4 years of going to doctors who didn't know shit or didn't care. 4 years suffering with constant dizziness, migraines, eye pain, anxiety, and depression. I had to drop out of college and stop working because it was so bad. I don't want to wear 1 inch thick dorky lenses for the rest of my life. I don't have the time or money to go to years of vision therapy. On top of that I have worsening KC so I'm getting blinder in my left eye by the day. I have another visit soon but if it doesn't work out I'm going to stab my eye ball. BVD IS HELL

The political diatribe of “A Christmas Carol” is utilized to suggest the necessity of change withing society, and its rigid social structure, especially by those who enforce it such as the rich upper class. Dickens highlights the importance of change and especially redemption to alter the ways in which the upper class interact with their mistreated workers to improve the morality within society to minimize the suffering of the poor. This change is clearly represented through the character of Ebenezer Scrooge, who is used to convey the ideas of who the upper class currently are, what they will need to experience in order to redeem themselves, and also the moral and physical benefits not only to the working class, but also those who redeem themselves and continue to live honest and good lives.
Initially, Scrooge's character is an emblem of what the upper class are in Victorian society and modern society. Scrooge’s abhorrent description is used as a physical manifestation of the ways in which the upper class are detrimental to society, and highlights the necessity of change and redemption required for the moral betterment of society to reduce the suffering of the unfortunate working class. In stave 1, the weather is immediately described as “cold, bleak, biting weather: foggy wind.” The cold semantic field immediately creates a callous and hard atmosphere for the reader, and so can understand the “hard and sharp” heart of Scrooge, and by extension, the upper class. This may suggest why the upper class require change, as their vision is currently “foggy” like the weather to the plight of the poor, and they choose to maintain that ignorance as it was cheaper to keep the poor in these atrocious conditions. Similar to how Scrooge liked “darkness” because it was “cheap”, the upper class choose to be blind and remain unfamiliar to the pain and suffering of the poor in which they have inflicted onto them. Furthermore, The pathetic fallacy may reflect the poor working conditions of many working class citizens like Bob Cratchit, being forced to work in cold and biting conditions. Also, the adjective “bleak” may represent the future of the working class if there is no change and redemption in the upper class, being stagnant and unhopeful unless something is done. This evokes a sense of sympathy in the mainly uppemiddle class readers, and as a result, places responsibility on them to personally change their corrupt ways and choose a philanthropic path of redemption, adopting views similar to Dickens himself.
Dickens also represents how the bourgeoisie must change through Scrooge, suggesting that the upper class must actively seek and embrace redemption rather than remaining “idle” and enabling the suffering of the working class to perpetuate. During Scrooge’s interaction with the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come, he announces that he “will live in the past, the present and the future.” the declarative sentence made by Scrooge highlights his eagerness to change his own ways and acts as an example for the upper class of the way they must choose to live with certainty and strength to protect those in need and utilize their power and influence to help many poor people such as the Cratchits. Furthermore, the verb “live” suggests that they must not only know of what they must do to change the ways that society has oppressed the working class but change to the core of their values and redeem themselves so that they are also able to spread the philanthropic philosophy of Dickens and prevent the suffering of the poor. Likewise, Scrooge’s use of the “past", "present” and “future” is representative of how the upper class must reflect on their “past” mistakes of oppression, change their “present” way of thinking of the working class, and work to the “future” to change the rigid structure of society that enables the working class to suffer at the hands of many of the upper class in order for the bourgouise to truly redeem themselves.
Finally, Dickens also represents the overwhelming benefits of redemption through the final character arc of Scrooge at the end of the novella. Dickens not only suggests the positives that redemption has on others such as the Cratchits receiving a raise, but also the self-benefits that redemption of character comes with. In the last stave, Scrooge exclaims that “I am as light as a feather”. This simile suggests that his redemption has enabled him rejuvination, even if metaphorically, as he is refilled with energy juxtaposed with his past self in which “external heat and cold” had little effect on him. Furthermore, the imagery of a “feather” suggests Scrooge’s freedom as he is compared to a bird with extreme freedom as he is freed from the shackled of sin and avarice which previously withheld his character. Alternatively, the imagery of “birds” may be a biblical allusion to the dove, which may suggest Scrooge’s now improved Christian values as he has redeemed himself from his previously sinful self. This is significant as Dickens pushes the benefits of redemption and its effects that not only effect their current life by minimizing the suffering of the poor, but also their after life as they are accepted by God once again.
In conclusion, the character of Scrooge is used as a vehicle to convey many of Dickens' philanthropic ideals to his middle/upper class audience in hope of societal change for the moral betterment of society. Scrooge’s initial description and atmosphere in stave 1 is greatly contrasted with Scrooge’s personality and atmosphere within stave 5, mirroring the drastic change in which the upper class must undergo for a possiblity of change in the rigid hierarchal system in the Victorian era.

My mom is 52, and has schizoaffective bipolar disorder. In fall of 2020, she was on Ingrezza 60mg, Escitalopram 20mg, Benztropine 2mg, and Invega 234mg/1.5ml. In September she had recurrent falls and UTI problems, causing her to go to the hospital, and end up in a long term care facility where she was taken off Invega. Shortly after, she broke her kneecap from a fall at the facility and went back to the emergency room and was diagnosed with a knee fracture and was sent back with a wheelchair. She was 2 weeks later transitioned to a permanent resident and subsequently lost her housing and her cat. For six more months, she would not have any follow up appointments on her fracture, and would only be treated with lidocaine patches and occasionally going into her wheelchair maybe once or twice a week and not receiving any true physical therapy. I now have all medical documentation that they stated they could give me, including the knee fracture which was never disclosed in her progress notes or any of her medical examinations. I asked them to do another X-ray on her knee. They did and told me they found no signs of a fracture, and my mother told me they x-rayed her elbow, stating “they had orders to do so” falsifying medical documents. On top of all this, I don’t have Power of Attorney, my sister who hasn’t spoken to me or my mom in years does. So I can’t make any medical decisions for her, including getting her transferred to a better facility, and they know that. The prescribed her Ibuprofen (I believe 600mg) for pain management 6 months after her fracture. They refuse to X-ray her knee again, and her mental and physical condition have only gotten worse. Now she can hardly remember the last 24 hours, and can once in a blue moon say something beyond yes no and I love you. She is still in pain in her knee and now she can’t move her left hand. She went in with tremors, and had somewhat difficulty using her left hand but was overall able to hold a controller and play a video. She was also diagnosed with cellulitis. (Something that she had for a while but was only introduced in the second rough draft of the progress notes they made for her recently) She now has her left hand permanently bent down with fingers flexed out and can’t move her hand without pain. It’s Mother’s Day tomorrow and I can’t even take her out to eat, play a video game, or have a conversation. I’m worried sick about her, haven’t heard back from my attorney at all yet, and just want her to be out of there and be happy. Any potential diagnosis for her hand would be appreciated, as pictures will be attached. Any advice as to how I can proceed would also be very appreciated, as both me and her feel trapped.

I have been playing guitar for 20+ years. I have bought quite a few guitars. I always check for buzz and consider the action of the guitar. Obviously, action can be adjusted. but why spend $1k or more on a guitar that you already know needs work? Unless its at a discount already.
I went to a guitar center for the first time in quite a while. there aren’t many other options near me other than craigslist/fb marketplace.
It’s infuriating to me how many guitars in the $600-$1200 range are in disappointing shape. Most being new, and if used, usually at top dollar.
I’m talking the frets are sharp and hanging off the neck (like half of the player strats there, for instance). Talking buzzes on like 5+ frets and multiple strings.
Not to mention (this is more subjective), why the fuck do literally HALF of the guitars have locking tremolos? I guess thats what’s selling, so again, personal complaint..
Needless to say I did not buy a guitar today. /rant
But I am wondering if the people here are used to buying guitars that are poorly set up (new or top dollar used), with the intention of fixing them up after? To me, it sounds like a discount should be applied in that case.

Part 1: https://www.reddit.com/nosleep/comments/1cp4jjd/i_think_my_neighbors_baby_isnt_human_part_1/
It was a cloudless night. I didn’t hear anything from through the walls since I had gotten home. I didn’t do much that night, I was thinking, anticipating something, I don’t know what... before I knew it, it was past time for me to go to bed.
I was in my bed, staring at the ceiling, I took an extra dose of melatonin but it didn’t seem to be doing much. My eyes fluttered... I was just on the verge of drifting off, when without warning, there was a thump, and then banging, like someone was slamming something on the floor in Carrie’s apartment. It was violent at first, and then it became gentle... I listened closely, very closely, bringing my head up against the wall, because I heard something very quiet, very subdued... someone muttering, Carrie I think, it almost sounded like her, but different somehow and it sounded like she was on the verge of crying, desperately pleading for something, and then... it started again.
The “crying”. That nightmarish noise unlike anything I’ve ever heard. I jumped back from the wall, blasted by another splitting headache, and put the pillow over my head, tried to blot out the sound.
It was like a whole army was whistling as loud as they could, and screaming, firing at each other, and all that noise sounded like it was being blasted through crackling speakers. It was like there was a windstorm in there, a windstorm full of damned souls.
It wasn’t human. Whatever was making that noise wasn’t human.
Dozens of horrifying images flashed through my mind as I cowered in my bed, wondering why nobody else heard it, why nobody did anything, I wondered what was lurking just a few feet behind that wall, what Carrie had birthed, what she had done, how, why, why was this happening to me? What sort of gnarling, squirming inhuman shape was she keeping in there?
The noise eventually died down, and the silence that followed was absolutely deafening. I wondered if Carrie was alive,if her monstrous child had eaten her or who knows what. But I wasn’t going to dare to get out of bed, I couldn’t, I was utterly frozen in place, both my body and mind.
Then, that man in the weird clothes popped in my head. I wondered if that was the father. I wondered what it was. What the hell it was. I remembered the glow, the black and white static that swirled...What was squirming under all that covering? And why, how, why did Carrie...?It made me sick thinking about it.
I think I might have fallen asleep an hour before I had to wake up, curled up in the fetal position.
I told myself it was a dream when I woke up. That didn’t work, so I told myself I was crazy. When I ran by Carrie’s apartment and bumped into some other tenants at the bottom of the stairs, they were just chatting like nothing had happened the previous night, like some hellspawn hadn’t been squealing in the middle of the night. I’m telling you, it’s impossible that they couldn’t have heard it. I even asked them straight up if they had heard anything, even though I was already running late for work. They looked at me like I was insane. I wished I was insane.
But when I came home as the sun was setting, and passed by Carrie’s window,a shadow slunk down from behind the curtains. I don’t know what drove me to get closer, but I snapped my head in the direction of the motion and stepped up to the glass. The curtains were shaking gently, like something was brushing against them. I got closer, closer, and then I jumped back. Those weren’t human fingers I saw. It wasn’t any sort of animal. They drew back again, and I heard something thumping rapidly away from the window. I stared, frozen, and something stared back, two circles of light that I could see through the blinds, on the other side of the room, light that spiraled and spun, a black and white glow...
I rushed into my apartment, slammed the door and locked it.
I thought of calling the police, even dialed the number but didn’t hit call a few times. But they would think I was crazy. Nobody else had heard it. Anyone else I went to would think I was crazy too. I should have just called them then anyway, made up some excuse that I heard someone screaming for help or whatever, force them to unveil whatever was lurking in there.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. Around 1am, right when all the noise of passing cars and everything died down completely outside, when it was very quiet... I heard a tiny thump through the wall.
Again, I pressed my ear against it, because I could just barely make out something else... a squelching sound, a sound like something was tearing into something, into meat... more thuds. I listened in disgust, imagining just what the hell was behind there, when my head was jolted. I fell back off the bed and cursed. Something had knocked on the wall. It was knocking, thumping again, the walls were shaking with each thud, and I backed up on all fours to the corner of my room. It knew I was listening. It knew I was listening, and it was sending some kind of message.
I heard something else scuffling, there was sobbing and pleading, desperate rapid pleading... and then the noise that couldn’t be produced by anything of this earth began again.
That was the final straw for me, I called the police. Told them I heard the couple next door fighting.
I asked them if they could hear the noises as I screamed over it all, but they replied in the negative.
There was no fucking way, I’m telling you.
The noises stopped five minutes later. Two minutes after that, two cops walked up to the apartment, one knocked on my door and the other on Carrie’s.
The cop questioned me, I told him I heard screaming and banging, a baby crying. The other one knocked on the door again... and it swung open. It had been ajar.
Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Nobody was home.
I asked them to show me, hysterically. They refused at first, but I was so persistent and the poor guys looked tired, so they caved in and agreed.
It smelled awful inside. There were dozens of dirty dishes in the sink, the place was a fucking mess, food and random garbage strewn everywhere. There were dirty blankets piled all over the couch in a bundle. But there was nobody home. Her bedroom door was open. They didn’t take me in there but they assured me nobody was there either. They questioned me a little bit more. I know they thought I was crazy.
My mind worked itself like mad after they left. I didn’t sleep at all. I didn’t hear anything after they left.
I’m writing this now, 10am, glad I don’t have to work today. I still haven’t heard anything at all since last night. Whatever is going on, whatever happened... I’m sure my neighbour’s baby isn’t a human baby. I don’t know what it could possibly be, whether she made a pact with a demon or an alien or something from another fucking dimension or I don’t know. I have no idea. Any theories I have just seem insane, just make me feel more insane than I already am. I wrote this down, hoping to post it somewhere, hoping someone would have some kind of answer. I don’t expect an answer, but... please...
Everything preceding this was written a few days ago. Everything after, I’ve written today.
The truth is something I never would have been able to guess. You’ll just have to believe me. I don’t blame you if you don’t, I don’t even believe what my own eyes have seen. And I guess I still don’t really know what the truth is exactly, or understand it, not at all.
After I had finished writing everything, I decided not to post it. I kept telling myself I was just going nuts, thought of trying to find a psychiatrist, mostly just sat around like I was dead inside instead of actually doing something on my day off.
I had my blinds closed, a chair pinned up against my door. I sat in the corner, watching the sun slowly set, watching dark clouds seep in like tar, watching the world beyond my blinds slowly descend into darkness. And I was listening the whole time... waiting for that hellish sound to start again... hoping that whatever was in there wasn’t going to come back, or wasn’t going to come outside...
I woke up with a jump. I don’t know when I fell asleep, but my apartment was pitch black. I turned on my phone, the time was one in the morning, my battery was on 1% and I cursed as it shut off a second later. I went to get my charger, when I froze mid-movement. Thump, thump, thump. Something was moving in Carrie’s apartment. It was back, if it had ever left, if it was even there to begin with.
I ignored it. It was just Carrie,I was over-exaggerating. It had to be. Everything else had been a dream or insanity. I kept repeating to myself that I was just insane, desperately trying to convince myself, when an earsplitting scream,a woman’s voice a shrill cry for mercy tore through the air, was pierced by sharp whistling, whistling that warped into that same indescribable sound that haunted me before, that denied all denials. I covered my ears, trembled and dropped to my knees, and wished I was anywhere else. It was real. I didn’t care how or why nobody else heard it, it was happening. I screamed with it.
It sounded like a month’s worth of squeals and whirring machinery from a slaughterhouse was being played through a loud-speaker all at once, mixed with the roaring of some kind of screeching big cat, and a dying motor. And there was that horrible pleading from Carrie, too, mixed in the noise, muffled by it, and this time I could hear part of what she was saying, “Please... no! Calm down! Please stop! Don’t make me- my baby, please!”
I opened my shut eyes, wished I could close them again but I couldn’t because they were utterly entranced by the sight outside my curtains, by the glow, more intense than it had ever been before, swirling and twisting like hundreds of white and black snakes, or fat worms wriggling together.
I dug my nails into my ears, the noise wouldn’t stop, and I realized then that if I didn’t do something,then I would go insane if I wasn’t already. I think I might have been at that moment. I was seized by mania, I jumped up, stomped to my drawer, hauled out a big kitchen knife, moved the chair out of the way, ripped my door open and brought my arm up to block the glow from my eyes, even just seeing it at the corner of my eyes was enough to give me a headache that felt like my temples were being hammered through with rusty nails. I stumbled to Carrie’s door, shut my eyes, blinked and when I had opened them the glow was fading, slinking away like a living thing, but the “crying” was even louder. I bit my lip, tried the door, it clicked and opened slightly, and then all noise stopped.
The silence within weighed down on me like a trillion bricks.
It was dark inside. I stood in the doorway, blinking, trying to pierce through the dark. I didn’t see anyone, or anything. Gingerly, I took my first step.
Everything was still a mess. I almost tripped over a baby bottle, realized there were dozens of empty baby bottles, baby formulas, and empty amazon packages scattered around, and in the half-ajar doorway to Carrie’s bedroom, was a face. Carrie was staring at me, like a deer caught in head-lights. All I could see was her face, her mouth dropped open, her eyes wide in what must have been terror.
I thought her eyes were trained on the knife in my hands, “This isn’t...” I stuttered, “Look, I just heard something and I was coming to see if...” I trailed off as she slunk back into the room.
I really thought I was insane then. That settled it for me. I was going to see a psychiatrist or lock myself up or something before I hurt someone. I wanted to get out of there as fast as possible.
My foot bumped into something again on my way out. Something rigid. The bundle of blankets on the couch slipped off, revealing what I had bumped into. I blinked, it was hard to tell what it was in the dark, and it looked like... a foot. Slowly, my eyes scanned up the leg. Someone was halfway underneath the couch, and they were completely still. Dead still.
I moved the couch, it was light, and uncovered something that made my entire body fill with goosebumps, that made a frigid snake crawl its way down my spine. An unbelievably rank smell assaulted my nose, and I turned away and retched onto the floor.
Carrie had been under the couch. She was dead, I don’t know for how long. Her body was rotting. I’d never seen a dead body before in real life, not of someone I knew, not in that state, not ever... and I was so filled with disgust and shock that it took a minute of trying not to vomit before my scrambled brain realized:
Didn’t I just see her peering at me from the bedroom?
I rubbed my eyes that had become teary from throwing up. It was her! Then who the fuck was in the bedroom? What the fuck was in the bedroom? Slowly, very slowly, I turned my head, my brain screaming at me not to look, my body fighting against me, trying to hold me back from seeing what was in there. I heard something moving behind me, something squelching, sucking... I snapped my head all the way towards the source.
The door was open. There was nobody in the bedroom. There wasn’t anybody in the room with me either. At least, not anybody as I had ever conceived it in all my years on this earth.
It had Carrie’s face, but it definitely wasn’t Carrie. Her face was the first thing I saw, none of the rest of it was even remotely human, her face was but a mask tacked on to something that shouldn’t exist. That empty mask watched me from above, its spreading body clinging to the ceiling as it inched closer. It was a swirling, writhing mass of a matter I don’t even know how to describe, with a consistency unlike anything I’ve ever seen, and it opened Carrie’s mouth, and it spoke, with her voice, “Please, my... mommy, don’t take mommy...”
I fell on my ass. I think I might have pissed myself there. My jaw dropped and I just sat there limply.
White lines of light coursed along its body, Carrie’s eyes were drowned with black light, “Mommy, please... I’ll do anything, please just don’t... I want... to.... mommy... my baby...” the face twitched, its mouth opened wider and wider until her lips split at the seams, her jaw widening until it couldn’t widen anymore, until it just folded on itself and then there was light. White and black swirling light, white noise that made me want to cover my eyes but I couldn’t move, couldn’t move a damn inch. The thing was covering the whole ceiling, and it kept pleading in Carrie’s voice, like it was playing a recording, and the voice gargled and warped until it turned into the cries I had heard the past four nights. Its whole mass vibrated, faster and faster until it looked like it wasn’t in motion at all, but I could feel the whole fucking room shaking, my ears felt like they’d pop, my head felt like a vice had crushed my skull, like someone had taken my brain out and put it in a blender and then shoved it back in. The white and black encroached upon me and then everything went black. It must have only been a second. I was screaming long after the noise had stopped, I didn’t even realize it had stopped.
The white and black glow retreated into the thing’s center, and an enlarged version of Carrie’s face emerged from the dark pool of its body, like a whale breaching the surface of the ocean. The face twitched and shrunk back to its normal size, and the thing started begging me not to hurt its baby again and again.
I started backing away, kicking at the ground, I remembered then that the knife was in my fucking hands and I started swinging it wildly in the air as the thing started to drip down onto the floor, splitting itself apart and recollecting itself in front of me. I say dripping, but its consistency wasn’t quite liquid, it was like it was made up of tiny squares, breaking apart and reforming, like pixels on a computer screen. But even then, that isn’t right. Carrie’s eyes on the thing melted, spilled out some white stuff that opened up into mouths, and both the mouths started crying again, I almost drove the knife into my own skull to stop the rattling but instead somehow managed to get up, I swung the knife but missed, it slipped out of my sweating hand and clattered to the ground and I just screamed. The thing was lumbering towards me, but it stopped suddenly.
Crying. A baby crying.
Coming from the bedroom.
The thing spun around, started to twist and turn its amorphous form towards the bedroom. Its body was solidifying as it did so, becoming ever so much more like Carrie’s. But it was imperfect, like a crappy dollar store Halloween costume of my neighbor. It stopped when it reached the door, because I had picked up the knife, and drove it deep into its back. It kept its focus ahead, a white liquid dripped slowly out of where I had stabbed it as both of us froze at the sight in the bedroom.
Compared to the state of the living room, the bedroom was tidy. There was a crib next to Carrie’s bed, and inside... was a healthy baby boy. Its cries, normal cries, briefly ceased when it saw the thing that had melded itself into a mockery of Carrie.
I had thought that thing was the “baby”. I thought my neighbor's baby wasn’t human, but...
But, the thing quickly rushed towards the crib, completely ignoring me, the knife slipped out harmlessly and clattered to the ground. I just slumped against the door-frame, the sight before me even more incomprehensible than anything else that had happened that night.
The thing had picked the baby up, and was cradling it in its arms. The baby was momentarily soothed, but started crying again, it whined when it looked at me. The thing opened its mouth wide, and that awful nightmarish screeching sounded again, I held my hands up to cover my ears, was about to rush towards the baby and throw everything away to try and take it out of the clutches of that thing, but...
The baby started giggling. It was almost instantly soothed, the sound... seemed to be calming it down. It went to sleep with a smile on its face. The thing quieted down and kept rocking the baby back and forth, its fake lips twitching violently. It was like it forgot I was there, completely absorbed in... caring for the baby. I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t even understand. Its lips kept twitching, and though I didn’t understand what was happening at the time, I realize now... it was trying to smile too. It was difficult for it, but for just a split second, it managed a smile. A real smile.
It set the baby in the crib, content that it was sleeping again, and it jumped when it turned around and remembered there was an intruder. An intruder in its abode.
“I...” that was all I uttered, speechless.
“Mommy, please...” it repeated, “My baby... please, don’t hurt my baby...” the words had the exact same intonation as what it had said previously, “I want to be a mommy... please... don’t take my baby from me... or if you’re going to... then...”It really was like a recording, but almost like a parrot mimicking a human’s voice. Some of the words it repeated sounded out of order, scrambled, melded together. I turned back at the corpse in the living room, then back to the thing. My heart fluttered with an indescribable feeling.
There were tears in the thing’s eyes, in the copy of Carrie’s eyes, “Please... if you’re going to kill me... please take care of my baby...” the tears were flowing freely.
“I will,” I don’t know why I said that. I surprised myself, “I’ll make sure its safe.”
The thing nodded, reached out an arm that was on the verge of melting and deforming, patted the sleeping infant on the head, and turned back to me, “Make sure its safe.”
It said that in my voice, exactly like I had just said.
“Make sure its safe,” it repeated itself a few times.
I just nodded.
It started sobbing violently, its disguise utterly collapsed, and then it started to sing. I can’t call it singing as we know singing, there was nothing about it that was really melodious, but I’m sure it was singing. A melancholy goodbye.
The whole room was overtaken by white and black static.
I wish I could tell you what exactly had happened, how or why. What the thing was, why it had done what it had done. Where it came from. I have my own theories, but I really have no idea. It still feels unbelievable to me, and I witnessed it first hand. I still second guess if I’m actually insane. Maybe I’m just in some padded cell somewhere.
I think that thing was inside Carrie’s apartment either the day she came back with the baby, or before, and something had happened to Carrie. Maybe the thing had killed Carrie, I don’t know. But for whatever reason, whether through Carrie’s pleading (which I think the thing was repeating) or a reason I don’t understand... it had tried to care for the baby. If more of those things lurk somewhere in the shadows of our world, I pray they are as benign as the one that tried all it could to care for a human child...
I think it realized it couldn’t work out, in the end.
The baby is safe. I woke up tucked in Carrie’s bed. The baby was in the crib, sleeping soundly. There was no sign of the thing. Carrie’s body was gone, too.
I ended up telling the police that I heard a baby screaming in what sounded like pain, and I found the door to the apartment open. The baby’s with the police, and I hope to God it has a long healthy life, a life that will make its mother, and its adoptive mother from another dimension or wherever proud.

Currently dealing with another bad flare up since February. A lot of constant pain going down my right leg, down to the top of my foot. Have been taking 12 motrin and 6 muscle relaxers ever day since February, every 7 to 8 hours. It pisses me off that "mild" is thrown around on these results so much because it certainly doesn't feel mild. It feels like back, butt, leg, and foot are constantly being squeezed by a big table vise grip, and it takes so freaaking looong to calm down at a manageable level.

I had an injured my mcl in the middle of football season last year,and I have went through PT and have been active since then. Iv been lifting weights since December and I just started back doing athletic training since I’m playing college football. I recently had a session where my knee started to get irritated and the next day it was hard for me to walk and the pains was a lot. On top of this there was some swelling. Keep in mind it’s been 6+ months since i acquired the injury and have been doing training plus lifting. (The pain is similar to when I wasn’t fully healed but was able to do most things like jog and walk back normally)
Has anyone experienced something similar and if so should I be concerned or should I just give it time

Undergraduate Completion
This story is about my journey as a college student and the joy I have at its completion.
I started my 5-year undergraduate degree in accounting during the fall of 2018. The first year was pure bliss; I gained so many friends, lost my virginity, felt heartbreak, expanded my understanding of the world and came to love diversity. I had earned a position as an RA for my sophomore year with one of my new, and still, great friends.
Fall of 2019 started as the Residential Department put it, "Gaining 60 new contracted friends". I put my life into creating the best experience for both my residents and myself. Come March of 2020, this was shattered. COVID-19 officially shut down my campus and everyone was sent home. Uncertainty of the next year lasted until summer when our accepted return was announced. With many new rules and being shipped off into a different housing area, I was apprehensive to say the least.
Fall of 2020 was the beginning of my hidden, yet sharp, mental decline. It is here my met my most sincere and closest friends beyond my home as well. The seclusion was otherwise agonizing and I had turned to drinking on the weekends with a small group of friends for the majority of the college year. By summer of 2021, I had landed an internship in my field of study, entered a relationship, and received a promotion from RA to CA. The internship was phenomenal and the relationship amazing, though I found myself constantly crying and was put on am anti-depressant as depression runs in my family.
Fall of 2021, I was now entering the depths of my studies, additional responsibilities from my position, and my s/o was now 2 hours away. The anti-depressants dramatically worsened my mentality and became secluded from my studies, relationship, and job all at once. I dropped 2 classes in an attempt to reduce the load, to no avail. By winter of 2022, the relationship had ended in pain from depression+guilt and my education and job faltered further. I stepped down from my role as a CA to RA and took fewer classes to start the next year. Summer of 2022 was jobless in an attempt to regain my mental fortitude.
Fall of 2022 did not last long. Immediately I was shunted into the same routine of depressive behavior, this time accompanied by suicidal ideation. As I was failing every class and effectively not working as is, I dropped out of college just before Thanksgiving to live at home and continue online next semester. Spring of 2023 I had begun seeing a psychiatrist as well as therapist weekly. My class load was very light as I was surely going to need an extra year to graduate. I tried new medications bi-monthly and my therapist was unhelpful for myself. I completed some summer courses but sank deeper and deeper in depression.
Fall of 2023 was the worst time of my 24 years of existence thus far. Although my course load was still light, I had no point in living. I was divising painless ways to commit suicide and preserve my body for my family. I was ready to die when I started a new medication (Cymbalta) and started seeing a new therapist.
My life changed.
This medication with a dedicated therapist who cared about me and my wellbeing rocketed me out of the 6-foot hole. Within 3 months of dedicated medication rigorous therapy, I had finally stopped my suicidal ideation. Winter of 2024 was the first time I felt alive in almost 3 years. I felt pure happiness again for the first time 1 month ago. I am alive again.
As of May 11, 2024, I have walked across the stage, accepted my diploma for accounting, and am effectively depression free. I breathe as this chapter is completed. I felt the sun of my skin today, felt what it is like to be human. What it is like to be alive.
I wanted to share this joy with others in hopes to encourage growth and foster hope. I am alive and far beyond well as I work to create the best me I can for the world.

• Seth

Undergraduate Completion
This story is about my journey as a college student and the joy I have at its completion.
I started my 5-year undergraduate degree in accounting during the fall of 2018. The first year was pure bliss; I gained so many friends, lost my virginity, felt heartbreak, expanded my understanding of the world and came to love diversity. I had earned a position as an RA for my sophomore year with one of my new, and still, great friends.
Fall of 2019 started as the Residential Department put it, "Gaining 60 new contracted friends". I put my life into creating the best experience for both my residents and myself. Come March of 2020, this was shattered. COVID-19 officially shut down my campus and everyone was sent home. Uncertainty of the next year lasted until summer when our accepted return was announced. With many new rules and being shipped off into a different housing area, I was apprehensive to say the least.
Fall of 2020 was the beginning of my hidden, yet sharp, mental decline. It is here my met my most sincere and closest friends beyond my home as well. The seclusion was otherwise agonizing and I had turned to drinking on the weekends with a small group of friends for the majority of the college year. By summer of 2021, I had landed an internship in my field of study, entered a relationship, and received a promotion from RA to CA. The internship was phenomenal and the relationship amazing, though I found myself constantly crying and was put on am anti-depressant as depression runs in my family.
Fall of 2021, I was now entering the depths of my studies, additional responsibilities from my position, and my s/o was now 2 hours away. The anti-depressants dramatically worsened my mentality and became secluded from my studies, relationship, and job all at once. I dropped 2 classes in an attempt to reduce the load, to no avail. By winter of 2022, the relationship had ended in pain from depression+guilt and my education and job faltered further. I stepped down from my role as a CA to RA and took fewer classes to start the next year. Summer of 2022 was jobless in an attempt to regain my mental fortitude.
Fall of 2022 did not last long. Immediately I was shunted into the same routine of depressive behavior, this time accompanied by suicidal ideation. As I was failing every class and effectively not working as is, I dropped out of college just before Thanksgiving to live at home and continue online next semester. Spring of 2023 I had begun seeing a psychiatrist as well as therapist weekly. My class load was very light as I was surely going to need an extra year to graduate. I tried new medications bi-monthly and my therapist was unhelpful for myself. I completed some summer courses but sank deeper and deeper in depression.
Fall of 2023 was the worst time of my 24 years of existence thus far. Although my course load was still light, I had no point in living. I was divising painless ways to commit suicide and preserve my body for my family. I was ready to die when I started a new medication (Cymbalta) and started seeing a new therapist.
My life changed.
This medication with a dedicated therapist who cared about me and my wellbeing rocketed me out of the 6-foot hole. Within 3 months of dedicated medication rigorous therapy, I had finally stopped my suicidal ideation. Winter of 2024 was the first time I felt alive in almost 3 years. I felt pure happiness again for the first time 1 month ago. I am alive again.
As of May 11, 2024, I have walked across the stage, accepted my diploma for accounting, and am effectively depression free. I breathe as this chapter is completed. I felt the sun of my skin today, felt what it is like to be human. What it is like to be alive.
I wanted to share this joy with others in hopes to encourage growth and foster hope. I am alive and far beyond well as I work to create the best me I can for the world.

• Seth

Link to part 1: https://www.reddit.com/FleshandBloodTCG/comments/1aj8n9t/a_beginner_guide_to_arakni/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button
If I had a nickel for every time LSS released a female stealth based hero that ended up being strictly better than my favorite hero in the game, I'd have two nickels. Which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice.
We are currently right in the midst of the highs and lows of MST spoiler season. We have every single Assassin and Mystic Assassin card fully revealed. One thing has become painfully obvious. Nuu is now the second hero in a growing list of heroes that just takes everything Arakni does, and does it better.
Now, there could be a very long discussion here about the why of this. I could probably write a whole post about it. Maybe I will. But that's not what this is about. This is something else.
So. You want to play Arakni, and you, along with everyone else who made this journey before you, have come to the startling realization that maybe Nuu might just be the better route. This is the guide for you. This is not a beginners guide to Nuu. This is not a deep dive into everything Nuu is capable of. This is one thing: A guide to take what you know in Arakni and adapt it into what you know in Nuu.
For that reason, I'm going to assume you already know how Arakni works and understand how Arakni is played. If you do not, I have linked part 1 above. The previous post was obviously not intended to be a part 1. It is now though.

The Baseline

If we remove Arakni from the deck, we lose exactly three things.
Firstly, we lose Regicide. To quote the ex wife of a dead husband I was trying to reach when I cold called her in my sales job after telling her I was sorry for her loss, "It's not a loss."
Secondly, we lose Coercive Tendencies. CT does a few very strong things, all of which are very unfortunate. It is guaranteed to grab a card from the deck and can give go again on a hit to the whole chain. It is a strong power turn, and it will be missed. Not too much, for eventually obvious reasons.
Thirdly, we lose the Arakni hero ability. This is probably the biggest hit, as there is no direct analogue to be found in Nuu. We unfortunately just lose it, and can't do anything about it. This means Nuu inherently makes less silver and has less direct deck disruption. We can't just turn off pitch stacks anymore.
So what do we gain from this transaction? A lot.
Let's start with the bare minimum. It's called Intimate Inducement. As of the writing of this post, we currently don't know how or even if it scales. We know it's a common, and we know the blue version. This is the raw text of that blue card:
0 cost 3 block blue pitch Mystic Assassin Attack Reaction. Target Assassin or Mystic attack action card gets +1 power. Look at the top 2 cards of the defending hero's deck and choose a card. If it's blue, it has 0 base defense. Put the chosen card onto the active chain link as a defending card and the rest on top in any order.
The current theories on scaling include: More power, dig deeper, different colors for the 0 base defense. Personally, I think power is guaranteed, color is likely, and digging deeper is not going to happen.
Again, as this is the bare minimum, I am going to "accidentally" forget to mention literally every single card spoiled outside of Intimate Inducement. A quick rules note: When you look at the top two cards and choose a card, you put it on the chain. You do not have to choose a blue card to put it on the chain. If you do choose a blue card, that card has 0 block. If you don't choose a blue card, that card still has a block value. Regardless of the situation, you are always allowed to put a card on the chain regardless of the color of said card.
Let's compare this card to CT. CT digs 3 deep and banishes a card. This digs 2 deep and puts a card onto the chain link defending. It doesn't banish, but the end result is the same: A card is removed from the deck with no cost.
Now, Coercive gives go again and can create silver. Intimate gives power. Technically, there are more use cases where Coercive is stronger than Intimate. That said, you can only run 3 Coercive. You can run 9 Intimates.
Are we better than Arakni now with this simple swap? Yes. On paper, no. Coercive is stronger. Arakni can "fateseal". Except this is a fatigue deck, and your opponent now starts with 6 less cards. I don't really know what else to say to convince you that this is better. Intimate is better than Coercive, and it hurts me to write that out.
Now, some of you will disagree with me. And that's fine. In fact, I won't even argue with you. Arakni hero ability + Coercive Tendencies is quite strong, and in all honesty, probably better than no hero ability and 9 copies of Intimate. But that's the thing. Remember how I said I was ignoring every other card? This is the baseline, with a single card. What if we started adding everything else in as well?

More Reactions

Tide Chakra is the worst card I'm about to talk about. So we'll mention it first. This is very simple: It's a 1 for +3 that can target any and every Assassin attack. Sometimes it gets +5. This is already good in your original Arakni shell. Turns out, a 1 for +3 attack reaction is strong. I don't need to tell you that, you're already running 3 Cut to the Chase. Another one at a higher cost is desired.
But now, if you've pitched a blue, say, to dagger, what if you could do more? Hiss and Venomous Bite also exist. With a blue in your pitch zone, those two create additional attack reactions that can target anything and give go again and +1 respectively. So basically, with a blue pitch, you now have a 1 for +3 go again and a 1 for +4. The additional card can also be arsenaled for later, used on later chain links, or just played immediately. Regardless, they're both fantastic.
Some currently are becoming of the opinion that Hiss is a trap. I'm inclined to agree with them, but it's early enough in testing that I will keep an open mind. Regardless, both of these cards are options, and a VBite will never be a bad move.
Lastly, you get Gorgon's Gaze and Siren's call. I don't personally care for either of these very much. Gorgon's is a super niche yellow that fills the same role as Spreading Plague. Siren's Call is interesting to me, and I don't know how much I like it. It's also a sideboard card, but the lack of increased power is not something I'm too fond of.
You don't have to play all of these cards. I won't, personally. But imagine playing your Arakni deck with more reactions to push your contracts. That's not a hard sell, it's really good. We're not done though, because Nuu is still blank.

Chi

We have two outlets for Chi in Nuu. Nuu's hero ability and Mask of Recurring Nightmares. We also have 8 cards available with the text "Transcend."
7 of the 8 Transcend cards are basic. Do a simple thing, transform into a Chi if you've played another blue. There are only a few worth mentioning beyond that fact. Pass Over allows you to banish any card in the opponents graveyard. This will probably create you a silver when played at the right time and can also just accidentally turn Fai off. Path Well Traveled gives go again to literally anything. I don't think I need to tell you why go again is good. If I need to though, imagine just playing out Surgical into Leave No Witnesses and not having to worry about hitting for Blacktek. It's kinda good.
1 of the 8 Transcend cards is maybe the strongest card I haven't mentioned yet, and rivals even the cards I have. Sacred Art: Undercurrent Desires is really good. For a higher cost, you get to play Pass Over twice by banishing two cards from grave. Hopefully this makes you some silver. You also get to create a Fang Strike (the +1 power mentioned from VBite) and a Slither (the go again mentioned from hiss) in hand. Remember, these can target anything. At a baseline though, it's just +1 and go again. Which remember, is still really good. You could probably spend hours talking about optimal lines with this card, which I could do, but I won't right now. The key takeaway is that the longer you look at Undercurrent, the more broken it is.
Now, what can you put the Chi into? Again, that would be Nuu's hero ability and Mask of Recurring Nightmares. Mask is a free banish. It doesn't create any silver, but it still eats a card. This is amazing. No matter what else I say, remember that Chi can just turn into free banishes regardless. Nuu's hero ability can do more.
So, you're playing your Arakni deck. You're banishing some cards and creating some silver. This is all very good. Now what if, at the cost of a single card in your deck, you could now play those cards you are banishing. It might just be the blues, but you can still play them. Sweet, you can do that.
In a fatigue gameplan, thanks to Chi, you are now playing your opponents cards instead of your own. You are winning the card economy in the end game. Easily. But, if you can't play the cards, at the very least you get to force them to discard.
You don't have to play Mask or all 8 transcend cards. You probably shouldn't do that last part. I won't judge if you do, though. Technically, you only really need one to be able to take advantage of the huge strength found in the fatigue end game. And that's the whole point. Take your Arakni deck, add one Chi, and you win in fatigue. Add a few more and Mask, and now you can disrupt from the hand for free.

Stealth

Arakni can't run stealth cards. I mean, they can. But they shouldn't (most of the time). One primary reason was simple: Cut to the Chase can't target them and you don't get to fateseal off of them. Well, now, you don't have a fateseal, and you have enough reactions where losing Cut to the Chase isn't such a big deal. So we can start looking at those stealth cards a little more seriously.
The Outsiders stealth cards exist, and are good, but we're mostly going to ignore them. Honorable mention for Infiltrate as more playable banishes, Malign as ward hate, and Infect because Bloodrot is pretty good.
The Mistveil stealth cards are all super varied, but you can pretty easily describe a good chunk of them. On hit, banish the top card of the opponents deck (and sometimes a card in their graveyard). When you banish a specific card type, gain 1 life. Also, whenever the opponent blocks with an action card, it gets banished when the chain link closes and that can sometimes gain you life as well. Thanks Nuu.
When looking at just these cards, they are effectively contract cards without the contract keyword. They have -1 power and gain life instead of silver. There are tradeoffs for both of those and frankly, I don't know which is better.
You also get Double Trouble, which loses the life gain for the ability to banish two from deck when two or more attack reactions are played in the chain (Hiss and VBite fulfill both reactions)
Also, you get Art of Desire, which takes that lifegain and also gives you card draw when you banish a specific type.
Also you get Bonds of Agony and Persuasive Prognosis, which are both insane. I cannot state this enough: those two cards are bonkers. Fun fact, they are game changing. Agony requires 3 reactions, but gives you +3 power (A blue stealth at a red contract rate) and allows you to banish a card in hand and 2 more of the same card in deck or graveyard. You get 3 in total. This is Surgical Extraction copies 4, 5, and 6. But it also is better. It's a high cost, but it is worth that cost. This one probably isn't playable in Arakni. Persuasive is just the regular rate of a blue stealth, but now it creates life from any action card and banishes both top and a card from hand. It's also just really good. This one is playable in Arakni.
In Arakni, you can only run contract. By moving to Nuu, you can now run stealth. You don't have to run stealth, a contract list is probably very good. But you can run stealth, and there are a lot of bonuses for it.
There are probably three main shells here: Contract with Persuasive and Agony, stealth with Leave No Witnesses and Surgical, or those four mentioned cards plus a few other weaker stealth or contract cards like Art of Desire or Annihilate the Armed. Basically, you can be heavily invested in contract, heavily invested in stealth, or a mix of both. Or really anywhere in between, it's your choice.
I don't know which of those three shells is best. I don't know if one of those three shells is better than the others. Maybe one is, maybe we'll figure out which in time. There are strengths to all three. There are weaknesses to all three. As of right now, it really is just wide open for which you want to do.

In Conclusion

If you like Arakni and have been playing Arakni, you were already making a bad decision. Contract Uzuri was previously strictly better. That said, it was only a little bit better, Arakni was still very good. This means a very large portion of the Assassin playerbase were still playing Arakni out of passion.
If you would like to remain on Arakni out of passion moving forward, I wish you the best. I wish I could justify it myself, but unfortunately, the power difference between Arakni and Nuu is just substantially larger than the difference between Arakni and contract Uzuri. So much larger that I personally can't justify the handicap in the name of passion.
All you technically have to do is take Arakni and replace CT and a few other cards with Intimate. It doesn't take too much fiddling with other reactions, chi, and a few stealth cards to take that baseline and dial it to 11 though.
The fun part is that if you're reading this now, it means you can jump in on the ground floor of Nuu. You have the experience from Arakni, and can play the same deck but with all of the options I just spent the past post mentioning. And the spoilers for Nuu were literally just finished a few hours ago. And we still haven't even seen all the classless Mystic cards yet. There could be even more gems in there. Hop in the discord, get some theory crafting going, and start jamming some Nuu. Just, don't turn into Archon Alters. Don't spend 48 hours in the past day theorycrafting this deck. Take some time and get some rest in between deckbuilds.
I look forward to this journey with Nuu moving forward. I don't look at Arakni with sorrow that I'm moving on, but happiness that they got us to where we are today. Hopefully, I can return to Arakni in the future, with a viable deck outside of Nuu and Uzuri's shadow. Hopefully, in that day, it's not even a handicap to do so. It's okay if it isn't tomorrow though, or the next day. I think I can spend a bit of time getting to know Nuu. I'm excited for what she holds.

So I recently bought a cable file bag to organize all my quarter inch/XLR cables instead of throwing them on top of my pedal board in a giant mound and its made set up and tear down a lot easier. What else are people doing to really minimize the pain of loading, unloading, set up, and tear down?
Any dolly I should look at? Special bags for hardware? Are multi-guitar cases worth it? Help me pack up and leave faster than my vocalist.

It’s been a while. I don’t know why it took so long for me to post. How long has it been? A year? A year and a half? And I have gained plenty of stories to share - while I’ve neglected you, dear friend.
But right now, you’re my catharsis. You, who might listen to me.
I still can’t believe what I witnessed this winter. Perhaps that’s why I haven’t spoken of it sooner. Perhaps that’s why I’m pretending it never happened.
I suppose though, it’s less that I can’t believe it and more that I don’t want to.
Because time can’t alter. Time doesn’t change. Time is time, right? Some missing time is normal, but not for… days. Right? But I have to believe because everyone else says it’s true. Everyone else says that’s how long I was gone, even as the sun hung still in the sky.
This winter in Alaska has been aggressive. Like last year we had record breaking snowfall and cold. Which I loved and adored. The white mountains touching dark skies. The trees bending with the weight of snow. And of course the mounds the plows would make at the end of my street.
I had missed Alaska.
Granted where I stay isn’t the village anymore. I’m in Anchorage. Or near it. You probably don’t know of the tiny towns along the highways. But if you did… well I don’t particularly want you to find me, now do I?
I’ve finally finished processing what happened. Now that I understand what I went through - after a stern tongue lashing from my grandmothers for my carelessness - I can talk about that day I heard a whisper. I wasn’t sure where it came from but it was ancient and spoke to me in Koyukon.
I can confidently tell you, dear friend, that not all monsters are large and hulking. Some monsters are small and spritely. With sharp teeth. And pointy weapons. And an uncanny ability to make the days pass while the sun stays high.
Everyone believes me. Except my father. My father can’t.
Do you know what comes with freezing temps and mounds of snow? Ice. Beautiful, solid, blue blue, blue ice. The beautiful frozen waterfalls that call to me every year.
Every winter I can’t help but be drawn to these natural wonders.
And every year I never fail to climb at least one. No matter how painful the cold is to my scar covered body, it will happen.
It was a normal day for me, all set for my adventure. Well, mostly normal. I woke with that nagging feeling in the back of my skull, as if something is watching, and you can maybe see it out of the corner of your eye. I attributed it to staying up late searching for and preparing my gear.
I was up and raring to go with breakfast and lunch ready to assemble. It was a process I’ve done many times and by the time I was throwing my backpack on my sister came out of her room, yawning. Lazy bum.
“Where ya goin this time?”
“Hatcher Pass. Checking out Hillside Pillars.”
She thought and gave a wave. “Six hours round trip and you’ll probably be out there on the falls with as much daylight as you can possibly suck out.” She stared at me expectantly. “So… see ya at 8 tonight?”
I gave a quick nod. “Yes.”
“Did you check the avalanche warnings?”
“Yup. Things are calm today. And with that, I’m going ‘mom.’”
She shot me a sharp look and stumbled past me to the kitchen. I gave one last grin before running out the door, ignoring the shiver that ran up my spine as I stepped out. It was cold. Very cold. That’s all, right?
The drive was peaceful, I was out well before the annoying traffic that bottles up at those special points along the Glenn Highway and in Palmer. Up the road to Hatcher Pass, getting little spikes of adrenaline as I got closer and closer to my destination.
Once there I chewed on my breakfast, and as soon as the sun rose I was out of the truck, beginning the long trek to the waterfalls. A hike, a river crossing, and a 20-30 ft step climb and I’d be at the main event.
Why am I telling you all this? Because it was the start of a beautiful day. The start of what would be a fun day. A day where I’d conquer a piece of the world in a way very few do.
As I climbed I felt the wind and listened to its gentle whistle through the trees. The shush of snow falling off with every gentle caress. The sound of small animals rushing about to find food or shelter.
A slow ascent, one foot above the other, one axe pull at a time. It was exhilarating. It’s hard to explain the satisfaction of knowing you’re one step closer to a view you can only find during this time of year.
I finished my climb and stood at the top of the WI4 rated beauty and enjoyed the view just long enough to curse the short days. The breeze picked up my loose hair and tickled my nose. It almost felt like it was congratulating me on a job well done. Even as the hair on the back of my neck stood on end and I shivered. I was just cold, right?
Unloading my pack, I sat down and chewed on a sandwich, taking in the sights. The mountain. The pure white snow. The small movements of life. The skiers and snowmobilers in the distance. As I was wiping the crumbs off my now freezing fingers I heard a sound I had become familiar with. One that would always give me pause. The screech of a hawk came from high above.
I couldn’t help but shudder. It’s the wrong time of year for one to be attracting a mate. What danger was it warning others of? I bit my lip and eyed the surroundings. What would scare a hawk in the middle of the day? Nothing pleasant. Never.
I looked up the frozen river, into the trees and to the foot of the waterfall when I heard a quiet whisper. I swallowed the thickening lump in my throat. I don’t fluently speak Koyukon. Never have I had the desire to. But I knew. I knew what the wind whispered. And it whispered in a rushed manner.
“Run, little flower.”
With that there was deafening silence and as I stood in confusion I felt a shiver that turned into a pain that radiated from the scars covering my body.
I didn’t even give the pain building in me a second thought as I began to see movement out of the corner of my eye.
As I reached for my gear, I heard a giggle like a mischievous child. One giggle turned to two. Two turned to four until I could no longer count as they surrounded me in the wind. I worked faster, gathering my things as the shadows began to move inside the trees.
“Fuck fuck fuckity fuck.” I repeated over and over.
I didn’t have much time, the darkness in the corner of my eye was growing. I made sure my bag was shut tight and secure before tossing it over the edge of the waterfall, hoping nothing in it would break. As I tied myself in I looked up the river and the breath was stolen from my chest.
They looked completely harmless. Child-like. But they were wrong. Out of time. I felt every hair on my body stand on end as if the static in the air concentrated. A group of seven came out of the trees, their giggles and smiles almost infectious. Their clothing were winter parkas and pants straight out of a museum and on a couple seemed comically oversized. You’d almost think they were cute. Harmless.
But their smiles were threatening as they bared their sharp teeth and their eyes shone mercilessly black. Their skin would be as white as the snow surrounding us if it weren’t for the gray undertone.
I practically threw myself at my line and clipped in, barely holding onto my axes as I swiftly threw myself over the edge, beginning my descent.
I felt the wind gust through the trees and I shivered at the implications. What else could I do?
I moved faster and faster, beginning to breathe heavily before my feet were on solid ground. Looking up I realized that the sun had begun to darken sooner than I had expected.
I swallowed back the built up fear and realized a freak storm was building. My brain raced through the only thing it could think. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck…”
I shoved the remaining gear in hand into my bag, without regard for how secure my picks were outside of it.
And in the oncoming darkness I heard another screech… quickly cut off. But I heard its final word, a voice that I swore should have been long lost and dead.
It screamed part of a name that it didn’t even have to finish for me to almost lose my stomach. Because its name wasn’t just a warning, it was a promise.
Bringing my attention back to the solid land I now stood on I suddenly felt the wind knocked out of me. I stumbled forward and fell to my knees. Catching my breath, I looked over my shoulder to see a vicious face. As the stars receded from my eyes I noticed the movement out of the corner of them slowly gather nearer. I stumbled to my feet, staring at the little monster.
The monster kept its eyes on me as it tilted its head and snickered. It pointed a spear at me and I shuddered. It had begun to toy with me.
“Well shit. Why do you have to do this to me today?” I uselessly asked.
Slowly raising into a crouch I began backing away. My heel caught on my bag and I reached awkwardly for it, hoisting it onto my shoulder as the small creatures moved in. They began giggling, drowning out any of the calming sounds that had been present in the morning.
Suddenly I felt a shock to the back of my head. I saw stars once again and fell forward. More giggling.
One came forward and pulled off my hat.
Another ran up and pulled my hair.
I heard a rip and turned in time to see my pack sliced open.
That could have been my back, adding more badges of honor to my body.
As I was distracted one of them came and dropped snow on my head.
The group continued giggling all the while.
I shivered as the snow melted down my neck and into my jacket. And the horrifying thought passed through my mind. “They’re toying with me.”
Suddenly I felt pain in my right hand. One had smashed the back of their spear onto it.
Just as quickly I was hit in the side, knocking me off balance. I caught myself just in time before another ran up and pulled on my hair until I hit the ground.
I grit my teeth and fought back as it tormented me. I heard a rip and felt my pack shift as one of my straps was cut.
Then I heard it and felt it all at once. It hurt. It hurt more than you could imagine or understand. I fell back when my hair suddenly released. As one of their knives sliced through it. I stared at the ragged end of one of my braids.
Then I screamed.
Then I cried.
Then I felt pain. I was hit across the face by a spear, busting my nose. It was almost as if they were telling me the old line “I’ll give you something to cry about.”
Their giggle cracked into a cackle. Then one walked up to me, their pitch black eyes staring directly into mine. I shuddered and forced myself not to look away.
I cautiously rolled up onto my feet and they simply watched. My pack swung awkwardly on one arm and I held back a growing gag as blood ran down the back of my throat.
It tilted its head and through its gnashing sharp teeth it told me, “Run.”
I could only feel relief that the sun was still high. Though overcast, I wouldn’t be running through the woods in the darkness. I turned heel and ran past the few behind me, barely dodging the stabs of their spears. They shouted as I began running, their giggles turning into a sound so wicked it echoed in my skull.
Now I was being hunted.
I ran awkwardly through the snow and ice, down the route I had taken just hours before. The high knee hop through the snow that has just been obliterating Alaska recently. As I ran the wind gusted and I would get blown off my feet, or the disturbed snow would fly into my face. Still I ran. I couldn’t quite see them when I looked back but I could sense it. They were behind me. They were next to me. They were above me in the trees.
Every time I tripped I cried out and I realized the voice was still with me. Still whispering “Run. Run. Run little flower or you’ll wilt and die.” I felt like it was mocking me. Mocking my name.
Shuddering, I felt the cooling beads of water on my forehead and cursed. Water means death. It means the minute I slow down hypothermia will kick in. And in the meantime I may frostbite because of the accumulated moisture in my gear.
But I couldn’t care about that. What would frostbite matter if I didn’t live? I’ve fought for my life before, I wouldn’t die this time.
My neck grew sore and I could feel that sense of impending doom. And I ran even harder, them watching my struggle and floundering about. I heard a thud near me and chanced a glance back to see a spear sticking out of the snow.
Gritting my teeth I pushed harder. The wind stroked the back of my neck and brought a sharp assault down the scars on my back. They began feasting on my fear.
But I could see it, the last stretch. I don’t know how I got through the steps but when I finally found the river and came to a pitching halt. I gasped and panted, tired and weighed down, muscles sore, bones slowly getting cold.
I made it to the river. I was safe. I was safe from the ones the hawk warned me of.
Until I wasn’t.
Until I heard a hoot, quickly turn into a screech.
I cursed. “Dena, why do you do this to me? What did I ever do?”
I heard the hoot again and shivered. I screamed at it. “Don’t you dare give me three.”
I didn’t wait for the third as once again they snickered at me.
I gritted my teeth and sprinted across the frozen river. I kept my legs pumping and moving until I tumbled over the other side. The other side and into my father with a shocked look on his face.
“Rosemary?”
I grabbed onto him. Felt him. Squeezed his arms tightly as I caught my breath.
“Ha… Ha ha. I made it.” I laughed out, shock taking hold. My laugh was short lived as I began coughing the blood that had pooled in my lungs from running in the cold.
I watched shadows cross my father’s face. Surprise, shock, relief, and finally something I hadn’t seen since I was a child. Fear.
He squeezed my face between his hands. “Stay with me. Don’t pass out.”
I continued laughing. “Me? Pass out? Never.” I stepped out of reach and bent over to vomit the blood that had built in my stomach from my broken nose.
My father shouted and I heard others come running from down the trail. “Calm down.”
Looking at him I grinned. “I made it.”
But then I heard it. It came through the trees. From all around. A swarm of giggles.
I watched my father pale. I heard the running footsteps from down the trail slow.
I shoved my father in the opposite direction. “RUN!”
And he listened. Bless the man, he listened.
He hurtled down the trail and when he saw the others in front of him he screamed at them to run. I came to a stuttering halt as I herded the others in front of me while the giggles came closer. Grew louder. Began swimming in my head again. I heard the swishing of snow falling as they ran by.
“Keep going!” I shouted at their backs until we got to the trail head, falling into the road. I screamed at the others to get in their cars. Luckily my family knows to listen without question. Their friends not so much. More corralling. More giggles. More movement in the corners of my eyes. At one point… a tug on my hair.
I got to my truck, hurtling into the side of it. Without pause I tossed my gear into the back and jumped inside. It felt like the old truck couldn’t turn on fast enough. All the while the wind swept through the trees and bullied it.
“Fuck fuck fuck fuck.” My mantra of the day.
My head began to feel cold while the blood on my face became even more annoying. I threw my car into first and I practically screamed when I heard a knock on my window. My sister Leah was on the other side. “GET YOUR ASS IN DUMBASS!” The movement in the trees behind her was too close.
I watched the final few people get into their cars and I peeled out. Skipping from first straight into third on the dangerously snowy road. I tried to clench my busted hand around the wheel only to be blasted with pain. Still, I continued driving as quickly as the roads would allow.
I was a mile down the long road when I heard the whisper.
“Shhh… shhh… shhh… shhh…”
And the sound of it grew louder. Slow at first then it became all consuming. I heard the crumbling and rumbling of the mountainside.
I looked toward the sound coming from the east and my jaw dropped as I saw the mountainside sliding in real time. Something told me I was safe. Just a faint whisper in the back of my head and the fact that the pain had receded.
With some remaining trepidation I stopped my truck and stepped out. I watched in terror and awe as the mountain fell… and fell… and crossed the river. I swallowed and shook my head and heard another raptor scream in the distance.
I got in my truck, turned the heat on as high as I could. I was shaking. Clearly from the cold, right? With a shiver I threw my truck into gear again and we made our way back to town. All the while the wind mockingly laughed behind me.
“Where have you been?” Leah asked after several miles.
“At the Pillars.” I whispered through my scratchy throat.
She looked at me, pale. “You left two days ago.”
I frowned. “I left this morning.”
“It’s been a day and a half.”
I didn’t respond. Even after her many pestering questions I didn’t answer. We drove the rest of the way home in silence as my brain tumbled.
Once we were home I stumbled to the bathroom. I stared at my busted nose in the mirror before climbing into the shower. Bruises covered my body and my hand began swelling, broken.
I wasn’t even allowed rest after that though. As I ate a well earned dinner my father sat me down and grilled me on where I’d been. Why I had been gone so long.
I learned a few things from our conversation - that I had been gone more than a day. That I hadn’t been seen on the mountain at all. That supposedly I shouldn’t have been alone with others having climbed the same time as me.
It was as I was chewed out I told my father I saw them. That I had seen the little people of legends. What the Athabascans give no real name to beyond “small ones.” What the Yup’ik call the Ircenrraat. What westerners call fae.
As I explained that I had been caught in a hunt my father’s face grew more and more incredulous. Before finally admitting he didn’t believe me. He dismissed me with few words after that statement. It hurt, but I understood.
I was gone only a day. That’s why my father can’t believe.
They’ve never allowed anyone gone less than a year.

I’ve recently just started getting a sharp pain right above my glute muscles on my lower back if I walk even a little bit. It happens on both sides and makes me limp every time because of the pain and i’ve known myself to have a decently high pain tolerance. I just wondering if this happens to anyone else who knows what it is and what to do to help it because my current lifestyle involves a lot of movement.

Well......I have a lot going on right now. My [23F] living situation is really.....not great. I live at home with my mom and my three siblings. My dad moved out last week because my parents are separating. My siblings are all varying degrees of NEET (not in education, employment, or training) and it feels weird to call us a "family" because we are all estranged from each other.
Today, I saw that one of my brothers [19M] is keeping his piss in a jar. My older sister [28F] has never really felt like an older sibling to me and she's not doing too great either. My older brother would be turning 30 today but he committed suicide four years ago. He also abused me my entire life so today has been a painful reminder of that.
I'm really trying to improve my life and go back to school so I can gtfo. I see a therapist twice weekly. I started a part time job. I'm looking into getting a live-in nannying position so that I can get my independence a bit sooner. I have an interview with a nannying agency next week.
Today, on top of it being my abuser's birthday, I finally came to terms with the fact that the sounds I've been hearing in the walls are indeed rats. I don't know how I can sleep in my room tonight. It was my only space that I had to myself and now I just can't stand to be there.
We have an SUV with seats that fold down. I might sneak out and sleep there. I don't have any friends with whom I could spend the night either so that's the best option.
A big part of why I can't relate to anyone in my family is because they're all okay with this.
We're not even technically poor btw. My dad still financially supports us and he earns a six figure salary as a public servant at an NGO. Even my therapist thinks he's a narcissist and I have no idea where any of his money goes.
Anyway, I'm just venting into the void because I can't do much right now. Hopefully my interview next week works out and I'm able to become a nanny ASAP.

I (23/F) had my surgery back in October 2023. I was diagnosed with stage IV endo, with a 10cm mass in one ovary and a 4cm in the other. I had it attaching to my bladder and peritoneum.
I was in excruciating pain prior with my flares ups involving calling out of work for 3 days, fever, vomiting, and mild pain/bloating even on “normal” days.
Recovery was difficult, I was tender for a while.
They put in a hormonal iud to try to help with my future endometriosis.
I guess my question is: how long was I supposed to be “pain” free? I am already feeling bloating and having sharp lower abdominal pain. How quick does endo grow back?

Vote on a match featuring the detective teams allied against a masked vigilante having gone berserk!

(Shoutouts to u/ShimoDragon and Heart of the Rose for the match!)
Scenario: The Kamala Rose International, Vasitanagarh — 2:06PM
Weeks ago, in the very center of The Kamala Rose International lay the fantastical garden known as the Heart of the Rose, in the center of that garden stood a gazebo, and in the center of that gazebo was a table surrounded by four individuals in a heated discussion.
“That was sloppy work, Margherita!” Sulka slammed their fist against the table in an uncharacteristically loud fit of rage, “I told you to get rid of that man last week! Now because of your pointless delays he was able to leak that scandal to the news!”
“Hey hey, levati dai coglioni! I don’t appreciate the blame being thrown onto me here,” Margo threw up his arms in response, looking more annoyed than upset, “You never told me there was any urgency. Besides, it takes a bit of time to frame an accidental death. What, do you think you can just shoot a guy in the head and call it a suicide? You watch too many movies if you think that kind of thing can just happen overnight, mammalucco.”
“Do you even care that our operation here is in jeopardy now that that video is drawing prying eyes our way?!” Sulka almost spat at the italian man, “Your nonchalance is insulting!”
“Easy, Sulka,” Jim Peckle interjected, “Margo did his best. No way for him to know that things would turn this way.”
“You’re both right, actually,” Margo sneered, “I did my best, as I do with every job, but I honestly couldn’t care less if this little crime ring collapses. You lot are nothing more than a side hustle to me, my allegiances lie back in Italy. In other words, stop pestering me and vai a cagare.”
With a swish of his apron Margo left, leaving Sulka to smolder in a more recognizable quiet anger.
“That’s the last time we give him a time sensitive job, if you ask me,” Pluto spoke up for the first time since arriving (late), “The unwanted attention is a problem, don’t get me wrong, but I’m more concerned with how we even got to this in the first place, hey? That guy in the video was talking about missing people, Kiisseli. Just what the hell have you been up to?”
“Need I remind you, Hendrix,” Sulka’s cold gaze turned to meet Pluto’s, “that part of our arrangement involves the right to privacy. I do not intend to pry about what you use our resources for so I expect that you will do me the same decency.”
“Excuse me…?” Pluto straightened up from his relaxed position, “You don’t get to just shrug this off after bringing the feds to our damn doorste-”
“To be curt,” Sulka cut him off, “It’s none of your damn business, Pluto. So drop it.”
Behind Sulka’s back, Jim quietly scoped his nearest emergency exit.
Pluto’s vein bulged visibly at Sulka’s words, “You’ve got people paying attention to the airport cuz you’ve been pulling some shady bullshit and you just managed to get your ass handed to you by a cat and some whackjob in a mask, hey. Obviously this is my fucking business!”
“I may have been beaten by a “whackjob” as you put it,” Sulka slowly rose from their chair, “but I could certainly beat you if you’re going to keep acting like a thorn in my side.”
“You could beat who?” Pluto’s voice raised an octave in sheer frustration and confusion, “Trust me, you don’t want this smoke, Kiisseli.”
“What’s this about smoke?” Dark Disquiet shimmered into view and lit a fire in its palm behind Sulka as they spoke, “Because from where I stand you’re the only one who should fear getting burned, Hendrix.”
“This isn’t the time or place for a fight,” Jim stepped in between the two, holding up his hands. Behind his dark sunglasses, his eyes flicked cautiously over to Sulka. “Everything just goes up in flames. Nobody wins… Best cool things down and make peace.”
An uneasy silence hung over the gazebo until Pluto clicked his tongue in frustration, “Yeah. Fine. Better an ally than an enemy, I suppose. But let it be known that next time I have to deal with problems caused by your actions I’ll be expecting a damn good explanation, hey? Now I’m getting out of here before your self important face pisses me off any more than it already has.”
Once Pluto had left earshot, Sulka let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of their nose, “I hate to admit it but I too am in a state where I still need to rely on Hendrix’s assistance. Oh how I despise co-leadership…”
“I like having him around,” Jim replied, shrugging minutely, “He brings a lot to the Heart. He’s easygoing, and a lot more dedicated than he seems on the surface. It would be a shame to drive him away.”
“You’ve already deescalated the situation, Jim Peckle. Any further arbitration would be pointless, unless you mean to crawl your way back onto my good side. In which case you have a long way to go,” Sulka made a dispassionate gesture towards the exit, “You may leave as well, but don’t assume that this means you’re off the hook. You’ve not yet been forgiven for leaving me in the dirt and running off with that costumed clown after our fight.”
Jim hesitated for a moment before deciding to swallow his pride and take his own advice. Instead, he simply gave a light nod in response and scurried out of the gazebo.
For a time Sulka sat in silence, partially to gather their thoughts and partially to make sure their team members had cleared out. “Marko, Olli, come here now.”
Barely missing a beat, the Runoilija brothers ran in to greet Sulka, “Right here boss!” Marko, the bigger of the two, responded, “Sorry we weren’t here for the meeting–that kid you hired a while back was break dancing in the halls outside the garden and we were entranced by the little guy!”
“Enough!” Sulka was all too familiar with how the brothers could prattle on if left unchecked, “I didn’t call you over to have you discuss your simplistic entertainment. I have a job for the two of you.”
“Lay it on us boss, we’ll get it done in no time,” Olli rubbed his hands together in anticipation.
“To be more accurate it’s closer to a reassignment than a job,” Sulka tucked their hands behind their back, beginning to pace across the raised dais. “Thanks to this mess we’re in, I’ll be forced to decrease, if not totally halt, my… cultivation, we’ll call it, her at the Rose. In order to make up for the drop-off in offerings we will need to expand operations outside of the airport. I’ve already made the arrangements. Starting tomorrow, you two will be stationed at Club Naraka over in Port Konwar. You will remain vigilant for any and all stand users that enter the building. I don’t care how you do it but make sure you check every guest. Once you find a stand user you are to restrain them and call for me. This is by far the most promising location I’ve managed to get a hold of, so I am expecting big things. Are there any questions?”
“Uh, it’s a club, yeah?” Marko cocked his head, “That means there’ll be booze, right?”
“...Yes Marko,” Sulka sighed, “There will be drinks of all kinds.”
“Alright! We won’t let you down boss! You can count on us!” Olli beamed—and promptly tripped on Marko’s heels in his haste as the two of them rushed for the door.
Sulka sighed again, if that pair of fools weren’t so loyal they would’ve discarded them long ago.
Scenario: ???, ??? — 1:20 AM
THUMP
THUMP
THUMP
Reese’s eyes slowly opened, his vision hazy. His head stung—that was the first thing he noticed, the dull throbbing pain in his temple. He couldn’t think straight. Where was he? Why was he here? What was-
God, his head.
“Ghhh...” He massaged his temples, blearily trying to force some sense into his brain. He was... Where was he...
Memories came back to him slowly, filtered through heavy bass and the scraping of a rusty fan overhead. He was looking for leads on something... His father was looking into Nightblooms... There were rumors of knowledgeable Stand users here... His teammates had told him not to go, but he-
The door creaked open, slamming against a dingy, degraded concrete wall. Reese lifted his head, slowly. His head felt like a ten ton weight on his shoulders. He could hardly see. What the fuck happened?
Through the now open door a stream of light poured in highlighting the silhouettes of two men. The bigger man on the right spoke first, “So this kid is the fresh meat, huh? And you’re sure he’s one of us this time?”
“Oh definitely,” The skinny man on the left replied, “This guy’s a stand user, no doubt about it.”
Reese could hear what the men were saying but his mind was covered in a fog and it was difficult to comprehend the words. Fresh meat? Stand user? Did these two bring him here? What did they want?
The skinny man kneeled down to bring himself face to face with Reese. Even in the darkness of the room he was close enough that Reese could make out his distinctly crooked nose , “I’m gonna make this real simple for you, pal. You see our boss is a very important person. They are the type with big plans that some people might not agree with. Because of that, they like to make powerful friends whenever possible. Friends like you, for example. For that very reason the boss is on their way here right now to meet you! I’m sure the two of you will get along great but I thought I should give you a bit of a warning. The boss doesn’t like it when their offer of friendship gets turned down, you see. There’s only one thing they hate more than that. Unnecessary risk. If they can’t have you as a friend… Well, I’m sure you’ll make the right choice once you meet them.”
“Uhhh, Olli?” The bigger one tapped the skinny man on the shoulder, “I don’t think this kid is hearing you. Look at his eyes, it’s like he’s still asleep.”
“Wha-?” Olli aggressively grabbed Reese’s head and forcefully opened his eyelids all the way to stare into the boy’s pupils, “Goddamnit, the drugs still haven’t worn off! Urgh, just put him back to sleep Marko. I’ll give him the speech again once he wakes up.”
Reese wanted to run or fight or something but he could barely move as the skinny man- Olli let go of his head. Drugs? Had these two drugged him? His mind was swimming with Olli’s monologue creating a whirlpool of words and phrases that he recognized but could not focus on. With every ounce of his available strength he lifted his body onto his elbows and looked up to his captors.
“W-wait a se-” He couldn’t even form a full sentence before the bigger man- Marko reeled back and threw out a punch.
There was a violent shake.
A loud thud.
And then black.
Scenario: Club Naraka, Port Konwar — 1:22 AM
Club Naraka was, if nothing else, accurately named.
When you first stepped into the subterranean hell pit of human desire, you were greeted with the thick smell of booze and cigarettes and other far less legal things. It had a way of overwhelming every sense, actually. Harsh lights strobed against the otherwise dim chambers of each floor, and the bass thumped hard enough to feel in your ribs. When you eventually found yourself in a place where it didn’t smell so harshly of booze, it was because it smelled like vomit instead, or some other thing you didn’t really want to figure out the source of.
Emile Gulati, 27 years old, stared with half lidded eyes at the air freshener she’d hung behind the bar, wishing with all of her heart that it actually worked. It was her last little rebellion against this place. She tried wearing earbuds, but she couldn’t hear her own music over the stuff they played in the club. She tried normal earplugs, but those hardly worked, and just made it harder to bartend. She considered nose plugs, but that’d just make her look weird - customers gave her enough shit already.
“Evening, bartender~.” A sleazy looking man had somehow wandered over to the bar without her noticing, splaying himself over the counter. Emile tried her best to hide her immediate disdain. “You, uh, wow, huh, eheh.” He pointed at her. “Nnnn~ice outfit. Eheh.”
She scowled.
“You gonna order something or what?” Emile made sure to step back a few feet. Best not to stand too close to guys like this - she’d learned that the hard way just a week ago. “I don’t work here as a fucking model. Get a drink.”
“Bitch.” The man sneered. “You people should be more agreeable. Tsch.” He wandered off, having seemingly forgotten what he came for in the first place. Emile sighed in relief. She idly looked back at the little bottle under the counter, and winced. She’d made a routine of reminding herself it was there and feeling like shit about it.
Being a bartender here was bad enough, but every now and then she’d get a lovely text from a higher up on the burner phone they’d given her to slip a few drops of that into their drink. Within moments a security guard would drag them away, leaving Emile with no explanation. Not that she was expecting one, granted. But she would’ve liked to know what exactly she was doing here. For closure, or something. Maybe.
Couldn’t pay rent in Mist City without a job, she reminded herself for the fourth time that night. The latest one really got to her - some bright eyed youngster filled with determination who was trying so hard not to look like he was there on some sort of mission. She had hope that whatever job it was would succeed, but that hope seemed to evaporate like a fine mist when she watched him disappear behind the elevator doors.
She rubbed her temples.
“...”
And exhaled. This place got in the way of her reason, the music keeping her from thinking. Was next month’s rent worth the people she’d screwed over? Hell if she knew.
“I’m taking my fifteen,” said Emile, to no one in particular. She marched away from the bar, stalking towards the elevator. When the doors closed behind her, she found herself blessed by something close to peace and quiet. It reassured her.
Equally reassuring was the golden coin beneath her feet, glinting in harsh LED light.
“...Lucky coin, huh?” She picked it up, admiring it for a moment before pressing down on the lowest button on the elevator keypad. She didn’t know what she was actually going to do - but it’d probably be better than doing nothing.
When the doors opened, Emile found the floor was completely barren. No one wandered through the dusty concrete halls; the only thing that gave her company was the thick, noxious smell that clung to the air. Preferring not to investigate its source, Emile began walking through the halls…until her eye caught on an open door. Unsure where else to go, she peeked inside.
Curled on the cold floor was a body. Emile’s stomach dropped–until she saw movement in the person’s chest. Still alive. That she could work with. Rushing over, Emile knelt next to the unconscious person, as she had with countless blackout drunks. She made sure he was on his side, and then gently stirred him until he woke. All the while, dread tangled her organs in knots. Who would do such a thing? Why? Still, the answers didn’t matter. What mattered is that something was very wrong with this place, and they needed to leave as fast as possible.
Yet, when the young man opened his eyes, he didn’t look at her with shock or fear, but anger. A righteous fury that had him just about jumping to his feet.
“Woah! Woah, settle down, you were unconscious, your body needs time-” Emile began, before the man shook his head. That alone seemed to dizzy him, as he braced himself against the wall.
“I don’t have time. I need to- I can’t have been the only one. I need to-”
Emile stepped closer, trying to put a hand on his shoulder, but he immediately bristled at the touch, as if on reflex.
“You’re hurt- look, man… something’s up with this place. We need to get out of here.”
But he just shrugged her off, moving towards the nearest unlocked door. Without hesitation, he flung it open, frantically looking for other survivors. Yet, what he and Emile found…were rows of bathtubs. That horrid, sharpened smell was even stronger now, nearly overwhelming. It was all Reese could do to not keel over. Instead, Emile moved to support him, and the two crept closer, peering over the edge.
Inside the tub, something boiled, bubbled, churned.
The thing inside could barely be called human. The acid gnawed at the corpse like a desperate, starving animal, stripping the charred flesh off of its bones. Unable to support itself, it collapsed further, head sinking under the liquid. Soon, its blank, lifeless expression was stripped down to its gleaming bone. Gone. All gone.
Reese felt like he was standing in a tunnel. Lightless. Empty. Infinite. The feeling of Emile letting go, the sound of sharp retching, something splattering against the tile, all of it was muffled.
What cruel animal is man.
It was the twin jolts of fear and rage that hit him like an IED. Pounding adrenaline restarted his heart, clicking the world into focus. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Emile heaving, shuddering, pulling at her hair. All the unconscious drunkards, for all the rowdy bar fights, none of it could have prepared her for these horrors. That adrenaline pumped through her in turn, she could feel that fear grow sharp and jagged-
She could feel something take that fear, guiding it towards a sound. Footsteps. Reese didn’t seem to hear them, only her. She tried to speak- nothing. No sound could escape her lips. The fear that gripped her chest was unlike anything she had ever felt before. She couldn’t make a whisper but with the full force of her adrenaline she could still move.
The next few moments were a blur. A bottle on a shelf, shouting from the previous room, a desperate lunge, and the distinct sound of rending flesh. Suddenly everything was vivid and clear again. She felt the guards blood trickle through her fingers as Emile looked down and witnessed what she had done. The bottle had become a knife, and she had stabbed someone.
The guard fell to the ground as Emile stared at her shaking, blood stained hands, “I- that wasn’t- I didn’t mean-” She was stammering all while Reese watched on in silent shock.
“He’s not dead Emile,” a feminine voice echoed through her skull, “You have to finish it. You have to make sure.”
Her eyes darted from one end of the room to the other, trying desperately to find the source, but the longer she delayed the louder it got.
“Kill him. Kill Him. KILL HIM. KILL HIM.”
What happens when an animal is backed into a corner?
It attacks.
Suddenly, something in Emile snapped- no, it shattered like a broken bottle. A low scream escaped her throat betwixt clenched jaws as she savaged upon the barely breathing man.The knife became her teeth, raised into the air and plunged into red flesh. A wet schlllrk rang as she pulled it back out, only to bury it down again and again and again.
Reese moved quickly, instinctually- tackling her to the ground. A desperate move- to break this haze that she was in, end whatever vile urge had overcome her.
His eyes widened as they tumbled onto the floor, spotting several pairs of feet. Guards. He had tackled them into the direct view of more guards.
”Shit.”
A snapping noise split the air. An ethereal crocodile came from the ether, ready to defend its user.
A cornered animal attacked.
Meanwhile in the upper floors of the club the Runoilija brothers sat at a bar. Olli casually nursed an elaborate cocktail as he criticized his larger brother, “I think you hit that guy a little too hard, he should be awake again by now but there’s no news from the guards… You better not have killed him by accident like that last guy, Sulka’s already pissed enough at us as is.”
“That was not my fault!” Marko slammed his beer mug on the counter, “That last one wouldn’t stay down, so I just kept hitting him until he did. How was I supposed to know that he’d die so easily!”
“You literally just gave a textbook description of negligence, you moron. Of course it was your fault!” Olli smacked Marko on the side of his head to emphasize his point.
“Why’d you always gotta hit me…” Marko grumbled as he rubbed his head, “If you’re so sure that I’m the moron then let's bet on whether the fresh meat has gone cold or not. Whoever loses pays for the other’s drinks for the rest of the night.”
“Alright deal,” Olli snickered as they shook hands, “I’ll go take a look.”
Olli’s hand restlessly gripped the switchblade in his pocket as he descended through the floors of the nightclub. He fully intended to finish off the drugged up kid in the basement, assuming he refused to work for the boss like most did. He would pin the blame on his dumbass brother and have him pay for his drinks for the whole night. A win-win scenario.
Suddenly, a vibration from his phone. An update from the guards:
The prisoner got out. There are two of them now.
Marko received the same message back at the bar above. In a fit of rage he chucked his mug of beer at the wall with his full strength, just barely missing the skull of the bartender who was serving him. Before he had a chance to cause any more senseless damage another message addressed to himself and all the other guards came through, this time from his brother.
Find them both, NOW! Kill them if you have to, just make sure they don’t leave! If they’re gone when Sulka gets here we’ll all be fucked!
Marko stood up from the bar and began to push through the flirting couples and stumbling drunkards of the nightclub as his Ultraviolet materialized. The fresh meat had a helper and the two were trying to scurry away like rats? That was fine by him. Marko specialized in hunting down rats.

The music seemed to distort more intensely the longer Reese listened. Maybe it was the dull ache of the base, punctuated by a hundred frenzied footfalls, a rhythm that toppled over itself. Maybe it was the rage that sent his own heart racing. He could feel it pound against ｢Magenta Mountain｣ as he held the hourglass close to his chest. Still, there was no time to rest.
Finally, the two of them found the source of the noise. A dark, dingy dancefloor. It stunk of sweat and mildew, and the dancing bodies seemed to twist in the low light. Even as the two entered, splattered in blood, no one took notice. They were too caught up in dance, alcohol, god knows what else. In this moment of respite, Reese turned to Emile. Her gaze was as vacant as his own, she seemed to look right past him.
“Hey, focus.” Impatience had made his voice sharp. There wasn’t time for niceties, not for her. Emile’s eyes readjusted, finding him. In the dark, he could not see that was shone in her expression wasn’t malice, but fear.
“What the hell was that!?” he pressed. She shrunk away in turn.
“...I had to get out.”
“I know that,” Reese frowned, “We’re in the same boat. But that’s not an excuse- I could have helped! You didn’t have to-”
“I have to get out,” Emile continued. Her gaze went past him yet again. Her body shuddered. “Please, please just let me out. I’ll do anything, anything you want, I can’t stand this hell- just let me out!”
“I…” Reese swallowed, hugging his Stand tight. “What?”
His mind reeled, trying to process his next steps. This woman was unstable, that was clear. Unstable, violent, dangerous—not just to others, but herself. If Reese allowed her to simply leave, without understanding what was happening, who knew how many would suffer? Yet, the crowd shifted in strange ways, the beat becoming frantic, the music growing warped and mutilated. Should he stop the woman? Should he protect her from these maddening halls? What should he do? What should he do?
The moment Reese looked up, trying to make a call–Emile was gone. She had vanished deep into the crowd, following that horrid, golden voice. The music reminded Reese of the howl of coyotes in the night. The raucous celebrations of beasts who found their meal.
Against his beating heart, he felt ｢Magenta Mountain｣. Inside those grains lay the vast expanse of evolution, and its uniting link: the will to survive at any cost. His beasts had all failed, each one had faced death, and lost. At this moment, Reese understood them. He knew what it was to be a cornered animal. He would deal with the moral quandaries of man once he escaped. But first, he had to escape. The grains of sand were slipping through the hourglass. He knew he would not die like all those beasts that came before him. He would escape. He would survive. He had to.
Nothing else mattered.
Lost in the crowd, he and Emile reached that same conclusion.
Nothing else mattered.
Open the Game.
Location: Club Naraka, with the players currently on the second basement floor. Throughout the stage, the brown sections of the map are doors, furniture, lockers, crates, and whatever makes sense for the location. The players may interpret the map to read furniture as what would make sense for the location and may find any items that would be reasonable to find in that area of a club; if these ever would conflict in strategies, treat both readings as, somehow, correct.
Green circles are guards, each of which have 333 physicals, Guard: 3, and Basic Weapon Use: 3. These are overall competent operatives who aren’t going to be utterly trivial to get past, and each is armed with a handgun loaded with 9mm bullets and a baton.
The 2nd basement floor has MARKOV on one side in the bar, and Reese on the other in the boiler room. A few guards are already on the map; neither has immediate line of sight on either player.
North of MARKOV is a storage closet, which opens into a bathroom. North of this is the backrooms of the club, with the currently full dance floor in the middle. North of the boiler rooms is the security guard room, and at the far northeast of the map is the office of the club’s owner, filled with various trophies.
Of note for Reese, there are a few dead rats (purple triangles) in the boiler room, and a piece of coral (purple circle) in the office. This chunk of coral is 8 kg, and when reanimated by ｢Magenta Mountain｣ forms as a sort of hemisphere 2m across and 1.5m high.
The 1st basement floor is mostly for club business, with speakers and various technical material spread around. Of note, the many, many guards on the south of the first level will, if the players choose not to fight through the closest stairways, slowly fill into the lowest level, chasing the players. In essence, there will be significantly less guards around the stairs to the ground floor if the players take the longer path.
Finally, the Ground Floor is an open warehouse space with no traditional obstacles- as everything in this room is currently floating airborne, with a gloating Sulka armed with a fire extinguisher acting as the final obstacle. Between Sulka’s mobility, their guards acting as easier targets, and the needs of the match, they may not be RETIRED, but attacks launched at them will temporarily distract them and force them to block or avoid them. Otherwise, Sulka will alternate between launching single massive crates and flurries of small objects at the players as they fight their way through the ground floor, up to the doors at the north.
Goal: Fight your way out of Club Naraka! In particular, leave the club in better shape than your opponent.
While combat is allowed and expected, for the most part guards won’t leave too far from their base location; they can be snuck past. The winner of the match is who gets out of the club in the overall best condition.
Combat between players with the intent or foreseeable result of RETIREMENT is not recommended, though other types of interference are.
Additional Information: MARKOV’s current user is Emile Gulati, who has 233 physicals and 3 Bartending; Bartending gives Emile a thorough understanding of the layout of the club as well as preternatural skill in being able to throw around glass bottles or other similarly hefty items.
As for other NPCs besides the guards, the clubgoers have 222 physicals, Ignoring Any Chaos Around Them 5, and Mostly Irrelevant To The Match 4. Essentially they can act as a sort of cover in the dance floor, but besides hiding among them, don’t worry about anyone besides guards too much.

Team	Combatant	JoJolity
Gallery of Wayward Reverie	Markov	“Come on, what are you doing anyway? Calm down—got up on the wrong side of the bed or something?” Use a variety of tools, items, and tactics during your escape!
I.M.P.A.C.T.	Reese McGuffin	“What I have to do is look for the bone using my strings…” Use a variety of tools, items, and tactics during your escape!

Link to Official Player Spreadsheet
Link to Match Schedule
As always, if you would like to interact with the tournament community and be among the first to get updates for the tournament, please feel free to PM a member of our Judge staff for an invite to our Official Discord Server!

Well I just finished the campaign of Homeworld 3 today and I have to say I am massively dissatisfied with the presented story. I feel utterly disappointed that after 20 years of waiting for a sequel to one of my favorite game franchises; we got something like this.
I feel like this game's story and narrative direction went in a direction that goes counter to the fundamental experience the first 2-3 games delivered that made them memorable so many decades after the fact. I honestly think it is the worst/weakest game of the franchise narratively speaking. All the other aspects of HW3 are fantastic. I 1000% understand what Rob and the rest of the folks at BBI were trying to accomplish here when they said the tech wasn't available 20 years ago with HW2. This game is beautiful and it shows. Visuals, Audio, ship design, UI, are fantastic. Gameplay and mechanical issues are fixable so I'm not going to fault them for that being a bit rough at launch.
I'll try to explain as best I can, but I'm not the best at fully expressing my thoughts out into text, so (BRING SAJUUK TO BEAR) with me.
For context, I've been in the Homeworld community for a LONG TIME. Since the Relicnews days. Not as long as Uber, Shin, or some of the other folks, but long enough to have made many friends from this community I still know to this day, and also I am one of the moderators on the HWU Discord server. So I have spent the better part of my entire life a part of this community in some way.
Here we go... (quote shameless stolen borrowed from The Way of Kings)

Journey Before Destination

The ancient code of the Knights Radiant says “journey before destination.” Some may call it a simple platitude, but it is far more. A journey will have pain and failure. It is not only the steps forward that we must accept. It is the stumbles. The trials. The knowledge that we will fail. That we will hurt those around us.
But if we stop, if we accept the person we are when we fall, the journey ends. That failure becomes our destination.

Why do people love HW1/HWC to this day? What about those games made them so well loved by the community that they are widely considered the de-facto games of the series when it comes to their story telling? But what about it was good that made it that way?
DanVanCrone wrote a fantastic piece on the old Relicnews forums that the entire forum base loved to referenced for many years of how heartfelt and masterful the story connected with its audience.
For me and many others. it was the experience of the story; the journey that took place within those games that gave us the player something to connect with; to relate with. The story of Homeworld presented a simple premise. A people on a planet who discovered their home was not their own. Their true home was out somewhere among the stars. The reasons how they got here or why lost to time and ancient memories turned to myth and legends. Their struggle to survive, their rise out of near extinction to climb into the heavens and stumble upon a lost secret that would transform their entire society in such a way that would drive them across the galaxy.
So we set out on this journey not as a third party viewing Commander Shepard do his thing, or as a specific character; but as someone who had their place right along side the entire Kharakian people as they set out to find their home. Sure we had Fleet Command/Intel, as they were voiced and spoke, but their agency as a character was done in such a way presented them moreso as proxies or acted as a voice for the entirety of the Kharakian (Kushan) people. Karan did have her own voice due to the nature of her linkage to the Mothership and so she had a sort of duality with her position. But both her and Fleet Intelligence were able to act as a means to deliver the emotions for moments of pain, grief, anger, sadness, revenge, hope and everything we experienced as we played the campaign.
We experienced the journey to Hiigara along with the entire crew of the Mothership. We had the welling of anger and sadness when Kharak burned. The anxiousness and anticipation at the Bridge of Sighs as we gained entry to the Hiigaran system. Panic, concern, worry as we fought to survive in orbit around our Homeworld.
The story of Homeworld was never about a character or about chasing 'a thing' but moreso the exploration and experience of an idea that resonated with everyone; to find your home. In doing so, the story unfolded naturally of uncovering the history of what happened in their past of how they came to be on Kharak, experiencing loss, exacting revenge, hope for the future and eventually tears of joy at the accomplishment that the did in fact find Hiigara. And we were there along the way as an active participant to experience all of it along the way as if we were there with them.
The glorious vistas of the galaxy as we jumped from mission to mission. We cried at the end NIS as we saw the epilogue of our journey. The lives lost from the conflict of the fight to gain our Homeworld. The awe and wonder of seeing a lush world to those who knew only endless sands, and especially when we saw Karan insisting that she be the last person to disembark and set foot on the Homeworld.
The agency we had as a player was not viewed through the lens of one person; but through the eyes of an entire people and the journey they took. The universe had enough backstory written within the manual to lay the foundational ground work just enough that you didn't need a lot of technical exposition dumps, or have to have things blatantly explained to you right to your face. So in a sense, you were like part of the crew going on the journey along with them, as part of them.

Homeworld Catacylsm

HWC worked much the same way within its own twist. For this game, the focus was much smaller in scope and placed you with the crew of the Kiith Somtaaw mining vessel.
Here HWC built upon the foundations that HW1 put in place with the lore of the Kiiths, the fallout of returning to Hiigara, and touched upon and provided interested world building elements about the universe. From the aspects of Kiith politics; and the explorations of galactic geopolitics resulting from the Return of the Kushan people.
It was an underdog tale and also one that mirrors and parallels aspects of a Hero's Journey. Only again the hero here is not a person but a group of people. The story aspect of The Beast acted as narrative driving force to drive those concepts of the growth and journey of the Kuun-Lan and her crew as they had that Hero's journey.
You fight alongside the Kuun-Lann, you feel and hear the fear in their voices of the ship engineers as they struggle to understand the Beast when it captures and subverts ships. The tension as the story progresses as the circumstances get more dire. The interactions with the Bentusi and seeing a culture so powerful be shook to their core was a fantastic element of exploring who the Bentusi were as a people. We saw the horrors of the Imperialist experiments and their alliance with the Beast. We got the the thrill of victory with the Siege cannon working as we fought back in the last mission. And lastly at the end of the epilogue sequence where the Somtaww fought, died, and earned their place among the great martial Kiith; the naming of their children as Beastslayers. Truly it was fantastic story telling under the guise of using science fiction and some space horror.
All of the gameplay, and the emotions come out as the story and narrative is experienced. Everything that is told within the game, works within the confines of the established lore of the game, and the prior game. Nothing is over explained, nothing is just hand-waved away. We saw them grow as a crew, saw their fear, stumbles falls, and triumphs along the way. All this while exploring and growing the established lore of the Homeworld universe.
In my view those two stories worked so well for so many people because fundamentally, they were a story of the Journey; not the destination. We lived through those experiences as if we were there with them; we experienced the ups and downs of the emotions of the stories told about the people and their growth within those stories. We were able to connect and relate to those experiences in our own way. And in my view, the ability to connect to those stories made them so fantastic.

“And so, does the destination matter? Or is it the path we take? I declare that no accomplishment has substance nearly as great as the road used to achieve it. We are not creatures of destinations. It is the journey that shapes us. Our callused feet, our backs strong from carrying the weight of our travels, our eyes open with the fresh delight of experiences lived.”

The Stumble

"What you saw belongs to you. A story doesn't live until it is imagined in someone's mind."
"What does the story mean, then?"
"It means what you want it to mean," Hoid said. "The purpose of a storyteller is not to tell you how to think , but to give you questions to think upon. Too often, we forget that.”

In my view Homeworld 2 is where things started to have problems.
Many of us in the community know of the development of Homeworld 2, its cancellation, its rushed story and development. However the story of HW2 mostly throws out the concepts mentioned before. While the story and gameplay is presented in the same way as the prior two games; in my view it fails to present the user a story and experience they can truly and fundamentally connect with and is more 'generic science fiction'.
The driving force of the story is some prophecy we've never seen or heard of before this game in any of the lore. And the main reason for all of it is the now retconned nature of the hyperspace cores. Throw on top of this heavy leaning into the religious themes and mysticism focusing on Karan and Makaan who now and take the stage as the primary protagonists and antagonists of the story.
The character motivations of the Makaan/Vaygr, Karan, and the Bentusi are in my view mostly shallow or very hollow to the point its basically cookie cutter tropes without a lot of nuance to it. The story becomes and is less about the people and more about a MacGuffin game of Hide and Seek. The prior exploration and expansion of the HW universe is entirely ignored in favor of this hide-and-seek of the cores that the entire game has driving it forward. There's no understanding of the growth of the world, of the Kushan people, geopolitics, or anything like that. Just lots of woo-woo mysticism about the Cores and the Progenitors.
With regards to the plot; we're mainly just told 'hey the bad guys are coming, keep the cores away and go find the others'. The Bentusi are unceremoniously killed off without any real build up or explanation. Why are they the last? What happened to them? None of that is explored in a way that gives us any sort of satisfying reason to why this makes sense when they detonate their Harbour Ship to give us their Magic Space Core.
To me there's no personal emotional connection to the story. Why should I care about a magic space prophecy I've never heard of until now? Why are the Vaygr the way they are? None of that is given time to breathe or has enough depth to make me care beyond superficially. The narrative doesn't make you feel less of an active participant in the journey you are going through, and makes you more of a passive viewer of a conflict that has little explanation as to why you should care or understand the importance of said driving forces. The reasons for getting to and through the the game feel rushed so much that the narrative doesn't have a lot of depth or time to breathe in my view.
While the backstory in the manual does give context to the pre-exile events and how it does relate to the events in game which helps with overall universe world building; it's done so in such a way that is retconning the fundamental established soft-rules of the universe that HW1 and HWC laid the ground work on which further compounds or allows the weak story of HW2 to take place, and undercuts the accomplishments of the Kushan people as I will explain shortly.

The Fall - Homeworld 3

However the worse crime is what was squandered with the ending of the HW2. The epilogue of Homeworld 2 put forth a massive chance for some incredible story options to take place with the opening of the Hyperspace Gate Network across the galaxy. A chance for exploring stories that can connect with the player on that personal level like HW1 and HWC and the explorations of what could be explored in this new open universe. What will the Hiigarans do now, what about the Taiidan, the other Inner Rim species, what now will the galaxy look like with the Bentusi gone, why were the gates closed in the first place?! So many fantastic ideas were possible with scopes as large or as small as possible. The discovery, exploration of the Homeworld Galaxy would have been tremendous.
Instead we got the story of Homeworld 3.
Now I don't want to be unnecessary harsh or mean to the writers or the team at BBI/Gearbox for the effort they put into the work for Homeworld 3. This game is a niche title and not anywhere near popular like COD, or Warcraft or Zelda. But to be frank, I really truly feel that y'all need to have some direct constructive criticism of this story's campaign. I don't know what the motivation was for putting this story together, or what was attempting to be told here, but whatever story you were trying to tell did not land well.
I backed this game on fig at the Admiral level, so I threw down hard for this and am truly grateful we got the game at all. I truly want BBI and Gearbox to take this to heart in a way this is not demeaning, but a cold bucket of water that I feel needs to be throw.
The best way I can succinctly put this is that the story of Homeworld 3 lacks the fundamental soul that made Homeworld 1 and Homeworld Cataclysm the absolutely best in the franchise. This game makes Homeworld 2's rushed narrative and slight stumbles look somehow not that bad by comparison. Those on the HWU discord know my passionate dislike of the overall story of HW2 and the retcons that introduced that were further compounded by HWDOK. The story of HW3 makes HW2 look polished and well thought out by comparison.
So I'll be straight with my gripes on this.

• More and worse of the same that came from Homeworld 2. Retcons of established lore, de-emphasizing and diminishment of the motivations of the persons and people's in the prior games. Putting the Progenitor hyperspace cores as the singular driving force of the entire franchise
  
• Everything is now about KARAN SJET. Karan saved the Kushan people. Karan lead the revenge against the Taiidan, Karan found the magic space cores. Karan opened the hyperspace gate network, Karan tries to stop the anomaly. Karan probably cured cancer and saved JFK from assassination for all I know.
  
• The compounding of the Progenitor hyperspace SpaceMagic and making Karan the primary protagonist of the series continues to massively undercut the accomplishments of the Kharakian people off at the knees. The entire back story of HW1 that details their struggle and clawing up the tech tree, the struggle to survive on the harsh conditions of Kharak, how the discovery of the Guidestone and the goal of Hiigara the singular unifying goal of reaching their lost Homeworld uniting their entire population. Everything the HW1 manual details and gloriously shows the accomplishments of their PEOPLE to get to where they were at the start of HW1. All of that is diminished because 'magic hyperspace core'. I could go on but you get the gist. (I won't get into the further compounding retcons of HWDOK, but this just furthers that same narrative direction.) In my view, the Homeworld series has and never been about a person, but the story and journey of a group or people whose plight or experience is something that can be emotionally and personally related to by anyone.
  
• Karan was only a small person out of her entire population and only ONE person of the entire crew of the mothership. She was not some messianic figure, but someone who sacrificed for her people. Now I get the messianic implications of that, but the first game was never about her.
  
• HW2 already crossed over the line of making the story about a person rather than about the people. HW3 takes that and makes it worse. Gone is a story about the Hiigaran people and how their place in the Inner Rim has taken hold a century after landing back home. No explaination of how the inner rim has changed since the gates opened. Nothing about the Galactic Council. Nothing about other species or factions.
  
• The world building of HW3 is basically non-existent or is very poorly done as compared to the last games. No real understanding of the world at large since the ending of the last game or how the events have unfolded and affected the universe as we have come to understand it. Unless you go on the HWU website to get some level of backstory to get an idea of what's going on leading into HW3, you'll have no idea what the hell is happening.
  
• The antagonist of HW3 makes the life-size cardboard cutout of Makaan win the Oscar for best actor in a science fiction video game. They are bad and lack any sort of depth at all as a character. They instead come off at worst as cringe at and best cliché trope-y bad. Throughout the entire campaign we have no idea how/why/what they are doing the things they are doing. Nothing is explained that makes any sense. They just monologue at us with some over the top badguy speeches without any real understanding of what they are after or what their motivations are. Seriously, the the cut scenes from Homeworld 1 with Emperor Riesstiu IV the Second or Makaan from HW2 had more narrative depth and in universe understanding of their motivations than the antagonist of HW3. I have seriously no idea how this Incarnate Queen got the power she did, or why she was doing what she was attempting. No reasons why beyond I AM BADGUY WITH ULTIMATE POWER. JOIN ME OR DIE. It was the equivalent of 'Somehow Palpatine has returned levels of bad. How did she get the Progenitor tech she did, how did she live as long as she does, how does she have magic hyperspace cores that let her go into the Magic Hyperspace Navigator Mind Realm?? No idea Something the OG Homeworld games did very well was of show don't tell, and telling just enough for it to make sense without having to go into crazy techno battle or massive mystical assumptions of how things worked. This is one of those moments I feel like it did the opposite of that. We're shown a WHOLE LOT OF STUFF, but have no way to reconcile it in game in a way that narratively makes sense or resonates with the playeuniverse.
  
• The massive in-universe violations of established lore regarding hyperspace. Holy shit this is so bad I don't even know how this came about. The Progenitor hyperspace cores and their special spacemagic look mostly normal by comparison. There is no lore or story elements that help explain how any of this is possible. It's never explained at all beyond 'it happened just go with it'. Absolutely nothing, nada, not a bit of information is explained or made attempts to understand at how the Incarnate Queen is using hyperspace as a weapon. The violation of the mass override safety interrupts or gravity blocking or interfering with hyperspace is never explained at all. Nothing to show how she is THROWING PLANETS AT OTHER PLANETS. This is the equivalent of the Holdo Manuver from 'The Force Awakens'; massively cool to see on screen; but holy shit this violates so many in-universe conventions of how FTL travel works that it fundamentally causes problems.
  
• MASSIVELY more leaning into the mysticism aspects and moreso science fantasy side of storytelling are done within this game than the prior four games. I am not sure on the motivations here, but I feel like it was done in such a way that that leaves much to be desired for HOW/WHY. I get that they may have been trying to lean more into the nature of the Unbound and how the Navigators of the mothership class vessels are connected to their ships and have a much more profound view of the universe (similar to what the Bentusi alluded to). But this just felt very out of place and didn't make a lot of sense to me why it was presented in this way. I feel like it could have been done better or in such a way that helped it link up better to the ideas of the Unbound, but this was not it.
  
• The way HW3 story plays feels like someone only had a cursory understanding of the Homeworld lore and just did their own thing with it irrespective of the established lore and world building that was previously done. Shutting down the gate network??? WHY. This just takes the ending of HW2 and throws all those chances I mentioned and just throws it in the trash.
  
• No explanation of why the Incarnate Queen thinks she can make a new race of Unbound?? Why is this important? Don't know! Why are Karan and Imogen somehow special and able to stop her within the Hyperspace Mental universe? No idea and it really pushes things way into Science fantasy.
  
• Imogen as a character I feel is 'okay'. I am not sure if its the relationships she has with the other characters in the game, or if its just the story as a whole doesn't give her a lot to work with. To me it feels like there some aspect of her story and character I feel is missing from the game. Again its probably my displeasure of the game focusing on individual characters instead of larger abstractions of people like the prior games before HW2.
  

Final Thoughts

Fundamentally I know this is a personal opinion of mine and not everyone will agree with it. That's fine, but for me I have so many issues with the story and many of the pillars that are supposed to hold it up that at a certain point I can only say that the story is for me very bad and goes against the grain of what the foundational games to me setup for the franchise. It does nothing to grow or expand the HW universe lore in any interesting ways. I say this as someone who's been in and grown up with the Homeworld community for the last 26 years.
Story-wise; it's disappointing, bland, and generic at the very least and doesn't live up to the GOAT levels of quality the originals of HW1 and HWC (and to an extent HW2) put forth; to being insultingly bad at worst. I don't mean this as an slight to the writing staff as I know that a LOT of the OG folks involved with the first games were involved, but I really feel like there was a misstep here. It plays well and the pacing is kinda faster than I'd have wanted within a Homeworld game. However the core story ideas that make up the game are poorly explained, weak, or are so counter the established lore that for me it doesn't hold up well. This is magnified by the antagonist motivations and actions being poorly explained which in turn doesn't give the story or world to grow in any meaningful way.
I honestly don't know where or how the path the franchise has taken can be corrected. In my personal opinion, its gone off in a direction that gave the first games their unique style that made them attractive in the first place. Without doing massive retcons to entirely course correct to bring the game to where I personally think would be more akin to the original games I don't know where they'll try to take the game. This recent game I feel it has pushed more into the generic bland science fantasy genre with this newest entry into the franchise; rather than taking the careful slow burn, grounded science fiction based abstract story approach that connects with a player on a deeply personal level.
For me, while may it may have the gameplay mechanics and RTS genre DNA of seasoned devs in the industry that have been involved with Homeworld and other games over the years, it lacks the soul that made the first games who they were and is Homeworld game in name only.
Thank you for coming to my TED talk.