets out an even louder roar than ever, and they hear it begin to run, each heavy footstep getting louder and closer. They all run, they don't know where they are going, they're just running. Billy and Chris run closely near each other, Rebecca follows close behind Wesker as he leads them to wherever they are going. They see a bright glow in the distance. They head towards it…The Mansion.
NEXT SCENE
Jill and Barry head back to the STARS office, it's completely empty. They try to see if they left anything behind to indicate where they went. They find nothing, until they hear running coming from outside the door. It's Brad, he barge's into the office, he is frantic, he's panicking, disturbed, and barely clear in his words. Only say “I left them” over and over and over. Jill and Barry try to ask him what happened. Brad finally calms down, and tells them that the alpha and bravo team are in Arklay, that they were with Chris, and his friend Billy. Jill berates Brad about the fact that she abandoned them for dead. Barry restrains her back and calms her down. She tears up and hugs Barry, she is scared that it's too late, that Chris and her friends are dead.
NEXT SCENE
Chris, Wesker, Rebecca, and Richard Eiken made it to the mansion, everyone else is…they don't know. “Billy!? Where's Billy!?” Chris heads for the door. Wesker stops Chris, telling him that they're all probably dead, and that he's sorry. They then suddenly hear a gunshot in the distance, they all hope that the others may have survived, Chris said that he will go and see if he finds anyone, Wesker agrees and says that he will go on his own and look for a way out. Rebecca and Richard agree to stick together and just stay alive.
FINAL SCENE
Chris walks through a dining room, getting closer to where the gunshots came from. He wounds up in a dark quiet hallway. The only thing he hears is the sound of “Sploshing” and groaning. He sees a trail of fresh blood on the floor, it's a trail, Chris immediately follows the trail. And wounds up at a dead end of the hallway…he finds where the blood is coming from. The body of dead STARS member, being devoured by a blood covered pale man shaped creature, it turns its head slowly, revealing its disgusting, blood covered face, with its flesh filled mouth…
THE END…TO BE CONTINUED.
I hope you enjoy the story of this first part. I'm excited to write the next two parts of my film. This first part story was inspired by an excellent video by Score PN, titled "The untold story of Resident evil 0". Here's a tease at what is to come.
Part 2, Film 2: RE 3 & 1.5
Part 3, Film 3: RE 2 & 1

The song I'm featuring here is "The Motions" from my (thankfully, FORMER) Christian crush Matthew West.
Back in my Christian days, I'd always use this song in my rotation as I would either prepare for or conclude my "quiet time". Similar to the worship model in church, but practiced in solitary form at home, I'd quietly reflect on what this song was trying to communicate to me. At the time, I recognized that I wanted my life to count, that I wanted it to mean something, that I wanted my days on this earth to be valuable. Of course, to me, this means putting less focus and attention towards "earthly" matters such as improving my job skills and managing my finances. Instead, this was a call for me to spend more time in church, using my energy into crafting messages to sway the impressionable minds of high schoolers, passionately signing up for (and then showing up) local outreaches, and making it my determination to show others that I had a "higher" purpose for living beyond just this physical life.
Holy shit, I was so fucking stupid!
I'm discovering the irony of it all, because while I was involved in the faith and in church, I was ultimately living for nothing, and I was truly going through "the motions". The motion of mindlessly waking up, dressing up, and showing up for church all those nights and weekends. The motion of spending hours of research through the bible and relatable lexicons in order to craft just the right message to capture and hook trusting students into listening to me. The motion of spending a couple of hours each night, each week, spinning around and moving my hands in preparation for worship signing for a guest worship leader. The motion of sleepily reading through the bible each morning (or night) and wondering what in the world Paul's second letter to the church in Thessalonica could possibly tell me in the new millennium.
Back then, I really was going through the motions. Turns out, IT ALL MEANT ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. It was all useless and a waste of my time. None of anything I did ultimately provided benefit into my life. It cost me time, money, my mind, my career, my education, my car (tithing with the money that should have rightfully fixed my car), my intellect. All for what? A god that never existed? Dry, old bible verses that are nothing more than history? Repeating the same worship songs, declaring the same self-deprecating messages? Giving away my hard-earned money? Taking advantage of the minds and precious time from those teenagers? Absolutely nothing!
Good news is, since leaving Christianity, I'm now actually getting what Mr. West is trying to say. Removing the religious bullshit woven throughout, the good part of the song still resonates. Life was not meant to be lived in a passive manner, simply expecting life to just happen. In every moment that we're given on this planet, however long, should be lived with passion, enthusiasm, fortitude, progression. Yes, tough shit happens in this life. Problems abound. There will always be something to worry and stress about. But real life is all about balance. Both good and bad. Joy and sorrow. New life arriving as well as life leaving. Periods of isolation and moments of truly belonging. Knowing when to chase after an opportunity and when to take a break. Religion ~ specifically, "god" ~ is not a requirement to live a full, awesome, and productive life. Being able to live is something that everyone can do, and everyone can enjoy life.
Being trapped in church all the time, made to feel like shit, being robbed of my money, and then being pressured to scare people by way of preaching fire and brimstone is NOT the way to live. In fact, what's really going on is simply just going through the motions.
That is all.

[Backstory][Arc 1][[[Next>]]()
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Chapter 2: The Egg of Shadows
Gribble towered at the kingdom's entrance, robes lashing in the wind. Red eyes blazed with dark power, remnants of the Shadow Trent's powers surging through him. Necromantic energy crackled around his form. Gribble sneered, surveying the ranks of reanimated dwarven skeletons - his Dark Legion, raised from those slain by his own hand. Pride and cruel anticipation swelled in his chest as he beheld his gruesome handiwork, the once fierce dwarven warriors reduced to mindless thralls under his absolute dominion. Clawed fingers flexed with eagerness, dark forces gathering as Gribble prepared to unleash his vile horde upon the unsuspecting world beyond these mountainous confines.
Bony digits slashed the air. At Gribble's command, the Dark Legion surged forward, an avalanche of rattling bones and rusted armor, skeletal feet clattering against weathered stone. The discordant march reverberated through the cavernous depths of the desecrated dwarven stronghold, a macabre rhythm heralding the nightmares to come. Raw exultation pulsed through Gribble's veins as he bent the undead to his indomitable will, relishing the cold precision of their unholy unison, every jerking step propelling them toward the warm lands ripe for his bloody harvest. Shambling bones clacked and scraped, ancient weapons gripped in fleshless hands, as the abominations that once defended these halls now paraded from their defiled resting place at their master's behest, hungering to visit oblivion upon all who dared oppose his twisted desires.
As the final skeletal warrior lurched through the archway, movement flickered in the periphery. Gribble tensed, then relaxed as his loyal Grey Fur Beast emerged from the gloom to pad silently to his side. Otherworldly silver pelt shimmered in the faint light, belying its unnatural origins. Eyes smoldering with feral intelligence met Gribble's own, a profound understanding passing between master and monstrosity. Savage pride tugged Gribble's thin lips, gnarled hand coming to rest upon the beast's back, tracing the scars of their shared victories etched into ashen hide. Claws absently caressed rough fur, eliciting a rumbling purr that promised unflinching obedience and remorseless savagery. His most prized possession, birthed from the bloodshed of his greatest conquest. With the Dark Legion and his Grey Fur Beast heeling to his every whim, Gribble's legend would echo through eternity.
Memories stirred, cold mist and jagged stone. Gribble recalled that fateful day in the mountains, where destiny fell into his clutches. Exhaustion weighed upon his wiry frame, each step an agony, crimson rivulets painting his green flesh. But beneath the pain, triumph blazed, his greatest foe vanquished, the Shadow Trent's essence Even now, he could feel the monster's power thrumming through his body, every cell alight with stolen vitality. And there, nestled against an onyx boulder, his final prize awaited - an egg, large as a human skull, its shell shimmering with bewitching iridescence. Bands of silver undulated across its indigo surface like captured moonlight, ancient runes etched in the ever-shifting patterns. It called to him, a siren song tangling the threads of fate, beguiling him closer with unspoken promises of unfathomable might.
Claws scraped stone as Gribble knelt, scooping the egg into greedy palms. An icy tingle crept through his fingers, eldritch energies swirling within the calicified prison, as if tasting the blood and darkness permeating his aura. The shell pulsed against his flesh, strangely warm and vital, like a second heartbeat, sending a shudder down his twisted spine. Transfixed, Gribble studied the mesmerizing whorls, each elegant curve hinting at grandiose cosmic secrets. With every breath, the egg seemed to synchronize with his own, a tangible declaration that their destinies were now inextricably entwined. Here, cradled in his battered hands, lay the key to his deepest aspirations, a weapon to bring kingdoms to their knees, to carve his name into the weeping flesh of history.
Gribble's tongue flicked over jagged fangs, goblin instinct screaming to sate his hunger, to devour this treasure and gorge upon its power. Claws dug into the silver-veined shell, hairline fissures spidering across its surface. One squeeze, one brief exertion of his rage-fueled might, and it would shatter, warm ambrosia for his ascension spilling into his eager gullet. Sinew coiled beneath leprous skin, violence trembling through Gribble's gaunt frame, the egg's outraged resonance humming up his arms. Just one bite, and its secrets would slither down his throat, burning through his being until godhood churned in his belly. But Gribble denied his instincts, a deeper impulse staying his hand, whispering seductively in his mind's shadows. No, this prize was meant for greater things than a moment's indulgence. This egg would be his sacrament, the altar upon which worlds would burn.
Realization struck, a twist behind his ribs. This creature, this nascent god confined within its calcified womb, could be so much more than a mere feast. An image unfurled in Gribble's mind - a mighty beast, rippling with otherworldly menace, an extension of his own unholy will. Yes, this egg deserved his devotion, to be nurtured to terrifying fruition beneath his meticulous attention. Joyous shivers raced down his limbs at the thought, a perverse ecstasy at odds with his malignant soul. To shape such a being, to bind it to his very essence, awakened an emotion he had never before experienced - a yearning to create, to leave an indelible mark on existence. This creature would be his legacy, the womb that would birth a new age of uncompromising malevolence. In that moment, clutching his squirming prize to his bony chest, Gribble felt the mantle of destiny drape across his shoulders, heavy with the weight of prophecy fulfilled.
Gnarled digits curled protectively around the egg, the shell's nascent warmth bleeding into his calloused flesh. With every shuddering beat emanating from within, something unfamiliar stirred behind Gribble's jaundiced eyes - a flicker of compassion, an ember of empathy, fragile as a moth's wing. He, who had only known hatred and callous self-interest, suddenly found himself awash in an alien tenderness, a primal need to shelter the fragile life pulsing against his palm. It was as though a missing piece of his fractured psyche had clicked into alignment, a long-forgotten warmth rekindling in the wasteland of his soul. In this egg, he sensed a kindred spirit, a being as raw and hungry for purpose as himself. No longer merely a means to power, this egg represented a new beginning, a chance to carve out an identity beyond the caustic bile of bitterness and rage. Perhaps, in rearing this monstrosity, he might resurrect some vestige of his own stillborn humanity.
The Shadow Trent loomed large in Gribble's mind, a behemoth of writhing shadow and unfettered malevolence. It had been a horror beyond imagining, the mountain's black heart, spawned from the fevered nightmares of a sadistic god. He should have fled, cringed before its primordial might, yet the egg's siren call had spurred him onward, drawing his battered body inexorably to the beast's lair. The Ancient Tree towered over their battleground, its trunk wider than a giant's girth, scabrous bark drinking in the viscera misting the air. They had clashed beneath those twisting boughs, a frenzied ballet of fang and claw, each blow shaking the earth, dark magics screaming from rent flesh. Gribble had never known such agony, nor such vicious glee, than in those blood-soaked hours, his body a conduit for unimaginable energies, pain and power blurring into a rapturous whole. And when the abomination finally lay twitching at his feet, its shadowy form corroding, Gribble had torn into it with ravenous abandon, black ichor slopping down his chin as he glutted on its fading essence.
The moment the Shadow Trent's heart slid down his gullet, Gribble's world shattered in a paroxysm of infinite darkness. It was as though he had swallowed a dying star, stolen fire searing through his veins, rewriting his genetic tapestry. Charcoal sludge coursed through his twitching limbs, reshaping muscle and bone into an avatar of purest corruption. Images flooded his fracturing consciousness, the death agonies of civilizations, the visceral snap of a soul's moorings shredded by depraved sorceries. And through the tumult, one glorious realization crystalized - the Shadow Trent's necromantic essence now pulsed within his own blasphemous marrow. Death itself would bend to his desires, shackled to the obscene hungers of his unquiet mind. With a thought, he could beckon the grave to vomit forth its mouldering charges, the unquiet dead his eternal chattel. In that singular, glorious moment, as the last tatters of his mortality sloughed away, Gribble was reborn in an afterbirth of oozing shadows, a god of death swaddled in tattered flesh.
But even this apotheosis paled before the glories sleeping within the egg. Like a doting parent, Gribble ferried his precious cargo back to the twisting warrens of his subterranean demesnes. With his own gnarled hands, he excavated a chamber nestled deep within the mountain's rotting bowels, the earth parting before his crackling fingertips like diseased flesh. Into this pocket of gravid darkness, he sequestered the egg, a profane creche for his squirming godling. Chitterring incantations spewed from his cracked lips, guttural utterances thrumming with the agonized frequencies of shattered souls. Wards of rancid power encased the chamber, an umbilical tether of blistered energy pulsing between Gribble's shrivelled heart and the curled abomination within its confining shell. By day, he would squat before his charge in reverent silence, nostrils flaring as he suckled the foetid air for subtle changes in the egg's vital rhythms, each tick of progress sending dark ecstasy shivering through his emaciated frame.
Now, as Gribble stood at the precipice of his grand design, his gaze lingered on the Grey Fur Beast crouched at his side, the end result of his tender madness. Primordial energies crackled through its ashen pelt, lambent eyes swirling with the promise of cataclysm unbound. No longer a mere beast, but an extension of Gribble's own unholy essence, a living testament to his unfettered will. The beast shifted its hulking frame, muscles rippling like serpents writhing beneath its hide, a low growl building in its barrel chest. Fangs gleamed in the guttering light, each ivory shard honed to eviscerate, to rend the offal from those who would dare stand against its master's grand aspirations. As if sensing Gribble's building bloodlust, the Grey Fur Beast's growl hitched into a eager whine, claws gouging furrows into the unyielding stone, its haunches tensing in anticipation of the oncoming slaughter. Gribble's lips peeled back in a rictus grin, a nightmare union of pride and sadistic glee, as he savored the intoxicating thrill of the hunt churning in his gut.
With an imperious sweep of his emaciated arm, Gribble urged his Dark Legion onward, the Grey Fur Beast falling into step at his side with predatory grace. Beyond the crumbling gates of the fallen dwarven kingdom, a world ripe for conquest beckoned, populated by the weak and ignorant, lambs bleating for the butcher's knife. The earth trembled beneath the relentless march of Gribble's unliving horde, each step an inexorable drumbeat of damnation. Soon, the fields would run red with the blood of the innocent, the skies aboil with the agonized screams of the dying. Gribble's name would become a curse upon the lips of the vanquished, a synonym for despair and unending torment. And from the ashes of this world, he would raise a new order, where hope withered and nightmares roamed unshackled. The Goblin King, scourge of the living, had begun his grim ascendancy, the Grey Fur Beast forever at his side, and woe betide any foolish enough to stand in their dread path. In the rotting bowels of Gribble's heart, a terrible joy unfurled, glutted on visions of the beautiful depredations to come. The world, in all its ripe fecundity, awaited his despoiling touch with bated breath, and he would gladly oblige its morbid desires.

[Backstory][Arc 1][Next>]
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Chapter 1: Sorcery of the Dead
Rubble crunched beneath Gribble's clawed feet. He stood atop the heap of shattered stone, his sickly yellow eyes flicking over the carnage. Pillars lay toppled, their rune-carved surfaces fractured into jagged shards. Stones stained rusty crimson with dwarven blood.
The stench of death and smoke clung to the back of Gribble's throat. His nostrils flared, drinking in the aftermath of butchery. A few hours past, this chamber had rung with the clash of arms and the screams of the dying. Now only the crackle of flames and the occasional clatter of shifting rubble broke the sepulchral hush.
Gribble's green skin seemed to swallow the feeble grey light seeping through gaps in the ruined ceiling. Shadows gathered in the hollows of his gaunt cheeks, in the cruel twist of his lips. He lifted one hand, the sharp nails glinting like chips of obsidian.
Bones littered the floor. Skeletons contorted in their final agonies, scraps of flesh and torn armor still clinging to their yellowed frames. Gribble flexed his fingers, his eyes flaring brighter. Threads of sickly green energy twined around each corpse, knitting through ribs and empty eye sockets.
Bones rattled and scraped against flagstones. Skeletons lurched upright, their movements jerky, marionettes dancing on a mad necromancer's strings. Empty orbits flickered with corpse-light. Skeletal hands groped for notched blades and war-axes, the weapons they'd wielded in life now instruments of blasphemy.
Dwarven tapestries hung in charred tatters from the walls. Woven images once depicting the kingdom's history and heroes now warped to smudged nightmares.
Gribble's gaze snagged on one tapestry more intact than the rest. Golden threads glimmered through the soot-stains, limning a heroic dwarven king, his hammer upraised, his followers clustered around him.
Gribble snarled. He swung his hand in a sharp, slashing motion. Oily black flames leapt from his claws. They struck the tapestry, clinging, spreading with unnatural speed. Hungry tongues of dark fire consumed beard and crown, transmuting the king's victory into a death-rictus of agony.
The tapestry crumbled in on itself, warp and weft eaten away to drifting black wisps. Gribble threw his head back, laughing. The sound was the scrape of a whetstone on a rusted blade.
The grating creak of a shifting stone cut off his mirth. His pointed ears twitched, swiveling towards a narrow archway half-hidden behind a tumbled column. A furtive scrabbling, like rats fighting in the walls. But no rat had made that sound.
Gribble's thick lips skinned back from his teeth. Curse the dwarves. Too stupid to know when to lay down and embrace oblivion. He'd assumed his massacre was complete. That this shattered corpse of a chamber held no more life to be choked out.
He'd been careless. Sloppy. Left a few maggots squirming in the rotted flesh of this fallen kingdom. No matter. He rolled his shoulders, the joints popping. He'd remedy that oversight.
His hand twisted in a summoning motion. Viridian sparks dripped from his nails. A translucent wisp of emerald foxfire sprang into being over his palm, its unearthly glow throwing the craggy lines of his face into sharp relief.
The glow illuminated the archway and the short passage beyond. Gribble moved towards it, his feet nearly silent amid the rubble. As he approached, the scrabbling intensified, then cut off with a choked gurgle. Some broken thing trying to muffle its pain. Its fear.
Gribble's tongue flicked out, tasting the air. The flavor of desperation and impotent defiance burst across his senses like a spoiled fruit. He could almost see the wretches cowering in their bolt-holes, mewling prayers to their carved-bone gods.
All that effort to hide, to cling to the tatters of their pointless existences. Hadn't they seen what he'd wrought? Hadn't they witnessed their kin and comrades torn to steaming gobbets, flesh scoured from bone by the spells boiling from his lips?
There was no salvation. No escape. The sooner they embraced the purity of despair, the sooner he could grant them the mercy of utter destruction. But if they wished to draw out their suffering, to marinate in a few more precious moments of false hope, he was happy to oblige them. It was, after all, nothing more than they deserved.
The foxfire cast eerie shadows on the walls, green as gangrene. The wisp bobbed and gibbered silently as he entered the passage. The reek of terror grown thick enough to coat the back of his tongue. Gribble swallowed, savoring it.
He clawed a gestured. Behind him, bones clacked and rattled as a handful of his new skeletal thralls stumbled into motion. He didn't spare them a glance, trusting in the power of his magic to bind them to his will.
The passage kinked to the left, ending in an ironbound door hanging drunkenly from one twisted hinge. The wood was pocked with axe-scars, each mark black with clotted blood. Gribble kicked the door, his withered muscles swelling with stolen necromantic vigor.
Hinges squealed. Wood exploded into sodden splinters. The heavy portal slammed inward. It struck the wall, rebounded. Through the ringing echo, Gribble heard a yelp, high and pitiful with fear.
He stepped across the threshold, the foxfire swimming through the murk to orbit his head. The chamber was small and mean, more a cell than a room. Piles of smashed crates and barrels lined the walls, the detritus of a last, frantic attempt at a barricade.
In the center of the room, a lone dwarf crouched over a body. No, a pair of bodies. Two more dwarves sprawled brokenly on the flagstones. One was missing most of its head, its beard matted into a glistening sponge by the grey-pink ruin of its brain.
The other corpse lay face-down, its stubby limbs thrown out at angles nature never intended. The haft of a broken spear jutted between its shoulders. Black fluid seeped from the wound, another stream dribbling from the scrap of meat that had been its throat.
The living dwarf spun to face Gribble. The creature was maimed, its face a hideous topography of burnt flesh and crusted blood. One arm hung limp, the bone poking through the skin. Its remaining hand white-knuckled the hilt of a notched sword.
Rheumy eyes squinted at Gribble through slits in the seared meat of the dwarf's face. Recognition and rage kindling in their depths. Its cracked lips worked, as if trying to dredge up enough moisture to spit.
Gribble cocked his head, considering the dwarf. The way it crouched over its butchered comrades, its ruined face set in a rictus of furious determination. An unexpected ember of grudging respect kindled in his shriveled heart.
Here was a maggot with some backbone. A worm that fancied itself a viper, valiantly rearing up to strike at the boot-heel poised to crush its egg-mates. There was something perversely admirable in that level of futile defiance. A piquancy that would add a certain spice to the inevitable slaughter.
The dwarf awkwardly shuffled around to place itself between Gribble and the door. It raised the sword in its shaking hand, the point dipping and weaving drunkenly. Phlegm rattled in its throat, bubbling out as wet, wracking coughs.
Gribble smiled. A stretching of lips that was all mockery and malice, as empty of true mirth as a bare skull. He stepped into the chamber, the foxfire's glow painting the blood-slick walls the color of spoiled meat.
The rattle of bones echoed from the passageway behind him. The dwarf's rheumy eyes darted to the dark opening. They went wide as the first skeletal warrior stumbled into view, its frame a jangling patchwork of grave-remnants and dwarven battle-gear.
The dwarf made a sound then. A low, wordless moan that needed no translation. In it was horror and despair in equal measure, the final tattered threads of courage frayed past mending by the sight of its kin defiled.
Gribble breathed in the sour reek of the dwarf's anguish. Let it roll across his palate like a vintner savoring a rare draught. His hand crept to the hilt of his own sword, the vicious black blade seeming to drink in the foxfire's glow.
The dwarf's eyes snapped back to him. The moan climbed into a snarl clotted with equal parts fury and despair. Gribble watched the mortal mind behind those eyes fray and snap, the last gap-toothed cog slipping out of alignment.
With a roar like a scalded bear, the dwarf charged. The sword arced wildly, black with blood and fragments of its wielder's sanity. The broken thing had finally found the mercy of purpose in its madness, embracing destruction as the only absolution.
Gribble's blade leapt from its sheath with a whisper. Chill ebon metal met notched dwarven steel with a shriek. Sparks showered, reflecting in the skeletal warriors' empty eyes as they crowded the doorway.
The dwarf's sword shattered, shards of metal spinning across the room. One of the razor shards carved a line of brilliant pain across Gribble's cheek. He laughed again, his tongue darting out to lap at the welling ichor.
His blade sank into the meat of the dwarf's belly, grating on the cage of ribs. He twisted his wrist savagely, metal grating on bone. A loop of glistening intestine, gray as a drowned man's finger, flopped wetly from the gaping slash.
The dwarf's scream tore at its throat, flecking its beard with gobbets of blood. It clutched at its spilling guts with its one good hand, trying vainly to cram them back into the ruin of its stomach.
Gribble ripped his sword free. Loops of bowel draped his wrist like glistening ropes of rancid sausage. He flicked them away disdainfully. At his gesture, the skeletal warriors surged forward as one, bony claws grasping.
They fell on the dwarf in a clattering tide, bearing the twitching meat to the flagstones and tearing. Gobbets of flesh flew, blood spraying in abstract patterns across the walls. The dwarf's screams spiraled up into an agonized gibber.
Gribble stood over it all, drinking in the raw sounds of rending meat and splintering bone. He closed his eyes in an almost sexual ecstasy, feeling the dwarf's agony pour into him, filling some empty space behind his ribs.
He held up a hand, fingers splayed. The skeletal warriors froze, their gory work nearly complete. Only the dwarf's head remained, barely recognizable as anything that had once been thinking flesh.
Gribble crooked a finger. A gasp of foul air escaped the ruin of the dwarf's lipless mouth as its skull rose from the steaming spread of its body. Gobbets of meat sloughed away, followed by the wet slither of exposed brain.
The skull slipped free in a parody of birth. It drifted to orbit Gribble's head along with the cold flame of the foxfire. Empty sockets flickered, filling with a rotting emerald radiance.
Gribble turned and strode from the chamber, his grisly trophies bobbing in his wake. Gore squelched beneath his heavy boots. In the passageway beyond, more skeletons waited, their bones gleaming wetly in the spectral light.
The skull's jaw clacked and gibbered silently, mouthing imprecations or pleas. Gribble cared not. They were all the same to him. Meat and bone and squealing souls, all fodder for the dark machinations of his will.
He had an empire to build, and this pathetic midden heap of a fortress was only the first loose stone to pry from the crumbling edifice of mortality. One by one, he would topple their castles and crack open their yellowed philospher's scraps, until all that remained was the purity of the void. And he, Gribble, would rule over it all, the last fading scream before the fall of the eternal night.
The thought warmed him, a hideous dopamine rush better than the most decadent flesh or the headiest mead. His shoulders shook, not with weariness, but with a terrible, silent laughter.
He mounted the steps leading out of the ruined keep, trailing his grisly honor guard. The guttering flames were lower now, the smoke thicker. It seemed to part before him like a noxious bridal veil.
He reached the great rent in the wall where the main gate had once stood, now a gore-splattered wound in the keep's carcass. Beyond lay his army, a seething mass of rot-green wisps and bleached bone. An unliving sea, its depths pregnant with poisonous oblivion.
Gribble paused at the threshold, his gaze traveling across that vista of horror. The thing squatting in the center of his chest squeezed, not with sorrow or regret, but with a pure, distilled thrill of malevolent anticipation. This, all of this, was only the beginning.
With a final hacking bark of laughter, he raised his blade overhead. The foxfire raced down the ebon metal, wreathing the sword in ghostly corpse-light. At its master's signal, the unliving army rippled into motion.
As they marched from that shattered keep into a world as yet unaware of the onrushing tide of its extinction, Gribble could not help but feel that perhaps immortality was not so elusive a thing as the mortal philosophers had always preached. For as long as his name endured, whispered in the final fading nightmares of a doomed existence, would he not, in some twisted fashion, live forever?
The thought pleased him. And that, perhaps, was the most terrible thing of all.

Ten years ago I (30F) was living abroad and became close friends with a man we will call Bob (31M) (we were both military). We were both in serious relationships with other people and neither one of us considered the other in a sexual or romantic way, we were simply great friends that created many precious memories together. We had the same interests, life perspective, sense of humor, political and religious opinions, and personality traits that perfectly clicked. I can’t even begin to describe the magic in those memories, but they are the best times of my life. Anyway, I came back to the states first and we kinda kept in contact for a year or so until he reached out and said he got orders to the same town as me. I asked if he needed a roommate and he immediately said yes. We lived together for 8 months, both still in relationships with the same people as a few years before. We didn’t really hang out as much this time, he was going through some depression and I was preparing for some other major life changes so we just kinda lived separate lives in the same apartment. I also ended up breaking up with my boyfriend during this time and I was all mopey and bringing guys around to fuck. Never once did me and Bob even hint at being romantically or sexually interested in each other, but later we did admit that we both were thinking about it. So anyway. 8 months of living together and I buy a house and move out (he’s planning on moving states away in a few months when he finishes his military time). The moving out was rough because we shared two dogs and had to have a conversation about who should keep them and it ended with him crying out of shame and admitting I should keep them because he wasn’t really providing for them. This made things weird and we fell out of contact again for about three years, but thought about each other constantly the entire time. One day out of the blue I reach out to him. I had gotten married and it sucked (that’s a whole nother story for another Reddit page). He is now single. So we start chatting daily, playing video games together through discord, having so much fucking fun just like when we were abroad. He becomes a huge rock for me while I go through the most insane divorce, and we fucking love each other. We always have and we always knew it, but now we realize it could go so much deeper than just a platonic love if we allow it. We become each other’s best friends again and it’s the healthiest relationship of my life. We make each other better people somehow, it’s like we bring out the most kindest, patient, loving, gentle parts of our personalities when we are together (this is still strictly through electronics, states away). We discuss how we love each other and how we make each other better people. A few conversations get sexual but that’s almost never the focus. We simply love each other’s heart and soul. But the most sensual thing anyone ever said to me was during this time and I’ll never forget it. He said “the first time I see your pusyy I want to be able to smell it.” So we never even sent each other those types of photos, and we’ve never shared more than a platonic hug. (Fucking hot, I know). Anyway, this lasts about a year and I start going out with men again, and he’s also trying to get people to go out with him but he’s struggling making friends. I want to iterate that we were both very supportive of each other’s sexual and interpersonal relationships and there was no jealousy. Regardless, the more I went out with friends/men, the less I text/call/video chat Bob. He starts to pull away once I get close to someone we will call Joe (27M). Over the course of a year, me and Bob go from talking all day, to once a day, to weekly, to pretty much never. Me and Joe get really serious and start exclusively dating. Joe is great. He is a loving, caring, affectionate man. He is also strong and tough and we trust each other completely. This is the healthiest romantic relationship I’ve ever been in. As I type right now, Me and Joe are now engaged and are set to marry in a few months. But ever since moving out of that fucking apartment I haven’t been able to get Bob out of my mind. Somehow, we are tethered. It’s like the universe is substantially more intelligent than we’ll ever understand and it decided we must be near each other to reach full potential. It’s like if we were a cheesy romance movie, the audience would be constantly disappointed that we kept going the wrong direction and the anticipation for the “happily ever after” just keeps building. I called Bob seven or eight months ago to tell him those things and he agreed. It was more just about venting to him and he listened so well and shared his feelings too…but that was pretty much it. We send each other a song here, a quick memory there but nothing really else. Well, starting a few months ago I’ve been losing feelings for Joe. He didn’t do anything, but I lost attraction on multiple levels. I am noticing so many things that just turn me off or even repulse me and it’s honestly unfair to him. I know it’s because he’s not Bob…my love for him has grown into a somehow silent yet roaring boil and I have to fight it from spilling over every moment of every day. A few days ago I got the courage to reach out to him…and I say it took courage because I feel like this one action could change everything and I’m scared about how this could effect not just myself but mostly Joe and his amazing family and everyone even semi-involved. Anyway, I texted Bob a few days ago saying “What are we doing?” A few hours later he said he was really busy but we could talk on the phone on Thursday, and so now it is Tuesday and I anxiously wait. I haven’t gone into much detail about Joe but we are a great match and love each other deeply…he does not deserve to lose the love of his life and I feel like shit for what I may end up doing to him. Who knows, maybe Bob will tell me he’s in a happy relationship and tells me it’s too late for us to discuss a future. Honestly, closing that possibility would make everything so much easier. But I have to call. I will have this conversation with Bob and then I will talk to Joe about what’s been going on with me, regardless of how thursday’s phone call goes. My soul aches for Bob, and I know his aches for me. Whether or not we will ever act on it is unknown and so so tragic.

I just want to say hello and pay homage to this legend. Im a new fan and discovering these songs have been a revelation for me.
The whole damn Grace album is a masterpiece, and I have been listening to everything I can get my hands on especially the live tracks.
I love it all, but Sweet thing is breathtaking and has me in a chokehold right now.
Listened to it last night with tears streaming down my face. It gives me such a feeling of warmth and love, its flat out stunning.
Just lost my Mother on Valentines day, after a long bouts with late stage dementia, COPD, and cancer. His songs, his voice, his presence and his whole Scorpio aura are a balm to my frayed Pisces soul.
I remember hearing about his death in passing back in the day without ever knowing anything about him, or hearing his music. But recently I have been Heartbroken hearing his story, learning about who he was, and learning the details of the tragedy of his untimely death.
I have so many thoughts, questions and feelings.
Im just so damn sad. Why did he have to go so soon with so much music and untapped potential left that the world will never hear? In a world filled with garbage music and trash bag artists, Its so unfair that this absolute light was extinguished while all these nothing artists are still here.
I have never been so instantly emotionally moved and connected to a artists music before.
Where has this man been all of my life? This is the artist I have been waiting a lifetime for. Why didn't I find out about him sooner?
Why wasn't he the biggest thing then?, and why hasn’t history righted this wrong and finally given him his due as one of the most naturally gifted and original singers, songwriters, and guitar players that ever lived??
The world needs to see and hear his genius. This is a travesty.
Im so damn mad I have had to live 30 years of my life without this precious angel and his heavenly music in my life.
I have actually cried and mourned that I have lost so much time with him and his life changing music.
I have found a kindred sprit…and will adore this sweet soul eternally.
I love you Jeff, wherever you are.
Thank you for your transcendent music and your strong yet so gentle sprit and presence that still comes through so distinctly in your songs.
Your music is giving me the will to live.

Apologies if this is a long post, but thank you for reading in advance.
I'm one of the few people who originally had high hopes for that Resident Evil Netflix series... until we got it...
All in all, this COULD work as a series, but like everything else in life, only if it's done right.
Let's pretend we live in a world of make believe where Capcom just gave me the live-action adaptation rights to Resident Evil and a big budget studio gave me an open checkbook and said "do what you want." One of my favorite aspects of the Resident Evil series is exploring the lore, along with the main plot of the series, so here's what I'd do...
First off, I would do an hour-to-an hour and a half long PREQUEL special - for now, let's just call it The S.T.A.R.S. of Raccoon City - that would solely focus on the S.T.A.R.S. team and follow a type of mission they would normally on. Timeline-wise, this would take place roughly three months before the events of the first Resident Evil video game and the special itself would be in the style of cop drama shows such as CSI or Law & Order: SVU - with Chris Redfield & Jill Valentine being the "Stabler & Benson" of the special, minus the obvious sexual tension. And because this would be a prequel movie, there would be no horror elements and no conspiracy theories about the Umbrella Corporation, as we would be meant to see everything through the eyes of the normal citizens of Raccoon City (with SLIGHT exception to Brian Irons, who we still see as a belligerent asshole and a bit of a pervert, just not to the extent of full-blown evil psycho that the games would reveal). The plot? I would say the mission we would see them is trying to diffuse a hostage situation with a few high-ranking Umbrella officials (including Dr. Nathaniel Bard from the Resident Evil 3 Remake) and Katherine Warren, the Mayor's daughter who some fans will know of her unfortunate fate in Resident Evil 2. At the end of the mission, this will lead into the events of Resident Evil's main story, which will kick off the series.
Oh and just a heads up... I know people will be mad at me for this, especially fans of this game in particular, but: No. Resident Evil 0 will NOT be canon in this series. I'm sorry, it's a narrative preference. Although there will be a couple of moments from the game that will make it's way into the canon here, such as Dr. James Marcus being somewhat responsible for the T-Virus leak in the mansion lab. But instead, have it to where (we wouldn't find out about this until maybe the 2nd to last episode of the season) he KNEW he was about to be assassinated and there was nothing that he could say or do to escape his fate. So instead, he just sacrifices himself by leaking the T-Virus himself in the mansion's laboratory, which would effectively kill him too, because if he's going down, he's taking the company with him. I find that a bit more gratifying than having him turn into a David Bowie-wannabe King of Leeches who sings like the blue alien from The Fifth Element.
Okay, tangent over. I would want the series to still be titled Resident Evil, but instead of "Season 1" or "Season 2", I would want there to be subtitles in the same vein as American Horror Story, or, as I mentioned previously, Law & Order and CSI. Like, I don't know, call this one Resident Evil: The Mansion Incident, or maybe something more clever than that, I'm all ears. I didn't call it The Umbrella Conspiracy because, while fans of the game know better, I wanted to avoid putting spoilers in the title for the new fans.
Now, for the Cast.
I'm a big sucker for casting somewhat unknowns or non-big-named actors for the lead roles to put them in more of a spotlight, but there will be a select few that I will use bigger name actors for, so here you go...
RESIDENT EVIL: THE MANSION INCIDENT CAST
S.T.A.R.S. TEAMS

• Kurt Ostlund ("Snowpiercer" Series, Timeless, & Mr. Young) as CHRIS REDFIELD - Male Protagonist, S.T.A.R.S. Alpha Team Point Man
• Wallis Day (Batwoman, Sex/Life, Krypton, & Infinite) as JILL VALENTINE - Female Protagonist, S.T.A.R.S. Alpha Team Rear Security & Entry Specialist
• David Harbour (Stranger Things, Black Widow, & Violent Night) as BARRY BURTON - S.T.A.R.S. Alpha Team Weapons Specialist & Back-Up Pilot
• Sophia Lillis (It, It: Chapter 2, & Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves) as REBECCA CHAMBERS - S.T.A.R.S. Bravo Team Medic-in-Training / Rookie
• Anthony Starr (The Boys & Outrageous Fortune) as COMMANDER ALBERT WESKER - Lead Commander of S.T.A.R.S. & Alpha Team Captain
• Jimmy Smits (Star Wars - Episode III: Revenge of the Sith, NYPD Blue, and Rogue One: A Star Wars Story) as CAPTAIN ENRICO MARINI - S.T.A.R.S. Bravo Team Captain
• Matt Lintz (The Walking Dead & Ms. Marvel) as RICHARD AIKEN - S.T.A.R.S. Bravo Team Radio Specialist & Field Medic / Rebecca Chambers' Trainer
• Sebastian Amoruso ("Avatar: The Last Airbender" Live-Action Series & I Know What You Did Last Summer (2021)) as FOREST SPEYER - S.T.A.R.S. Bravo Team Sniper & Point Man
• Alex Wolff (Hereditary, Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle, & Oppenheimer) as BRAD VICKERS - S.T.A.R.S. Alpha Team Pilot & Computer Specialist
• Daryl Sabara (The "Spy Kids" Movies & Rob Zombie's Halloween) as JOSEPH FROST - S.T.A.R.S. Alpha Team Vehicle Specialist & Omni Man
• Nik Walker (Law & Order: Special Victims Unit & Blue Bloods) as DR. KENNETH J. SULLIVAN - S.T.A.R.S. Bravo Team Recon Agent & Chemist
• Mark Webber (Scott Pilgrim vs. The World & Green Room) as EDWARD DEWEY - S.T.A.R.S. Bravo Team Back-Up Pilot & Omni Man
• Leigh Whannell (Saw, The "Insidious" Series, & Death Sentence) as KEVIN DOOLEY - S.T.A.R.S. Bravo Team Pilot

ALSO FEATURING:

• John Carroll Lynch (Zodiac, The Founder, Fargo, & American Horror Story: 1984) as CHIEF BRIAN IRONS - Senior Chief of Police, Raccoon Police Department
• Darius McCrary (Family Matters & Saw VI) as LT. MARVIN BRANAGH - Police Lieutenant, Raccoon Police Department
• Don Stark (That 70s Show & That 90s Show) as MICHAEL WARREN - Mayor of Raccoon City
• Alicia Silverstone (Clueless, Batman & Robin, & Blast from the Past) as KATHY BURTON - Barry Burton's Wife
• Chris Owen (Major Payne, American Pie 1 & 2, & The Mist) as BEN BERTOLUCCI - Freelance Investigative Journalist
• Alyson Court (Original Voice of Claire Redfield in "Resident Evil 2", "Beetlejuice" Cartoon, The Big Comfy Couch, & X-Men: The Animated Series) as ALYSSA ASHCROFT - Anchorwoman & Reporter, Raccoon City News
• Will Sasso (MadTV, The Three Stooges, & Happy Gilmore) as ROBERT KENDO - Owner of Gun Shop Kendo & S.T.A.R.S. Weapons Supplier
• Brad Dourif ("Childs Play / Chucky" Franchise, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, & The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers) as DR. JAMES MARCUS - Co-Founder and Head Researcher for Umbrella, Inc.
• Michael Emerson (Saw, Lost, & Person of Interest) as DR. NATHANIEL BARD, Head Researcher, Spencer Memorial Hospital & Umbrella, Inc.
• Wes Bentley (The Hunger Games, Yellowstone, Interstellar & Ghost Rider) as DR. JOHN CLEMMONS - Researcher for Umbrella, Inc.'s Chicago Branch
• Cory Michael Smith (Gotham, Utopia, & Transatlantic) as GEORGE TREVOR - Architect of the Spencer Mansion
• Bonnie Morgan (Contortionist Stunt Performer - Rings, From Where it Hides, & Hellboy II: The Golden Army) as LISA TREVOR - George Trevor's Daughter-Turned-B.O.W.
• Robert Maillet (Ex-Pro Wrestler - Sherlock Holmes, 300, & Pacific Rim) as TYRANT T-002

AND IN A POST-CREDITS SEASON FINALE CLIFFHANGER STINGER...

• Robin Lord Taylor (Gotham, The Walking Dead, & John Wick - Chapter 3: Parabellum) as DR. WILLIAM BIRKIN - Head of T-Virus Research, Umbrella, Inc.
• Katee Sackhoff (Battlestar Galactica, Riddick, & Oculus) as DR. ANNETTE BIRKIN - Senior Researcher, Umbrella, Inc. / William's Wife

Now I would do a lot of things similar to what the video games did, but with this being a series instead of a movie and hopefully with the companion S.T.A.R.S. special, we would have gotten to know a lot of these S.T.A.R.S. members before their inevitable demise and betrayal. Also, a series would also have enough time to shine a light on some B.O.W.'s that would feel too rushed in a feature-length film, and some of the lore that you read in the Files and Diaries in the games, and give some development to a lot of the lesser known characters, which would bring me to one MAJOR change I would make to add some surprising drama...
What if Barry wasn't the ONLY one working with Wesker?
That's where Forest Speyer and Kevin Dooley come in.
Considering Forest & Chris are such good friends, that would create one hell of a dynamic when it's revealed that Forest is a traitor (a willing one, at that) who's in it for the large sum of money so he can do what he always wanted to do: retire at a young age and live without being financially burdened in a quiet place. Kevin, on the other hand, has crippling gambling debt, hence why he joined with Wesker and Umbrella, although their reason for including him is in case they needed another pilot if Barry were to be... eliminated somehow. Have Forest fake his death with some blood and his dog tags (doesn't have to be HIS blood) to throw the others off his trail, have him be the one who shoots Enrico (it'd make sense considering he's a sniper) by having Jill get him out in the open in the Courtyard while running from Hunters... Forest shoots Enrico in the gut, causing him to fall behind and get torn to pieces and decapitated by the Hunters.
As far as Kevin & Forest's death scenes, I would have it to where they were already paranoid after Wesker revealed that he has no intention on bringing the combat data back to Umbrella, and once Wesker "dies", Forest and Kevin make a run for the boiler room - while Chris & Jill are distracted with the Tyrant - to activate the self-destruct sequence to finish Umbrella's orders. Kevin begins to have second thoughts, only for him to be pushed by Forest into a crowd of zombies and get eaten alive while Lisa Trevor comes in and bashes his head in. Forest... I took inspiration for his death based on Wesker's original death in the novel Resident Evil: The Umbrella Conspiracy by S.D. Perry: Forest activates the self-destruct sequence and then slowly, but violently get torn apart by Chimeras.
And of course, we get our canonical ending where Brad comes in, drops the Rocket Launcher for Chris (Jill will get her time to shine in the RE3 series) to destroy the Tyrant, and leaves with Chris, Jill, Barry and Rebecca. After some back and forth, Brad reveals that he went back to the R.P.D. to request Chief Irons to send in Raccoon City's SWAT Team to help extract the S.T.A.R.S., only for Irons to immediately call off the investigation, which prompted him to get into the R.P.D. Armory to retrieve the Rocket Launcher, fill up on fuel and come right back into the Arklay Mountains to find them. This leads to Barry revealing that Irons may know more about Umbrella than he lets on, leading to the grim realization from the survivors: no one in Raccoon City can be trusted...
Post-credits scene shows William Birkin on the phone with what appears to be the U.S. Army, apparently trying to strike up a deal about a new virus he's developing - doing it behind Umbrella's back. Annette comes in and berates him for doing this, reminding him that Umbrella has moles everywhere. William brushes this off as he once again relishes in his ultimate creation: the G-Virus. End of Season.
I apologize if this is too long, but I am such a huge fan of this series and I would love to see it done right in a live-action adaptation and, well, this is the best I could come up with.
What do you think? Would you do something different with the narrative? The cast? Might be a fun discussion. Want me to do the second game?

So for context, I (24) have been living back at home for about 3 years while I’ve been in college. I’m now going into my senior year so I have about a year left at home before I plan on leaving again. I commute to school (about an hour into the city) during the week and work all day on weekends.
My parents travel a lot. Just since the start of this year they’ve been out of town (and bring my youngest sister (16) with them) four times. They used to board the dogs, but the last time they did both dogs got kennel cough; though I’m pretty sure they just appreciate me watching the dogs because it saves money. I know it’s not a money issue- they have plenty of money to travel, and boarding was never an issue before I came back home. They don’t pay me (or thank me for that matter) but I never asked them to.
However, I love my dogs. I don’t terribly mind watching them, but it is a big hassle for me. When I have class, I have to go straight there and straight back so they aren’t caged too long, which sucks because I end up having to commute in heavy traffic for almost two hours instead of leaving early before and hanging out after in the library until traffic passes. Both dogs have terrible anxiety about my mom being gone- both of them will only eat (I shit you not) if I am standing in the kitchen doing dishes for some reason. Sometimes I literally just stand at the sink clinking things around until they eat. They bark all day out the window at anything that moves because they think she’s home. Then, they both have to sleep in bed with me. I spend a lot of time working and at school so my sleep is precious but these dweebs want to sleep right on me all night and nip at me in the middle of the night if I move.
The worst is when I have work because I feel terrible for the dogs. I work for 8 hours and I end up having to take an hour lunch so I have time to go home and take them to the bathroom. I can’t even let them eat while I’m home at lunch because then they’ll go to the bathroom in their crates or puke while I’m back at work. I just hate having to leave them like that, and then I don’t get home until 10PM, and by then they both want to go to bed an hour later.
So, last time my parents went, my middle sister (21) came home from college and was supposed to help out. Nope- she brought her boyfriend who stayed over the whole time (my parents know this). This is bad because one of the dogs bites strange men in the house- so that dog was crated ALL DAY every day while I was gone, other than being carried outside to go to the bathroom. Not to mention she spent the majority of the weekend going out to the pool and to party. So what’s the point of her helping?? It was literally so much worse.
Now my parents are about to leave for another spur of the moment trip this weekend, and they said my sister would be home to ‘help’ again. I’m fed up, so I told my mom to tell my sister her boyfriend can’t stay over. But no- my mom says that it’s MY FAULT that the last time went so bad. That I should have just kept the dogs in my room all day, to which I tried to point out I literally was not here I was at work, but my mom is saying that my sister said that I was the one not helping. I tried to explain that every other time has gone well, and yet the one time she’s home with her boyfriend it’s a mess, but somehow that’s my fault? And they don’t want to hear it.
So I had a huge fight with my mom tonight and my sister and said I’m not helping at all, even if I’m home. I’m not feeding the dogs, taking them out, or sleeping with them.
The reason I feel like I’m going to be the AH here is that I know this is going to go bad, and my dogs are going to suffer for it. My sister already told me “too bad” because she’s going out with her boyfriend this weekend (so much for helping). I told her that sucks because I’m going out and she can tell mom how helpful she is.
So… AITAH?

We've been married over 25 years. The majority of that time I rarely even socially drank. Three years agoO was in counseling and severe childhood sexual trauma from 4-12, was uncovered. And by a counselor not equipped to deal with it.
I went into a spiral and was binging for days on end. Sometimes a couple of weeks apart or a month. The flashbacks and nightmares were hell. I would down a fifth to make it stop.
I was able to find an amazing therapist who assisted me in get into an PHP/IOP which focused heavily on trauma with some substance sessions as well. I made great progress in the 12 weeks. CBT, DBT primarily.
Then we moved. I was doing well. He has wanted to get me OK but he was largely checked out. He agreed for the move to be a fresh start and she where it goes. We were buying furniture and going on dates
Then I had a major health diagnosis, which with family history, sent me to a new level of PTSD partnered with his limerence for a previous co-worker. I refuse to be a bedridden burden, so right after Valentine's drink a fifth in like 30 minutes and took a handful of Ambien in a suicide attempt. Spent 3 days in psych ward, with a heavy light bulb moment.
He agree to marriage counseling. I had found a therapist and psychiatrist as soon as we moved here, so upped counseling to twice week.Tried to find in-person evening IOP with no luck. Signed for a small trauma group which just started.
Making so much personal progress. We are dating, hanging out, found great TV shows we watched. Making progress. Flashbacks and nightmares stopped after last year's program.
Then last week a smell triggered me. I spiraled straight to the liquor store. Said a alot of hurtful, hateful things. Really, really bad things.
All the progress gone. I'll get back to counseling, my trauma group and working to better myself. Recovery is not linear I know.
He is finally done. Debating leaving now or waiting until closer to the end of the lease.
I don't blame it. He's endured so much in these 3 years. I obviously don't remember words and actions he can't forget.
Of all the issues we thought we may have had to face, this was pretty unimaginable, as like I said rarely drink. I was more the sober drive than the drinker.
In 3 short years I had thought I knew about my life shattered.
I am determined to keep getting stronger, get my old life back, but better. The benders have moved to 3-4 month. And I see them going away the more I heal. That said I can't make that promise. I'm sure something could trigger again 6 months or a year.
We were entering the empty nester time with plans to travel. Now I lose the love of my life from all my own actions. He has been truly amazing to not have left long before now. He cares deeply. He needs to take care of himself and as no energy left to give here.
I deeply emphasize with what us Q's do to destroy the lives of those we do truly love most.

We've been married over 25 years. The majority of that time I rarely even socially drank. Three years agoO was in counseling and severe childhood sexual trauma from 4-12, was uncovered. And by a counselor not equipped to deal with it.
I went into a spiral and was binging for days on end. Sometimes a couple of weeks apart or a month. The flashbacks and nightmares were hell. I would down a fifth to make it stop.
I was able to find an amazing therapist who assisted me in get into an PHP/IOP which focused heavily on trauma with some substance sessions as well. I made great progress in the 12 weeks. CBT, DBT primarily.
Then we moved. I was doing well. He has wanted to get me OK but he was largely checked out. He agreed for the move to be a fresh start and she where it goes. We were buying furniture and going on dates
Then I had a major health diagnosis, which with family history, sent me to a new level of PTSD partnered with his limerence for a previous co-worker. I refuse to be a bedridden burden, so right after Valentine's drink a fifth in like 30 minutes and took a handful of Ambien in a suicide attempt. Spent 3 days in psych ward, with a heavy light bulb moment.
He agree to marriage counseling. I had found a therapist and psychiatrist as soon as we moved here, so upped counseling to twice week.Tried to find in-person evening IOP with no luck. Signed for a small trauma group which just started.
Making so much personal progress. We are dating, hanging out, found great TV shows we watched. Making progress. Flashbacks and nightmares stopped after last year's program.
Then last week a smell triggered me. I spiraled straight to the liquor store. Said a alot of hurtful, hateful things. Really, really bad things.
All the progress gone. I'll get back to counseling, my trauma group and working to better myself. Recovery is not linear I know.
He is finally done. Debating leaving now or waiting until closer to the end of the lease.
I don't blame it. He's endured so much in these 3 years. I obviously don't remember words and actions he can't forget.
Of all the issues we thought we may have had to face, this was pretty unimaginable, as like I said rarely drink. I was more the sober drive than the drinker.
In 3 short years I had thought I knew about my life shattered.
I am determined to keep getting stronger, get my old life back, but better. The benders have moved to 3-4 month. And I see them going away the more I heal. That said I can't make that promise. I'm sure something could trigger again 6 months or a year.
We were entering the empty nester time with plans to travel. Now I lose the love of my life from all my own actions. He has been truly amazing to not have left long before now. He cares deeply. He needs to take care of himself and as no energy left to give here.
I deeply emphasize with what us Q's do to destroy the lives of those we do truly love most.

Greetings, photography aficionados! I'm Lauren Bonvini, and I'm thrilled to embark on a visual journey with you through the lens of my camera. Join me as we explore the art of capturing life's most precious moments with authenticity and passion.

A Passion Ignited

My love affair with photography ignited in 2015, sparked by the joyous arrival of my first furry companion. Entranced by the fleeting moments of our shared adventures, I felt compelled to immortalize them through the lens of my camera. Thus, my odyssey into the world of photography began.

From Hobby to Profession

What began as a personal hobby soon blossomed into a professional pursuit. In 2020, I ventured into portrait and event photography, eager to translate my passion into a tangible art form. With each click of the shutter, I discovered the profound beauty of capturing candid, unscripted moments.

Embracing Authenticity

At the heart of my photography lies a commitment to authenticity. I believe that the true essence of a moment lies in its raw, unfiltered emotion. That's why I gravitate towards outdoor settings, where natural light and organic landscapes serve as the perfect backdrop for genuine connections.

Connecting Through Images

Photography, for me, is more than just a visual medium—it's a powerful tool for connection. Whether I'm documenting a couple's love story, a family's cherished moments, or a pet's playful antics, my goal is to evoke emotion and forge lasting connections through my images.

Stay Connected

Eager to dive deeper into the world of authentic, emotive photography? Connect with me on LinkedIn to explore more of my work and learn about upcoming projects. For a curated selection of my portfolio, visit Lauren Bonvini Seattle. And for a glimpse into my creative process and latest endeavors, head over to my official website.

Conclusion

As I continue to navigate the ever-evolving landscape of photography, I am reminded of the profound beauty that surrounds us at every turn. Through my lens, I strive to capture the fleeting moments that make life extraordinary. Thank you for joining me on this photographic odyssey—we're just getting started!

1. Either this is Yoru's plan to make Denji something precious to her or Asa making him a stronger weapon.
2. This is the start of Yoru realising that she loves Chainsawman, but since she's inexperienced in love she hides her obsession with Pochita with hate.
3. (Cus csm fans are fucking stupid and don't understand basic arithmetic) Yoru fell in love at that moment, Denji will be come precious to her, and Fuji motor in the future will have her unwillingly make him into a weapon like some sick tragedy, or make her turn herself into a weapon for him.

Fellas, have I cooked?

A thought that keeps going through my head... I have a 9 month old baby, and naturally since he was born he eent through a whole bunch of sizes and clothes. I neatly keep them freshly washed in boxes on top of my closet. And I realised, there is quiet some clothes. I keep it in case we would have another baby somewhere in the future (yes this may take years, or may never happen but I still like to keep it)... but at one point in time that all will have to be donated/sold. How do you manage that? I look through those things and think of all the precious moments I had with my baby, it's like there is a piece of my heart and soul in all of them. How do I give or sell such precious memory?
Or toys? God... that's even harder...
How do you people manage that?

I wasn't expecting this. THIS SCENE... OMG. I REALLY hope Reddit let's me include the screenshot bc often, it does not. The minute I saw the clouds, I knew I was WRECKED. Yes, it's a heartbreakingly bittersweet scene, but it's SO much deeper for me. I don't open up much, so this will be a one time thing. First, I'll tell you about me & then, I'll get into Theodora. My apologies for how long this is & for any typos. I understand if you don't want to read. It's more like a love letter & "thank you" note to the writers that I felt compelled to write. Sorry. 🕊♥️
✨️THE "ME" PART:
You see, the love of my life & I grew up together. We were together for a little over 9 years & it was something much deeper than love. We were beyond finishing each other's sentences. One night, we woke up at the same EXACT moment, soaked in sweat, terrified bc we BOTH had a nightmare. He held onto me so tightly in despair. It was like he was afraid that I'd abandon him or something. It was crazy. IDK how to explain it. Meanwhile, I was sobbing bc of my nightmare. As I got the words out, "I can't believe it, but I just dreamt -," he cut me off & said, "I died." We were both staring at each other STUNNED bc we realized we had the SAME dream. How does THAT happen?! We were terrified bc deep in our souls, we both feared it was a premonition. In the dream, he was falling into a black abyss while reaching for me & I was above him, reaching out to him to try to save him. He then told me he knew he wouldn't live past 30. He was 23 & I was 22 at the time. While we never forgot that shared nightmare/experience, we simply continued on with our lives. We even had a son the following year, so he kept us more than busy! 🥰♥️
It was Christmas Day of 2011 (our son was 5), when I heard the doorbell. As I was walking to answer the door, I had an immediate sense of dread wash over me. My heart began to quicken. I remember feeling like I had to answer it, but didn't want to. It's hard to explain. CJ had picked up a shift to get double pay for working on the holiday bc a few weeks prior, I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer, so we had PLENTY of bills. Upon opening the door, a man in a suit asked if I was (insert my name here), which I confirmed. The detective said he believed CJ may have slipped somehow on the job (as a lineman), plummeting to his death exactly 3 stories high (30 ft to be exact). I kid you not. The second I heard those words, my entire body felt like I was reliving that nightmare. I felt the panic in his last moments & my heart quickened like how his heart must've raced. I felt him falling as he took on the impossible task of grasping at the air around him, while the wind kissed his cheeks as if to say 'goodbye'. I hoped that somehow it was just that nightmare & I would wake up. The intense sorrow in the detective's face as he looked at me told me how real it was. TBH, I didn't even know I was screaming until my son came running to the door bc he was concerned after hearing my heart shatter into the dark, muddled depths of misery. Seeing his tiny face only intensified my pain (although, now, it's the most comforting reminder of my love with CJ). Our son was staring at me with his daddy's beautiful blue-green eyes & deep set dimples. I was tormented by the sight of his sweet face. It felt like God was mocking me. My legs gave out, but the detective caught me in time. It just DIDN'T feel real. My mom once said that my scream was so vehemently guttural that it flooded her skin with goosebumps & she could feel my agony in the core of her soul. The detective's eyes were brimming with tears as he recognized CJ's features in the proof of our love that is our son. How do I tell our precious baby boy, on Christmas Day, that his daddy is never coming home when I couldn't even accept the truth?
Fast-forward about 5 yrs & I was still grieving deeply, but I DESPERATELY needed something to do for fun that WASN'T kid related. 😂🤦🏽‍♀️ That's when Choices entered. Fast-forward again to Feb. of this year, when I began playing RC. (Maybe all this wasn't necessary to tell you, but I needed you to fully understand where I'm coming from. A part of me also feels good to finally talk about it so openly, even if it's with "strangers.")
✨️THE BOOK PART:
Theodora felt like my husband was somehow involved in getting me to read this! TBH, it often feels like he wants me to find my own "Merotal" bc of little signs, but I'm scared to death of moving on, so I've been single ever since. (I haven't even had a proper kiss since Christmas morning of 2011, when CJ left the house.) Like Theodora's last name, our son is named Avery. I don't look like Theodora, but we DO have the same olive/gold skin tone & green eyes. I even went to college to become a writer, which my parents were VERY much against. Although, halfway through, I became a stylist (an even longer story), but lately, I've been wanting to get back into writing. Time will tell. Theodora was supposed to die before Lawrence had Merotal not saved her. As I stated earlier, weeks before CJ passed, I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. I've often felt that it should've been me to go first, not him.
Reading Theodora, I was shocked when Lawrence entered bc he looks damn near IDENTICAL to my husband!!! 🤯😭 He was so beautiful. The hair (color, cut, & style), eyes (color & shape), face shape, chin, & dimples even!! More like Friedrich, CJ played multiple instruments. In fact, we met at one of his shows & it seemed like everyone in the room was vying for his attention. I'll never understand why he pursued me over anyone else, but I'm glad he did. When this dream/visitation scene happened, I was SOBBING bc all I've ever wished for was to see CJ one more time for one last kiss. I envied this fictional character. I know how painfully consuming grief can be, but over time, I also began to learn that grief is a beautiful gift that can ONLY exist bc love did. Grief is quite literally proof of a profound love that existed. Love is an unbreakable bond shared with another. To love & be loved is the greatest gift of all. Sadly, not everyone experiences it.
I'm immensely grateful to the writers, artists, & all who took part in making such a beautifully, well-written, poetic romance that is Theodora. If CJ was still here, I KNOW he'd make fun of me. 😂 IDC. Never would I have imagined that I'd find a semblance of peace & closure in a game, let alone an app, like I've received from RC. In my heart, it's a beloved masterpiece that I highly recommend. 🥹💖✨️

I’ll get right into it.
I don’t think Asha’s parents killed hearranged for her abduction etc. I don’t think they were involved. I don’t think there was a groomer, I think the idea of a groomer risking picking up this girl at 3 AM on the highway after she snuck out of her parents house is too complicated. I don’t think a groomer would’ve risked it. There’s too much that can go wrong and even if everything goes right I don’t think a groomer would be confident a 9 year old could follow such specific insttructions given likely days in advance without blowing their cover. I think all potential groomers had their arseholes swabbed inside and out by the FBI. It doesn’t make sense to me, I highly highly doubt the groomer theory.
I think Asha left of her own free will and was picked up in a crime of opportunity. I think this is the simplest and most likely explanation.
Now, I can hear your screams through my phone- we have to establish a motive. What in gods name made Asha leave the house if the parents weren’t involved, if there wasn’t a groomer, if it wasn’t a kidnapping at the house.
You guys aren’t going to like this answer- but it’s because kids are stupid. Ok ok, that is reductionist. Here’s what I think:
Kids “run away” all the time. I did it like 3 times when I was young. This involved me grabbing a few things I could carry, going to the next neighborhood over or some woods I played in a lot, and hanging out for a few hours before my mom and brother eventually found me and took me home. The first time I hid in a tree and my big brother threw rocks at me until I came down. The second I was at a construction site 2 neighborhoods over on top of a dirt mound. The third time I don’t even remember but my mom beat the crap out of me LUL.
Again, kids “run away.” Most of you probably did something similar. So why do kids do this and why did Asha specifically do this? Typically I’d say it’s to prove a point. Now please, please put your mind in the head of a 9 year old. They are not thinking about things the way you are, they do not how to express their wishes and frustrations clearly- they often express them through surprising action, especially if they feel they aren’t being listened to.
Pretty sure the couple times I ran away I was mad at my mom about something and wanted to “show her” how serious I was, or whatever. I wanted to prove a point, to teach her a lesson. To show her what life would be like without me. As an adult you understand that is silly, but kids carry out this exact thought process ALL the fucking time. I’m telling you.
I think Asha planned on leaving that night to prove a point. I think she planned on walking to school and by the time she was there class would be getting started. She probably didn’t think the walk was that far because the bus ride wasn’t. The school was right down highway 18. I don’t think the weather was as bad as people say, the power was confirmed to be out due to a car hitting a pole down the street- the storm didn’t cause it, it was back on at 12AM. I’m looking into it but I’ve read the rain was more of a drizzle in the early morning, this wasn’t a monsoon. The school was in the direction she was “seen” walking. She had with her a backpack with a basketball uniform, a white pair of pants with a red stripe, a white flittery top, a pair of dressy black shoes (like flats), her purse, a few dollars, her house key, and I think a couple other clothing items.
I think the book that “wasn’t hers” but was checked out at the school was just something she grabbed at school or was given to her, I think she probably got the New Kids shirt at a sleepover or something. Kids have random shit all the time with no explanation where it came from, this wouldn’t be out of the ordinary. The items were not even disclosed until like 15 years later, I don’t think the kids that gave her those items would even remember it.
I’ve read that Asha’s parents were supposed to meet with a Real Estate agent that Monday. She had just been to a friends sleepover. Maybe she was scared she was moving away from all her friends? Maybe her parents were being strict and not letting her do things so she wanted to show them she was capable or serious? Maybe the parents were fighting lately and she didn’t like it. It may sound stupid but this is the way kids think sometimes. If they aren’t being heard verbally they will do something totally out of character to show you they mean business.
She planned on going to school, teaching her parents a lesson, and coming back home- knowing if shit got too real her parents could find her at school and it’s the perfect little kid excuse that makes sense when you’re 9, “I was just going to school GOD. You really mad at me for going to SKEWL???”
I think she had a Valentine’s Day outfit in her bookbag that she planned on changing into at school.
I think once she got out there she got seriously disoriented, scared, and lost. I think she realized probably as she was going down 18 in earnest that she had made a mistake, as I did when I was her age in a tree as it started to get dark. I tend to believe the witness theories, I think the shed narrative is 50/50 even though it’s not essential for my theory.
I think at some point (after the witnesses and shed if they ever happened, or very early in the walk if they never did) she was picked up. The person probably asked her what was going on, told her he/she would take her to school or back home. He/she could’ve told them they were with the police looking for her. There are a hundred ways to get that child into a warm dry car at this point. Asha knowing she was cold, lost, and in deep shit probably succumbed.
I don’t believe it was a local. I think there’s a chance it was a first time offender, or someone who decided in the moment. I think they probably fleshed it out, perhaps even thinking they could always do the right thing after picking her up if it didn’t feel right. At this point they weren’t breaking the law and could even be seen as a Good Samaritan. Picked the girl up- found out who she was, where she was going etc and then decided there would be nothing to connect this kid to them. The bookbag was tossed hurriedly, the body buried in another state or something, or by some insane miracle she’s alive locked up somewhere. The green car may be a legitimate lead, that could be who she was seen with.
I know many of you think it was the parents, but I believe they’re cleared for a reason. I don’t think it was them. It doesn’t add up, there would be evidence.
I do not know why there would be no footprints. Perhaps she almost never left the pavement due to ditches on either side (there are) and a little girl not wanting to walk in the mud. Perhaps she was picked up very quickly and the sightings/shed are both red herrings. But nothing else makes sense and all the other theories require so much complexity, assumptions, and luck that they don’t fit together. It is a tragic explanation but I think it’s the most simple and likely.
I pray that somehow against all hope Asha is alive and will be able to see her parents again some day. My heart weeps for this poor girl- because deep down I think she did what a million kids have done a million times but she got really unlucky. And I am so sorry to say that.
Source: Some Criminal Justice education and live 15 mins from Shelby.
Justice for Asha. We will never forget you.

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After listening to the bedtime story that day, all the hilichurls had a dream. The young soul waved goodbye and the people and sun slept together warmly.

AS ALWAYS, PLEASE BE AWARE THAT THIS THREAD CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR THE ARCHON QUEST.

Please do not continue down this thread if you have not finished the archon quest and/or story spoilers significantly impact your experience.

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Road Not Taken, Anime Megathread

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Archon Quest Chapter IV: Act VI, Bedtime Story

Cold Case Commission

Memories That Should Not Exist

That mysterious voice MC heard in their siblings memory, the one who called himself a Sinner, who is he?

• Dain: Let me ask you this; do you believe your sibling to have betrayed you?
  • MC: I want to have faith in them.
    • Dain: I sense hesitation in your words. After all, you still haven't figured out the whole truth of what happened. There's still hope for the two of you to reconcile. Irreparable damage has not yet been done. The Sinner you wish to know about, his situation is different. He and his fellow sinners have long betrayed me, and long betrayed their nation. His name is Vedrfolnir, "The Visionary." I'm loath to admit it, but he is also my kin. My older brother.

The Five Sinners of Khaenri'ah

https://reddit.com/link/1d8a5so/video/jfhykhxxoo4d1/player

1. "The Wise" Hroptatyr
2. "The Visionary" Vedrfolnir: Dain's brother, Vedrfolnir, is the voice of the Sinner who inspired Chlothar to create the Abyss Order.
3. "Gold" Rhinedottir: Rhinedottir is the one who created Albedo
4. "The Foul" Surtalogi: Surtalogi is Skirk's master
5. "Rächer of Solnari" Rerir

• MC: If that's true, then the stone slates we found in that ruin in Fontaine, the ones that outlined Fontaine's prophecy, that was likely Vedrfolnir's doing as well.
• Dain: They were once people of great esteem in Khaenri'ah, those who carried the hopes of the nation. They were the best of their peers, outstanding in their respective fields. The six of us, together should have been the ones to prevent the disaster, the ones to stop the Vinster King from continuing to rock the foundation of the world. Yet, deep within, the five of them craved something more. They could not resist the call of the Abyss, and divided among themselves a power that could destroy the world. So they became Sinners, but also transcendent beings, each in possession of world-shattering power. When the cataclysm occurred, not one of them stood up in defense of their nation, not one came forward to prevent the tragedy, and for that, they shall never have my forgiveness

Dain what have you been looking into all this time?

• Dain: I've continued to investigate the questions surrounding the Loom of Fate. It's been quite some time since the initial operation was launched. By retrieving the eye of the first Field Tiller, we were able to stop part of their plan from coming to fruition; However, it's obvious that was just some kind of technical experiment. The eye was integral to their plan, yet somehow, despite failing to obtain it, they've skipped the experimental phase and found some other way to keep moving forward. Our most pressing concern is to determine the purpose of the Loom of Fate. From there, we'll be able to deduce the Abyss Order's true objective. Based on the intel I've gathered so far, I suspect the Loom of Fate is related to the Ley Lines in some way. Traveler, you were able to observe your sibling's memories last time. I believe that was due to the fact that the Ley Lines in that area were unstable. My recent investigation has shown that Abyss Order activity in a particular area is usually followed by a series of issues with the Ley Lines.

---

• Dain: There appear to be certain memories in my mind that weren't there before. Memories of the missing villager. It wasn't a dream. They're memories; memories that suddenly appeared in my mind after I woke up. I'm certain I've never met this person before. I remember handing him the eye of the first Field Tiller. It appears he possesses the ability to "implant" memories into the minds of others.
• Dain: Whatever the Abyss Order is planning, an important truth has been revealed to us this morning. Their goal is still to obtain the eye of the first Field Tiller. I am the only person who knows its location. Perhaps implanting that particular memory was an attempt to interfere with my mind in some way. I don't believe the Abyss Order is capable of altering reality like that just yet; However, considering their single-minded pursuit of the eye, I would say an equal level of caution is in order on our part. We must check whether the eye is still in our possession.
• Dain: Just as I suspected; The false memories were a trap. The Abyss Order just wanted to follow us here. Now that they're in the vicinity, we should have a chance to see-- Argh...! Can you feel that? There's been a disturbance in the Ley Lines. It must be the work of the Abyss.
  • Paimon: Wow, you must be really sensitive to that sort of thing. Paimon doesn't feel it.
    • Dain: You two, use that mechanism over there and leave this place. The Abyss Order is putting something in motion. If you return to Vimara Village, I suspect you might finally have the opportunity to locate the missing villager. Just think of it as a way to divide and conquer.
    • MC: Alright. (Dain does have a point. But, something still feels off. What am I missing?)

https://reddit.com/link/1d8a5so/video/60zxg2h7ro4d1/player

• Dain: I knew going along with your trap would be the only way to meet with you face to face.
  • Abyss Sibling: You risked your safety and that of the eye. That's quite the gamble, Dainsleif. But I believe that I am the one walking into a trap laid by the Twilight Sword.
• Dain: So you came here all on your own? What about those followers of yours?
  • Abyss Sibling: When the Twilight Sword is prepared for battle, any army I could send would only be marching to their doom. Better that I face you alone. I know you must have a lot to say, but if it's a conversation you want, you'll have to defeat me first.

---

World-Order Narration

• Paimon: We're in someone else's memory, just like how you entered your sibling's memory last time! That would also explain why we seem to be at a time before he went missing, it's a memory, after all. If the missing person is someone who only exists in people's memories, then we're finally on the same turf! But, Bahram just said he saw him leave the village with someone? Where should we go look for him.
• MC: Let's go through what we know so far.
  • We pretty much figured out that the missing villager has the ability to implant memories into the minds of others. Lets try to figure out a bit more about him using what we know of his ability. Does it maybe leave a trace that would somehow give him away?
    • MC: (Implanting memories into the minds of others must be an imperfect process. There's no way the new memories could perfectly blend in with the old ones. There has to be some kind of tell)
• Paimon: All this time, and the sky hasn't changed a bit. That must mean time isn't passing! That's the tell of the fake memories! The implanted memories are basically taking place outside the regular twenty-four hours of the day. If the memories included the regular passage of time, it would be easy for people to tell that something was off. Like, there could be overlap or something. People might start to wonder why they remember doing two different things at the same time of day. That's why he makes sure the memories take place at a specific moment in time, rather than over a period of time.
  • MC: If we consider this in conjunction with what we already know, then the question of whose memory this is seems to have an obvious answer.
    • Paimon: This is definitely Atossa's memory!
• Atossa: So, you see, Granny Jehiet was a mercenary when she was younger. She just talks like that out of habit. She's not trying to scare the children on purpose, hehe. Oh, there I go again... always talking about my own things. Do you, maybe, have anything you want to share? Um... It's okay if you don't. You could also just Talk about what you think of me?
  • Caribert: I think you're an incredibly strong and thoughtful young woman. You'll meet many amazing people and live a very happy life. You won't miss someone like me...
    • Atossa: Are those your friends over there?
• MC: We finally found him. But why does he look kind of familiar?
  • Caribert: Friends? I guess you could say that. It must have taken them a lot of effort to find me. So I should see what they need. I'm sorry, Atossa. We'll have to continue this conversation another time.
    • Atossa : Another time, yeah! Okay! I'll head back to the village, then. Talk to you some other time!
• Caribert : It's nice to see you. I believe this is the first time we've met.
  • MC: You're Caribert Alberich.
    • Caribert: You know me? That's quite the surprise. I don't believe I've met you before. Ah, I see. It was the memory, wasn't it? Your sibling's memory. You saw the me from back then. This is Atossa's memory. I came here to say goodbye to her. But, I suppose I'll just leave her a message instead. Let's find somewhere else to talk.
• MC: What is this place?
  • Caribert: I suppose you could call it the realm of my consciousness. I'm someone who no longer exists in the real world, after all... as you well know. Ah, it's nothing. I still have enough strength to play the part of a good host. I've always hoped that I'd get the chance to talk to you like this, and now, the time has finally arrived.

What exactly happened to you?

• Caribert: Extreme sorrow and pain. Hope and regret coursing through your veins and a degree of Abyssal power that defies comprehension. Father told me that once I possessed all those elements, I would become the Loom of Fate. But, despite his intentions for me, I never truly became the Loom of Fate. I was merely used as a means for its "construction." In truth, I died the moment I set everything in motion. The "person" you see before you now is nothing but a remnant of consciousness leftover within the Loom of Fate.
  • MC: (Caribert is dead. That's why he no longer exists outside of people's memories.)

What is the Loom of Fate

• Caribert: The Loom of Fate is a device capable of weaving Ley Lines. In its primitive form, it can only be used to create and implant memories. But, as more of it is completed, its power becomes stronger and stronger. Until finally, it has the power to weave real Ley Lines of its own. Once fully completed, the moment it gains the power to weave Ley Lines, it loses the lower-level ability to influence memories; but it also becomes a tool that can change the entire world.
  • MC: That was the source of your ability to implant memories?
    • Caribert : Yes. I have the ability to control the Loom in its semi-completed form. I suppose you could think of it as a form of compensation. After all, its existence cost me my life.
    • MC: (So the memories that suddenly appeared in Dain's mind were implanted by Caribert through the half-finished Loom of Fate. I'm still lost as to why he went so far as to "introduce" himself to all the residents of Vimara Village.)

Why did you implant memories of yourself

• Caribert: I was wrong to implant those memories. I just wanted them to feel like I once existed in this world. As if I had a chance at life.
  • MC: (So that's why. I would have never guessed. But is there any kind of meaning to this? Does only existing in people's memories really count as living?)

Caribert: I had to know what it would be like if I had my own life — what kind of person I would be, what other people would think of me. What would it be like if I could live alongside them — no cataclysm, no curse, just a quiet life in a peaceful village. I was curious, so I selfishly tried to have my own life. After all, my life ended a long time ago. Any chance at living was stripped away from me when I was eight years old, my consciousness left to mature in an illusory world of nothingness. Even the form you see before you is nothing but an invention based on my father's appearance — an imagined version of what I would look like if I had had the chance to grow up.

• MC: You know everyone is looking for you.
  • Caribert: I know but, there's nothin I can do to make them find me. If I could exist in the real world, I would return without a second thought and surprise them with the suddenness of it all. But that's not possible for me.
    • MC: As I understand it, even though you only appeared in their memories, they all believe you once lived among them. Well, now that I've found you, let's continue this conversation some other time. Dain might still need my help.
• Caribert: Captain Dainsleif, Twilight Sword? No need to meet up with him. Things should already be settled on his end. As someone who could only exist in people's memories, the fact that I'm able to talk to you in my consciousness like this can only mean one thing; The Loom of Fate has already been completed.
• Caribert: No need to worry about Captain Dainsleif. The only reason he lost the eye was because I happened to guess exactly what he was planning. Captain Dainsleif has had the eye inside his body this whole time. His plan was to lure the Abyss Order to a false location, capitalizing on their pursuit of the eye in order to have the chance to confront Abyss Sibling. He would then hand the eye to you, and tell you to take it away from that location. That way, Captain Dainsleif could accomplish his own goal and ensure the safety of the eye all at once — a very thorough plan.
  • MC: But Dain never handed me the eye
• Caribert: That's right. Because, in his mind, he had given it to you already. Before you two entered that false location. That was when I implanted the memory of him handing you the eye.
  • MC: (So when Dain froze up back then, it was because a false memory was being implanted in his mind)
• Caribert: Given the tense situation at that time, Captain Dainsleif failed to notice anything out of the ordinary and took that memory to be real. I'm sorry, but I needed the Loom of Fate to be completed, and to do that, we had to retrieve the eye.
  • MC: (So, Dain had the eye this whole time until the Abyss Order took it away. I'm not sure there's anything we could have done.)

Now that the Loom of Fate is complete what are you planning to do with it?

• Caribert: I promise I'm not trying to conceal anything from you; I truly have no idea what the Abyss Sibling is planning. Teyvat's Ley Line system is deeply entrenched in the planet. Creating new Ley Lines can neither "replace" nor "extend" the ones that already exist. In any case, I had my own use for the Loom of Fate, and my goal has been achieved. After my father, Clothar Albierch, used the power of the Abyss to restore consciousness to my Hilichurl form, I suffered from an indescribable level of mental anguish. To comfort me, my father told me a story. That this was a fairytale world, where I had to take on the form of a little monster. That story managed to dispel my fears even if just for a moment. My goal was simple — to use the Loom of Fate in its near-completed form, when its ability to create memories was at its strongest to implant a specific memory into the minds of the Hilichurls. In that memory, I would tell them a story, just like my father did for me. It was a story of fairy tales and love. But, more than anything, it was the story of us.
  • MC: (So the thing that caused the Hilichurls to calm down back then was Caribert's story. That was the only thing he wanted. He had a device as powerful as the Loom of Fate at his disposal, and all he wanted to do with it was to offer the Hilichurls a moment of comfort and peace.)

Caribert: I can't change the world, not when I lost the very right to exist within it. Implanting those memories, that was the most worthwhile thing I could offer. All that's left of my existence is a wisp of residual consciousness tied to the Loom of Fate. In truth, that trace of my consciousness should have dissipated long ago. My goal was the one thing that allowed me to hold on all this time. But now, the bedtime story is finished, and it's finally time to rest.

Talk to your sibling :')

https://reddit.com/link/1d8a5so/video/8e2mzzfopo4d1/player

• Well how about a conversation? The chance to just stop and talk like this is certainly not easy to come by, wouldn't you agree?
  • MC: I almost can't believe it's real.
• That battle earlier was tough. The one against Dain, I mean. I didn't expect that after everything, he would still hesitate to raise his sword against me. Were it not for that, perhaps I'd still be no match for the Twilight Sword. Even after five hundred years.
  • MC: What exactly are you planning? What are you going to do with the Loom of Fate?
• The Loom of Fate, huh, I still haven't found a way to utilize it to its full potential, but there's still time before the Heavenly Principles "awaken." For five hundred years now, ever since the cataclysm in Khaenri'ah, the Heavenly Principles has been asleep. There's been no sign of activity. Not long ago, you witnessed the Hydro Archon destroy her divine throne. Such a flagrant disregard for the "rules," and still Celestia took no action. I suppose that's proof enough of the Heavenly Principles' situation. However, the Heavenly Principles will awaken. We just don't know when that will be, or what might trigger it.
  • MC: You really hate the Heavenly Principles, don't you?
• You could say that. Just look at Caribert. He was so pure and single-minded. The space we now find ourselves is a perfect representation of who he was — quiet and peaceful. Even as a Hilichurl, seeing the terrible sight within the mirror wasn't enough to taint his spirit. He brought comfort to the people of this world... even though he was denied the very right to be a part of it. Ask yourself this; Who was it that deprived him of that right to exist? Of course, that's only one example. My feelings about the Heavenly Principles are too complicated to explain in just a few words.
  • MC: There's so much I wanted to ask you, but for some reason, I'm not interested in asking those questions right now. 🙃 There's just one thing I have to ask, one thing I could never understand. Why can't we continue our journey together?
• At the end of my journey, I arrived at a place known as "The Sea of Flowers at the End." Do you remember? A long time ago, when we traveled between worlds together. You told me you wanted to find a place in the universe where that one flower was in full bloom. To have a place like that suddenly appear before me. Well, would you think of that as a coincidence?
  • MC: You mean...
• I miss you. But as this war continues to rage, and as I continue to seek that final answer. I don't even know how to face myself sometimes, let alone my own sibling.

This space has lost its tether. I doubt it'll be able to exist much longer. In fact, aside from our inability to physically interact with each other, there's something else you should know about this space. With Caribert gone, we won't be able to remember anything that happened here. Everything in this space will be wiped from existence including all memory of our reunion.
---

• Paimon: Paimon woke up a little earlier than you, so Paimon will fill you in. The villagers said they saw us sleeping near the village yesterday. They couldn't wake us up no matter how hard they tried, so they decided to just bring us back here. Oh, and Dain came by just now. It looked like he was injured. He just made sure that you were alright and left.
• Paimon: We were in that memory, and we saw that guy you called Caribert. He was the missing villager we'd been trying to find, right? And after that Paimon doesn't remember what happened.
  • MC: Caribert and I talked for a while. He told me about the Loom of Fate. After that, I can't seem to remember. (Maybe I'm just tired? I feel like something else happened, but why can't I remember? I'm not sure why but, it almost feels like I lost something)
• Bahram: The village organized another search party yesterday. It didn't feel right to leave all the searching to the adventurers. Suddenly this one guy said it all came back to him. According to him, one day he was passing by this one tree outside the village, and saw our missing villager. His parents came a little later and they all left together. After that, we all started to feel like that really is what happened.
  • MC: (So, that's how Caribert said his goodbyes. That was the last memory he gave them.)
• Bahram: Oh, and we also remembered his name — Caribert. Now, that's not a name you hear everyday. Would've been helpful if we remembered it sooner.
• MC: Caribert is gone. The Loom of Fate is now complete and no one else will try to change the villagers' memories.
  • Paimon: Paimon wonders how Atossa's doing. Maybe we should go check on her? If she hasn't "remembered" like everyone else, we can tell her what happened. Hey, Atossa! How's it going?
• Atossa: I was part of the search party, so I remember what happened to Caribert now. I just can't believe I forgot something so important.
  • MC: Maybe he wanted you to forget him. I'm sure he wouldn't want you to forget him.
    • Atossa: He always seemed to appear out of nowhere, and now he left just as quickly. If Caribert wants me to forget about the time we spent together, then I'm willing to try. I relied on him for a lot of things. But, I'm sure with enough time, even the deepest of attachments can fade.

Group Photo From an Unknown Time (1); Group Photo From an Unknown Time (2) A precious group photo that has surpassed the rules somehow, being taken by some unknown person using unknown means in a space that should no longer exist.
The writing in the picture translates to- "You must get along with each other, the two of you."

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Call outs

It's in the Sumeru language. It's simply the note that Chlothar left for Atosse. The message reads \"Farewell Atosse I apologize for making you know me unwillingly still I don't wish you to forget me.\"
[reference]

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Pale Princess Correlation:

by The_Strifemaster
With the recent Story, think the six pygmies are the sinners of Khaenri'ah

The blind pygmy opened his sightless eyes and enjoyed the sunlight greedily. "Why not keep the Prince with us forever? Instead of believing in unfathomable promises, securing the sunlight before us is our best bet."

• "The Visionary" Vedrfolnir

The foolish pygmy gently patted his scabies-ridden head and gulped the light-filled air rapaciously. "Hehehe, I... I think we should kidnap the Prince and use... use him to make us smarter. That's the smart way!"

• "The Wise" Hroptatyr

The timid pygmy swung his tiny fists in the air and yelled. "All that rascal did was save our lives and now he acts so condescendingly, treating us like servants. I shall challenge him to a duel!"

• "Rächer of Solnari" Rerir.

The shrunken pygmy squinted in disdain. His complexion wrinkled up like a piece of crumpled paper. "Brothers, you have been hiding in the shadows for too long. The darkness has clouded your judgment. It is new life that we need in order to survive. I say we use the corpse of the Prince as fertilizer so my garden might flourish again."

• "Gold" Rhinedottir

The carefree pygmy sighed and looked sullen. "We'd better get this over with quickly... If it weren't for them, these evil thoughts wouldn't have entered my mind, and I wouldn't have become so somber."

• "The Foul" Surtalogi

With the deformed pygmy being Dainsleif, the only one who didn't turn evil
I wouldn't be surprised if the July trailer isn't Natlan but instead of the Sinners now that the Abyss Order has effectively won, gaining control of Fate and completing the Loom. Now they just need await Celestia to Awaken.
Join conversation here

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Achievements

• The Town Where Only I Am Missing: Investigate "someone who only exists in people's memories.
• Long-Awaited Moment: Without your knowledge, Dainsleif crossed swords with your sibling..
• The Proof of Existence: Enter Caribert's "realm of consciousness."
• Bedtime Story: Complete "Bedtime Story."

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Boughkeeper Megathread
We Will Be Reunited Megathread
Requiem of the Echoing Depths Megathread
Caribert Megathread
what is the loom of fate? by u/roozevelt
Search the Sinner Post Flair
Search the Khaenri'ah Post flair
Congrats to u/Willthecrane-> I personally think that the sinner is Vedrfolnir the visionary.

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https://preview.redd.it/msxixkvwro4d1.png?width=1046&format=png&auto=webp&s=937eef8a1e2a0e42b65ff7426c3ea9b2dad8bcd8