Club Vlad sat near the confluence of Central Avenue and Washington Avenue, Albany’s two main thoroughfares. Two stories with blackout windows and a box office from when it used to be a movie theater, it was swarmed with people when Dom first spotted it ahead. He was somewhat familiar with it: He passed it every day on his way to work, and it was always busy around his time of evening, even on weeknights. Part of him always wanted to go inside and be a part of the scene, but he never did.
The man in sunglasses - his name was Joe - led Dom toward the club, and even before Joe spoke, Dom somehow knew that it was their destination. “There,” Joe said. “We’ll go around back.”
Dom and Joe had been walking for what seemed like an hour but couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes. Dom stuck as close to Joe as possible as if for protection, and had become accustomed to his pungent smell. It was noticeable only at extremely close range, part sickly sweet and part…something else, something Dom could not place but still somehow recognized. They were two blocks from the club, maybe three, and Dom could hear the pulsing techo/house/whatever music as clearly as if he were standing in the middle of the dancefloor. He could hear the chatter of the people inside, or at least he imagined he could. He could smell them too: Beneath the odors of perfume, desperation, and spiritual rot was something richer, something blissful. Dom realized for the first time that he was parched - so parched - and drool filled his mouth.
A crowd of people waited outside Club Vlad, talking and laughing; some vaped, some stared down at their cellphones like Gollum with his precious ring. Dom’s first reaction was to avoid them. Perhaps sensing this…or perhaps feeling it himself…Joe ducked into an alleyway two doors down from the club. “We’ll go in the back,” Joe explained.
The back entrance to Club Vlad was a single door underneath a bare bulb. The music was so loud that Dom’s head began to throb. Inside, a dark hallway terminated in an archway filled with throbbing white light. Dread filled Dom as they approached it - he didn’t want to be around people - but thankfully they went into a room off the hall instead. An office. A cramped desk, a filing cabinet. A set of stairs disappeared into shadows.
“Sit,” Joe said.
Dom obeyed, sitting in the swivel chair.
Joe went up the stairs and Dom was alone. The deep coldness that had long settled into his bones made itself known again, and Dom leaned forward, wrapping his arms around his chest for warmth. The muffled music vibrated in his skull, setting his teeth on edge, and the various smells wafting in from the main room assaulted his senses. He was alternately repulsed and aroused by the crashing din of scents: The good, the bad, and the mouth watering. A sharp pain cut through his stomach like the killing edge of a knife, and Dom hugged himself tighter. Had his throat always been this dry? His throat felt like sandpaper; his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth and getting it unstuck hurt so badly that tears sprang to his eyes.
Dom rubbed his arms with his hands and tried to still his chattering teeth. He looked around for a blanket, a discarded jacket, something to cover himself with, but there was nothing. Only drifts of glitter on the floor and walls. He supposed it came from a party or something. He’d never been to a night club but it seemed fitting.
A sound drew his attention to the door leading back into the hall. A woman - no older than a girl - stood there, looking confused and unsteady. She was dressed in black, wore glow sticks around her wrists and neck, and held a red solo cup. “I have to pee,” she said drunkenly and laughed. “I thought this was the bathroom.”
A cold wind washed over Dom, and Joe was standing next to him. “The bathroom’s up here,” he said.
“Oh, good,” the girl laughed, “I thought it was here but I didn’t know. This is my first time here.” She held her cup aloft. “Take me to it.”
Joe glanced at Dom. “Come on.”
They formed a party as they climbed the stairs, Dom in the tear and Joe at the head. The girl stumbled and held onto the railing, talking incessantly. Her voice hurt Dom’s head, but the hot smell wafting from her was intoxicating. Drool coursed down his chin and his breathing came in short, hot bursts. Another sharp pain rent his stomach, and he winced.
At the top of the stairs, where the lights were cold and white, a woman in black stood by a doorway, her back ramrod straight and her eyes vacant. Her face was gaunt, her white flesh pulled tight across her skull. She wore a black dress and her black hair long and straight. Dom only caught a glance at her before looking away again.
She looked like a ghost.
“Show her the bathroom,” Joe said.
The woman’s eyes slowly, ponderles, went from Joe to the drunk girl. Her expression, like Joe’s, was dead. She had no expression. “This way.”
She and the drunk girl disappeared down the hall, and Joe led Dom into a room. Though it was pitch black, Dom could still see; not very well…but he could see. Suddenly, a blinding white light flicked on in front of him, causing him to stop and fall back a step. Ahead, through an archway, sat a vaulted chamber, at the center of which sat a man. To Dom’s light dazzled eyes, he seemed a proud king perched upon a throne, the skulls of his many enemies piled around him. Dom blinked and turned his head slightly to the side. His eyes began to adjust, and the world came into focus.
The man was not, as it had first seemed, sitting on a throne. Instead, he was esconded in a motorized wheelchair. The piles of skulls were actually various pieces of machinery, the kind you’d find in a hospital room. A clear tube extended from one of them to the side of the man’s neck: Yellow liquid flowed from the machine and into the man. Another tube, this one in the other side of his neck, filtered out a mixture of what looked like yellow pus and black sludge. An infected malodor filled the air, and the machines whirred softly as they worked.
As for the man himself, his appearance was normal at first glance, Dressed in a flowing red velvet robe, a blue and green blanket with a plaid pattern draped over his shoulders, he was portly, about fifty, and had shoulder length grayish hair with a bald spot in the middle. If the local theater put on a production of Hamilton, they could cast a worse Ben Franklin than him.
On closer inspection, he was not normal at all. His complexion was yellow and waxy, like a statue, and his body was lumpy, misshapen, resembling an overfilled trash bag stuffed with cotton. His eyes were sick and yellow, and something about his posture seemed…off. It didn’t make sense, but the only thing Dom could think was: He looks impossible.
Joe stopped at the edge of the shadows, where the line between light and darkness lay. He seemed to stand up a little straighter, a general greeting his king. “Here he is,” Joe said.
The man squinted slightly against the glare of the light and motioned with one gnarled hand. “Step into the light,” he said. His voice was soft and kind, that of a senile though loving grandmother. Dom imagined he felt a pull toward the man, and did as he was bidden, wincing as the light stung his eyes.
For a moment, the man stared at him, his waxen features frozen fast as stone. Then, a subtle look of compassion flickered across his face. Dom did not believe in God, but he suddenly felt like a man standing before God, his every thought, feeling, and transgression laid bare. He had never felt so naked in his life, so exposed. He had the sense that the man before him could see everything, knew everything.
“You’ve been through a lot,” the man said. It was not a question, but a statement.
Everything Dom had been through over the past couple of days came back to him in a rush, and hot tears filled his eyes. He nodded.
The man nodded slightly, more to himself than to Dom. “Kneel down,” he said, “I want to look at you.”
Dom knelt without question.
The man lifted one hand and touched Dom’s face, tilting Dom’s head from one side to the other like a farmer appraising a horse. His fingers were long and bony, his nails ragged and unkempt; his touch was like ice. He brushed his knuckles over the purple bruise on Dom’s cheek, and there was such gentleness in that one act that Dom broke down sobbing. He leaned into the man’s touch like a cat and gave voice to his misery.
“Shhh,” the man said, “it’s all over now.”
“W-What’s happening to me?” Dom asked.
In his heart of hearts, however, he already knew.
“You died,” the man said patiently. “And you came back.”
Hearing it stated so plainly, Dom cried even harder.
“Only a handful of people throughout history can claim to have defeated death,” the man said, stroking Dom’s hair, “and you’re one of them. You should be proud.”
“How?” Dom asked between sobs. “What am I?”
The man stroked Dom’s cheek. “You’re the same thing I am.”
At that, Dom looked up at the man. “What are you?” he asked.
A little, knowing smile touched the man’s lips, and when he spoke, his canine teeth were longer and sharper than before. “I’m a vampire.”
“No,” Dom moaned and shook his head, “no, no, no.” He grabbed the man’s hand and held tight, his tears coming faster. He trembled like a frightened animal and squeezed his eyes closed, as if by doing so he could escape the hell his life had become.
But there was no escape.
“You have a lot of questions,” the man said, monologuing now rather than speaking directly to Dom, “I had the same questions when I was your age. I have spent the last forty-two years of my life trying to answer them, but every answer I find leads me to still more questions. There’s one thing I’m certain of, though.”
Dom blinked the tears from his eyes. The last of them had been squeezed from his dead tear ducts and he had no more to give. He simply stared into space, trying to come to grips with his situation.
“There is freedom in death,” the man said. “Death is easy. It’s simple. Once it’s over, you feel no pain, no sadness, no grief. It’s living that’s hard.”
As he spoke, he brushed his long nails across Dom’s scalp. It was a soothing feeling, and served to calm him. “People have so many troubles.” A note of revulsion crept into his voice. “So many needs, so many desires. People are complex but we’re not. We’re easy to please. A vampire wants only two things: A little blood and one more night.”
The combination of his touch and his voice had pacified Dom to the point of almost tranquility. “I’m scared,” Dom heard himself mumble.
Nodding almost reluctantly, the man said, “Fear is one of the only emotions a vampire can’t escape. Everything feels fear. Do you want to know a secret?”
Dom nodded.
“I’m afraid too,” the man confessed. “I’m afraid of death. Well…death as it were. I’m terrified that my body will rot away and leave me a pile of bones somewhere, unable to move but still aware”
A shudder went through Dom.
“As I’m sure you’ve seen yourself, the movies lied. We rot just like any other dead thing. Our flesh decays, our organs turn to sludge, and we go from rational men to monsters whose only thought is feeding.”
Now it was his turn to shiver.
“But…you’re not like that,: Dom said.’
The man smiled. “I’m lucky, I guess” A thin yellow fluid began to drip from his nostrils. He did not seem to notice. “What is your name?”
“Dominick,” Dom said.
“I’m Merrick,” the man said, “and this is my family.”
Dom realized that they were now surrounded by others, ten in all. They stood ramrod straight, their eyes vacant and their faces devoid of humanity. They were mainly men, though one was a woman. Some were pale, others were blue or black, and one was little more than a skeleton clad in withered brown skin, a white button up and jeans hanging from its frame.
A thought occurred to Dom. “You said my brain was going to rot…”
“Not necessarily,” Merrick cautioned, “though it’s possible.”
“Am I going to be…?”
“Like them?” Merrick asked. “Braindead and staring?”
Sheepishly, Dom nodded.
“Maybe,” Merrick allowed. “But these people are free of everything that troubles humanity. You were human just a short time ago. I’m sure you remember all too well what it was like. The constant politics, the moral quandaries, the philosophical pontificating. Human beings - and make no mistake, we are humans - were not meant for all of that. We’re animals. We were made to hunt, fuck, and sleep. Somewhere along the way, we got pretentious and started complicating things.” He looked at Dom, sizing him up, seeming to read him. “Things that animals take for granted, people work their entire lives to achieve. If an animal wants to fornicate, it fornicates. If a man wants to fornicate, he needs to be tall, handsome, rich, funny, progressive when it suits women but traditional when it doesn’t. If a man wants a home, he has to work thirty years for it. An animal has only to dig a hole in the ground.”
Every word struck a chord with Dom.
Because every word was true.
“Unfortunately, the living won’t allow us to live that freely, so we have to hide. These people here - my children - need a guiding hand, a protector, someone who can lead them. And I, an old man, need help.” Here he smiled playfully and patted his bulging stomach. “My body is mostly sawdust and cotton balls at this point, so I can’t do much. I share my wisdom and my knowledge with them, and they take care of me.”
“Why haven’t you…rotted?” Dom asked.
“Embalming fluid,” Merrick said. “Blood doesn’t sustain you. Embalming fluid does.” He smiled at Dom. “It can sustain you as well. If you’ll stay with us. We’re not the most attractive bunch, but we’re a family, and we really wish you’d join us.”
A family.
Dom’s parents had broken up and he lived with his mother. He had never had a family before, and had always wanted one, a real one, like in the movies. Even as a grown man, he sought the love, acceptance, and belonging that a family brings. He sought it in the wrong ways, but that - and not sex, not romantic love - is what he had really wanted all along.
This is what he had wanted all along.
“I want to,” Dom said.
Working quickly, Merrick slashed his wrist open with his thumbnail. An ugly mixture of stale blood, siphoned from someone else, and embalming fluid leaked out. “If you choose to drink, my blood will be in you. You will be my son and I will be your father. You will obey me as your father. You will do whatever is asked of you for this family, as this family will do for you. You will not reveal the secrets of this family to anyone outside of it. You will protect this family from all threats, both inside and out. Do you accept?”
He held his bleeding wrist out to Dom.
Dom did not question, nor did he hesitate. He grabbed the hand of his father, brought it to his mouth, and drank from the seeping wound. The fluid was cold, thick, and vile.
It tasted like belonging.
“Have you fed yet?”
“No,” Dom said.
“Before you do, I have a question for you. Who did this to you? Who made you?”
Dom thought. Everything was hazy. “Was it someone in this room?” Merrick asked.
Dom shook his head. “Her name is…” he wracked his brain. “Heather.”
Merrick nodded. “So there’s another out there.” He looked at Joe. “Did you turn her?”
“Yes,” Joe said.
Merrick looked annoyed. “I’ve told you not to go out and feed on your own. You have no self-control. You drink too much and create others, which creates headaches for the family. Tomorrow night, I want you and Dom to find her and bring her here.” “Okay,” Joe said.
Merrick looked over Dom’s shoulder. “Jess? Can you come here?”
The black haired woman from earlier came out of the shadows, the drunk girl with her, arms tied behind her back. The girl looked dazed. “Max,” Merrick said to the skeletal corpse-thing, “help her.”
Max, Jessie, and another vampire named Matt tied chains around the girl’s ankles and hoisted her aloft via a pulley system. Upside down, she swung back and forth. Merrick instructed the others to leave the room. “Max,” he said.
On his way out, the corpse-thing produced a knife and dragged it across the girl’s throat, slicing her skin; blood spurted out. Max leaned in to taste it, but Merrick shooed him away. When he and Dom were alone, Merrick told Dom, “Go to her.”
But Dom was already on his feet, his eyes transfixed by the crimson life flowing from her pumping throat. The hot, rich smell filled his nostrils and tantalized his senses. Saliva filled his mouth and his stomach panged with hunger. Some small, human part of his decaying brain screamed at him to stop, but he did not listen to it. He had been human for almost thirty years, and he had been miserable. Now, in this chamber of the undead, he gave himself over to his dark thirst. Like a man in a dream, he shuffled to her, inhaled the sweet scent of her blood, and shivered. He was so lost in lust that he hardly noticed the strange, cumbersome feeling of his descended fangs.
“Drink,” Merrick said.
Opening his mouth wide, Dom sank his teeth into the girl’s neck. Her blood filled his mouth and splashed down his throat. Warmth thawed the ice in his marrow and spread through him. His dead heart began to flutter, then to pound. His knees shook, his body trembled, and his mind rolled away on a tide of ecstasy.
As it was his first meal, he couldn’t drink much. Before long, his stomach was hard and distended and his body burned with fire. He collapsed to a heap on the floor and twitched as random nerve endings, stimulated by the blood, began to misfire. He felt full, warm, and drunk. He closed his eyes and let himself drift.
Dominick Mason had died.
And this…
This was heaven.
***
With all that was happening in the city of Albany, the last thing Bruce Kenner needed on Thursday morning was a visit from Bertha the bitch, but that’s exactly what he got. She flew into his office like she owned the place and instantly started in on him. Young man this and have you talked to Joe Rossi that. You’d think she was his boss. And if she were his boss, he’d quit and find another line of work. He heard McDonald’s was hiring.
Bruce almost snapped at her. He’d been up most of last night riding around Albany and looking for Dominick Mason. He and Vanessa expected him to drop dead somewhere close to the medical examiner’s office, but if he had, he’d done so in a super secret location.
“I’ve been busy,” Bruce said, “but I’m going to go by his place of work today.”
Tired and still confused over that bullshit from last night, he had no energy to argue with the old crone. He could spare a few minutes to talk to Joe Rossi, he figured. He assumed that Jessie was safe but he owed it to her to check. If he found the girl, he’d take her back to her grandmother (sorry, kid, really) and try to avoid arresting the guy. Unless he came off as a creep, then he’d bust his ass. See, people assumed that an older guy with a younger girlfriend was some master manipulator hell bent on evil deeds. Sometimes they were, but hell, his grandparents married when his grandpa was twenty-one and his grandma sixteen. They were married for fifty-five years and loved each other to the end. Maybe it was innocent, maybe not. It wasn’t his job to judge either way. Just gimme the girl so I can get her grandma off my back and no one gets hurt.
“It’s about time you started doing your job,” Bertha said, “I heard on the police scanner last night that you people lost a body. What kind of town is this? Your coroner is a drunk who makes up stories about bodies walking away. He probably sold it to black people.”
Bruce couldn’t help it; he snorted laughter.
“Now what would black people want with a dead body?”
“Probably to use it as a prop in one of their rap videos.”
Bruce didn’t know much about music videos, but he was pretty sure that the people who made them didn’t like the smell of corpse any more than the rest of us. “I’ll be sure to round up all the local rappers for questioning. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
Luckily for him, there was not, and Bertha left shortly thereafter. Alone and able to hear himself think, Bruce sat back in his chair and went over his mental checklist for the day. First order of business, go to Club Vlad. Second, find Dominick Mason. There were others, but that was the most important. He wanted the body found so someone could get to work explaining this whole weird thing. There had to be an explanation. The thought that there wasn’t, that a dead guy literally rose from the grave and disappeared into the night, deeply disturbed Bruce, and the more this whole thing remained ongoing, the more disturbed he would become.
Needing some fresh air, he decided to hit up Club Vlad.
Outside, the day was hot and sunny. Waves of heat shimmered from the pavement and not a single breath of air stirred in the whole world. Bruce slipped on a pair of sunglasses and drove over to Club Vlad. It occurred to him that the place might be closed during the day; it was the only place Joe Rossi was associated with. His address in the computer system was Glens Falls, far to the north. The messages he sent Jessie indicated that he lived onsite at Club Vlad.
The build, wedged between a corner store and a check cashing place, was as grimy and dumpy looking as it had always been. The front windows were blacked out and covered with posters and fliers for punk concerts, house bands, and far left political organizations: The Albany Social Justice Center, something called Bash the Fash 2025, and Bruce’s favorite. ACAB. He caught some kid spraying that on the side of the police station once, and under extreme police torture (ie, a good tongue lashing), the kid told him it meant All Cops Are Barnacleheads.
Bruce shot the kid on the spot and planted a gun on him.
How's that for barnaclehead?
Calm down, he didn’t really do that. He made him clean the graffiti off with a toothbrush. LOL he was out there for hours.
The sidewalk in front of the former theater was empty save for some little. The box office was abandoned. There was no open sigh, but then again, there was no closed sign either. He parked his cruiser at the curb, killed the engine, and got out, sweat instantly springing to his brow.
To his surprise, the door opened. Inside, a couple steps led down to a dance floor. A bar lined the wall to his right, and a couple more sets led up to a railed platform filled with tables. Above, a huge balcony looked down on him. A giant disco ball hung from the ceiling like a pair of glittery nuts and there were cages here and there. Presumably where girls danced go-go style. Oh yeah, nothing hotter than a woman behind bars. Why do you think Bruce became a cop in the first place?
Speaking of glittery nuts, there was glitter everywhere. On the floor, on the tables, on the bar. It twinkled like flecks of diamond and swirled around your feet when you walked. Bruce imagined big buckets of the stuff raining down on the dance floor at midnight and he shuddered. Imagine having glitter stuck in your hair. That shit would never come out.
Music played from the sound system, not as loud as it would be during operating hours. It sounded like ‘80s metal, not exactly what he expected from a place like this.
Some say life she's a lady
Kinda soft, kinda shady
I can tell you life is rich
She's no lady, she's a bitch
Being morning, the place was deserted except for a man behind the bar, busy at cleaning the countertop in anticipation for the night’s events. He was tall, Hispanic or Italian, and feminine, with a single earring and a tank top.
Bruce moseyed over to the bar and the barkeep looked up, missing a beat when he realized the fuzz was here. He sat down his rag and walked over. “Can I help you?” he asked in a whispy voice.
“Yeah,” Bruce said, “I’m looking for Joe Rossi. Is he here?”
“I don’t know,” the bartender said. He looked nervous. “I can check.”
Before Bruce could answer, he scurried off, leaving him alone.
They suck my body out
But friend there is no doubt
I'm gonna pay the devil his dues
Cause I'm sick of being abused
Bruce looked around, his fingers absently drumming on the countertop. Club Vlad was a clashing mix of grunge and glam that made his head hurt. He imagined what the place must be like at midnight, packed and noisy, and nodded to himself. Yeah, this was the spot, he guessed, the place all the cool kids went, if they went anywhere anymore. Hell, if he was thirty years younger, he might come here.
He had been waiting for almost twenty minutes when a voice spoke behind him. He turned with a start, and beheld the strangest man he had ever seen in his life. Short and plump - lumpy, even - he sat in a wheelchair, a red blanket draped over his shoulders and his hands resting on his knees. He was about fifty with sparse gray hair falling to his shoulders and a plastic-looking face. He looked like a wax statue of Ben Franklin come to life, and a deep sense of disquiet stirred in the pit of Bruce’s stomach.
Just can't fight the temptation
It's become my inspiration
Gonna get myself an axe
Break some heads, break some backs
It was only then that Bruce noticed the sickly sweet smell of death.
It seemed to come from the man in waves.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” the man said, “my name is Merrick Garvis and I own Club Vlad. Maybe I can be of assistance.”
Bruce grew up in the south where manners and saving face were paramount. His mother and his grandmother both taught him that it was impolite to stare. Maybe he'd been in New York so long that he’d forgotten himself, or maybe Merrick Garvis was just the strangest looking man in the world. Either way, Bruce couldn’t help gaping at his strange appearance. Recovering, he shook his head. “I’m sorry, I -”
Merrick smiled and waved one hand. Why was it so goddamn skeletal? “Don’t worry. I was injured in a fire a long time ago and this is the best they could do for me. To be honest, I’d stare too. What can I help you with, officer?”
“I’d like to talk to Joe Rossi,” Bruce said. “I understand he works for you.”
“He did,” Merrick said, “but I had to let him go. Did he do something wrong?”
Bruce sighed. “Well, yeah, he’s shacked up with a sixteen year old runaway.”
A look of concern crossed Merrick’s features, such as they were. “Oh, my, that is concerning. I haven’t seen him in several days. I assume he went home. He lives in Glens Falls.”
Bruce nodded, his mind working. If Rossi really was in Glens Falls, that meant the whole mess was someone else’s problem. He could send Bertha up there to bother some other poor barnacle head and be rid of her. Yet…he didn’t think Rossi was in Glens Falls. Bruce had a knack for knowing when people were lying, and he was certain that Merrick Garvis was doing just that. It couldn’t be a facial tick, as his features were largely unmoving, like clay. Maybe it was something in his cloudy eyes. Maybe it was the tone of his voice. Or maybe Bruce had the shining and knew things just for the hell of it. In any event, the certainty that Merrick Garvis was lying grew stronger with each passing second.
“Why’d you fire him?”
“He got drunk and hit one of the customers.”
“What did he do?” Bruce asked. “What was his position?”
“He was a bouncer.”
“Aren’t bouncers supposed to hit people?”
Merrick fumbled. “Well…not to punch them in the face for bumping into them.”
“How long did he work for you?”
“Six months.”
“Did you ever see him with an underage girl?”
“Of course not,” Merrick said, “you have to be twenty-one to get in. I make sure everyone’s ID is checked at the door.”
“What if she had a fake ID?”
“Then I guess she’d get in, but I’d assume she was of legal age.”
“You said he shoved someone, when did this happen?”
“Last week,” Merrick said.
“I thought you said he hit someone.”
Merrick again fumbled. “I did.” Now his face seemed to darken a little. A strange yellowish liquid, too thin to be snot, began to drip from his nostrils. Bruce barely suppressed a smear of disgust. “I understand you have a job to do but playing mind games with me isn’t going to solve anything. I can give you his address. Other than that, I can’t help you further.”
“Fair enough,” Bruce said. “But I’d like to see your ID please.”
Merrick glared at him. “I suppose you want my name, rank, and serial number as well.”
“Actually, yeah, I’d love that.”
Merrick drew a deep sigh. “Okay.”
In five minutes, Bruce had Merrick’s ID, social, and all other relevant information. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have bothered, even though he was well within his rights to ask for this information from someone he was questioning. But something about Merrick Garvis was off, and not just his weird face or strangely bulbous body. Bruce was just smart enough to realize that something was going on here, but not quite smart enough to even begin to imagine what.
When he had everything he needed and saw no reason to stick around, Bruce bid Merrick farewell and left the club. Before he could do anything else, he got a call from dispatch: Officer needed assistance in Pine Hills. Bruce slipped behind the wheel and went forth to help, momentarily putting Merrick Garvis out of his mind.
But soon or later, he would get back to him.
Oh yes he would.

Hello!
I hope we're all doing well!
We did relatively okay last time, with our secondary parlay landing clean! Everything else kinda fell apart, but I did a bit better than I feared i would have done.
Another rough fight night to predict here! Should be a fun event though.
Onwards to the predictions!
(c) - Champ
D/DWCS - Debut/Dana Whites' Contender Series
FLS - Fight Lose Streak
FWS - Fight Win Streak
NS - No Streak
(#x) - Rank in Division
x/3 - Confidence Levels
lets go!
Prelims
Women’s Strawweight
Emily Ducote (-275) (13-8-0, NS) v Vanessa Demopoulos (+220) (10-5-0, NS) - Oh look, a fight that’s probably going to go to the scorecards. Ducote is coming off a relatively strong win against Yoder, she was very capable of stuffing all of those takedown attempts coming her way and matching the tenacity of Yoder on the feet. Now, I am always a bit iffy when it comes to someone with a record like Ducotes’, but I do believe they (The UFC) didn’t quite build her up properly, giving her opponents like Godinez and Hill very early on in her UFC career. Ducote is a fairly well rounded fighter who does well on her feet, but most importantly, her grappling is relatively good, having been capable of defending the takedowns of Godinez, which isn’t a small feat since Godinez is well known for her wrestling capabilities. That ability to defend takedowns is massively important when dealing with someone like Demopoulos, whose main threat in most of her fights are her takedowns and grappling attacks. Ducote has fairly standard striking attacks for a well rounded MMA fighter, she is very quick on the feet and throws a lot of volume when she attacks, which could prove challenging to Demopoulos as she tries to enter range and initiate a takedown. Now, whilst Ducote has a lot of volume and speed to her strikes, she lacks in the “finishing” area, she doesn’t quite have the tenacity to finish her opponents, there’s no hurry. With that said though, she does have a bit of a familiar pattern of touching up her opponents until that right hand finds its mark, then she adds emphasis on that right-side punch. She has, however, one weird tendency to just stand there, staring, whilst in the pocket, with a rather square stance, and whilst that might help her with the offensive output, she is still standing there with minimal defences. That’s something that has contributed to her losses in the past and something that Demopoulos could possibly use as a way to find an entry for a takedown. Demopoulos is coming off a win against Murata, but it was a fairly unimpressive performance with Demopoulos getting taken down a lot, and although she looked fairly good on the feet with powerful single attacks, I don’t quite know how effective she is going to be against a volume-heavy fighter like Ducote. Demopoulos has a few tendencies as a fighter that are great, she is fairly active in the guard off her back, throwing up submissions very quickly, but the problem with that is nowadays if you can’t lock in a submission, then you are losing the fight, and I think if Demopoulos does pull guard, Ducote should have the ability to control her on the ground and avoid submissions. This is a very, very 50/50 fight in my opinion. Ducote has a slight advantage on the feet due to her speed and volume, but on the ground it’s looking like Demopoulos has the advantages there, as she does have great instinct on when to lock in a submission or shift the hips. The safest bet here is either o2.5 rounds or the fight going the distance, this isn’t a ML bet fight by any means in my opinion. As for my prediction, I am very split but i’m leaning towards Ducote to win this one, but it’s the slightest lean one can imagine.
Ducote via UD - (1/3)
Bantamweight
Alatengheili (+150) (16-9-2, NS) v Kleydson Rodrigues (-185) (8-3-0, NS) - This is a fascinating one. Alatengheili was scheduled to fight a month ago but it was cancelled due to an illness, so I fully expect him to fight again this week. The kinda good news about that is he doesn’t really need to have a big camp since he already had the conditioning and cardio from that other camp preparing for Victor Hugo. Alatengheili is a very aggressive and powerful fighter, everything he throws has so much speed and power behind it, and whilst there might not be a lot of volume behind those punches, he shouldn’t be underestimated on the feet because of his explosiveness. Alatengheili also uses that explosive power to wrestle, and he is fairly good on the ground, able to maintain a strong position at all times and just land heavy ground and pound. Alatengheili is powerful but he doesn’t display that power with reckless abandon, he tends to be a bit of a counter puncher, his hands are often low or loose, which lures his opponent in to strike, in which he then propels himself forward with a quick flurry of dangerous punches, then there’s a reset and he waits to lure his opponent in again. That’s his typical gameplan and it works a lot of the time, but I do think he might get exposed by one thing that Rodrigues could do, and that’s chop at the legs to remove or mitigate that explosiveness that Alatengheili relies on. Rodrigues on the other hand has not had as much experience nor octagon time that Alatengheili has had, but his style seems to be a bit of a challenge for Alatengheili, at least from what I can see. Rodrigues is very well rounded, he is very quick on the feet, but most of all, he doesn’t do anything too crazy to be lured into a potential counter-flurry by Alatengheili. Rodrigues loves to kick at range, he is so dynamic and can switch up the angles of the attacks so quickly that he could possibly just keep kicking Alatengheili until the fight is over, as long as he keeps a safe distance from a retaliatory attack. He is very quick at throwing out those kicks and I do think if he attacks the legs early enough he is going to be effective, as Gutierrez was when he fought Alatengheili. Alatengheili is going to have to mix it up in this fight to get ahead, he is going to have to rely heavily on his wrestling in order to get a win here, because we have seen that Rodrigues is mostly a kickboxestriker, and if Alatengheili can push a nasty pace and pressure (something he only does if he is successful with his counters or see’s his opponent is hurt), that completely removes Rodrigues’ ability to kick. However, the biggest danger with any sort of aggressive forward movement from Alatengheili is the ridiculous hand speed of Rodrigues, his boxing speed is ferocious and he doesn’t necessarily overthrow, everything is clean and tight, and given how open the defences are with Alatengheili, I do think a check left hook or an uppercut is going to be a highly effective tool that Rodrigues is going to utilise, especially if Alatengheili is going to look for takedowns. The focus and timing of Rodrigues is something that I really like also, he is so calm but intense in the cage, he sees a lot of his opponents attacks coming, and since Alatengheili’s actions are huge and relatively easy to read (as there is quite a wind up for it) Rodrigues should be able to avoid it or counter effectively. One major thing I want to point out here that makes me lean on Rodrigues even moreso is the striking inaccuracy of Alatengheili, he is a powerful fighter, i cannot state this enough, but it is thanks to that power and his willingness to throw down heavy punches that he often misses. I’m gonna list some stats, so bear with me… These are his striking accuracy stats from a handful of his recent fights, starting from the most recent to ones earlier in his career. Gutierrez with 28% Accuracy, Anheliger with 37%, Lopez with 30% and Kenney with 26%. This is why I emphasized before how important Alatengheili’s wrestling is going to be in this fight, because if you’re going to go up against a very tricky and accurate striker like Rodrigues, you cannot play that accuracy game and risk winging punches against him. With that said though, don’t count of Alatengheili here, his power and explosiveness are always going to be a problem and it should generally be a good idea to sprinkle a little bit of money on him, even moreso that he’s an underdog. My prediction for this fight is a long, drawn out Rodrigues win, but it’s a tough one because we haven’t quite seen that much greatness from Rodrigues.
Rodrigues via UD - (1/3)
Women’s Strawweight
Piera Rodriguez (-175) (9-1-0, NS) v Ariane Carnelossi (+145) (14-3-0, NS) - Normally, a lot of fights interest me, even the ones that don’t interest the vast majority of others… but this one? I have no feelings one way or the other about this one, it seems like a filler fight lol. Rodriguez is a relatively well rounded fighter coming off a tough loss against Gillian Robertson, and I mean, that kind of loss tends to come with the territory of wrestling a well known submission specialist, so I don’t exactly fault Rodriguez for losing in that way. There is very little doubt that Rodriguez is going to have a major advantage in the wrestling department, a lot of her fights involve her taking down her opponent, it's what she does exceptionally well and considering how dreadful Carnelossi’s takedown defence is, it is going to be Piera’s imperative to take down Carnelossi. The problem with Rodriguez is that she's a little bit one dimensional, she doesn’t do too well on the feet and Carnelossi does have very strong strikes, I mean, look at her, she’s absolutely a power puncher. Rodriguez is highly diverse with her striking, both in terms of range and variability of attack, she has excellent fundamentals with the boxing, landing combinations in the pocket and moving away, and one main thing she does extremely well is that jab, its a really long, lunging jab, and the reason why I point that out is because it somewhat masks the takedown, she uses that jab over and over, and because that motion to jab is almost similar to a level change, she doesn’t necessarily feint the jab to get to the level change/takedown position, but her opponents just think another jab is coming. This is going to be a great set up against Carnelossi, attack her with long, prodding jabs, and after a few of those, go for a level change, because its that long lunge that looks like a level change. To put it bluntly, anything to get a level change and a takedown will be highly effective against Carnelossi. Carnelossi is an interesting one to talk about because she had a fun start to her career with an extremely entertaining fight against Liang Na, but if you look closely, she is just a fun fighter, not a great one. Her punching power is probably her biggest asset, because everywhere else she absolutely is not worth talking about, and it’s that punching power that will be evident when she inevitably clips Rodriguez. Carnelossi is one dimensional, but boy is she scrappy and I don’t think Rodriguez can afford to get crazy with her on the feet, because Rodriguez will be hurt by something in the pocket, the smartest thing Rodriguez can ideally do is level change and absolutely remove the power from Carnelossi, and considering that Carnelossi’s power is generated from a very still-standing stance, it wouldn’t take much to take her off her feet. I got Rodriguez winning this one, it should hopefully be a fun fight.
Rodriguez via UD - (1/3)
Middleweight
Abus Magomedov (-250) (25-6-1, 2 FLS) v Warlley Alves (+205) (14-7-0, 3 FLS) - It kind of seems like they are setting Magomedov up for success here. Magomedov may have had a tough last two bouts, but considering the fact that he faced Strickland and Borralho, that’s ridiculous levels of competition for a newcomer. Magomedov had one major issue exposed when he fought Strickland and that was his cardio, everything else he looked absolutely incredible at, he has a lot of power in his hands, he’s long and dynamic with his attacks and he has great wrestling, but it was his cardio that made him fall apart. During his Borralho fight, despite losing that bout, those cardio issues didn’t seem as present, he has seemingly learnt to pace himself and he honestly looks to be a decent up and comer now that he’s facing slightly more adjusted competition instead of straight up killers. Magomedov has a massive, massive reach advantage over Alves, and that’s going to be prevalent when Magomedov lands those beautiful strikes at range. He does use his kicks alot, and alongside said kicks are a lot of knee feints, it's a bit odd to look at, it could just be him getting ready to check leg kicks or to feint a kick, but it's just one of those things that I can’t quite figure out. Anyway, Magomedov’s cardio is going to be in question again today, and whilst I did say that he seems to be mostly fine, or at least a bit better than when he fought Strickland, he still tends to overthrow a lot, there is no pitter patter of punches that you somewhat see, they’re all still big actions and those big actions cost him his cardio early on. The best way to kind of describe Magomedov, at least cardio wise, is a slightly more talented and skillful McKinney. My main concern is how exposed his face is to getting hit, all it would take is for Alves to rush in like a bull and throw some heavy overhand punches, make it very gritty in there and make Magomedov tired. That’s the only way I can kind of see Magomedov struggle a lot. Alves is an exceptionally quick starter, he is an absolute firecracker and if he can catch Magomedov early, that’s going to be absolutely massive given the size difference. Everything Alves throws comes with silly amounts of power, and he isn’t necessarily a headhunter, he chops at the legs and body occasionally, he’s quite diverse and I think those leg kicks are going to be problematic for Magomedov, considering Magomedov needs to push forward in order to get his combinations off. Alves is a tough, tough fighter, and whilst he is coming off a savage knockout by Aliskerov, I do think that Alves is still one dangerous fighter to take on, maybe not as technical as Borralho (to compare to Magomedov’s last opponent), but he is an absolute monster when it comes to aggression and that alone could exhaust Magomedov. However, the reach and movement of Magomedov is going to be a major challenge here. I am not completely counting out Alves here, I think he is being a bit underestimated here, but I just think Magomedov has a lot more tools in his arsenal that is going to be boosted by that reach advantage, and it does seem that Alves is fairly susceptible to down the pipe shots, something that Magomedov does well. Range and distance are going to be the main gameplan for Magomedov and his time I think. I got Magomedov winning this one, but i am not very confident in this one due to the volatility of Alves’ actions. He is a wild and fast starter so I expect that first round to be the most sketchiest.
Magomedov via KO R2 - (1/3)
Women’s Bantamweight
Tamires Vidal (+300) (7-2-0, NS) v Melissa Gatto (-410) (8-2-2, 2 FLS) - This is certainly an interesting one. Vidal is coming off a tough loss against Rendon, and it was a bit of a boring fight in all honesty, with Vidal being somewhat effective on the feet with big and powerful attacks, but ultimately succumbing to the wrestling of Rendon. I don’t see that much changing this time around since Gatto is a great wrestler and Vidal has clearly shown major defensive issues in the wrestling department, so to put it bluntly, it just seems like Vidal has a puncher's chance, and if she does land those punches, I do think the tides can change a little in her favour, but it would only take one takedown for Gatto to be in full control for the rest of that round. Outside of her loss to Rendon, Vidal looked fun against Pascual, then again, a lot of fighters of a reasonably low calibre can look good against Pascual, so I think that was one of those “set up for success” fights. Still, the aggression and threat of a knockdown/out from Vidal will be fairly prevalent during this fight. But that’s about it, shes a powerful striker and quite dynamic, but her takedown defence is going to be a problem. Gatto was scheduled to fight Dudakova a few weeks ago, however that fight fell off, which is probably good for Gatto coz she’s ready for a fight regardless, shes still somewhat fresh off camp and was going to probably employ the same strategy against Vidal that she would have against Dudakova, and that was to wrestle. Gatto’s wrestling has always been a bit of a highlight for her, she’s physically strong and is able to do well in advantageous positions, holding her opponents down and either landing ground and pound or just grinding them out, exhausting them for a large chunk of the round. Gatto is also very dangerous on the feet, she has deceptively quick and powerful punches which she uses to both damage her opponents but also as an opportunity to raise their guard so the level change is more easily accessible. No matter what way you cut this slice of cake, I think Gatto’s wrestling is going to be a major problem for Vidal, and Vidal’s only way to win this fight is to keep it standing and just brawl, make it look gritty in there and potentially freeze up Gatto’s ability to wrestle cleanly. I am leaning on Gatto to win this one, but that unpredictability of Vidal’s aggression is going to be a big factor here. No major bet advice here, it seems like there is a possibility of it going over 2.5 rounds, but that’s about it.
Gatto via UD - (1/3)
Light Heavyweight
Oumar Sy (D) (9-0-0, 9 FWS) v Tuco Tokkos (D) (10-3-0, 3 FWS) - ITS DOUBLE DEBUT TIME!!! These are getting rarer and rarer the more we see fighters from DWCS make their way to the UFC, so this is a fun little occasion. Sy is coming into this fight a little bit more prepared, at least physically and cardio wise, than his replacement opponent in Tokkos. Sy is coming off a string of beautiful fights on various promotions, but most importantly he’s been relatively tested on KSW, which is one of the better promotions to come out of the European world of MMA. Sy is a long and rangey fighter who has dangerous head kicks and dangerous wrestling skills that he uses really well, and whilst he has a massive reach advantage over his opponent, he doesn’t exactly strike in any traditional way, you don’t see him throw a lot of jabs, he mostly uses his reach to lock in takedowns (since it’s easier to lock in takedowns with longer arms), and the moment the fight goes to the ground, expect him to find a position to where he can reign down heavy ground and pound. I would love to see him strike a bit more, but most of his fights are him taking his opponents down and landing ground and pound, and if he does that against a replacement fighter in Tokkos, I expect him to dominate and completely shut down Tokkos since it would take preparation to get out of funky positions that Sy puts his opponents in, and I don’t know if Tokkos has that wrestling background to handle the larger and longer opponent in Sy properly on the ground. Tokkos seemingly came out of nowhere this last week, and that one thing that blasted me in the face was the record of his second most recent opponent, Brian Jackson. Dudes got a 1-7 record and Tokkos torched him (expectedly), that doesn’t bring a lot of confidence to me that a guy like Tokkos, coming from a relatively decent gym in Kill Cliff FC, takes on and fights someone like that. Tokkos is overall a decent fighter with some strong wins under his belt, but the main thing going against him here is preparation time, and whilst he does have a fair bit of experience under his belt, I just don’t think he’s ready for someone like Sy on short notice. Tokkos is a relatively well rounded fighter with great wrestling and decent striking, but i just think all of that is going to be possibly negated by the substantial reach advantage of Sy. This is a double debut though, and whilst I normally steer clear from calling someone new to the UFC a lock, I think the fact that Sy has had a full camp for… three fights (Bellato, Trocolli (both cancelled) and now Tokkos), I think he’s ready for this fight and ready for the UFC. He will be an optional lock, but still a 2/3 confidence pick, if that makes sense.
Sy via KO R1 (2/3)
Lightweight
Tom Nolan (-450) (6-1-0, NS) v Victor Martinez (+340) (13-5-0, NS) - Both fighters made their debut and lost in the same way, in the same round, so let’s call this a second attempt at a debut lol. Nolan made his debut against knockout artist Nikolas Motta, and honestly that is a dangerous fight for anyone to take, but it probably made sense to the matchmakers since both fighters are prolific knockout artists. Nolan does finish his opponents very quickly a lot of the time, and I do think he has a massive advantage on the feet against Martinez since Martinez isn’t exactly a big threat on the feet, and his inactivity over the past few years (or lack of solid activity at least) leaves some questions hanging in the air. Nolan has a reach and height advantage here, but the most prominent advantage will be with his reach where he can string together gorgeous straight combinations to decent effect, and that’s what he’s really known for, he’s got awesome boxing and he is very confident in his punching power. He is also relatively defensively sound for someone with his size because I have pointed out before that a lot of taller and longer fighters don’t shell up a lot or have a lot of defensive layers to their style, but Nolan is overall a fairly solid boxer both on the offence and defence, it’s just a shame he got fed to the wolf when he fought Motta. Nolan made the simple mistake when he fought Motta of being in the pocket without care, and i think those kinds of mistakes are easy enough to fix, and considering Martinez is not the same kind of threat on the feet compared to Motta, I do think that gives Nolan a bit more freedom to string together combinations and overall look great on the feet, as he was meant to be, since his whole career up until that loss to Motta has been him having gorgeous striking. Martinez is coming off a KO loss also, but it was by Jordan Leavitt, and that’s just a painful look on anyone's record to get knocked out by someone who is not known for his striking. Martinez is overall a good striker, he has very fast hands, but I have noticed one thing about him that I can see Nolan landing cleanly. Martinez has the tendency to leave his right hand far from a block position, its more of a parry position, in front of him instead of beside him, and he tends to lower that hand when taking a back step, and I cannot help but see the Southpaw striker in Nolan land that left hand to the chin of Martinez. Now, any sort of exchange between either fighter here is going to be a dangerous one for both parties, but that is where reach comes in, Nolan has a diverse boxing skillset and his long attacks allow him to carry power as much as anyone elses short hooks would. One major thing Martinez is going to have to be careful of is a knee up the middle by Nolan as Nolan’s height is going to allow that knee to come up to target without a major loss to momentum, and I mean, if Martinez got dropped by Rosales on DWCS, then by Leavitt, I just don’t know if he has the chin to withstand the battering that comes from Nolan. I got Nolan winning this one, but this is going to be a fantastic fight which isn’t likely to go the distance.
Nolan via KO R1 - (2/3)
Main Card
Women’s Strawweight
Angela Hill (#12) (-160) (16-13-0, NS) v Luana Pinheiro (#13) (+130) (11-2-0, NS) - This is a great fight. Hill is coming off a very strong win over Denise Gomes, and it was honestly such a brilliant performance by someone who a lot of people tend to ignore. Hill is an incredibly diverse fighter, she is tenacious on the feet, highly capable of stringing together strong combinations from all ranges, and as she closes the distance, she’s good at tying up her opponent in a clinch and landing awesome knees and elbows. This is all Hill and her cumulative experience in the Octagon against a wide range of different fighters and styles, and it’s clear to me that her preparation for a lot of her fights involve solid planning and back up plans, because whilst her record reflects a rough run through her career, her level of competition is insane. Hill isn’t a finisher though, but she is someone who can keep a ridiculous pace for three rounds, so I do think that she has the capabilities to overwhelm Pinheiro on the feet, especially since we just saw Ribas do the same thing a little over 5 months ago. Hill will have a striking advantage in this fight, she throws a lot of volume at high speed towards her opponent and they do land effectively, and with a slight edge in reach I do see her having a bit more success on the feet here especially since Pinheiro does not have a lot of head movement or striking defence. Pinheiro is a danger to Hill in the grappling department though, especially in those transitions from standing to ground, she utilises hip throws relatively well and could make this fight ugly on the ground, but I don’t think there is a major submission threat here, I think her style is predominantly control and ground and pound, both things that Hill has experience in dealing with, although she still will lose the round if Pinheiro executes her gameplan well. Pinheiro has power in her hands, she could potentially make Hill a little bit frozen and hesitant on the feet once Pinheiro lands that overhand right that Pinheiro loves to throw early, but she doesn’t throw it often enough to lead to a significant finish, she’s a very low volume, high impact striker and that could play in the favour of Hill if Hill’s volume walks Pinheiro back into the cage. Pinheiro could make this fight dangerous for Hill on the ground, but we have seen a few times now that Hill is very good at the basics of takedown defence, underhooks, whizzers (if i spelt that correctly) and quickly getting back to a standing position, she is not complacent on the ground or in that transition to the ground, and I think any sort of failed takedown attempt from Pinheiro is going to fuel Hill a lot more, since Pinheiro only has a few kinds of takedowns. This is a hard on to pick in all seriousness, I might get the prediction wrong, but I have a strong feeling that we are going to see this fight go over 2.5 rounds, or even hit the scorecards. As for the prediction, looking at this fight, I am kind of leaning on Hill here, because Pinheiro’s wins aren’t as significant as Hill’s wins, and i do think Pinheiro fades a little bit as the fight goes on.
Hill via UD - (1/3)
Bantamweight
Adrian Yanez (-350) (16-5-0, 2 FLS) v Vinicius Salvador (+275) (14-6-0, 2 FLS) - I love this fight. Yanez is coming off two painful back to back KO losses, whenever a young fighter comes into the UFC, tears through the division, then hits a losing skid, it’s always a concern to any fan or pundit. However, I do think that leg kick KO is anomalous to the UFC, it rarely happens and I don’t think Salvador is much of a leg kicker anyway so the threat isn’t there. However, I do want to add that the psychological factor of maybe getting leg kicked to oblivion is going to weigh heavy on Yanez’ mind, and I do wonder if Yanez has drilled checking leg kicks before. Now, Yanez is still a dangerous opponent for anyone to take, he still has incredibly technical MMA boxing, and that’s going to be on full display this weekend. Yanez is so fluid and yet tricky on the feet, he’s very good at gauging range and firing away from different angles, as well as timing his shots off his opponents striking attempts, everything involving striking exchanges will most likely be in the favour of Yanez, he thrives in that space and I do believe his experience and his wins prior to those two devastating losses are going to shine this weekend. My only concern about Yanez is his ability to not get carried away and show his chin too much, because whilst Salvador is yet to get a win in the UFC, he still has had some mild striking success against fighters like Altamirano and Vergara, and it wouldn’t take a lot for Salvador to find the chin of Yanez. Salvador is a very funky and unorthodox fighter, and whilst that always brings positive attention to him, I also think that has been a product of failure for him also since the more cleaner fighters outbox him, are generally a lot faster and just find their mark a bit quicker, if that makes sense? I mean, Salvador’s stance is fairly loose, his chin is in the air and his shell is rather loose, and that’s not good news, especially if he’s facing a vicious fighter like Yanez. Salvador thrives in chaotic fights though, he is awesome and making it dangerous and risky for his opponents to fight in the pocket, but his style emanates a lack of self preservation. He is a kill or be killed kind of fighter in my opinion, and I firmly believe that when he got dropped numerous times in that first round against Victor Altamirano, it only showed us, and any future opponent (via tape watch in prep) that he is very hittable, his head is right there and the only reason it wasn’t there for Vergara was due to the significant difference in height and reach. Salvador moving up to 135 could make him a lot more interesting in terms of being able to explode more often and having more power behind his punches, but I also think it means he is dealing with more harder hitting fighters, and with the accuracy and boxing skill set of Yanez, I just think Salvador is going to get outdone here. I got Yanez winning this one, but I am interested to see if Salvador has what it takes to win and upset a lot of parlays out there.
Yanez via KO R2 - (1/3)
Welterweight
Ramiz Brahimaj (+170) (10-4-0, NS) v Themba Gorimbo (-205) (12-4-0, 2 FWS) - Brahimaj is coming back after two tough years away, and the reason why it’s tough is because he has been dealing with a spinal injury, and boy do i empathise with that. Now, his injury is mostly C-Spine and shoulder area nerve damage, this is terrible for a fighter because it effectively eliminates your ability to comfortably strike, sprawl, wrestle, underhook/overhook stuff, everything that you see in a fighter typically comes from shoulder rotation and all that stuff, so for Brahimaj to be out for two years, dealing with all of that, does not give me a lot of confidence in him being 100% coming into this fight against Gorimbo. Brahimaj is a dangerous grappler who thrives on the ground, he is honestly only dangerous on the ground, but the problem is that Gorimbo is very good on the ground himself, at least good enough to know what is being set up, and it’s on the ground where Brahimaj has his only chance to win. Unfortunately for Brahimaj, it’s going to take some work to get the fight to the ground and Gorimbo is more than willing to keep the fight standing, so honestly, I just don’t think Brahimaj is going to be as well rounded or as effective as he needs to be in order to get a win here. Gorimbo is riding some momentum coming into this fight, as he is coming off a lightning quick KO over Pete Rodriguez, and I mean, Rodriguez sucks, he’s one of the worst fighters in the UFC and that KO means nothing in the grand scheme of things, it’s just an additional win on a record with barely any weight to it. Gorimbo is going to be a lot more confident in his boxing though since that win, that feeling of getting knockouts is an addictive one and I think he’s going to be using his incredible reach advantage to look to get another KO this weekend over the possibly rusty Brahimaj. Gorimbo is a very well rounded fighter who honestly has a lot of potential to be a star, he has excellent boxing, and honestly very good wrestling and grappling, and I do think if the fight does go to the ground, Gorimbo has the fight IQ to notice set ups coming, neutralize them and remain on top in control, landing ground and pound or just advancing to his own submission positions. The most likely scenario though is Gorimbo keeps this fight standing and overwhelms Brahimaj on the feet, because he probably wants to chase another KO since that feeling is notoriously addictive. I got Gorimbo winning this one, I can’t wait to see how far this man goes in his career.
Gorimbo via KO R1 - (2/3)
Co-Main Event
Welterweight
Khaos Williams (-125) (14-3-0, NS) v Carlston Harris (+105) (19-5-0, 2 FWS) - This feels like a classic Striker versus Grappler fight. Williams is a strong, powerful striker who is such a threat on the feet, especially early on when he wants to push a nasty pace and land those devastating punches. He is known for being a bully, crashing forward with crazy power and aggression. There is no clean technique coming from Williams, it is mostly wild, wild punches and he is confident in his ability to knock out his opponent, that’s what makes him a dangerous threat to his opponents, that confidence. The right hand is Williams best weapon, his right overhand or hook is going to be the one that knocks out Harris if it lands, but that’s all he is, a powerful right side puncher, and if Harris times a takedown well, all of that threat is gone. On the flip side, Harris is primarily a grappler with a solid grappling base, and whilst he has faced his fair share of dangerous strikers, I believe Williams’ power is something different. Now, Harris has the potential to take this fight to the ground, I know that according to UFC stats that Harris has an 80% takedown defence, but there has not been enough wrestling in his fights, by his opponents, to fully prove that his takedown defence is that great, it’s only been used sparingly against him since most of his fights are absolute wild exchanges and beautiful displays of violence on the feet. Williams' propensity to head hunt could lead to an opening for a level change by Harris, but it’s a risky thing to do because any punch that lands on Harris is going to hurt him, and considering the age factor here, its possible his chin isn’t going to hold up well against the power of Williams. Now, Harris was getting rag dolled and outwrestled by Wells when they fought, and whilst that isn’t a great look for Harris, I don’t think Williams has the wrestling capabilities that Wells has, so I think the main submission threat from Harris in this fight is going to come from the clinch, so guillotines and front head choke variants are going to be on the menu for Harris this weekend, it’s just a matter of if he gets into that position or if he gets his head blasted over and over by powerful punches from Williams. This is a dangerous fight to bet on if you’re thinking of Moneyline betting, it can easily go either way since both excel in their respective styles, the safest and smartest bet here in my opinion is that this fight doesn’t hit the judges scorecards. As for my prediction, I don’t think i’ll be getting this right due to the volatile nature of this match up, but…
Harris via Sub R2 - (1/3)
Main Event
Featherweight
Edson Barboza (#14) (+125) (24-11-0, 2 FWS) v Lerone Murphy (-150) (13-0-1, 5 FWS FWS) - Man this is a funky main event. Barboza is a legend of the sport, but most importantly, and perhaps most relevant to this write up, he is an old dog who can still hang with the toughest. His last two wins have been against Yusuff and Quarantillo, two very difficult fighters to take on at 145 and it’s his win over Yusuff that I want to highlight… Yusuff exploded in the first round, looked for that finish and Barboza survived and thrived throughout the rest of the fight, it was a beautiful display of heart, toughness, and adaptability, because that was not the first firefight that Barboza has been in, and considering his current opponent, it sure as shit won’t be his last. Barboza is well known for his outstanding kicks, but he’s also just overall a ridiculously dangerous striker. An understated aspect of his whole game though is his wrestling and grappling, he might not be looking for a lot of takedowns when he fights, but he is well versed on the ground, having taken down Yusuff 3 of 4 times in the final round of a high pace main event is testament to his cardio and conditioning, despite the concern surrounding his age. Barboza is going to be a true test on the feet for Murphy, and I think it’s going to be the toughest fight of his career. Murphy is coming off a string of strong victories in the UFC, with his most recent one being against Culibao, and I gotta say, Murphy is one of those dangerous prospects that we all should keep an eye on. Murphy is a rapidly improving fighter who adds weapons to his arsenal every single time he comes out. He was originally a boxer with outstanding punching power and speed, he was ridiculously slick on the feet, but after each fight he adds more kicks, more movement and wrestling, he has slowly become a very well rounded fighter, and this makes his upcoming bout against a very tested veteran who is still here to stay in Barboza incredibly fascinating. There is a slight catch to all of those additional things added into his arsenal though, and that’s each time something has been added, the next opponent has something else to prepare for. I firmly believe that Murphy’s rise to this position and to this fight is not from his outstanding skill level, but from his incredible repertoire of techniques he has acquired and learnt over his UFC career. Unpredictability is king when it comes to new fighters, we have seen new fighters add things to their game that have completely changed and accelerated their growth, and that’s exactly what we have seen for Murphy. Murphy has a wide variety of strong strikes he uses effortlessly, from standard boxing combinations to a very snappy high kick, to strong grappling and control on the ground, he hasn’t mastered any of these things, but since they are added along each and every time he fights, his opponents are rarely prepared. This is not going to be the case for Barboza, Barboza is very, very well rounded and well versed in almost every aspect of MMA. Ill keep this short. I got Barboza winning this one, but I am still going to be a fan of Murphy, regardless of result.
Barboza via UD - (1/3)
Primary Parlay: Ducote/Demopoulos o2.5 or GTD + (optional Gatto/Vidal o2.5 or GTD) + Nolan/Martinez ITD + Hill/Pinheiro o2.5 or GTD + Barboza/Murphy R3 Starts
Locks of the week: Optional Sy + Nolan + Gorimbo
Alt Bets: Alves KO R1, Pinheiro Sub R2 or 3, Williams KO R1, Murphy KO R1 2 or 3 (combo rounds)
And that's it!!!!
Prediction accuracy as of 2024: 64.6%
If you would like to donate and support me, as this is my only income, please do so via Paypal. All write ups are free, donations are insanely optional! https://paypal.me/Slayertip?country.x=AU&locale.x=en_AU
if you wish to keep in contact with me or follow me on twitter, my twitter handle is @Slayer_Tip, and my Discord is Slayertip#7013.
Lets have a fun and friendly discussion down below about this weekends card!
I hope you all have an amazing day, look after yourselves, and enjoy this awesome event!

First
Previous
Sorry for the delay in getting this part out; been away visiting family so not had much time to put fingers to keyboard, plus I managed to have my phone eaten by a roller coaster and it took a while to get it replaced and be able to get into a few things - stupid two factor authentication! Anyway, I hope you enjoy.
+++++++++++++++++++
Y’Lek and K’Rim slowed their mad dash as they neared the armoury; there was no telling whether the Swarm agents had left any traps for them and the armoury was full of extremely energy dense materials and weapons which could potentially jeopardise the structure of the ship if employed in the right way. Grabbing some handy footholds they stopped and considered the imposing door in front of them.
After a few moments of effort K’Rim had eased off the casement off the door’s locking mechanism but could detect nothing amiss with the crystalline structure beneath. Bypassing the outer interface she placed a grasper to the innards and a small spark of bioelectric energy jumped into the crystal which glowed briefly as the uniquely patterned waveform was parsed and compared with the patterns of those permitted access. The door slid aside as they were granted entry with no unwanted surprises being triggered.
With a relieved chitter Y’Lek started inside only to be pulled back sharply as K’Rim pulled on his leg.
“Stop. Just because the door opens, doesn’t mean that it is safe.” K’Rim warned as she pulled a small disc out of one of her utility pouches. Snapping it easily she gently tossed it through the doorway after slowly counting out a grasper of seconds. The exothermic reaction had reached the point where the disc glowed fitfully in the infrared, while it emitted a clear UV light. K’Rim watched it carefully and her antennae twitched with the effort of picking up any slight sound.
The glow-disc struck some of the lockers which filled the armoury and ricocheted off around the room but nothing seemed to react to the heat and movement.
With a decisive clack of her mandibles K’Rim pulled herself through the doorway and into the armoury. Y’Lek followed close on her tarsus. It was immediately obvious that several sets of warrior equipment had been removed, along with copious numbers of weapons.
Y’Lek was surprised when K’Rim didn’t make for the remaining warrior gear but instead to the emergency pressure suits. Seeing the confused tilt of his head K’Rim explained “Although the room appears safe, we don’t know what they may have done while they were here but it is safe to assume that they would have ensured any of the most dangerous equipment could not be used against them.”
She passed a bundled pressure suit to Y’Lek and continued “The emergency gear and non-powered weapons are the least likely to have been tampered with and have the least amount of capacity for harming us even if they have been so we will have to make do with them until we can thoroughly check the rest of the equipment.”
Y’Lek thought for a moment before bobbing in agreement and starting to pull on the pressure suit, careful to sheath his claws with the hardened “gauntlets” integral to the suit before powering up the spiracle gas exchangers and carefully sealing them in place against his thorax. “Yes, I can see the risk now. Though it will potentially leave us vulnerable, it is better to be certain of our equipment than to die of over confidence.”
The emergency pressure suit came together quickly, living up to its name and the pair were quickly sealed against the cold, dry, and slightly strange tasting air that the aliens had been pumping into the Far Flung Seed and supplying them with a more familiar and moister mixture.
K’Rim passed him a set of the ceremonial but still functional weapons and the harness to hold them. They wouldn’t hold up long against a fusion blade or a particle lance but they were durable enough to give them a chance and were completely inert so could not have been sabotaged.
Only a couple of minutes after entering the armoury they swam back out into the corridor and sped off towards the arboretum.
+++++++++++++++++++
Smithy quickly sprayed a fluorescent marking on the uneven and root covered tunnel junction to identify which way they had come from. “How can such a small ship have so many damn tunnels?” he growled to himself.
“It’s not the size of the ship, it’s what you do with it that matters” quipped Hall.
“Yeah? Well, apparently in this case it was fill it with bloody tunnels.” deadpanned Smithy in response.
“Can it.” broke in Stroud before anyone else could get involved “You can discuss the relative merits of alien design philosophy on your own time; for now you need to focus.”
A chorus of “Sergeant” came back over the radio and the remainder of Delta and Echo buckled down and continued sweeping what even Stroud was prepared to admit was a seemingly endless series of tunnels with apparently zero overarching logic to their layout. Up until a few minutes ago they had been getting directional updates from some supposedly friendly ET’s in the control room but apparently they had suddenly just buggered off so now they were picking junctions that appeared to take them in the vague direction that had been indicated to them.
Stroud again cursed the fact that the maintenance drones brought by the initial engineering team hadn't been able to access this part of the ship and map it due to the tightly sealed blast doors that had protected the forest from the vacuum. Who could have imagined that there would have been so much structure hidden underneath and between the normal corridors and rooms? The three dimensional map they had been creating as they advanced was like something Jackson Pollock and H R Giger might have come up with on an acid trip.
They approached another intersection and slowed. After a quick glance between them, Mears and Jackson moved forward, taking cover behind Mears’ shield. They crept up to the junction and Jackson poked the muzzle of his shotgun, and its camera into the ragged space beyond. The feed showed several small tunnels radiating off at all angles, way too small for any of them to fit down. One navigable tunnel appeared to curve off back in the direction they came from, while another looked like it might go the right way.
Suddenly the camera and the end third of Jackson’s gun disintegrated into a cloud of superheated vapour, shards of glowing metal and smoking composites. With a scream Jackson jumped back, the outer weave on the gauntlet of his left hand shredded and smouldering. In a stunning display of muscle memory he ejected the internal magazine and disconnected the weapon from the backpack feed almost before his mind had caught up with what was going on.
Hands grabbed him as he was yanked further back into the corridor. He flung the remains of his shotgun down and it clattered and bounced down the tunnel in the vague direction of the junction. Jackson was conscious of Mears backing up towards him, shield held protectively to block as much of the tunnel as possible, while Smithy grabbed his forearm and inspected his hand. Stroud stepped over him and took up guard on Mears’ shoulder, weapon trained forward and sweeping what could be seen of the slightly larger space beyond this section of the tunnel.
Another “FOOOM!” as the tumbling wreckage of the shotgun was vaporised as it spun across the opening of the tunnel.
“Fuuuuuuuck me!” said Jackson, at last able to form words as the adrenaline induced tunnel vision started to clear.
“Well, how about you start by showing me whether you can still use your fingers and we can take it from there, eh?” Smithy said from where he was turning his hand from prone to supine again. “Looks like the inner layer of your glove is intact but both Simmonds and Jones complained of numbness after being hit. How’re you feeling?”
Jackson gingerly flexed his fingers and made a fist a few times but grunted as he felt the tips of his fingers tingle where they pressed into the material of his gloves “Feels weird - tingly like I sat on my hand or something.”
Smithy grunted to acknowledge this “OK, well shout out if it gets any worse; got it?”
He pulled Jackson to his feet and slapped him on the shoulder before they both turned back to face down the tunnel again. Jackson surreptitiously flexed his hand a few more times as he pulled out his sidearm and secured its retaining strap to his right wrist. He wasn’t too hopeful that the small pistol would be able to do too much against the ET’s, but it was better than walking around with nothing.
Stroud backed away from the junction where he had been very gingerly checking all the passageways with a camera barely poking out from the mouth of the tunnel they were in.
He stood up and turned to the security team “Ok, looks like there is something stuffed into one of the narrow tunnels - kind of like those shoulder guns the ET’s have, along with a stand and power supply. My guess is it has some kind of automated fire mode and decided that it really didn’t like Jackson’s gun waving around in front of it. Question is, how are we going to get rid of it? We can’t leave it behind in case we need to come back this way in a hurry.”
“I guess it will probably shoot anything we throw at it so grenades are out?” mused Mears
There followed a number of suggestions and comments.
“Can we get an angle on it and just shoot it?”
“How about we let Jackson distract it some more while the rest of us blow it away?”
“We need to avoid the power pack if the two dead ET’s from the corridor are anything to go by.”
Stroud listened for a minute before cutting the chatter short. “Ok, so I think our best bet is to use the ballistic shield to bait it, while someone else blows the top off it from the other side of the tunnel; Mears you and Jackson handle the shield; keep a tight hold on it as those shots release a lot of energy when they hit. Smithy - I’ve marked its location so you hug the other side of the tunnel and draw a bead on it. Wait for it to hit the shield before popping out and taking your shot; and for the love of all that you hold dear do it fast, Ok?”
The team nodded in agreement.
“I will be there to pull Smithy back as soon as he has popped out of cover, just in case.” concluded Stroud before ushering them to their positions. After a few moments of shuffling around each other in the tight space they were ready.
Smithy led the countdown. “Ready. Steady. Go!” Instantly Mears and Jackson shoved a third of the ballistic shield out into the corridor and planted themselves on top of the section remaining in the corridor only a moment ahead of a bright flash and the shield heaving under the impact.
Seemingly almost simultaneously Smithy leaned out and fired, the boom of his shotgun mingling with the “foom!” of the vaporising surface of the shield. Stroud almost bodily lifted him as he pulled him back from the edge.
For a second they were still as they sprawled around the opening.
“A good hit!” called Stroud as he reviewed the few frames of footage from Smithy’s gun camera between jumping out and back in again.
Mears stood up and inspected the sorry remains of his ballistic shield, now missing most of the top edge. “Great, well I hope there aren’t too many more of those hidden around as I’m running out of shield.”
+++++++++++++++++++
N’Dar’s antennae quivered inside his protective suit. That last series of weapons fire had been far too close for comfort and he still had two more locking systems to bypass. With a furious click of his mandibles he redoubled his efforts, running his bioelectric patterns through a series of filters, amplifiers and other signal processing systems to trick the door into thinking he had a right to open it.
The rot take the claw that had been delaying the aliens! He was supposed to have more time than this!
Next

My hands are shaking as I write this, I have to document my story incase something happens to me in the next few days. I'm not sure where to begin but I suppose here is better than anywhere.
I've always had this weird feeling, this sensation inside of me that I was older than I actually was. By the time I was twelve, my soul felt as though it was forty. By the time I reached twenty, I felt like an old woman. I would watch people around my age acting foolish, and I always thought, "What a bunch of children." So it was no surprise to anyone that when I turned twenty-one, I left my hometown and college and decided to spend the summer alone by renting an old farmhouse in an insignificant town on the edge of an even more insignificant border.
When I told my mother, she had a veritable fit, unable to find the words. She spluttered and raged around me for days before I finally left early one morning to avoid her guilt and frustration with my choices. I was not sure why I craved solitude at such a young age, why I found solace in being alone and removed from society.
In high school, I had changed unexpectedly, cutting my long blonde hair short and dying it black, getting piercings that my mother loathed and claimed no young lady should have. You see, my mother was raised proper, as she called it. Good family, good husband, and finally a good life. She despised her perfect life being squashed by my alternative looks and feelings of the same world. She just didn't understand me or the world as it changed around her. I felt like I was just a trophy to her and my father, her perfect angel who had been tainted by my own demented thoughts.
I never told my parents where I was staying, one last rebellious mission before leaving for a few months, and it took me only a few hours to arrive at the farmhouse where I would be staying for the next few months. The land around the farm was dead or dying, old crops rose out of the dry dusty earth and had turned black and forgotten, as if this land was the example of dreams long forgotten and empty. A single dreary lane connected this desolate farmhouse to the rest of the world. On the outside, it was drab and looked as though it would fall apart. It had two stories but still seemed cramped and small, as if it were a single floor tied to the ground.
Across from the house, bordering the tall weeds that had reclaimed much of the farmland, stood a maudlin-looking faded red barn, one door propped open in a dejected manner revealing naught to me but shadows, dust, and a little mystery.
Next to the barn, staked into the ground on an old-looking cross, was a ragged scarecrow. It had drab brown clothing, but its face was oddly realistic, like it was watching me with a disapproving manner. Straw poked through its joints at odd angles like they were trying to break free from their confines. The scarecrow obviously didn't do its job as it was covered in no less than three crows.
I parked my car next to the barn and stepped out into the dusty yard before the farmhouse that I would make my home for the next few months. I checked under the front mat for the key and put it in the lock.
With a satisfying click, the door fell inward into the farmhouse. Surprisingly, the inside of the farmhouse was modern, clean, and looked quite inviting. I could smell the fresh paint on the walls, and everything was so white. The realtor had told me she would stop by tomorrow to collect the rent, and she had tried to chat my ear off on the phone about all the renovations she and her son were doing on the place.
I sighed with contentment and tossed my bags beside the door. I dug around in my bag and removed my camera, my father's old film shooter as he called it. I had taken up the hobby years ago for what I called capturing the oddity in the world.
I explored the small house a little more; the ground floor consisted of a single room and small bathroom with a shower. The bedroom was upstairs and was the only room, the stairs connected directly to the white and pink monstrosity that was the master bedroom. The pillows had laces on them and almost made me gag from the cuteness. There was even cute white lace curtains on the window with little flowers stitched onto them.
Out of the only window of the room, I could see the barn and the scarecrow. I aimed my camera at the pair and snapped a photo. From this angle, the scarecrow appeared to be staring straight at me. It stood next to the left side of the barn in a dejected manner like a chastised child.
A shudder involuntarily ran through me at the sight, but I moved on back downstairs. It was getting close to dinner time now, and I had brought some food with me.
After a few minutes, I had my dinner on the stove cooking and the crickets chirping outside the open window. As I sat down to eat next to the window, I felt at peace for one of the first times in years. The solitude of this old farm was exactly what I needed. The window supplied a nice breeze that wafted through the place, it smelled of grass and warm summer nights, made me feel at peace. The simple dish of spaghetti with tomato sauce and a glass of wine was all that I needed right here, right now in this moment.
That night I climbed into the frilly laced bed and sunk into the claustrophobic mattress. I felt like Goldilocks in the mama bear's bed as it was altogether too soft. From my perfumed bed, I had a good view out the window. I had left the porch light on, and it cast an eerie glow across the yard. The barn loomed ominously, stalwart against the light of the porch, like it was protecting the shadows from the battering ram of light. The somber scarecrow leaned against the left side of the barn.
With a small jump, I thought I saw its arm move slightly. I peered through my camera using the zoom to get a better view of the scarecrow. It was completely still in the night, and I laughed quietly to myself at my silliness. I had always enjoyed horror movies, but there was no chance I was living in one. I settled back into bed and put my camera down. Within a few minutes, I fell into sleep's warm embrace.
What felt like only a few minutes later, I sat up in bed. It was still dark out, I could hear crickets chirping through the open window, and I strained my ears for a moment.
I thought something had woken me up. I felt a cold shiver run down my spine as a cold breeze wafted in through the window. I pulled the frilly blanket up around myself when I heard it. A thud sounded below me, shaking the whole world into silence. The crickets stopped chirping, and my heart felt like it had stopped beating. Someone was in the house. I hadn't locked the door or closed the kitchen window, and now someone was downstairs. A second thud sounded like a boot on the staircase. Then another and another as something was slowly moving up the stairs towards the room.
I don't know why I did it, but something came over me. I wasn't big or especially brave, but my normal cowardice in social situations changed instantly. With a dash, I tore across the room, flicking on the lights, ready to face my attacker, to defend myself against male or female. I would fight, and I would win.
But as the lights turned on, ready to strike with my foot, nothing was there. The staircase was empty, and upon further inspection, the entire house was empty. The kitchen window was open, and I shut and locked it securely before checking the door. Nothing. I sat down on the couch, my heart pounding out of my chest, as I tried to make sense of what had just happened.
"I must have still been half-asleep," I said aloud to the room in a thinly veiled attempt to calm my nerves. It failed horribly, but I went with it. What else could you do in a situation like that?
After locking up the house, I went back up to that frilly four-poster bed in the bedroom and stared out the window. Nothing was in the yard except my car, the barn, and the same old sad-looking scarecrow staring across the yard.
Day 2
The next morning, I woke up to the soft light filtering through the lace curtains. Despite the strange events of the previous night, I felt strangely refreshed, as if the morning sun had chased away the shadows that lingered in my mind.
I descended the stairs, the wooden steps creaking softly under my weight, and headed to the kitchen. As I brewed a pot of coffee, my mind wandered back to the events of last night. Was it just a figment of my imagination, or was there really someone in the house?
Shaking off the unease, I decided to explore the farmhouse in the daylight. I wandered through the room, admiring the modern renovations that clashed with the rustic exterior. The farmhouse had a charm to it, despite its eerie surroundings.
As I made my way outside, the cool morning air greeted me, and I took a deep breath, letting the serenity of the countryside wash over me. The barn stood tall against the backdrop of the morning sky, and the scarecrow seemed to watch me as I crossed the yard.
I approached the barn, curiosity getting the better of me. Pushing open the creaky door, I stepped inside, the musty scent of hay filling my nostrils. The interior was dimly lit, the sunlight filtering through the cracks in the wooden walls.
I explored every nook and cranny of the barn, but found nothing out of the ordinary. As I turned to leave, something caught my eye. In the corner of the barn, hidden beneath a pile of old blankets, was a small wooden chest.
My heart racing with anticipation, I lifted the lid of the trunk and peered inside. What I found took my breath away. It was a collection of old photographs, yellowed with age, depicting scenes from a bygone era. They were of a man with his family, two young kids, and a beautiful young wife. The man had yellow blonde hair, almost like straw in texture, but he smiled so happily with his family.
I sifted through the photographs, my fingers trembling with excitement. Who had left these behind, and why? Each photograph seemed to tell a story, a glimpse into the past of this forgotten farmhouse.
As I sat there, lost in thought, a sudden noise jolted me back to reality. It was the sound of footsteps coming from outside the barn.
"Hello?" The dreamy voice of a woman called to me from the entrance to the barn.
I slammed the lid of the trunk shut, closing the memories up in a flurry as I spun around to be greeted by a quite pretty woman with blonde hair and a pink suit skirt combo. She had bright pink lipstick, that seemed to be a permanent fixture on her face, and quite shiny and sparkly blue eye shadow on her lids. I myself only wore black eyeliner. This woman was like Barbie in her proportions, thin waist, long hair, and large tracts of land, as my father would have said.
"Oh, hello," I said simply, always awkward in normal social situations.
If she noticed anything odd about me, she breezed over it in an easy manner. Taking me by the shoulders, she led me out of the dusty barn and into the yard.
"You must be Polly. We have been waiting a while for you to come. I simply must know what you think of the renovations to the house. Aren’t they just to die for?" The lady said all in one breath, as if she didn’t need air to speak.
"Yes, they are quite nice..." I started before she cut me off, not in a rude manner but instead in one that she would have continued on even if I had just told her I was not Polly and instead I was a mass murderer looking for my next victim.
"You see, me and my son Eli—yes, Eli, you stop lurking in the shadows over there," she said, continuing on as I noticed a younger man leaning up against the barn. He wore simple clothes of jeans and a white t-shirt but had a handsome face. His hair was brown and hung slightly over his eyes.
"I hope you don’t mind if my son here continues working on some renovations while you stay here? Strictly on the outside of the house, mind you. A fresh coat of white paint would make this little beauty shine. We would have finished by now if not for the accidents," she continued, completely unabashed by my silence.
"Sorry. But you are the realtor?" I said, trying to regain my feet under me.
"Oh my god, I am so sorry, dear!" she said with an affable cackle.
"Yes, yes, I am Barbara, but all my friends call me Barb. That over there is Eli. Eli, come say hi," Barb said while her painted talons rested firmly on my shoulder.
Eli stomped over, keeping his eyes low, in a sort of moody way that actually intrigued me, sort of.
When he glanced up at me, I noticed he drank in me from head to toe, and for the first time, I realized what I was wearing. An old rock t-shirt of one of my favorite bands and, of all things, my black pajama bottoms with cartoon bats on them that said "happy halloween."
I felt my face blush crimson as he made eye contact with me. He had very mysterious eyes of blue that seemed to cut right through my soul.
"Nice shirt," he said while gesturing to me. His voice was quiet and uncertain, as if he didn’t get much practice with the art. Knowing his mother, it seemed highly accurate.
"Thanks. Do you like them?" I asked.
"Oh, he likes all sorts of things, don’t you, Eli? Honestly, you two can gab on forever. But miss, I believe we have a small matter of payment," Barb said, drawing the conversation back to herself.
"Of course. Let me go get it," I said as I went back into the house and retrieved the envelope with the rent money in it.
Barb grabbed the envelope in her bright pink talons and snapped a piece of bubblegum between her teeth. With quick fingers, she leafed through the cash, counting it. As she counted, her normal bubbly personality seemed to disappear, giving way to what I gleaned was her true thoughts and feelings before the facade slipped on once again.
"Mmkay, perfect honey, this is the right amount. Now you have my number, so you call if you need anything. Like I said earlier, Eli will stop by from time to time to work on painting the house. I promise you he won’t be an imposition, just pay him no mind," Barb said in a sweet voice as she popped her gum in between each word.
"Eli, come on, please, I have an appointment in town," Barb said to her son, and they both climbed into a garish pink convertible with jewels hanging from the mirror wrapped in a gold chain.
Barb waved one last time as she sped off out of the driveway, covering me in dust as she spun the wheel around.
With their departure, I went inside and retrieved my camera. I spent a few minutes shooting a few pictures I thought were worthy. I re-entered the barn and pulled the old trunk out into the sunshine. Inside was only a handful of photos, some old clothes, and what looked like some old heirlooms. A beautifully old candlestick and a few leather-bound books lay at the bottom, covered by an old tablecloth. The tablecloth was a nice white with intricate swirling patterns inlaid around the edges.
Why would these things be packed away in here? They were so beautiful. I decided to bring the stuff inside for further inspection. As I lifted the trunk, out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw something move in the tall grass at the edge of the property. I stared for a minute, but nothing moved again. I must be getting jumpy being alone like this. After last night and then this, I was just imagining things.
I brought the items inside and spread them out. I put the tablecloth on the table, and it hung low to the ground. I placed the candlestick by the window and took out the photos again, spreading them out.
The photos told me a story of a loving family that obviously lived in the farmhouse before me. They had a photo next to the barn, with a brand new looking scarecrow in the back. The man even had his arm around it; it looked so much cleaner and proper in this photo. I stared outside at the sad-looking scarecrow.
I took my camera and the photo and went outside to stand next to the scarecrow. His post hung kind of crooked in the earth like it was weighed down by the scarecrow.
I snapped a photo of the scarecrow as it was, then examined the original photo. I began resettling the post in the ground, but it kept sagging. I decided to pull him out of the ground and move him while I added more dirt to his hole. With some effort, I reseated him into his original hole. He already looked better, but I straightened his clothes and pulled out the last bits of straw that stuck out of his clothes. When I was finished, I looked back at him and took a photo, smiling while I did so at my work.
I then spent some time sweeping the front porch and banging the dust out of the cushions before I curled up on a wicker chair with plump cushions for a few hours reading a book I had brought with me.
I felt quite content at this place. The sounds of the crickets began again, putting me at ease as the sun began to descend. I had spent the entire day just relaxing, and it was perfect. I sat sprawled out in the chair, too lazy to go and make dinner or even move. My bladder was full, but I waited until the last moment before dashing inside and relieving myself.
That's when I noticed it, out in the yard. It seemed as if the scarecrow had moved closer. Once shrouded by the barn slightly, it now had moved a few steps into the light from the porch. My heart dropped at the sight. Not again, I must be asleep on the porch in the chair. I pinched myself, trying to wake up, but all I received was a sore arm.
I closed my eyes, then rubbed them, hoping to dispel whatever plagued my mind, but when I opened my eyes, I noticed the scarecrow was even closer. Halfway across the yard now, it sat menacingly, hanging crooked in the dirt. The scarecrow seemed to be staring at me with an intense gaze. The slits in its face were open now, and in the porch light, I swear I could see human eyes underneath the mask.
I moved towards the front door, locking it in a swift motion. I was shaking now, and it took me a minute to relax. I never took my eyes off the scarecrow for fear of it moving again.
My cellphone was upstairs, so I couldn't flee without the scarecrow moving again. I breathed out slightly and unlocked the door, letting it swing in with a creak. The night outside was silent, as if everything was holding its breath. The usual crickets that plagued me with their song day and night had fallen quiet. I stepped out onto the porch; I needed to go confront this demonic entity. Something about this still made me think this was a prank.
"Eli, is that you?" I called out to the scarecrow.
No response, of course. I steeled myself and put one foot off the porch, never taking my eyes off the scarecrow before me. Something seemed to be dripping from its head as I approached, a dark slime that seemed to be melting from its joints as it stood there silently, except for the constant drip of the liquid on the dry dirt before me.
I walked around the scarecrow, determined to figure out what was going on. As I circled it, my vision darkened for a moment as I faced towards the light of the house. I jumped as the scarecrow's head turned to face me as I looked away. The black liquid drained faster from the being, forming a shallow pool at its feet.
I'm not proud of what I did next, but I fled, taking my eyes off the scarecrow. I made a mad dash for the farmhouse. Behind me, I could hear the pounding of feet. I screamed as loud as my lungs would let me. My voice rang through the silence as I grabbed the door handle and wrenched open the door as I felt a strong grip fall on my shoulder.
I turned to defend myself, but nothing was there. The scarecrow was gone, the wooden cross had vanished, as had the pool of dark liquid in the dirt. The world sprung back to life; the crickets began chirping loudly, and my heart restarted. I slammed the door, and the air from my force scattered the photographs on the table. I ran upstairs, leaving the lights on in the house, and dove onto the bed, wrapping myself in the frilly blanket like a set of frilly armor.
I snatched my camera from the bedside table and held it close, determined to document the rest of the night. I held it in shaking hands as the noise downstairs began—the sound of boots crossing the floor to the stairs and the careful but heavy steps of ascension as they climbed closer and closer to me.
This time, I didn't lunge forward as the light was already on. I glanced out the window, but the scarecrow was still gone. I focused my camera on the stairs and waited as the steps came closer and closer. A shape began to form as the head of whatever was coming up the stairs crested the floor. Then a plain brown mask with slits where the eyes would be. It froze for a moment, then slowly turned its head towards me. Inside the slits were human eyes that seemed to be leaking dark red blood.
In the light, I could see it now. I snapped a photo of the beast, the flash setting off a reaction in the beast. The scarecrow moved so fast up the stairs it was a blur. My scream echoed throughout the house as it lunged at me. Filthy hands pinned me down, and the deep crimson liquid began pouring out of every joint of the scarecrow. It began covering my face, my eyes, and getting into my open mouth. I spluttered and kicked at the beast, but my blows had no purchase, as if the scarecrow on top of me had no substance to itself.
I coughed and spluttered on the liquid as it began to fill my mouth faster and faster. I tried not to swallow any, but it tried to find purchase as I was held down.
"Polly?" A nervous voice called from below.
Suddenly, as if the angels had called, the pressure dissipated, and I crashed to the floor in a heap, trying to spit the blood out, but nothing came—it was gone. Footsteps pounded up the stairs again, and I flew back in fear, closing my eyes.
"Oh my god. Polly, are you okay?" A voice said, and gentle hands grabbed my arm.
My eyes shot open at the human touch, and I grabbed Eli into a tight hug, where I promptly began sobbing in fear, my whole body shaking as Eli awkwardly hugged me.
"Don't worry, it's going to be okay," Eli said patiently to me as he hugged me back gently and began stroking my back.
I shivered in a choking sob and fell into his arms, desperately wanting to believe him, and for some reason, I did.

Special thanks to u/SpacePaladin15 for creating the NoP universe.
​
I'd also like to thank u/xskipy10 for their awesome fanart of the main cast as well as their recent Tohba meme and their fanart of Michael baysitting. You're work is a treasure!
​
Thank you as well to u/Accomplished-Golf-59 for his take on Michael, Teylim, and Tohba in his submission for the Banner Art Contest, and u/Spacer_Catgirl4969 for their awesome music video featuring a pixel-art Dohkar in his bar. Be sure to give ALL of these awesome creators your love and support.
​
And let's not forget u/Guywhoexists2812 who has been an awesome source of memes as well as sick pixel art, such as THIS and THIS!!!! And even THIS!!!!!! And how could I forget THIS!!!!!!!!!! Thank you so much!
​
Today, we join Dohkar as he finally completes his mission and puts an end to the horrors of the Five Meadows Guild once and for all. Now all that's left...is to pick up the pieces...and prepare for whatever comes next... And finally...a family is made complete... LETTUCE...continue...
​
First
​
Previous
​
Songs Mentioned/Used: N/A
​
Memory Transcript Subject: Dohkar, Venlil Bartender Date:[Standardized Human Time] January 16, 2137
​
I’m not sure what I expected to see or experience when I finally caught up to Albiel, but it wasn’t this. What I saw before me had me completely off-guard. Albiel, on the ground, with a plasma burn straight through his knee, and standing above him, was…
​
“Jerrick…put…the gun…down…”
​
I held my paws up, doing my best to talk him down. I hadn’t even SEEN Jerrick since the concert. Honestly, I hate him for what he tried to do to Mike, but looking at him now…all I felt as pity…
​
His fur was stained from dirt, grime, and stars know what else. Just like Teylim, he had a collar around his neck, and his ears weren’t so much as pinned back, as they were just play glued back from all of the filth he’d no doubt been wallowing in this whole time. Albiel really did just lock him away in a cell the moment her was no longer useful.
​
“HE DESERVES IT!!!”
​
“I know. Believe me, I know. But this isn’t the answer.”
​
Sure. I hated Albiel. I despised him. I detested him. And yes, I wanted to kill him, too. But for people like him, death alone isn’t enough. And it certainly wouldn’t help Jerrick in the long run.
​
“Jerrick, listen to me. You’ve been through this exact situation before. At the concert, remember.”
​
He flinched as soon as I mentioned that paw.
​
“You could’ve hit that shit dead on. You and I both know it. But you missed on purpose, didn’t you?”
​
Jerrick’s shaking got worse and worse. I could see the conflict happening behind his eyes. I could tell I was making progress when I saw the small twinkles building up in the corner of his eyes.
​
Poor kid… Just a kid…
​
“I…I-I just wanted a… j-just wanted him to-“
​
“Be a father. I know… That’s what we all wanted. We were just pups, with no one to love us, to care for us, to help us grow.”
​
At this point, I felt like I was talking to both of them now. I slowly took a step toward them, and then another, and another. I looked down at the pathetic monster at my feet. Bleeding…broken…and for the first time I think in his life…afraid…
​
“We didn’t want some ‘grand purpose’. We didn’t want to inherit some empire. We just wanted a family.”
​
I looked at Jerrick. I’d managed to get right next to him. I didn’t grab for the gun. I simply kneeled down beside him, and spoke calmly…
​
“That’s why you missed, isn’t it? You saw what Mike had. You saw what you’d be taking away from them.”
​
“It’s not fair… It’s just not fair…”
​
“It never is…but you have to understand that you CAN still have that. I’m the proof. If I was able to walk away, and have a chance at a life and a family, then so are you.”
​
For the first time, his eyes left his target and met mine. At that moment, I saw Jerrick for who he was, without any of the dogma, arrogance, or misplaced loyalty. He wasn’t an exterminator, PD patient, or a murderer. He was a child, just a child who lost his way.
​
“You didn’t have to pull the trigger then, and you don’t now.”
​
It was only then, that I held out my paw, and with more than a little hesitation, Jerrick handed it to me. Before I was tempted myself, I threw the thing down the hall. Before I could do anything else, I heard that same, smug, arrogant, if slightly choked up laughter coming from the absolute disgrace behind me. I turned to face my father, my abuser, my monster as his signature look of pride came back, his stupid horn glinting in the light of the building’s ceiling lamps.
​
“So that’s it, then? Just like that? Where is all that rage and fire I saw in your eyes, when I held that sub-sapient primitive in my grasp, and threatened to find and kill that spawn of hers?”
​
He’s baiting you.
​
I know.
​
“Even when you’re saving my life, you’re still a disappointment, Dohkar.”
​
“I’m not saving your life, I’m just prolonging your death.”
​
I held an arm out to shield Jerrick. I wasn’t going to let him bait me into attacking. Instead, I’d turn his stupid trick against him, and I wanted to make sure Jerrick was safe.
​
“You don’t deserve to die, Albiel. You deserve to LIVE, to sit in a cell and rot just like all the others whose lives you’ve helped ruin, and watch as everything you built crumbles down around you. You’re no leader. You’re just a pathetic disgrace to weak to stand on your own if you aren’t stepping on someone else to feel taller. And I’m going to make you live with that fact for the rest of your miserable life.”
​
And then, just a moment, the mask slips one last time…
​
“I’LL KILL YO-“
​
Whrp-prrrck!!!
​
Before he can lunge at us with the last of his strength, my tail wraps around his neck, and before he can choke out another word, his head is slammed into the ground…at just the right angle…to snap that horn of his at the base.
​
SLAM!!!
​
CRACK!!!
​
Just like that, it was over. Jerrick let out a shaky breath, staring down at our unconscious father figure. Before he broke down completely, I pulled him into an embrace. We just sat there, him crying, and me holding him in what was probably the first real hug he’d ever recieved.
​
“It’s alright, son. It’s over… It’s over…”
​
Eventually, he finally ran out of energy, and fell asleep. Once everything was calm, I placed a finger to my ear piece.
​
“This is 1-2 Dohkar. VIP subdued. Objective complete. Patients evacuated. Hostages secured. All hostiles neutralized. Mission accomplished. Over and out…”
​
Memory Transcript Subject: Teylim, Yotul Refugee Sponsor Date:[Standardized Human Time] January 16, 2137
​
My head was slightly foggy. I was barely paying attention to what any of the medics around me were saying. All I knew was my leg hurt, my ribs hurt, my pretty-much-everything-else hurt…and I missed my joeys…
​
“There you are! I was hoping I could catch you before they moved you.”
​
I turned my head and saw a pleasant, familiar, face approaching the cot I was laid out on.
​
Heeheehee. Handsome face…
​
These painkillers must be really something…
​
“Dohkar! You’re alright.”
​
“Yeah… Mission accomplished. It’s finally over.”
​
“Good. Wait. W-what about Tohba, Michael, and Khornel? I heard them over the loudspeakers but-”
​
“Easy, Teylim. Don’t strain yourself. They’re fine. They’re already on the way here.”
​
My mind was instantly put at ease for the most part. My body protested as I took in a long breath and let it out in a relieved sigh. They were alright. My joeys were alright.
​
[Transcript Time Progression: 15 minutes…]
​
“So I don’t think I’ve EVER seen YOU cry before.”
​
“I’m never living that down, am I?”
​
“Oh, absolutely not. The great, brave, oh so stoic Dohkar putting on the waterworks for Little Ol’ Me!”
​
“Pfft. Please. I was just sobbing in despair over getting stuck with two pups to take care of.”
​
“Ha Ha.”
​
Before I could chuckle at our stupid banter, my body quickly reminded me why that was a bad idea.
​
Ow! Ow. Yep. Still hurts to laugh.
​
Dohkar looked up for a moment and looked off into the distance.
​
“Huh. Speak of the devil.”
​
“MAMAAAAA!!!!” “TEEEEEYYY!!!!!” “MS. TEYLIM!!!!”
​
MY BABIES!!
​
We need our joeys.
​
YES!
​
With some effort, I turned my head in the other direction, and almost broke down instantly at what I saw.
​
My joeys…all three of them. I felt a paw on my shoulder before Dohkar left.
​
“I’ll…leave you to it… I still have to visit Clem and a few others.”
​
After a moment, the soldiers guarding the field hospital let them through, and they immediately sprinted to my side. I couldn’t have them in my arms fast enough. After a solid minute of their voices combining into a jumbled slurry of “Are you okay”s and “I’m so sorry”s, things finally calmed down enough for a full conversation.
​
“Mama….”
​
“My precious…”
​
Michael slowly lowered my Tohba into my arms, and as soon as he clung onto me, it felt like a massive piece of my heart and soul had been restored. He was alive! He was safe! They found him! And now he was back in my arms!
​
“MAMA!!! MAMAAAAAHAAAAA!!!”
​
“I’m here, Precious. Mama’s here…”
​
It hurt. My body protested against the weight of my joey. My arms burned and my breaths were still ragged, but I didn’t care. I held onto my Tohba like I hadn’t held him in cycles, placing lick after lick on the top of his head. Once I was content with my grooming, I held an arm out to bring my other two joeys in.
​
“Michael… Khornel… Thank the stars, you two are alright…”
​
“Tey…” “Ms. Teylim…”
​
“I heard you two over the loudspeakers. You did so well. I’m so proud of you…”
​
We stayed like that for a while. As much as holding them hurt, I just didn’t want to let go. We did finally break free of our group hug however, when one of the soldiers came along and gave Khornel a salute.
​
“Are you Ms. Khornel?”
​
“Y-yes… That’s me…”
​
“One of the other patients is asking for you. Clem?”
​
“YOU FOUND GRANDFATHER?!”
​
“Yes. He’s currently receiving medical attention but he’s stable. I can take you to him if you like.”
​
Khornel jumped to her feet and almost sped off right there, but hesitated after looking back at the rest of us. Michael simply gave her a nod.
​
“Go. We’ll catch up.”
​
Every single feather she had ruffled in excitement before she let the soldier lead her away. I tried to listen as she got further and further away. Eventually, I was able to hear her.
​
“Grandfather!”
​
“Little ‘Nel! My Little ‘Nel!”
​
I couldn’t help but smile.
​
I’m so happy for you, Dear.
​
And speaking of dears, I looked back up at Michael. We were alone now, just the three of us. He’d been remarkably silent this whole time. Now though, once he was sure no one else could here, he broke down completely.
​
“I’m sORrY, TeY. I aM so, SO, SorRY…”
​
“Sssshhhh… It’s alright. Whatever for?”
​
“I sHouLD’Ve bEEn tHeRE. I ShOUld’Ve BeEN aT tHe hOUse. I shOuLdN’T hAve-”
​
“Hey… Hey… None of that… Michael, sweetie look at me…”
​
Michael sniffled and wiped away his tears, doing his best to hold it together. His bright blue eyes were filled with regret, regret that was entirely undeserved. All I had to do to prove it was point out the joey in my arms, fast asleep.
​
“You found Tohba. You kept him safe. You agreed to stay behind even if you didn’t want to. And when the time came, you all found a way to help without putting yourself or the others in danger. You could NOT have handled yourself better today.”
​
I strained to raise up my free arm and cup the side of Michael’s face in my paw, wiping away another tear streak with my thumb. I looked into my son's beautiful eyes with all the love I could muster.
​
“I am SO…proud of you.”
​
Without another word, he held my paw in his hand, nuzzling into it with his cheek. I finally had my boys with me again. And for the first time in a long time…everything felt like it was going to be alright…
​
Memory Transcript Subject: Tevis, Magistrate Intelligence Operative Date:[Standardized Human Time] January 16, 2137
​
I walked around the grounds of the field hospital. All around me, human medics and professionals were tending to the patients and hostages. The raid had been a success.
​
Albiel was in custody… UN Custody…
​
Many of the other exterminators were deaf from WHATEVER THE HELL that human did over the intercom.
​
I watched as a large Krakotl was led to one of the elderly patients by a soldier.
​
“GRANDFATHER!!!”
​
“Little ‘Nel!!!!”
​
The two embraced, the smaller Venlil running his claws through her feathers.
​
“My Little ‘Nel…”
​
“I missed you so much, Grandfather. I’m so sorry I let you get-”
​
“Don’t you dare blame yourself. I’m just glad you’re alright…”
​
I shook my head and continued moving. So that’s another family that will need housing. Pretty much every patient here is going to be a personal settlement case all on their own, with, more than likely, PLENTY to say about the state in which they were held in…
​
I watched a frantic looking Gojid enter the hospital constantly looking around.
​
“Scolina?! Has anyone seen my daughter?! Scolina?!”
​
The Gojid eventually made their way closer towards the Krakotl and old Venlil from before. One of the Gojid patients on a nearby bed seemed to hear his call.
​
“D…Daddy…?”
​
The two made I contact, and the younger Gojid was almost immediately tackle hugged by the elder.
​
“‘LINA!!! My sweet little ‘Lina, I’m so sorry!!!!”
​
“DADDY!!! DADDY!!!”
​
They broke away from the hug for a moment as the older Gojid looked in horror at the burn scars covering the girl.
​
“Oh, ‘Lina what did they do to you?”
​
“They…said it would fix me… Am… Am I fixed now, Daddy?”
​
Just hearing the words seemed to make the man break down entirely all over again.
​
“There was never anything wrong with you… I should never have sent you to this place… It’s all my fault…”
​
“Daddy…”
​
Judging from the girl’s speech patterns, she must’ve been taken in while she was a pup, which meant lots of special education as well as whatever this human “therapy” was.
​
What a load of sanctimonious-
​
I calmed myself before I could go on a rant.
​
After doing the rest of my rounds, watching more and more people reunite with their family members, I walked off and went make a call back to HQ. As far as I could tell, this was the rundown: The bar was now filled with dead and/or dying exterminators, the Guild Office was filled with dead and/or dying exterminators, Albiel was now in custody, there were still exterminators on the Guild roster that were MIA, pretty much all the patients were now out and able to give testimony, and I had a LOT more paperwork than usual to take care of.
​
Yep! Just about NOTHING has gone to plan.
​
Time to change that…
​
[Warning!: You Are About To Access Restricted Files: Continue?: Y/N…]
​
[The Following Is A Clip From A News Broadcast Archived By Magistrate Intelligence…]
​
[The clip opens up on a well-groomed Venlil reporter behind a desk with the logo of “Prime News”...]
​
“Tensions rise once more in the Soulroot District as events continue to heat up in their border village of Five Meadows. We here at Prime News have been following the events of what is now being labeled, ‘The Five Meadows Incident’ over this past month, starting with the failed assassination of a human refugee and seemingly ending with the temporary shutdown of the Five Meadows Extermination Guild as a whole. However, while the crisis with The Guild does seem to have passed, things are still not well in that small border town. We go now to our newest seeker, Rose McDermott, out in the field. Rose?”
​
[The camera changes to view a female human reporter standing in front of what appears to be a border checkpoint…]
​
“Thank you, Talen. As anyone who has been following this incident with us would know, just two weeks ago, I was just actually IN the town of Five Meadows, just outside the former Guild Office, watching as patients, hostages, and soldiers alike were treated for their injuries and traumas. However, before we could get any interviews, we were quickly escorted from the premises by Interim Guard officials. And while The Soulroot Magistrate HAS released a public statement regarding the situation, their actions have led many to question their intentions, this checkpoint behind me being one chief example. As said in their public announcement, The Magistrate is now enforcing a full lockdown of Five Meadows, stating their intent to track down any exterminators who escaped the raid on their office and are still considered, “at large”. However, after the events of the Five Meadows Incident, many incriminating recordings being leaked online, as well as the upcoming election, many are wondering if The Soulroot Magistrate truly had the people’s best interests at heart. Back to you, Talen…”
​
[The camera changes once more to show the Venlil reporter. They seem to take a breath before reshuffling the papers on the desk…]
​
“Now…you all watching are more than aware of my opinions on such things as Extermination Guilds and Predator Disease Facilities. But…this is a news station. We can’t just sit here blindly theorizing and getting lost in conjecture. My opinions aside, and leaving just the facts alone, it is clear that what has happened in this small town is nothing short of tragic. And we here at Prime News will continue to cover these events as they unfold. And to any who are in or even from Five Meadows, our hearts and minds go out to you, and we hope you remain strong in these uncertain times. This is Talen with Prime News…signing off…”
​
[Clip ends…]
​
Memory Transcript Subject: Teylim, Yotul Refugee Sponsor Date:[Standardized Human Time] January 24, 2137
​
“I’d like to thank you for joining us today, Ms. Teylim. I do hope you’re healing well.”
​
I gave a smile to the kind man on the monitor as I shifted on the motel room bed.
​
“Thank you. It’ll still be a little while before my leg is able to be walked on normally, but otherwise, I’m healing well. Thank you, Dr. Jacobson.”
​
“I’m glad to hear it. Now then, onto the reason why I asked for this group session. It appears there’s been a slight breakdown in communication between you and Michael…”
​
I gave a confused look to Michael, sat on the other bed in the motel room. He shifted uncomfortably and simply looked down at his hands.
​
“What kind of breakdown?”
​
“It seems that ever since things have been…brought out in the open between you two, he’s stated that he’s been experiencing ‘guilty’ feelings whenever trying to express affection.”
​
“Is this true, Michael?”
​
“It’s just… I don’t know what it is. I felt like…like I was wasting your time…”
​
“Wasting my time?”
​
“Tey… Be honest… When…exactly…did you start thinking of me like your son?”
​
I did my best to think back. Honestly, after the first time he sang for us was probably the first time I felt something like that, but at the time, I just thought it was leftover mom hormones from having Tohba.
​
“Honestly, the first time I felt something akin to motherly love for you was after you sang for us the first time. You just…looked so sad, lost, confused, and scared, and I just…gravitated towards it. Afterwards, things calmed down somewhat, but when I really started feeling it was Thanksgiving.”
​
“Oh. I wasn’t aware that you tried having Thanksgiving. It makes sense in a way, though. That holiday, along with Christmas the following month, have great emphasis on spending time with one’s family.”
​
Suddenly, a horrifying realization popped into my head.
​
“Oh no! Michael, we forgot to celebrate Christmas!!”
​
“Tey, it’s fine. All the present deliveries got canceled, anyways.”
​
“It is not ‘fine’! We are celebrating Christmas! I don’t care if I have to drag a tree into this room myself!”
​
“Ugh… Fine…”
​
After a moment of laughing at ourselves, Dr. Jacobson continued.
​
Well, we’ve established that one end of these feelings truly began around Thanksgiving. What about you Michael? When would you say you truly started seeing Teylim as a mother figure in your life?”
​
“Honestly…I don’t know… Not for sure, anyways. In some ways, it feels like she’s always been that way to me, but maybe that’s just because even after just meeting her, she was already treating me better than my own mom did.”
​
Honestly, I wasn’t sure how to feel about that. A part of me was giddy that he’d apparently always thought of me as a mother to him, another part was completely shattered by just how much his birth mother had affected him. It was like hearing his tale of abuse all over again.
​
“I think…once I got used to actually calling her that in my mind, that was when the idea actually became real. That’s when I really started thinking about her as my mom. Not A mom…My mom… But even then, I just…couldn’t say it, no matter how hard I tried. Like I said, in some ways it just…always felt like she was my mom. So when I think about how long it took me to actually start acknowledging it and expressing it… I just…feel guilty. I wasted so much time…”
​
I turned and sat facing toward him. I couldn’t let him truly believe that.
​
“Michael, it could’ve taken three days, three months, or three years. I would’ve accepted your love whenever you were ready.”
​
“But you shouldn’t have had to! You shouldn’t have had to wait for me just to get over myself.”
​
“Michael…”
​
“The fact is…you were right. That egg donor that gave birth to me isn’t my mom…you are…”
​
My heart skipped a beat as he looked straight at me, my mind filling with just those last two words.
​
I…am…
​
“You’ve done more to raise, love, and nurture me in three months than my birth mom did in TEN YEARS. And you DESERVE a son that’s actually capable of accepting your love and giving it back. And I just…wasn’t able to do that…”
​
I felt my heart breaking more and more. I had no idea he’d been feeling this way, and I wanted nothing more than to help him through it.
​
“But that’s over now. I’m done blaming myself for something that wasn’t my fault. I’m done letting the words of a monster dictate what I am. That’s why I want to keep having sessions with you and Dr. Jacobson. I want to get better. So that I CAN be the son you deserve.”
​
Oh, Michael. If only you knew. You already are.
​
With some mixed feelings, I pulled over my satchel. There was something I’d been meaning to give him for a while now.
​
“Michael, you are already a wonderful son, one I wouldn’t trade for the world. I’ve already said that much. And I’m so happy you’re committed to getting better. There is nothing I want more than your happiness. When you were about to leave, before the concert, I was so scared I was about to lose you. The way you so easily gave up like that…it scared me. It felt like…like I failed.”
​
“Tey, I-”
​
That’s why…”
​
I slowly opened up my satchel and pulled out a small packet of papers. They were a bit torn and faded after fishing them out of the wreck that was my office, but I managed to find them.
​
“I got these for you.”
​
I handed him the papers and watched intently as he read them. I won’t lie, most of it is legal mambo jumbo that even I can’t fully understand, but I could tell exactly when he got to the important bit. I’d memorized that one beautiful line:
​
I, Teylim Andrews do hereby fully and officially acknowledge ________________ as my-
​
“Tey… Are these…adoption papers?”
​
“You’re only half right.”
​
He looked up from the papers, his eyes full of shock and awe.
​
“You ARE a full, legal, adult, by both human and Yotul standards, so I can’t technically ‘adopt’ you. BUT, what we CAN do, as legal, consenting adults, is BOTH agree to sign these papers, fully acknowledging each other as family, me as your mother, and you as my son. This does a LOT of weird, quirky things involving Venlil law, mostly involving inheritances and insurance. BUT the most important thing, is that by legally becoming a part of my family, the door is open to you for FULL. CITIZENSHIP. You won’t have to be a refugee anymore.”
​
Michael was speechless, just looking back down at the papers.
​
“Tey, I… I don’t know what to-”
​
“You don’t…have to sign if you don’t want to…”
​
He looked back at me, waiting to hear me out.
​
“At the time, I’d only gotten these to show you as proof, proof that I really AM serious about this. I truly DO see you as my own, Michael. And paper or no paper, that much will never change. I truly, completely, and purely…love you. And I want nothing more than for you to be happy…”
​
I looked down at my own paws. I knew that presenting him with this choice meant having to accept the fact that he might say no. So, I just curled in on myself and braced for it…just in case.
​
“But…I know that you’re still healing. I was going to give these to you after the concert. But then you got shot, and even after that, you were still recovering. I wanted to make sure things were slightly calm again before going through with it. Now, I know it’s a big decision and I completely understand if you don’t feel comfortable-OOF!!!”
​
Before I could even react, I was pushed backwards, fully wrapped up in a giant hug.
​
“MIchael! What are you-”
​
“I’ll do it… I’ll sign…”
​
With just those five words, I found myself struggling to find a response. My heart was racing and I couldn’t even tell if I heard him right.
​
“You… You mean-”
​
“I want to sign! I want to be your son!”
​
For a moment, I was still paralyzed. My rapidly wagging tail was the first part of me to move before I practically dove into him.
​
My son! MY SON! MY SON!
​
“OH, MICHAEL!!!!”
​
I couldn’t contain myself. I hugged. I squeezed. I nuzzled. I licked. I kissed. I held…my son. MY! SON! And soon, not even a government official would be able to say otherwise.
​
And then…as if I needed any more confirmation. He uttered four more words. Just four. Four words that I’d never heard him say before, at least not together, and not toward me. Still, hearing him say those four words…the last time I remember being that happy…was when my Tohba was born.
​
“I love you, Mom…”
​
Did he just call us…?
​
Mom… Mom… MOM MOM MOM MOM MOM!!! HE CALLED US MOM!!!
​
“I love you so much, my joey! Mama loves you so, so, so much! Never forget that.”
​
“Mom…”
​
Our lovely, perfect moment was then interrupted by the only thing that could’ve made it more perfect. A small, adorable yawn came from the small crib behind us.
​
“Mama…? Whad goin’ on?”
​
I turned to see Tohba peeking through the bars at us. It appeared our little moment had woken him from his nap.
​
“Hmmm… Tell me, Michael. Now that things seem like they’re becoming official, is there anything you’d like to say to young Tohba as well?”
​
“\sniff** Yeah… I think there is…”
​
I watched with bated breath as Michael walked over and plucked Tohba from his crib, before sitting next to me. Tohba, for his part, looked really worried, probably because we were both complete sobbing messes.
​
“Mikey zhad?”
​
“No, Bud. I’m not sad. I’m happy, happier than I’ve been in a long time.”
​
Tohba didn’t seem entirely convinced yet. He only seemed to get more worried when Michael composed himself and took on a somewhat serious tone.
​
“Bud? There’s something REALLY important you need to know. So, I need you to listen real close, okay?”
​
Tohba’s fear only seemed to grow. The last time Michael said something like that was when he left for Twilight Valley.
​
“Tohba… You…are the BEST…baby brother a guy like me could ever ask for. You hear me? The BEST…”
​
Tohba’s fear and worry seemed to go away for the most part, only to be replaced with partial confusion.
​
“Mikey…bwudhew…?”
​
We both almost broke again just from that one, adorable word. Michael was quick to confirm it, nodding frantically as he tried to hold it together.
​
“That’s right… And your big brother, Mikey loves you SO much, Tohba. SO…much… More than you’ll ever know…”
​
“Mikey…beeg bwudhew…”
​
Tohba seemed to take a moment to think, trying to truly comprehend the words he just said. Once he understood however, it was impossible to hide his excitement. His tiny tail became a blur behind him as his eyes lit up with glee. Before he could react, Tohba used his still developing hind legs to launch himself into Michael’s face.
​
“BEEG BWUDHEW!!!!”
​
“OH, JEEZ!”
​
In a flash, Michael was knocked onto his back, laughing as Tohba licked and nuzzled every inch of his face.
​
“MIKEY BEEG BWUDHEW! MAMA! MIKEY BEEG BWUDHEW!!!!”
​
That was it. That was what finally broke me. I sobbed openly and clapped as my Tohba shared the amazing news with me. Mikey IS beeg bwudhew.
​
Once his energy had wound down, Tohba saw fit to simply snuggle into Michael’s arms, letting out a long, contented sigh, as if anything that could’ve possibly been wrong in his tiny, perfect world had been made right again.
​
“Wuv you, Mikey… Wuv you Beeg Bwudhew…”
​
“I love you too, Bud. I love you so much.”
​
I couldn’t hold back any longer. I rushed forward…and held my boys in my arms. And in this one…perfect moment, I could only think one thing.
​
I love my boys. I love my family. I love my life.
​
Next

I'm a materials failure analysis engineer. Not an LLM expert, so please forgive me if anything I say sounds dumb.
The work I do essentially involves looking at a part that failed , describing findings, and giving a summary of my conclusions and recommendations. I have collected about 1500 of my past reports. Each is about 500-1000 words long. Each report essentially describes several key findings that form the basis of the entire issue. These take a long time to write. But because there are predictable patterns in how things go wrong, I think it should be possible for a LLM to produce a draft of a whole report based on several key findings.
So basically, I would like to experiment if this is possible:
tell the LLM that "observation x" + "observation y" + "observation z" are present LLM generates a draft of the full report, which I can then edit. I don't need it to be a perfect report, nor does it even need to be perfectly accurate. Just having a rough draft as a starting point of my report save a lot of time. I have tried to use ChatGPT API, but because the knowledge and reporting style is so specialized, it really doesn't do a good job. It definitely needs some sort of guidance/training.
So what is the most efficient way to go about this? I am not an AI expert, but based on my readings, looks like there are two options:
1) Fine tuning. I don't have structured labeled data. So I would either have to go back and summarize the key observations as labels, or use GPT itself to identify the main abnormalities to create the "labels", and then fine tune based on that label-report data.
or
2) Embedding/RAG ?? - I'm sorry if this is ignorant. I have no idea if this method could actually work for my use case, but from my cursory readings, I get the impression that it might be one avenue to explore. Essentially I point LLM to my big database of prior reports, and ask the chatbot to fashion a full report based on observationx x,y,z, etc. Would that be possible?

Edit: o7

>>CLICK HERE FOR THE SHORT VERSION. SAVE YOURSELF FROM THE ABYSS.<<

Click here for Additional Material if you so desire. Yh, there's more, mate. It's the schizo-post to end all schizo-posts.

Ah, fuck, who let me cook? 😎
TL;DR: There is a noticeable pattern when it comes to the behaviour that leads to misinformation inadvertently being posted or spread by the pro-Israel crowd on this subreddit. This is not unique to the pro-Israel crowd, but comments and submissions by them will be the focus of this post. My intention with Part 1 and Part 2 is to identify why this happens and how to fix it.
My argument is not that the misinformation is never addressed; it’s that it ought to happen sooner, and hopefully a post like this will incentivize that behaviour.
The structure of Parts 1 and 2 is a self-introduction; a brief mention of some flaws in the subreddit; examples of misinformation being spread; I offer six prescriptions which, if followed, will reduce the likelihood of said misinformation being spread; explanations on the examples; and we close with the six prescriptions again.
Further, in Part 3, I offer a critique of 4THOTs two bans upon myself, the first lasting 30 days, and the second lasting “until Israel/Palestine is over.” Similarly, I hope to decrease the likelihood that this reoccurs in the future, whether against myself, or some of you poor, hapless souls if you’re still here. (Of course, this post might have the opposite effect. XD)
Ideally, I'm hoping that Destiny could offer clarification on an aspect of subreddit moderation that hasn't been discussed or critiqued yet: conditional bans that seemingly can’t be undone via the unban request form.
Finally, it would be, heh, splendid if Splemndid was unbanned. :)

Who Art Thou?

What up, what up, some of y’all might recognize me, and if you do, hi 🙂. For those of you who don’t, I guess you could say that a few people took note of the fact that I’ve made successful — and sometimes unsuccessful — attempts to address misinformation propagated by the pro-Israel crowd on this subreddit. In the words of Wannabe_Sadboi from a past submission:

Excellent post. In general, especially recently, I’ve been very impressed by the quality of posts I’ve seen from you, and admire both the dedication to fact checking and the desire to hold this subreddit to a higher standard.

Thanks mate! I’ve also made a number of submissions with the intent of improving the quality of the discussions here when I observed a deterioration in said quality post-Oct. 7th. If there’s one constant in terms of my comments across Reddit, then it’s the fact that I’m vehemently anti-misinformation, and that predates Oct. 7th. For example, you might have read a post I did about the Twitter Files, some of which Destiny utilised during his debate against two journalists who had contributed to the Twitter Files, and also against Counterpoints (the timestamps here having been taken from my post). If you have doubts about my impartiality, then feel free to read this comment where I offer a rebuttal to the notion that "Israel has been siding with ISIS for years."
Per the subreddit rules, I won’t be linking comments of mine on other subreddits, which unfortunately means I can’t demonstrate my consistency here, whether it came to debating tankies spreading Russian disinformation, or leftists inadvertently spreading misinformation on Ukraine. However, I do have a comment posted on this subreddit where I addressed Russian disinformation spread by RFK Jr. on Lex Fridman’s podcast, and it even received 4THOT’s seal of approval. Thanks mate! The comment talks about the “Boris Johnson sabotaged a Ukrainian peace deal” memes, which again is reiterated in a less conspiratorial manner on Lex Fridman’s podcast during Destiny’s debate against Ben Shapiro, and never gets addressed — understandably so as Ben talks for a while here. Unfortunately, the video was posted during the start of my “mini-ban”, ergo I didn't have an incentive to immediately write an effort-post on the peace deal memes which would be more fleshed-out, including some recent developments which I have a fair amount of notes on; and then I lost interest in doing the write-up weeks later.
Like you all, I’ve made all the usual comments making fun of Vaush, such as when he CONCLOODED a bit too early. Occasionally, I will take a moment to point out Hasan Piker's imbecility on Ukraine; I got irritated when he called Adamsomething a former Nazi; and my ability to predict his takes trumps even Destiny. I’ve even done what this subreddit does daily, which is post screenshots of dumb tankie tweets so that we can all circlejerk about how, well, dumb they are.
Anyways, without inundating you with too many examples where I make disparaging remarks about Twitter leftists, the point is that I’m a pro-establishment liberal, and any debates I had were not on the subreddit that I’m in general alignment with. Now I know what you’re thinking: “Fuck me, is this bozo just upset that the subreddit is pro-Israel?” Quite the contrary. I am, alas, a debate pervert, and I welcomed all the new pro-Israel folk to the subreddit. While I hate the pro-Israel/pro-Palestine dichotomy and I don’t adopt either label for myself, I am practically pro-Israel; the fact that I don’t believe Israel is conducting a genocide and I’ve supported Operation Swords of Iron throughout most of its progression (eventually settling on the same ambivalence that Lonerbox has) probably makes me some depraved, Zionist shill in the eyes of some pro-Palestine folk.
And, no, to get this out the way as well, this is not a post about “Hasbara” or “brigading.” On the latter point, in response to someone else thinking there was brigading from the pro-Palestine crowd, I made the following point:

If they're dggers... then they're part of this community. Brigading typically refers to an active effort by a community to target an entirely different community, typically with some level of coordination. If a pro-Palestinian dgger likes to browse this sub, it's not brigading if they wish to partake in the discussions here.

I would make the same comment about the pro-Israel dggers. Nor have I ever advocated for “purges” because, once again, the debate arena and all that jazz.

The Flaws

There have been a number of problematic behaviours on the subreddit that ramped up after the influx of new users, and folk have generally been receptive when I highlighted them in my attempts to curb it:

• People taking screenshots of articles without posting sources. [1] Posting sources for the benefit of the subreddit is something I still do because people love to take screenshots of tweets from rubbish news aggregator Twitter accounts, and other moderators here have taken note of the fact that this trend continues to persist. Link your sources you bozos.
• Users who habitually blocked folk who disagreed with them, cultivating their own echochamber, and which can effectively lock you out of conversations. [2] This still occurs, particularly from users who only post comments and submissions on I-P (not that there’s anything wrong with only participating in one topic); but this is not a call-out post on specific users, which is why anytime I bring up a particular comment or submission in this post, I will always refer to the user who made it as “OP.”
• And the misinformation.

The misinformation comes in a few forms, and you might not necessarily be able to tell why it qualifies as such, but I will offer explanations later on. To be clear, this post is not an attempt to equate the acuteness of misinformation that the pro-Palestine crowd spreads with the misinformation the pro-Israel crowd spreads. I am merely razor-focused on why these instances continue to rear its ugly head every now and then, not how egregious the misinformation might be. The goal shouldn’t be to be better than the other side — the goal is to be significantly better, outright flawless lad.

The Examples

Seeing as it's a perennial habit on this subreddit to post screenshots of tweets which received barely any engagement, [3] [4] [5] or random Discord servers, hopefully these comments that have at least a couple dozen upvotes will not be out of the ordinary. Do not be fooled by the upvote/downvote distribution here. As mentioned, the issue is not that it doesn't get addressed; the problem is that it doesn't get addressed sooner. The following is a list of some misinformation that I’ve addressed on the subreddit in chronological order. I’ll only be exploring a few of these cases in more detail, noted with an “E.”:

• A submission where OP claims a thread on another subreddit had commenters saying that Gaza is a LGBTQ safe haven; naturally, no one was saying this. [6]
• A while ago, Destiny was trying to find a decent source that offered substantial evidence on the claim that the Hamas leadership was worth billions of dollars. Well, a couple months ago I saw a user was being heavily downvoted for correctly pointing out that the sources posted by other users here used to demonstrate that one of the leaders was worth billions either don't make that case, or are not credible. [7] E
• A claim where OP incorrectly stated that Ilhan Omar denies the Armenian genocide. [8] E
• The self-declared Israeli propagandist, who would make several comments with link-dumps supposedly demonstrating instances of Pallywood but were, in fact, false positives, and then blocked various folk who pointed this out. They were temporarily banned from the subreddit after the post (not that I requested it, and nor do I ever advocate for bans); they migrated to one of the large news subs, where they appeared in practically every I-P thread with highly-upvoted comments; and then they were eventually suspended by Reddit. [9] E
• A basic misreading of an article, where OP claimed that Human Rights Watch had accused Israel of committing a particular war crime, when they had not. [10] E
• A post where OP claimed there was a Muslim pride parade for Gaza. [11]
• A submission showing a screenshot of the title of a BBC YouTube video was made during my mini-ban, so I responded several weeks later as I thought it would make for an interesting case where not providing salient information can lead to misinformation. [12] E
• Another submission which, due to omission, doesn't accurately convey what Oxfam's full position was when it came to their initial opposition to US airdrops in Gaza, and thus can lead people to having a misinformed view. [13] E
• Finally, we have a truly bizarre comment that elevates to the level of disinformation, where OP spreads false information about an NYT article. [14] It was abundantly clear that folk hadn't read the mission report which I myself linked for the benefit of the subreddit. An example of a “charged” thread. E

Some time after the last comment, I was perma-banned; the breakdown on this will be in Part 3. Naturally, misinformation continued to be upvoted in the subreddit, and had people been aware of the behaviour that leads to it, then maybe the misinformation would have been addressed sooner. A few of those instances that are relevant to this post, explanations given later:

• Process not the conclusion: A misreading of a Haaretz article. [15]
• A mild case of misinformation, but in an attempt to demonstrate “Twinkelstein citations” on a Wikipedia page, OP makes a couple errors in terms of how they’ve parsed the citations that support a particular statement, and no one was actually able to decently explain why. This is relevant to point 1 in the next section. [16]
• And various more examples that I will bring up when relevant later.

Prescriptions: The Six Points

The next bullet points are a list of points/prescriptions to keep in mind when going through the examples, and in general. Nothing here is ground-breaking. You’re not going to come away thinking, “Wow, I never considered that people have biases which means they won’t look at matters objectively. This is truly revolutionary stuff. Magnifico!” Nevertheless, sometimes pointing out “the obvious”, particularly when “the obvious” is still an issue, can go a long way in tempering the frequency in which it occurs.
We ought to:

1. Value the process just as much — if not, more — than the conclusion.
2. Be wary of how the presentation of information or the omission of pertinent information can lead to the inadvertent spread of misinformation.
3. Be aware of how “charged” topics/threads lead to poor reasoning that lacks dispassionate analysis.
4. Be aware of how pre-existing beliefs about an individual or organization alongside the usual biases leads to a reluctance to fact-check, where claims are taken at face-value because they feel right.
5. Link the article. Read the article. (Thoroughly.)
6. Redirect criticism to areas where it will be the strongest.

Meat and potatoes: Explanations on the Examples

The examples should be self-explanatory, but I offer explanations in this section for further clarity. Between Examples 4 and 5, I offer some comments on headlines and media bias; this is not a comprehensive analysis, but I believe it provides some context for understanding the issue with Example 5.
Without further ado:

Example 1 - Pallywood

I’ll begin with the post on Pallywood, where point 1 is relevant. Now, there’s much to be said about Pallywood, but I’ll mostly reserve the details for another post (if there's no hyperlink here, then I never found the time to make one). To cut a long story short, OP wished to provide evidence of Pallywood, specifically the instances where Palestinians attempt to fake injuries or trauma for propagandistic purposes; and instances where people take images and footage from other conflicts and misleadingly disseminate them as if they’re from the current Gaza war. (Personally, I don’t think the latter behaviour should be encompassed by the word “Pallywood”, but I’ll just grant it for now.) The only issue here is that much of the “evidence” provided was categorically not instances of this deception. In other words, while the fact that this deception exists in some capacity, the process by which they arrived there was flawed: the inadvertent usage of misinformation.

Process, not just the conclusion

I am, once again, reminding y’all of Destiny's take on misinformation:

It is stated that Breonna Taylor was killed in her bed or while asleep almost ubiquitously across social media despite this not being the truth. What happened to Breonna Taylor was wrong, and the police conduct that day deserves to be called into question. However, starting that discussion with an incorrect description of what happened weakens our arguments against those on the right that disagree with us. This is because we now have to begin by making concessions about lies or misrepresentations from people who purport to agree with us. Furthermore, it casts doubt about the truth of the rest of the argument for those in the middle who are unsure of where the fault lies.

For you youngins, it was very common to hear folk chastise Destiny for being “pedantic” or “nitpicky.” You might even feel the same way about the misinformation I’ve addressed on the subreddit. Ultimately, I can’t force anyone to value the thought process, the evidence, the reasoning just as much as the conclusion. Glazin’ time: what I like about Destiny is that he values consistency when it comes to the application of principles. If Destiny places value on the methodology by which you arrive at your conclusion, he’s going to apply that ubiquitously, regardless of whether or not he agrees with the conclusion. The debate he had against Alex (PWF) exemplifies this, where Alex thought he could have a debate on the supply and distribution of humanitarian aid in Gaza, and he makes a series of dreadful arguments during this segment (emphasis mine):

D: I haven't even disagreed with the conclusion, I'm just showing you that I disagree with how you're getting there; I don't even know if I agree or disagree, we haven't gotten to that part of the argument yet. [17]

[...]

D: Anybody that starts off by quoting these organizations included by quoting to me trucks going out of the country, I'm instantly discrediting their argument. They might be correct in their conclusion like in an accidental way, but it's not worthwhile to me, I won’t even waste my time reading it.
A: Even if you discredit my argument but you agree with my conclusion, that still wouldn't really necessarily change anything.
D: It changes everything.
A: If the conclusion is correct that there's mass starvation going on, Israel's blocking aid, even if the methodology isn't correct, but we get to the right conclusion, then what's actually the difference? [18]

Notice the similarities here to OP’s comment in Example 1:

some of which might not real as I said and repeating again, but the point stands. Lots of mad people not liking this and trying their hardest to disprove a single one of these as if it disproves the whole claim. I honestly do not have the mental capacity to engage in such delusions at the moment.

Destiny would again make remarks about the salience of the methodology:

Also, just to be clear, even if information did come out that all of the reporting ends up being not true, I still wouldn't give Ryan Grim any credit for it because you don't give people credit for being right or wrong, you give people credit for the process that they used, right? And Ryan Grim, relying on the Gray Zone and Blumenthal, and the hacky tweets that they were going through to try to discredit those stories was bullshit, it was garbage; and the writing, the quality, the citations, and the sources were garbage. And the underlying information was garbage. So even if they end up being true, you don't get any credit at all for that. Like, you don't get credit for being right because you ended up like guessing a bunch of shit, and you know, broken clock, etc., etc., like no. [19]

Hell, when RemTheBathBoi (literally neva eva wrong) absolutely annihilated Hasan during the “Great Streamer Drama Battle Royale”, he made similar points albeit focused more so on normative positions rather than descriptive ones. Fortunately, he wrote a post here that I can quote from:

Someone is morally lucky when they arrive at the correct position without any sort of critical thinking as to why it is correct.

Remember: this post is a more focused on behaviour rather than the acuteness of the misinformation itself. Returning to the example, I didn’t link to them in my post, but as other users can confirm, OP had given this link-dump supposedly showing instances of Pallywood in several comments — and they hadn’t bothered to fact-check the links. I don’t care that at some point in time, Palestinians have staged a scene. How did you arrive at that conclusion? Did you take literally every tweet on the matter at face-value? Then, as Destiny mentioned above, if the conclusion ends up being correct, “you don't get any credit at all for that.”

Example 2 - Hamas and the billions

For the second example, points 1, 5 and 6 are relevant. Destiny also attempted to fact-check the claim. The post that my submission is based on is when I first saw an indication that we were going to have a problem in terms of critical engagement with articles. The evidence that Khaled Mashal was worth $5bn all came down to what was tweeted by various Twitter accounts affiliated with the Israeli government. These accounts, in their eagerness to win the information war, will sometimes post misinformation. For example, the IDF’s Twitter account posted some footage from the Iranian missile and drone attacks against Israel; however, for some stupid fucking reason, whoever edited the compilation included a decade old clip obviously unrelated to those attacks.
Per point 1, it may actually be the case that Mashal is that wealthy — but the process by which people arrived there was deeply flawed. As mentioned, the criticism is better directed (point 6) to the mere fact that he is ostentatiously wealthy, and there’s no need to commit yourself to figures that lack robust verification. Think back to Destiny's remarks about Breonna Taylor. Do you really want your argument -- the fact that Mashal is a reprehensible person who languishes in comfort while Palestinians suffer -- to be derailed?

Example 3 - Omar and the Armenian genocide

For the third example, points 2, 3, and 6 are relevant. The fact that Ilhan Omar denies the Armenian genocide is false, and OP omitted the rationale behind her vote, which leads to misplaced speculation on those who read the comment. Moreover, those who speculate won’t feel inclined to actually fact-check the comment as it is something that “feels right” based on their pre-existing beliefs on her. “Omar is a POS. This is a POS thing to do. It must be true.” Obviously, Omar is staunchly pro-Palestine, and she has an unsavoury history of making a series of controversial remarks about Israel [20] [21] [22], which many would argue rises to the level of blatant antisemitism. Regardless of whether or not you believe this is an accurate label, this is going to be the view held by many of the pro-Israel folk who come across OP’s comment, and that will influence the likelihood that they fall for misinformation. Curiously, despite addressing the comment when it had 60 upvotes, it continued to be upvoted. Finally, as I mentioned, the rationale for why she chose to vote in this manner can still be criticised, and that’s where the focus should be instead of relying on unsubstantiated claims.

Example 4 - HRW

For the fourth example, points 1, 3, 4, and 5 are relevant. Clearly, no one read the article, and I have no doubt in my mind that I would have been one of the few here to actually click the article — which no one did as the claim was something that feels true, based on HRW’s long history in accusing Israel of human right’s violations. Per point 1, if HRW had accused Israel of committing a war crime over this, the article provided did not show this.
This submission and comment is also an example of a charged topic: essentially, threads on highly contentious or egregious matters where emotions are running high, people are passionate, and there isn’t an immediate interest in calmly and rationally discussing the submission. The “nuance” tends to arrive several hours later.
Once again, the goal of this post is to incentivise more of a particular type of behaviour, not to say that said behaviour doesn’t exist anywhere in the subreddit or thread. In other words, the fact that the nuance is present further down in the thread, where someone links a Ryan McBeth video which offers some fair criticism, is good; all I’m saying is the good thing ought to happen sooner.

Headlines and outlets

Before I get to my next example, I need to talk about headlines. “NYT has been an utter travesty all the way through. Leading source of misinformation when it comes to Israel-Gaza.” If I asked you where that quote came from, you’d probably be tempted to say it was some pro-Israel individual or organization, rightfully irritated at the instances where NYT has dropped the ball in terms of their reporting — such as, quite infamously by now, their misreporting on who was responsible for the explosion at the al-Ahli hospital. The quote actually comes from Ryan Grim, an individual who, apparently, still believes that Israel was ultimately responsible for the aforementioned explosion.
Whenever I see someone complaining about an NYT headline on some event in the I-P conflict, it’s basically a coins flip on whether or not the complaint is coming from a pro-Israel or pro-Palestine individual. It’s not only headlines, of course, the pro-Palestine complaints also include the language the NYT uses to describe violence from a particular side; which sources they choose to take direct quotes from; the disposition of their op-eds; and protests even flooded into the lobby of the NYT building earlier this year.
None of these complaints are exclusive to the NYT. BBC headlines will also catch their ire [23] [24]; it is the “most depraved genocidal propaganda rag in the world” (I think you can guess who that comes from without even clicking); they’re “absolute ghouls” because they didn’t mention who launched a particular drone strike in their headline; it was scandalous when they originally called Refaat Alareer (yes, that guy) a controversial writer; and so on.
Now, I’m not bringing this all up to make some galaxy-brained assessment where if it is the case that an outlet is receiving criticism from both sides in their coverage, then they must be doing something “right” — which is something the BBC themselves have mentioned is not the case. [25] The fact that the BBC receives a 50-50 split in complaints relating to its coverage of the Israel-Gaza war does not mean the complaints/criticisms are of equal merit. [26] [27]
What I merely wish to highlight here is that it can be challenging to comprehensively critique the coverage from an outlet if you’re not consuming their output on a daily basis, and thus you might only encounter instances where their reporting has been flawed. The BBC is not an outlet I regularly check for world news, and I’m not actively seeking out their reporting on I-P. I would imagine that also holds true for most of y’all.

BBC

You most likely heard about the BBC’s international editor acknowledging that his coverage of the al-Ahli hospital was “wrong” but that he doesn’t have regrets over the reporting — which is obviously a very foolish thing to say. It’s the sort of thing Israeli outlets are keen to report on, rightly so. You might hear about the Hamas official who stormed out of a BBC interview, which was similarly reported on by Israeli outlets.
What you might not hear about is when the BBC’s editorial policy director acknowledged they made a mistake when their UK outlet did not cover South Africa’s ICJ case in a balanced manner, where Israel’s defence was broadcast in full, but only clips were shown from the opposite side as important domestic news took priority instead. Hypothetically, imagine if this was the other way around; you probably would hear about this as it would likely be reported on by some mainstream outlet, and perhaps even posted to a subreddit — not that there would be anything wrong with that.
Depending on what online spaces you inhabit, you might find that the negative qualities of an outlet’s coverage have been so overemphasised that you ultimately end with a distorted, inaccurate view on what their output truly looks like — and that’s going to influence how you might engage with aspects of their output when you encounter it in the future. It can lead to some very uncharitable readings on headlines, articles, content, interviews, etc., where there’s criticism to be made, but it’s made in the wrong direction. In some cases, however, we’re not dealing with uncharitable readings, we’re wrestling with sloppy work.

Traveling Israel

Traveling Israel is a staunchly pro-Israel channel, where the YouTuber has “butted heads” against Lonerbox on a few occasions [28] [29], but refuses to actually debate LB. I myself watched a video of TI a while ago, where he made a flawed analysis on a BBC headline. I will repost that comment:
[Redacted because Reddit is silly. Just click the hyperlink.]

The fact of the matter is that most people who complain about some news outlet being "biased" are actually upset that the outlet is not biased enough to their side. These people also tend to focus on cherry-picking their examples, ignoring myriad examples where the coverage casts their side in a favourable light.

I’ll amend the final paragraph here as saying “most” is too strong of a generalization, and my comment comes across as an indirect attack against those that are doing a worthy task in illustrating the egregious biases an outlet might have, such that some level of skepticism is warranted when it comes to original reporting. And, once again, for the reposted comment, remember point 1: If TI wishes to make the case that the BBC has the most anti-Israeli coverage in terms of international media, he’s more than welcome to do so, but the example he used to support his case is a poor one.

Click here for pain; also click here for part 2.

Alternatively, click here for a cute baby seal.
Edit 2: Oh, and there's always more examples to give; there's plenty that I miss. I didn't even see this misleading tweet that was posted to the sub, and one user here correctly highlights the issue (not to mention OP's weird submission title). Point 3, OP's title makes this a charged thread, and few people are interested in a fact-check.
Or this submission which was just a screenshot of a Vaush video. This is similar to Example 5 in this main post, where no source is given, and no one is interested in watching the video itself. There is absolutely a problem here with folk not being accurate in their criticisms.
Toodles.

I am not The OOP, OOP is u/Beneficial_Hall_5320
My (26F) friend's (26F) boyfriend (28M) gave me an inappropriately expensive gift for my birthday. How do I react?
TRIGGER WARNING: theft
Original Post May 3, 2024
Hey everyone,
Last week, I celebrated my birthday with my friend group. We're all fairly close, and whilst we've never discussed presents/gifts explicitly, we all kind of naturally fell into an unspoken pattern around what kind of birthday gifts we give to each other: we do gifts, but they're usually in the 10-40 Euro range. Think things like a book, a voucher for theater tickets, maybe a nice bottle of wine. That kind of stuff. We're all young professionals or grad students, and that just fits our general income level.
A good friend of mine brought her boyfriend to the party, and he gave me a gift of his own, separate from my friend's. Without going into too much detail, it was a small object that had a very thoughtful connection to a trip I took in winter. I was genuinely very thankful for the gift and thought it was lovely.
However, when I unpacked the item at home, something about it just caught my eye. Certain parts of the item that I would have expected to be made of glass didn't....look like glass. I ended up googling the maker's mark on the bottom and found the exact same item online, for the price of....750 Euros!
Now. It'd be one thing if this guy was a trust fund kid for whom that kind of money was just peanuts. I'd still feel uncomfortable, but at least there'd be some logic to this then. But my friend's relationship with this guy already has massive problems, largely centred around him being underemployed and making her pick up the tab for their shared lifestyle to an undue degree. We honestly all expect the relationship to fizzle out soon, because they obviously aren't compatible in some key aspects. So now I've got this 750-Euro-item on my shelf, and I've no clue how to handle this. It feels extremely inappropriate to have this thing. I'd feel uncomfortable accepting this sort of gift from almost anyone I know, but the fact that it's a) a friend's romantic partner (I'm gay and her boyfriend knows, but still) and b) said friend has issues with her partner's handling of his finances just makes it even worse. It's also a highly specific item that I don't think he'd be likely to just have, so I'm pretty certain he must have bought this for the occasion and must be aware of its value.
What do I do? My friend seems to be totally unaware of the value of the item. Do I tell her? Do I contact the boyfriend and ask him what the fuck he was thinking? How would you handle this?
TL;DR: Friend's boyfriend gave me 750-Euro birthday gift. Friend seems to be unaware of true value of the item and already has issues with boyfriend's handling of money. How do I handle this?
RELEVANT COMMENTS/ADDITIONAL INFO
OOP on talking to her friend and returning the item

Yeah, I think I'll have to have a discussion with my friend - I also considered that he might have got some kind of BIZARRELY amazing deal, and spent all of yesterday night googling around for auctioning sites and checking whether there might be a chance he bought this without knowing what it was and how much it was worth. I'm pretty sure, though, that unless something genuinely absurd happened, he must have paid at least 500 EUR for this, and even that's a VERY generously low estimate. There is, of course, a chance that he just had this item, but it's so specific and rare that I don't think some random pseudo-finance bro just has this in his house, sees it, and thinks, 'huh. it's my girlfriend's friends birthday, that might be a good chance to get rid of this'.
Totally bizarre behaviour. I don't know what this man was thinking, but I need this thing out of my house.

OOP When told to ask the friends BF coyly where he bought the item and get answers

I considered that as well! Trying to maintain some level of vagueness about what it is: the thing that makes it valuable is that it's antique/second-hand. There are modern versions of this item available that are reasonably priced ( I initially thought my item was one of these modern versions) but anything made by the particular guy who made mine is valuable because it's old. If he bought it online, it would be downright impossible for him not to notice that similar items go for 600-800 EUR even if he somehow got this particular one for cheaper. I suppose there is some kind of bizarre off-chance that he bought it at a flea market or antique store from someone who didn't know what they were selling, but he's a very run-of-the-mill finance-bro-ish frat boy type and not at all the sort of guy I imagine casually meandering around flea markets and picking up valuable antiques on accident.
It's such a bizarre thing to happen. I genuinely don't know whether I'm glad to have googled it and found out - on the one hand, I'm glad to know someone did something that utterly bonkers, on the other hand, I could have gone on existing peacefully and enjoyed my pretty trinket if I hadn't found out what it was 💀

Update May 5, 2024
Original post here
To summarise the original post: My (26F) friend's (26F) perpetually broke boyfriend (28M) gave me a gift for my birthday. It initially looked like a thoughtfully chosen, normal gift with a lovely connection to a recent trip to my mother's homecountry I took in winter, but after growing suspicious of the quality of the materials, I realised that it was in fact an antique worth hundreds of Euros. Theories as to what happened included him not being aware of the item's value, possibly having bought it from someone who didn't know what they were selling, or him trying to somehow hurt his girlfriend/my friend and/or trying to hit on me in a bizarre, inappropriate way.
I ended up texting my friend and telling her that I had researched the gift and discovered it was worth a very inappropriate amount of money. She was VERY surprised by the entire situation, especially considering her boyfriend (now ex, but more on that later) is perpetually broke and makes her foot the bill for their shared lifestyle. She came over to my place and together, we called him on speakerphone, where she demanded some answers. Long story short: He STOLE it. From his OWN MOTHER.
He's still being a bit shady about some details, but we managed to piece together the sequence of events to a satisfactory degree:
My friend was supposed to be coming to my birthday party straight from work. When she left her office, she realised she had forgotten the gift she had planned for me (a book) at home. Since she was already running late and her place is pretty far from both her work and my flat, she chose to text her boyfriend, who was having dinner at his parent's home at the time. She knew he was there, and knew his parents live close to me, so she asked him to just buy a copy of the same book at a bookshop on his way to my place so they'd have a gift.
For reasons known only to him, he did not choose this simple, reasonable solution to the 'we forgot our gift' issue. Instead of leaving five minutes early to pick up another copy of the book, he instead chose to just GRAB A RANDOM ITEM OFF HIS MOTHER'S LIVING ROOM SHELF. WITHOUT ASKING HER. He had no idea what it was, just thought it looked pretty, took it, and stuffed it in a paper bag. He also did not text back my friend or react to her calls, so she (reasonably) assumed he hadn't read her message and ended up going BACK to get the book, which was why they arrived separately and with separate gifts.
Meanwhile, the boyfriend had unknowingly gifted me not just any antique, no! This item had been passed down to his mother from her THREE-TIMES-GREAT-GRANDMOTHER. It had been in his family's possession for literal centuries, and was the ONLY tangible connection she (his mother) still had to her homecountry, which, incidentally, is also my mother's homecountry - which he wasn't aware of, meaning that what I thought was a thoughtful connection to my trip there was a total coincidence! He had no idea of the item's cultural significance.
My friend immediately made him call his mum to fess up to the entire situation. His mother had been running herself ragged trying to figure out where this item disappeared to for DAYS. Obviously, she never suspected thievery, and was blaming herself terribly for having lost something this important. The boyfriend ACTUALLY HAD THE GALL to try to convince her not to make her call his mum! He wanted to sweep the entire thing under the rug! Of course, we didn't let that happen.
His mother came by my place this morning and I returned the item to her, along with some apologies for not starting investigations immediately and some nice chocolate. We had a lovely conversation about our shared cultural heritage, I assured her that the item had been treated with dignity for the entire time it was in my possession, and we parted ways with a hug. She also told me that my initial estimate of the item's value was incorrect- it's actually worth EVEN MORE money. It would probably sell for a four-figure sum at auction.
I don't know what she wants to do with her son, but I hope she whoops his ass. My friend, for obvious reasons, broke up with him.
Lessons learned: Google suspicious gifts, and lock away your sentimentals/valuables when people you're not entirely sure about come over. The GALL of this man.
Tl;dr: The suspiciously expensive gift was, in fact, stolen. The boyfriend swiped it off his mum's shelf, not knowing what it was or how much it was worth. I returned it to her and hope she whoops his ass.
RELEVANT COMMENTS
crazycatlorde

Firstly, good on you! Secondly, good on your friend for breaking up with this dope. Thirdly, I laugh at the implication that one should lock valuables away from people you’re not entirely sure about if that person is your own child 😅

OOP

True! That poor woman obviously wouldn't have thought her own son would be running around grabbing random things off her shelves! I still ended up checking all of my stuff, considering he appears to have sticky fingers and spent hours in my flat basically unsupervised on my birthday. I'll grow much more cautious with my valuables when having groups over from now on, especially if the group includes friends' partners who I might not know that well!

~
crazykitty123

I remember reading your first post. WHAT WAS THE GIFT??? Why not put us out of our misery and say what it was?

OOP

Alright, alright - it's super specific, but it's a special kind of religious devotional triptych made, in the case of 'my' particular one, of silver and real fucking rubies. They're called 'travel triptychs' and common in my family's home region, though, of course, they aren't usually made of silver and gemstones. I initially grew suspicious because of the maker's mark a) saying that it's silver and b) specifically saying that it's 800 silver, which is a kind of silver used only up to the 1800s (modern silverwork uses 925 silver, aka 'sterling silver'). The religious aspect wasn't very meaningful to me, but my family's home city is famous for its silversmithing, and my mother's family were silversmiths, and the item specifically is BEAUTIFUL. Of course it is, it's a thousand-dollar antique inlaid with fucking rubies.
Suuuuuper specific. This fucker basically accidentally gave me a gift that would have been, if it had come from someone else, pretty damn amazing.

&

Yes, this really only didn't immediately raise suspicions because somehow, this extremely specific item was also an extremely well-fitting gift for me. The entire connection to my family and background, plus I am super into art history and have a small collection of (much cheaper) stuff that isn't too dissimilar to this thing - basically, he accidentally gave me the perfect gift. If he had given it to anyone else, I expect they would have immediately gone '?????? wtf, bro' and started to think about what on earth happened there, but I seriously spent a good while thinking to myself that I would have never expected something this thoughtful from a near-stranger, and how I must have misjudged this guy's character terribly.
And yes, triptychs are the coolest shit! As glad as I am about this one being back in the hands of its rightful owner, I've been trawling etsy since then, trying to find a significantly cheaper one made of tin to fill the empty space left behind by the silver-and-rubies one 😂😂😂 I hope your sister enjoys hers!

THIS IS A REPOST SUB - I AM NOT THE OOP
DO NOT CONTACT THE OOP's OR COMMENT ON LINKED POSTS, REMEMBER - RULE 7

What is everyone's cleaning routine for their Luba? Mine was giving me a Motor overheating error while I was out of town. It rained 2.1" while I was gone so the lawn was moist when it mowed the following morning. When I got home I could see the ragged pattern on the lawn so I stopped it and flipped it over. One side packed with damp grass and the other side was getting there.
Removed the cutting discs and used a putty knife to scape off a lot of gunk, then hosed off the bottom as best as I could.
I was wondering if spraying Silicone Spray on the Bottom would help keep it clean? I also have some stuff that I use on my snowblower to keep the chute slick so snow doesn't jam it up. Wondering how that would work?
Thoughts?

Hello,
I am currently working with a small grant to do some research into running LLMs on premise for RAG purposes. My budget allows me to buy a NVidia Tesla T4 although I am wondering if a consumer GPU would suffice, something like an RTX4060Ti with 16GB RAM for example...
My thinking here is my chassis is a workstation chassis that does not have the airflow of a server so I'd run one of those 3D printed shrouds for the T4. But with the consumer cards they have fans onboard. The workload will not be constant but there is an expectation to leave the workstation running 24/7 for users to remote in and perform occasional AI related activities.
Would this sort of usage pattern be too stressful for a consumer card?
Noted for the same price a Tesla T4 second hand I could acquire 2 or 3 RTX4070Ti / RTX4060Ti.
Opinions greatly appreciated. :-)

I am not the OOP. The OOP is u/Beneficial_Hall_5320 posting in relationships
Concluded as per OOP
1 update -Medium
Thanks to u/Separate_Kick3186 for suggesting this BORU
Original - 3rd May 2024
Update - 5th May 2024
​
My (26F) friend's (26F) boyfriend (28M) gave me an inappropriately expensive gift for my birthday. How do I react?
​
Hey everyone,
Last week, I celebrated my birthday with my friend group. We're all fairly close, and whilst we've never discussed presents/gifts explicitly, we all kind of naturally fell into an unspoken pattern around what kind of birthday gifts we give to each other: we do gifts, but they're usually in the 10-40 Euro range. Think things like a book, a voucher for theater tickets, maybe a nice bottle of wine. That kind of stuff. We're all young professionals or grad students, and that just fits our general income level.
A good friend of mine brought her boyfriend to the party, and he gave me a gift of his own, separate from my friend's. Without going into too much detail, it was a small object that had a very thoughtful connection to a trip I took in winter. I was genuinely very thankful for the gift and thought it was lovely.
However, when I unpacked the item at home, something about it just caught my eye. Certain parts of the item that I would have expected to be made of glass didn't....look like glass. I ended up googling the maker's mark on the bottom and found the exact same item online, for the price of....750 Euros!
Now. It'd be one thing if this guy was a trust fund kid for whom that kind of money was just peanuts. I'd still feel uncomfortable, but at least there'd be some logic to this then. But my friend's relationship with this guy already has massive problems, largely centred around him being underemployed and making her pick up the tab for their shared lifestyle to an undue degree. We honestly all expect the relationship to fizzle out soon, because they obviously aren't compatible in some key aspects. So now I've got this 750-Euro-item on my shelf, and I've no clue how to handle this. It feels extremely inappropriate to have this thing. I'd feel uncomfortable accepting this sort of gift from almost anyone I know, but the fact that it's a) a friend's romantic partner (I'm gay and her boyfriend knows, but still) and b) said friend has issues with her partner's handling of his finances just makes it even worse. It's also a highly specific item that I don't think he'd be likely to just have, so I'm pretty certain he must have bought this for the occasion and must be aware of its value.
What do I do? My friend seems to be totally unaware of the value of the item. Do I tell her? Do I contact the boyfriend and ask him what the fuck he was thinking? How would you handle this?
TL;DR: Friend's boyfriend gave me 750-Euro birthday gift. Friend seems to be unaware of true value of the item and already has issues with boyfriend's handling of money. How do I handle this?
​
Comments
​
RantyMcThrowaway
I'd bring it up with your friend. There is a CHANCE that he got a really, really good deal, or even a decent knock off at a lower price. But honestly, if he's bad with money, even something half that price would be pretty inappropriate. Talk to your friend and offer to return the gift if it turns out to have cost as much as you suspect it did. Let them know you are incredibly grateful for his thoughtfulness, but it wouldn't feel right accepting such a lavish gift and that their company and friendship is all that you ask for. Just be honest about how you feel and let your friend decide how she wants to proceed.
​
girlyfoodadventures
My thought was that it's possible he got it at a second hand/thrift shop. In my experience, thrift shop pricers are not thinking at all about how much something cost initially- there will be plastic cups and plates ikea sells for 25-50¢ labeled as a dollar, and something obviously nice might get flagged, but is more likely to just be labled 10$.

OOP: Yeah, I think I'll have to have a discussion with my friend - I also considered that he might have got some kind of BIZARRELY amazing deal, and spent all of yesterday night googling around for auctioning sites and checking whether there might be a chance he bought this without knowing what it was and how much it was worth. I'm pretty sure, though, that unless something genuinely absurd happened, he must have paid at least 500 EUR for this, and even that's a VERY generously low estimate. There is, of course, a chance that he just had this item, but it's so specific and rare that I don't think some random pseudo-finance bro just has this in his house, sees it, and thinks, 'huh. it's my girlfriend's friends birthday, that might be a good chance to get rid of this'.
Totally bizarre behaviour. I don't know what this man was thinking, but I need this thing out of my house.

​
Update - 2 days later
​
To summarise the original post: My (26F) friend's (26F) perpetually broke boyfriend (28M) gave me a gift for my birthday. It initially looked like a thoughtfully chosen, normal gift with a lovely connection to a recent trip to my mother's homecountry I took in winter, but after growing suspicious of the quality of the materials, I realised that it was in fact an antique worth hundreds of Euros. Theories as to what happened included him not being aware of the item's value, possibly having bought it from someone who didn't know what they were selling, or him trying to somehow hurt his girlfriend/my friend and/or trying to hit on me in a bizarre, inappropriate way.
I ended up texting my friend and telling her that I had researched the gift and discovered it was worth a very inappropriate amount of money. She was VERY surprised by the entire situation, especially considering her boyfriend (now ex, but more on that later) is perpetually broke and makes her foot the bill for their shared lifestyle. She came over to my place and together, we called him on speakerphone, where she demanded some answers. Long story short: He STOLE it. From his OWN MOTHER.
He's still being a bit shady about some details, but we managed to piece together the sequence of events to a satisfactory degree:
My friend was supposed to be coming to my birthday party straight from work. When she left her office, she realised she had forgotten the gift she had planned for me (a book) at home. Since she was already running late and her place is pretty far from both her work and my flat, she chose to text her boyfriend, who was having dinner at his parent's home at the time. She knew he was there, and knew his parents live close to me, so she asked him to just buy a copy of the same book at a bookshop on his way to my place so they'd have a gift.
For reasons known only to him, he did not choose this simple, reasonable solution to the 'we forgot our gift' issue. Instead of leaving five minutes early to pick up another copy of the book, he instead chose to just GRAB A RANDOM ITEM OFF HIS MOTHER'S LIVING ROOM SHELF. WITHOUT ASKING HER. He had no idea what it was, just thought it looked pretty, took it, and stuffed it in a paper bag. He also did not text back my friend or react to her calls, so she (reasonably) assumed he hadn't read her message and ended up going BACK to get the book, which was why they arrived separately and with separate gifts.
Meanwhile, the boyfriend had unknowingly gifted me not just any antique, no! This item had been passed down to his mother from her THREE-TIMES-GREAT-GRANDMOTHER. It had been in his family's possession for literal centuries, and was the ONLY tangible connection she (his mother) still had to her homecountry, which, incidentally, is also my mother's homecountry - which he wasn't aware of, meaning that what I thought was a thoughtful connection to my trip there was a total coincidence! He had no idea of the item's cultural significance.
My friend immediately made him call his mum to fess up to the entire situation. His mother had been running herself ragged trying to figure out where this item disappeared to for DAYS. Obviously, she never suspected thievery, and was blaming herself terribly for having lost something this important. The boyfriend ACTUALLY HAD THE GALL to try to convince her not to make her call his mum! He wanted to sweep the entire thing under the rug! Of course, we didn't let that happen.
His mother came by my place this morning and I returned the item to her, along with some apologies for not starting investigations immediately and some nice chocolate. We had a lovely conversation about our shared cultural heritage, I assured her that the item had been treated with dignity for the entire time it was in my possession, and we parted ways with a hug. She also told me that my initial estimate of the item's value was incorrect- it's actually worth EVEN MORE money. It would probably sell for a four-figure sum at auction.
I don't know what she wants to do with her son, but I hope she whoops his ass. My friend, for obvious reasons, broke up with him.
Lessons learned: Google suspicious gifts, and lock away your sentimentals/valuables when people you're not entirely sure about come over. The GALL of this man.
Tl;dr: The suspiciously expensive gift was, in fact, stolen. The boyfriend swiped it off his mum's shelf, not knowing what it was or how much it was worth. I returned it to her and hope she whoops his ass.
​
Comments
​
crazykitty205
I remember reading your first post. WHAT WAS THE GIFT??? Why not put us out of our misery and say what it was?

OOP:
Alright, alright - it's super specific, but it's a special kind of religious devotional triptych made, in the case of 'my' particular one, of silver and real fucking rubies. They're called 'travel triptychs' and common in my family's home region, though, of course, they aren't usually made of silver and gemstones. I initially grew suspicious because of the maker's mark a) saying that it's silver and b) specifically saying that it's 800 silver, which is a kind of silver used only up to the 1800s (modern silverwork uses 925 silver, aka 'sterling silver'). The religious aspect wasn't very meaningful to me, but my family's home city is famous for its silversmithing, and my mother's family were silversmiths, and the item specifically is BEAUTIFUL. Of course it is, it's a thousand-dollar antique inlaid with fucking rubies.
Suuuuuper specific. This fucker basically accidentally gave me a gift that would have been, if it had come from someone else, pretty damn amazing.

​
crazycatlorde
Firstly, good on you! Secondly, good on your friend for breaking up with this dope. Thirdly, I laugh at the implication that one should lock valuables away from people you’re not entirely sure about if that person is your own child

OOP: True! That poor woman obviously wouldn't have thought her own son would be running around grabbing random things off her shelves! I still ended up checking all of my stuff, considering he appears to have sticky fingers and spent hours in my flat basically unsupervised on my birthday. I'll grow much more cautious with my valuables when having groups over from now on, especially if the group includes friends' partners who I might not know that well!

​
kittyroux
It’s so hard to know who you can‘t trust. One of my mom’s coworkers arrived at her wedding reception venue early, offered to help set up chairs, and stole one of the bridesmaids’ gifts and all four of the groomsmen’s gifts which had been set on their plates at the head table. What did Denise the Dental Receptionist need with four bottles of men’s fragrance? No idea, but the thief was discovered when she invited all her coworkers, including my mom, to her birthday party at her place. There was a basket containing four colognes—weirdly the same ones mom bought for her bridal party!—in the guest bathroom.

OOP: That is insane. It almost seems compulsive: there was literally NO need to do that. People are so, so weird, and this has really opened my eyes to how bizarre some people act!

​
I am not the OOP. Please do not harass the OOP.
Please remember the No Brigading Rule and to be civil in the comments

The storm slithered across the countryside, consuming all in its path. Hurricanes are nasty, especially in southern Florida. This one was a category four, with sustained winds of 150 miles per hour. Most people evacuate in such a storm, but not my grandpa. The man is as stubborn as a boulder with less emotion to boot.
He’s hard, difficult to love, but not entirely without his charm. He is faithful, slow and steady and always does what he says. Grandpa is cut from a different cloth, old school through-and-through. His face is as severe as the storm and his demeanor equally so. No one would consider him a pleasant man, not even his wife. For this reason, he lives alone in Hendry County on a plantation.
I found myself stuck in the crosshairs of this ungodly devastation for his sake. I was worried for him. I'm his eldest grandchild, so I felt responsible to care for him. To this day I regret my decision. It left me scarred. Sleep eludes me. I lay in my bed unable to keep my eyes closed. In the stillness of the early morning, I hear his desperate cries. I told myself there was nothing I could do. This is probably true, but fear stole my breath away. I was powerless to stop them.
Storms are the worst. The panic attacks begin. The memories come back in a flood of emotions. I remember all the details. I hear the screams; the noises no human mouth can produce. My therapist says they are fantasies my mind conjured to distract me from my loss. I want nothing more than to believe this, yet I know it is not so.
I saw the eye.
The crotchety old bastard shouted, “Jeb move your ass, the storm is approaching and we still need to gather all the cattle into the barn.”
Thoroughly regretting my decision to help the old man, I responded, “I'm going as fast as I can. Yelling at me isn't going to make it better.”
At this point, the wind was whipping through the trees. The rain was pelting us in the face, feeling like pin pricks on our exposed skin. This was so stupid, the old man had insurance on the farm and all damages would be recompensed.
Love makes you do dumb things.
The old man was the only family I had left. My mom died in childbirth and my dad drank himself to death. Suicide one sip at a time. Death by bottle. I was left alone, with no family members who cared for me. No legal guardian at the age of fourteen; confused, lost, bouncing from couch to couch. Consumed by anger at my mother for abandoning me, disgust for the weakness of my father, and jealousy of my friends who had loved ones. This is how Terrance “Terry” Clearwater found me. He took me in without a second thought. His level-headedness grounded me. The old man was the only consistent thing in my life. He genuinely saved me. Guilt and shame shatter my heart when I remember this. A debt to my grandpa will forever be unpaid. When he needed me most, I froze.
The storm roared. It surprised me how loud hurricanes can be. A war was being fought outside, an onslaught of winds and rain against the longevity of the trees and stones. Judging from the noise, it seemed as if the storm was winning.
We made our way in doors, stacking the heaviest beds and dressers against the windows. We weren’t keen on having a branch tossed through the window to impale anyone. I began to fill the bathtubs and sinks with water, knowing that at any time the power could go out. After we felt confident enough in our fortifications, the two of us gathered in the living room. To distract ourselves from the tempest huffing and puffing and trying to blow our house down, I dealt out cards.
It was in the second game of poker when the lights began to flicker. Before we could even finish our hand, the lights were out altogether. For a second, we sat in the dark, listening to the wind and rain. It was oddly peaceful. That was the last peaceful moment I had with my grandpa.
Sometimes I wake up tears staining my pillowcase, yearning for that moment again. I don’t think I would light the candles. I would just let that moment linger, stretching it out for as long as possible. I miss his gruff voice and rough hands. The sturdy pat on my shoulder, his signature way of showing me that he cared for me. He never outright said he loved me, but it was clear by his actions. Words are cheap, but actions are invaluable.
He was invaluable to me.
I ignited the flashlight and lit a sufficient number of candles. My nose was assaulted by warring scents. Each tried to compete with its counterpart. The room smelt of pomegranates and maple, cinnamon and ocean breeze, any smell imaginable was present. The smells made me queasy, at least that is what I thought then. Looking back at it now, I am convinced somewhere in my subconscious I was aware of what was about to happen.
My grandpa grabbed his portable battery-operated radio, the one he used to listen to the ball games and switched it to the local weather channel. In a crackling, staticky tone, the weather host predicted that the eye of the storm should be passing Hendry County in the next few minutes. The charming woman’s voice promised that the worst had passed and there shouldn't be much more to worry about. She advised us to stay hunkered down and wait the remainder of the storm out.
The woman could not have been more wrong.
The storm, in one final torrent of ungodly furry, blew with all its combined strength. An awful ripping noise, a crack, and an explosion; the 100-year oak in our front yard smashed through the kitchen window. I remember staring up through the gaping hole in the ceiling seeing the pitch black of night, darkened by the suffocating clouds and whipping winds. I felt as if I was staring into the depths of the abyss itself.
The storm at that moment ceased. No more wind, no rain, the clouds parted so that the moon was visible. It was full, the eye of God peering down on us. I stared perplexed at the moon. It was the color of blood congealed on a corpse. The visage was malevolent by nature. It was not the celestial body I was used to. It was foreign, uncomfortably large. The moon seemed to open wide and swallow the night sky.
This false moon had one dark spot in the center, a pupil in the center of an eye. The longer I looked at it, the more it peeked into the depths of my soul. It was alive. More than that it meant harm. I was certain of this. I can’t tell you how I knew it, but there was no doubt.
The night sky, other than the crimson glow radiating from that celestial eye, was darker. It wasn't merely darkness; it was inky blackness. Void of any light. It was a sky bathed in pitch. No light refracted. No light illuminated. My flashlight’s beam seemed to be choked in the night. An anorexic illumination emitting from the spotlight. Where my LED light would’ve ignited the sky like an offspring of the sun itself, it barely allowed me to see the far wall of the room.
It was as if the cruelty of the storm split the fabric of our reality only to have the hole filled by this monstrosity. Perhaps that is exactly what occurred. I’m not sure. I can’t explain what I saw. I just know that my grandpa was there and then after the storm he wasn’t.
Regardless, I found my adolescent-self staring at the night. I can’t rightly tell you how long me and my grandpa stood, looking at the eye in the sky. We didn’t speak. What was there to say? We were glued to our spot neck contorted; eyes locked on the celestial body. I am not even sure I blinked the entire time. My eyes refused to break the soul gaze for one moment. Soul gaze it was. I understood vileness at that moment. I met true darkness. Fear did more than fill my heart. It consumed me, a shadowy beast tearing into my sanity. I felt myself wandering, my consciousness being lost forever.
It was the blood curdling cries in that inky blackness that broke my mind’s wandering. It was off in the distance, but I could not locate the origins. The darkness did more than distort light, the sound was odd. It was as if the night had substance to it, causing the soundwaves to bounce off of it. Echo location was impossible. One moment the sound would come from behind me. The next would be just outside of my field of vision. I could not tell if the creatures were leagues away, or if they lurked right outside of sight.
A different type of fear seized me. This kind was animalistic and natural, whereas the previous type was philosophical and soul retching. There was a predator on the loose, my mind could comprehend. Before, that eye in the sky induced a fear that ripped at my understanding entirely. It was something superseding my insignificant intellect.
Still, my body became erect. My senses fired on all cylinders, attempting to detect and protect. The carnal portion of my mind took over. Self-preservation kicked in, and I unconsciously shuffled towards my grandpa.
My instincts remembered how it was like in those earlier days. Those days when we weren’t the top of the food chain. Humans are herd creatures by nature. We build sprawling metropolises so we don’t have to remember those days when creatures stalked us in the night. We try so hard to banish the darkness with our artificial light, yet still we wake screaming in the middle of the night from those phantom memories from our ancestors. Those memories of monsters, and creatures so evil we try to forget. We haven’t forgotten, and neither have they.
We huddled there, me and grandfather, under my dinner table, unwilling to make a sound. Hoping. Praying that the howls would fall off in the distance. No such thing happened. Fear muddled our minds and we could hardly even breath.
Eventually, my grandfather whispered in a voice barely audible, “We need to get to the attic. We are exposed here. We would stand a better chance of hiding, also my guns are in the lockbox there.”
Mostly because I lacked a better plan myself and I was petrified to be left alone, I followed him as we crept from under the table to the corner of the room. On all fours we crawled from one side of the room to the other, careful not to make a sound.
The cries were getting desperate; hollering, slobbering noises produced in the back of the throat. They made my blood run cold. In the dim light of my flashlight, I saw my grandfather trembling. His hands shook and his face grew sweaty.
The bestial calls were terrifying, but I had never seen my grandpa scared. This absolutely paralyzed me with fear. My grandpa survived the Korean War, Vietnam War, and helped train people in Desert Storm. If he was worried, then I knew we were in dire straits. We were not moving fast enough. I was deadly afraid that those creatures stalking us would catch up to us.
As we barreled forward, scuttling as fast as we dared, we turned the hall to run face-to-face with one of the creatures. It resembled a dog; I mean this in the loosest way possible. It was made of shadow. I don’t mean it was shadowy, I mean the body was formed by the swirling darkness. Its paws were too large for the sleek frame, extended even longer by cruel claws protruding from its tips. The beast had twisted spines piercing its bent back. Its’ skin was flaky, like it was afflicted with a serious case of mange. Thank God I was unable to see the creature's face. Its’ ears were notched and stood erect. They shortened and lengthened in a mesmerizing pattern that was oddly pleasing to the eye.
We backed away slowly, making sure we didn’t lose sight of the demon dog. In reverse, we made our way to the living room, hoping to make it to the staircase. As we scooted along, we heard a scratching sound coming from the kitchen. My head twisted with break-neck speed to get a glimpse of a second creature climbing through the hole created by the fallen tree. We were exposed to it. The creature only had to look up from its incessant scratching to see us.
Forgetting all pretenses, we climbed to our feet scrambling across the hardwood hallway for the living room. I wasn’t even trying to hide my footfalls, I fled with all my might. My grandpa was right behind me. The creatures heard our ragged breathing and our heavy footfalls. In seconds they were in hot pursuit. Snarls, and slobbering yawls echoed down the hallway after us. Panic seized me, and I ran faster than I ever thought possible.
When I made it to the stairway, I turned to look back. My grandpa was a few strides behind me. The creatures were barreling towards him. He wasn’t going to make it. Our eyes locked. I saw that he saw he wasn’t going to make it. His lips formed, “I love you son.” It was the first time; I had ever heard him say it. Tears filled my eyes. I knew I ought to help him, yet my feet remained locked firmly to the spot. I watched as he changed course and began to run towards the front door.
The creatures were drawn further away from me.
Still, I was unable to move. I stood there stunned, struck dumb in the presence of my grandpa's final heroic act. Time was put on rewind, and for a second, I saw the man my bent grandfather used to be. A glorious man, young and full of life. He stood tall, accepting his death with stoic grace. My grandpa turned to me and we locked eyes. A moment passed, then he bellowed, “Go, get out of here. Grab the gun and hide.” As if it was magic, the ice in my veins melted.
I moved with the grace of an Olympic athlete. I flung myself up the stairs three steps at a time. I barreled through the spare bedroom, slamming the closet door against the plaster wall. I pulled the draw string for the attic door up above my head. I shot up the pull-down ladder and found myself in pitch darkness. If I could only get to my grandpa’s shotgun, maybe I could help him. I cursed my squeamish nature that caused my grandpa to place the guns up there in the first place. It couldn’t be too late. I can't lose him too. He is all that I left.
As if to make a liar of me, immediately I heard a familiar voice echoing from downstairs. It was my grandpa screaming. Tears filled my eyes and my vision began to sway.
Those screams.
Those god awful pleas for help. They tore great swaths out of my still beating heart. I was consumed by those creatures, if not bodily, then emotionally. My grandpa. My strong, stubborn, and independent grandpa. I was left alone, again, in the dark with on one to guide me. I collapsed to my knees in that scorching attic. I looked to the heavens hoping to see God. All I saw through a leaking crack in the roof was that damned eye.
The blood moon seemed to wink at me, pleased with the activities of this night. I heard the unearthly screeches of those dogs' taper off. It was just me and the celestial body. We stared at each other for a moment, then two. The eye in the sky didn't want flesh, it wanted this. It wanted to gorge itself on my pain. The kind that remains. The kind no doctor can heal with clever medicines. The insatiable pain of loss with no hope of recovery. A broken heart, unable to be mended. Guilt for actions not taken, and prices not paid.
I used to think I was brave, a strong man. Now I know the truth. Me and that eye both saw. I am a coward through-and-through; willing to let those I love pay the price, while I stay cowering in safety. That night I protected my own worthless skin, but I lost my soul in the doing.
With one final glance, I looked and saw that eye and it saw me. I knew it, and it knew me. Then the winds picked up, and the clouds obscured that eye from my sight. I would like to say I have never seen it since, but every time I close my eyes, I still see it.
You see, I live my life underneath the watchful gaze of that celestial eye.

Greetings Fellow Helldivers! Reports have come in regarding the various R&D issues for the existing weapons superearth supplies us with, and the concerns are relatively consistent from the various destroyers I've visited.
I've had Ted and Bob (mandatory volunteers) down in weapons testing try out a few of the weapons. And Ted's got some recommendations. I'd love to hear if you think the recommendations are patriotic enough to send back to Super Earth.
Eruptor: Reduce first impact damage significantly, increase shrapnel particles and damage. Increase recoil to match power. This would return the eruptor to its unique 'splash' damage role, while increasing the handling to match a heavy 'artillery' style primary. You might even have potential to add 'Incendiary' properties to the shrapnel pattern in a future variant to create a 'napalm Eruptor' that makes small areas of burning.
BlitzeArc Gun: Both are very similar and handle similar, with the unique property of infinite Ammo. Bob mentioned he liked tesla coils! Perhaps one of them could be modified to be similar - a rapid-firing electric tesla coil that zaps the closest enemy for low but fast occurring damage. The magazine could work off similar technology to the Quazar Cannon - infinite ammo, but a cooldown required after a period of time. Pros: infinite ammo, less aiming requirement. Cons: recharge time required, unable to focus-fire or 'snipe' with this weapon, friendly fire (electricity didn't recognize Bob as 'friend').
Knight SMG (or all SMGs): Ted is left handed, so he wondered if maybe this niche weapon could be dual wielded, with the drawback of not being able to scope fire or zoom in. After all, most folks use the Defender instead. It would still retain the ability to fire behind you while running and holding an item. Dubious recommendation, since Ted is already a very poor shot with just 1 weapon. Otherwise this prize weapon is mostly ornamental in the armory.
HMG: A higher caliber machine gun should have not just greater damage, but also better armour penetration, and possibly stagger capabilities. Ted's broken shoulder would suggest there is enough power to do so but might be lost in translation (from helldiver to enemy). Perhaps adding either armour penetrating rounds, or blunted stagger rounds might be wise. Also the large protective plates on the gun should provide some protection against light arms fire.
Ballistics shield: The heavy ballistics shield can cover a helldiver well against fire, though can suffer knockback if hit by a rocket. Recommended adding ground anchor spikes to bottom of shield so that crouching stationary with shield will provide actual resistance to rocket fire, rather than rag dolling. If used properly may also increase melee strike damage too. Alternative variant recommendation is energy shield variant, a one-directional shield that allows supporting helldivers to fire through the shield at enemies ahead. Weaker to rockets, and can be depleted by overwhelming fire. Such a variation may require both support and backpack slot however.
Gas Grenade: We have a stratagem for this, but it could be a stealth variety of gas grenade that can slowly do DOT without revealing the thrower's location. For extra boom, Ted suggested incorporating a flammable component that could be ignited by fire or electricity to cause a large explosion.

Blurb: Stranded on the hell-planet of Arachnea, the last remnants of the human Fleet fight to survive in a world overrun by insectoid monsters and a sentient ecosystem gone mad. It is a war they are destined to lose, as with every century that passes, more of the ancient science lies forgotten, replaced by myth and superstition. That is, until assistant navigator Rene stumbles the mightiest weapon of the ancestor-gods...
Link to 1st chapter here: 1st chapter on HFY
Link for all the chapters available here: Engines of Arachnea on Royal Road
“I can’t agree with your conclusion,” Deschane said, “This calcite formation is remarkable, but how can you say with certainty it’s the work of thinking beings?” “Because there are obvious symbolisms. Again, another thing we thought them incapable of. Notice how the stalactites are arranged?”
Rene squinted. There was no pattern to it. Then Prota asked: “What star points northward in the month of Clemdas?”
“Brahe.” Both he and the navigator said simultaneously. Comprehension dawned upon them. The Amit had shaped the ceiling with careful applications of acid, carving it such that every major constellation in the night sky was represented in the domes by a glittering array of water droplets. Even Deschane gaped at the realization: the Amit could read the stars just as they did.
“But that isn’t all.” Prota took a torch from a nearby stanchion and held it aloft. The curious geometric figures etched into the ceiling above them resolved themselves into abstract images.
Three great ovoid shapes threaded their way through the star-strewn sky, each trailing behind it wavering tails of fire.
“Thus it came to pass that the sons of Man fled from the desolate earth. In three gilded ships they rode, and tails of flame as fierce as a dying sun burned behind them as their mighty engines drove them into the deathless void. Of these blessed machines it was decreed that three would be their holy number, for then if one lost resonance and rebelled, then two could set the course aright…”
She had quoted from the first page of the Book of Old Terra, oldest and most sacred of texts that dealt with the coming of the ancestor--gods.
“Three ships. Three tails of fire for each one.”
Rene’s head swam with the implications.
“Then why haven’t we seen such things before? In other conquered mounds?” Deschane demanded.
“You know as well as I that each individual mound contains an entirely separate race of Amit. You were not here when we took this place. It exacted a terrible price. There was a week of close quarter fighting in the entrance hall. In some places there the bodies were stacked four or six deep.”
“They were a strange sub-species. Jaundice yellow rather than white, small yet highly vicious. They led us into countless ambushes. They knew how to feint a charge to draw a volley, retreat and charge again while we reloaded. When the eastern wall finally fell…” her voice trailed away, and she looked away troubled. “As we swarmed in, we found what was left of them all hunched together. As though they were holding some final communion. As we neared, we saw what they’d done. They’d sat in circles facing one another, and thrust their claws down their own throats. They severed their own cortical bundles. A mass suicide. It was rather disturbing. We only had a few corpses of them to examine, and all heavily damaged, but from what we could see they had abnormal growth in their frontal lobes. They were special. They were aware of the massacre that awaited them, and they chose their own way out. It was almost noble, really”
“You sound as though you admire them.” Deschane said.
“I appreciate the function they serve. Surely, navigator, you realize that without them the Fleet would have died out long ago?”
It was true. The Amit expanded cave systems, honeycombing the limestone with claw and acid, building the feeder towers in such a way that the life-giving mixture of carbon dioxide rich air extended all throughout the confines of the mounds. These were the sites for the only permanent settlements the Fleet could inhabit. And so they took the works of the enemy and put him to the bayonet, making homes of his fortresses, hard won in battles that raged far from the light of the twin suns of this cruel planet. They bored their way through, blasting apart his alien warrens to make way for smooth white tunnels, egress points, ventilation shafts, fields to grow glowing crops of fungus. In so doing they survived.
Deschane scoffed.
“That is entirely coincidental. We evolved to become their predators, and vice versa. Nature designed us to be adversaries. Besides, if the ancestor--gods willed them into being, then why did they vanish and leave us to tear each other apart?”
“That is what we hope to learn.”
“This makes no sense,” Deschane growled, “So they share the same legends as we do. What of it? They merely confirm what we already know.”
“But we don’t know, navigator. The knowledge we possess is next to nothing compared to what we have forgotten.”
“We know enough. We know that it is our destiny to claim this planet even if it means striding over the corpse of every single living thing on it.”
“Navigator, you seem to forget that we only rediscovered the uses of black powder a century ago. We have lost so much in our time on this world. Anything that can begin our process of recovery is to be cherished.”
“Even when it comes from the hand of the enemy?” Deschane’s eyes glinted fiercely.
“This is not the only depiction within the mound. There are sculptures, acid paintings, more engravings like the ones you see before you now. Most have no parallel in the book of old terra-they are events unrecorded in all the annals of our history. That is why 13 is so important. There are mysteries here both sacred and profane. It is touched by the god--ancestors themselves.”
“Our structural engineers have surveyed this place. They say it is impossible for it to have remained intact as it has for millennia. They said that wind or gravity should have destroyed it long ago. Yet it stands. Something is keeping this place together. Something which given time we may discover. It is almost as though it has been waiting for us to take it.”
“What does it all mean?” Rene said aloud.
“That old myth is merely history distilled. That we do not belong here, and never have. That the Amit are intelligent beyond a doubt and know us for what we truly are.”
“Delusional,” spat Deschane.
“Calm yourself Navigator,” Prota drew herself. “There is a reason command is willing to sacrifice you and thousands of others to keep this place safe. I understand your frustrations-”
“Do you? I’ve just lost eighteen good men for the sake of meaningless conjecture!”
“Please consider the implications. For the first time, the Fleet will know where it came from, and why it is here! For the first time, we can move forward on a basis of solid fact rather than doubtful superstition! We will have true knowledge of the past!”
“To the void with the past!” Deschane was raging, “Why waste breath upon it? There are beasts out there, madame, in their millions, slavering hordes that eat children and empty whole settlements of life! They are the sole reason mankind cannot live in comfort and security. They must be eradicated. All else is irrelevant.”
They locked eyes and stood inches apart.
The situation was only defused when a man came running up to Admiral Prota. He leant forward and whispered in her ear.
Her eyes widened in alarm.
“One of your men has been seen approaching the outpost.”
“Lethway!” Rene yelled. He ran in the direction of the pressure gate, pounding through the corridors and thrusting aside the people standing in his way.
“Open the gate!” cried Prota as she, Deschane and her retinue came followed from behind. He scrambled into the decontamination chamber, hastily pulled on his sealant suit and strapped on the mask. The others donned their surface gear and joined him as the great iron slabs heaved aside.
Hurriedly they made their way down the rough-hewn steps of the barbican, all the way down to the palisades, where a small crowd had gathered on the walls to watch. They cleared a path when they saw the Admiral.
“Where is he?” Deschane asked the men standing about. They pointed vaguely northward, unsure themselves, and he pulled out his binoculars.
“It’s him alright,” he said, sounding impressed. “He survived.”
“How?”
“Ask him when you meet.”
With a rare smile he handed the lenses to Rene, whose heart leapt. Beyond a small thicket of trees in the distance was a wide clearing, into which a familiar figure now emerged. Against all odds, he was back safe. Rene could have shouted for joy.
But as he adjusted the magnification knob and the image of his friend came into crisp focus, he realized there was something wrong.
“He’s not wearing a mask.” Rene said in horror.
“Rene! Ensign, wait!”
He bounded off the platform and ran for the entrance. Cursing, Deschane snatched the musket from the hands of the nearest trooper and yelled:

“Someone get me a spare!”
A mask was found in haste and tossed his way. He caught it and dashed after Rene, who had already begun making for the tree line.
“Ensign, stop! That’s an order!”
Rene ignored him and ploughed on.
He reached the thicket and was about to burst through the other side when a strong hand grasped his ankle and he came crashing down.
“Wait,” Deschane said gruffly. Rene squirmed but the navigator was sitting calmly on the back of his knees, and he could not pull free. “Rene! Listen to me.”
“What are you doing! He’ll die out here without a mask-”
“How do you suppose he lost it?” hissed Deschane, as he pulled Rene forcefully back into cover.
Hundreds of meters away, Lethway emerged into the clearing. He was sprinting at full pelt, not jogging as they had supposed. His clothes were torn and besmirched with mud, his sealant suit one great ragged mass of polymer that hung by a single sleeve.
They stopped struggling and turned to watch. Fear was evident in his posture: every movement of his body suggested that of a hunted man.
“Those clever bastards.” Deschane said sadly. “Haven’t you realized? He’s already dead.”
“What are talking about, sir? He’s right there! If we give my mask to him in time, we can rush him into the depressurization chamber-”
“They let him live. They knew more of us had survived, so they held off and followed him home. He doesn’t know it, but he’s led them straight to us.”
Sure enough, in the acre of woods across the clearing they saw scores of shadows moving furtively between the trees. Rene’s blood ran cold.
“Ancestors preserve us.”
“Don’t count on it. There’s enough of them there to level a full settlement.”
Lethway drew closer, looking constantly behind him and stumbling over his feet. Deschane pursed his lips. His hand ran down the length of the musket and found the trigger guard.
“There’s nothing more we can do for him. And if he keeps running this way, they’re bound to find the outpost.”
It took Rene a few moments to process what he was saying. He looked at him in disbelief.
Deschane went down on one knee. He placed the percussion cap and thumbed the hammer back.
Rene watched him in horrid fascination.
“It’s a hard thing,” the navigator was saying, settling into a marksman’s crouch, “But there’s still a chance we can save Mound 13.”
He aimed down the iron sight.
It was a terrible form of arithmetic, to weigh the value of one life against that of a thousand. But in that moment, Rene reached the same, gut-wrenching conclusion. He reached out and placed a hand on the barrel, forcing it to point at the ground. They looked at each other, and an understanding passed between them.
A few yards away, Lethway sobbed as he caught sight of the outpost rising up from out of the trees. It was nothing short of a miracle that he’d made it this far. He caught the glint of metal in the undergrowth, and with a cry of delight saw a human face peering back at him from beneath the shade. He raised his hands up high in greeting.
There was a sharp report, and a blinding flash. Lethway stumbled as though he’d been tripped and lay very still.
Link for all the chapters available here: Engines of Arachnea on Royal Road

Things to know before going into my journey. No, I’m not selling anything. I’m against pr0n usage for its effect on the brain. I am not against masturbating. In my nofap journey I have masturbated only a couple of times using vivid memories of real encounters without ill effects, without chaser effects, without relapsing (this time, I’m going strong, with great results).
I have been addicted to pr0n since the tender age of 9 years old. Getting 1.5mbs videos with the dial up connection. I started masturbating at that age and haven't missed a day. I'm now in my thirties, during and after the pandemic my pr0n usage got worse. Working a remote job, masturbating literally during work calls.
On a regular day I would PMO at least 2-3 times. This happened during periods of my life where I was single, and during periods where I was in a relationship as well. All of my relationships suffered from my PPU (problematic pr0n usage).
After my last breakup, I wasn’t able to fully enjoy sexual encounters due to my performance anxiety (100% created from PPU). I kept using pr0n just so that I could perform. I had semi-erections. Either came very quickly or didn’t come at all. Staying hard WAS hard, and only fed into my performance anxiety. A hellish loop to be honest. Not being able to enjoy having sex with a willing and beautiful woman just crushed my soul. As basic and shallow as it may sound, I wanted to be able to have great sex.
It came a time after quitting and relapsing, where I finally came to my senses (instead of coming into a dirty rag). I quit cold turkey (I had PMO’d 6 times the day before). Erased all my history, deleted all my sex tapes, all the videos I ever received, blocked all women who basically showed any skin on social media and basically became very vigilant of what I was looking at at all times.I even switched to a new web browser. I practiced launching and closing the incognito mode, just to unlearn the old patterns of compulsively typing in forbidden websites.
In past attempts to quit, I would try to turn myself on just to see if my ol’dick still worked. Don’t go down that road. Your soldier will perform when the action calls, you just gotta trust the process. If it’s not erect, don’t bother it. Let it rest.
It’s been only a month. Yes, just a month, might seem like a very unrealistic period of time to be doing so much better. I was even suspicious at week 3 when I was absolutely flatlining. But suddenly the erections came during the night, and the morning wood appeared (let me be clear about this, I have NEVER had morning wood, not even during my adolescent years).
I can finally have real sex with partners I just met without the anxiety. Sometimes I’ll last longer, some others not (“take it as a compliment”, that’s what I always tell the ladies).
In times of feeling very lonely I would find myself chatting up women just trying to go down the sexting road, those are the few occasions where I would calm myself, rub one out from memory and realize that I was just feeling lonely and anxious.
Quitting pr0n was absolutely worth it. It’s the second big addiction I quitted this year. I started with pot, followed with PPU and finally tobacco smoking. As you might have already guessed, my reward circuits are destroyed by now. But the brain can readapt, you just need to stay away from the videos, from the pictures, from the shows, from the social media, from anything that might trigger you to go down that road.
I hope I’m not coming off as bragging, but it’s hard to stick to a conviction when you don’t know what’s on the other side. My whole sex life has been driven by PPU. Finally it’s being driven by my true desires. No, I’m not the happiest I’ve ever been. I still make the wrong calls, and spend too much time with the wrong women. But I can finally enjoy having sex, connecting with people sexually, not worrying the entire time if I’ll get hard, or if I’ll stay hard. I’m having better sex in my mid thirties than I had in my mid 20s.
I’m no longer going out in public with the shameful look in my eyes of having masturbated for the past few days (and probably on that day as well).
Don’t fool yourself. You cannot control addictions. You need to decide to either cut it loose, or live your entire life being a slave to it.
Long ass post, hope you enjoy it.
Regards from Sweden.
TL;DR: I quit pr0n for a month, my D get's harder than ever with real partners. No more performance anxiety. No more shame from secretly PMO. No turning back to PPU.

I know people didn't like the storyline in season 8 involving Dany and Sansa and truly believe that this was a show only storyline, yet, re reading the books, those 2 characters are looking more and more as mirrors and foils for each other. Also, the more I read A Clash Of kings, the more certain I am that Sansa will be the Queen in the North by the end. There is a lot of foreshadow of Sansa be queen, in fact, on her first chapter of this novel. Anyway, let's start with Dany and Sansa bizarre dance in the first book A GAME OF THRONES.
We start the books with Dany telling us that "She doesn't want to be his Queen, she wants to go home"

Dany looked at Khal Drogo. His face was hard and cruel, his eyes as cold and dark as onyx. Her brother hurt her sometimes, when she woke the dragon, but he did not frighten her the way this man frightened her. "I don't want to be his queen," she heard herself say in a small, thin voice. "Please, please, Viserys, I don't want to, I want to go home."

A Game of Thrones - Daenerys I
Daenerys has no desire on marrying Khal Drogo and be his Queen, she is terrified of him, she thinks he is ugly and unatracive. All she wants is the house with red door and the lemon tree, she is longing for the only place she ever felt happy and safe.

"We will have it all back someday, sweet sister," he would promise her. Sometimes his hands shook when he talked about it. "The jewels and the silks, Dragonstone and King's Landing, the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms, all they have taken from us, we will have it back." Viserys lived for that day. All that Daenerys wanted back was the big house with the red door, the lemon tree outside her window, the childhood she had never known.

A Game of Thrones - Daenerys I
Dany wishes to be free, to have no past or future, yet the Targaryen legacy doesn't allow her to make her own choices.

When he was gone, Dany went to her window and looked out wistfully on the waters of the bay. The square brick towers of Pentos were black silhouettes outlined against the setting sun. Dany could hear the singing of the red priests as they lit their night fires and the shouts of ragged children playing games beyond the walls of the estate. For a moment she wished she could be out there with them, barefoot and breathless and dressed in tatters, with no past and no future and no feast to attend at Khal Drogo's manse.

A Game of Thrones - Daenerys I
Another interesting detail I notice is how she sees Westeros. It's almost like a dream, a magical place that was described by her in songs, yet, a place she had never actually been. Is something that exists only on her imagination.

Somewhere beyond the sunset, across the narrow sea, lay a land of green hills and flowered plains and great rushing rivers, where towers of dark stone rose amidst magnificent blue-grey mountains, and armored knights rode to battle beneath the banners of their lords. The Dothraki called that land Rhaesh Andahli, the land of the Andals. In the Free Cities, they talked of Westeros and the Sunset Kingdoms. Her brother had a simpler name. "Our land," he called it. The words were like a prayer with him. If he said them enough, the gods were sure to hear. "Ours by blood right, taken from us by treachery, but ours still, ours forever. You do not steal from the dragon, oh, no. The dragon remembers."
And perhaps the dragon did remember, but Dany could not. She had never seen this land her brother said was theirs, this realm beyond the narrow sea. These places he talked of, Casterly Rock and the Eyrie, Highgarden and the Vale of Arryn, Dorne and the Isle of Faces, they were just words to her.

A Game of Thrones - Daenerys I
.......on the other hand .... Sansa is absolutely in love with the idea of marrying Joffrey and be his queen. She could not wait to leave Winterfell, the only place that was ever a home for her and march south and marry her beloved prince. In fact she falls in love with him EVEN BEFORE meeting him.
She was told in the begging of the book that Joffrey belongs to her and only her, that he is her betrothed, his future King. He will be HER husband and no one else. Joffrey is supposed to care for Sansa and treat her with affection and love. (we all know how that ended up)

It was a great honor to ride with the queen, and besides, Prince Joffrey might be there. Her betrothed. Just thinking it made her feel a strange fluttering inside, even though they were not to marry for years and years. Sansa did not really know Joffrey yet, but she was already in love with him. He was all she ever dreamt her prince should be, tall and handsome and strong, with hair like gold.

A Game of Thrones - Sansa I
If we switch Joffrey for Westeros, it makes for an interesting parallel. Sansa falls in love with Joffrey before even meeting him, it's the idea of Joffrey that seduces Sansa. He belongs to her, he is supposed to love her and be kind to her. She probably grew up hearing songs and stories about how lovely and honourable princes are. That's Dany's position during most of the books. Westeros belongs to her, the people of Westeros are supposed to care for her and celebrate her return. She never met this strange place, only heard songs and stories about this land. I feel like Westeros is going to break Dany's heart just like Joffrey broke Sansa's heart.
By the end of the book, we know exactly that everything goes terrible for Sansa and her beloved prince is a cruel monster. We start chapter SANSA chapter VI with Sansa in bed, having dreams about her father's death, she is morning the death of her father, Ned Stark. Sansa is heartbroken and very weak, she hasn't eat anything, she wants to die and she cries day and night.

Sometimes her sleep was leaden and dreamless, and she woke from it more tired than when she had closed her eyes. Yet those were the best times, for when she dreamed, she dreamed of Father. Waking or sleeping, she saw him, saw the gold cloaks fling him down, saw Ser Ilyn striding forward, unsheathing Ice from the scabbard on his back, saw the moment … the moment when … she had wanted to look away, she had wanted to, her legs had gone out from under her and she had fallen to her knees, yet somehow she could not turn her head, and all the people were screaming and shouting, and her prince had smiled at her, he'd smiled and she'd felt safe, but only for a heartbeat, until he said those words, and her father's legs … that was what she remembered, his legs, the way they'd jerked when Ser Ilyn … when the sword …

A Game of Thrones - Sansa VI
Buy the time Sansa wakes up from her dreams and see Joffrey in front of her, her world has been completely turned upside down. She can see clearly now that he is no hero. and Sansa has now a new goal in her mind. She wants to go home.

"It does not please me," Joffrey said. "Mother says I'm still to marry you, so you'll stay here, and you'll obey."
"I don't want to marry you," Sansa wailed. "You chopped off my father's head!" Sansa stared at him, seeing him for the first time. >He was wearing a padded crimson doublet patterned with lions and a cloth-of-gold cape with a high collar that framed his face. She wondered how she could ever have thought him handsome. His lips were as soft and red as the worms you found after a rain, and his eyes were vain and cruel. "I hate you," she whispered.

A Game of Thrones - Sansa VI

From the high battlements of the gatehouse, the whole world spread out below them. Sansa could see the Great Sept of Baelor on Visenya's hill, where her father had died. At the other end of the Street of the Sisters stood the fire-blackened ruins of the Dragonpit. To the west, the swollen red sun was half-hidden behind the Gate of the Gods. The salt sea was at her back, and to the south was the fish market and the docks and the swirling torrent of the Blackwater Rush. And to the north …
She turned that way, and saw only the city, streets and alleys and hills and bottoms and more streets and more alleys and the stone of distant walls. Yet she knew that beyond them was open country, farms and fields and forests, and beyond that, north and north and north again, stood Winterfell.

A Game of Thrones - Sansa VI
Sansa is literally switching places with Daenerys, now Sansa doesn't want to be his queen. She thinks he is ugly, she is surprised she never noticed that before. When Joffrey takes Sansa to see her father head, Sansa looks towards the entire city of Kings Landing and her attention now focus in the North. Sansa now longs for the home where she was happy and safe. Just like Dany longed for the house with the red door. We could literally have a line where Sansa says "I don't want to be his queen, I want to go home"...
The next chapter of the book is Daenerys IX we have Dany also having dreams, dragon dreams..

She was walking down a long hall beneath high stone arches. She could not look behind her, must not look behind her. There was a door ahead of her, tiny with distance, but even from afar, she saw that it was painted red. She walked faster, and her bare feet left bloody footprints on the stone. "You don't want to wake the dragon, do you?"

A Game of Thrones - Daenerys IX
The dream goes on and on for pages, she is waking the dragon, she is flying, she sees the red door..... it's so close.....

The door loomed before her, the red door, so close, so close, the hall was a blur around her, the cold receding behind. And now the stone was gone and she flew across the Dothraki sea, high and higher, the green rippling beneath, and all that lived and breathed fled in terror from the shadow of her wings. She could smell home, she could see it, there, just beyond that door, green fields and great stone houses and arms to keep her warm, there. She threw open the door.......the dragon....

all of sudden, she sees Rhaegar and she hears Jorahs voice whispering the last dragon... I think what's happening here is that the dragon dreams are replacing Daenerys own dreams..

And saw her brother Rhaegar, mounted on a stallion as black as his armor. Fire glimmered red through the narrow eye slit of his helm. "The last dragon," Ser Jorah's voice whispered faintly. "The last, the last." Dany lifted his polished black visor. The face within was her own.
"Yes, Khaleesi." Quick as that Jhiqui was gone, bolting from the tent, shouting. Dany needed … something … someone … what? It was important, she knew. It was the only thing in the world that mattered. She rolled onto her side and got an elbow under her, fighting the blanket tangled about her legs. It was so hard to move. The world swam dizzily. I have to …

A Game of Thrones - Daenerys IX
Once Dany wakes up she is informed she lost her child and will give Drogo a merciful death. She is now determined to wake the dragons and conquer Westeros, the red door is left behind....

Ser Jorah Mormont drew her aside as the sun was creeping toward its zenith. "Princess …" he began. "Why do you call me that?" Dany challenged him. "My brother Viserys was your king, was he not?" "He was, my lady." "Viserys is dead. I am his heir, the last blood of House Targaryen. Whatever was his is mine now."

A Game of Thrones - Daenerys X
Daenerys is now in pursuit of Viserys dreams, she is embracing her House ambitions, all the dreams of being free, of finding the red door and left behind. From now she sets her goals on Westeros. Now Dany does want to be a queen.
Why do I expect Sansa and Dany to clash? first of all, the parallels of those two girls are too strong for me to be ignored, those two little girls have so much in common. Both Sansa and Dany are sold in marriages against their will because of their claims. Dany to Khal Drogo and Sansa to Tyrion Lannister, both never imagined to be heirs of their Kingdoms since they both had older brothers, both have motherhood and longing for children and family in their storylines, both have older protectors who desire them, Ser Jorah and Littlefinger, both are running from assassins in some part of the story....
We know that Sansa will take back the North according George RR MARTIN 2003-2004 outline for AFFC
And once Sansa is back at Winterfell she will feel stronger and safer than she ever was in the beginning of the story. I think she refusing of giving up the North independence was hinted in the books.

His uncle's part went less well. The bride's cloak he held was huge and heavy, crimson velvet richly worked with lions and bordered with gold satin and rubies. No one had thought to bring a stool, however, and Tyrion stood a foot and a half shorter than his bride. As he moved behind her, Sansa felt a sharp tug on her skirt. He wants me to kneel, she realized, blushing. ......She felt another tug at her skirt, more insistent. I won't. Why should I spare his feelings, when no one cares about mine?

A Storm of Swords - Sansa III
Sansa is refusing to kneel so that Tyrion can cloak her in her wedding ceremony. I always thought that this could be a foreshadow for a future storyline. Sansa refusing to kneel and give away the North after conquering back from The Lannisters and Boltons.
And for those who forgot, you have to remember that on book 2, ACOK, Rob has been named King in the North and this decision infuriates Joffrey and she was brutally spanked and tortured every time Rob won a battle against The Lannisters...

"She wore a gown of pale purple silk and a moonstone hair net that had been a gift from Joffrey. The gown had long sleeves to hide the bruises on her arms. Those were Joffrey's gifts as well. When they told him that Robb had been proclaimed King in the North, his rage had been a fearsome thing, and he had sent Ser Boros to beat her.
"Shall we go?" Ser Arys offered his arm and she let him lead her from her chamber. If she must have one of the Kingsguard dogging her steps, Sansa preferred that it be him. Ser Boros was short-tempered, Ser Meryn cold, and Ser Mandon's strange dead eyes made her uneasy, while Ser Preston treated her like a lackwit child. Arys Oakheart was courteous, and would talk to her cordially. Once he even objected when Joffrey commanded him to hit her. He did hit her in the end, but not hard as Ser Meryn or Ser Boros might have, and at least he had argued. The others obeyed without question . . . except for the Hound, but Joff never asked the Hound to punish her. He used the other five for that.

A Clash of Kings - Sansa I
In the chapter 32 of the book we have Sansa be taken to a public audience with Joffrey to answer for Rob latest victory. This entire chapter is a living nightmare, Sansa not only is publicly spanked for Rob's victories, people are laughing at her beating, Joffrey wants her stripped of her clothes, he wants her blood to spill for her brothers triumph. Sansa literally spills her blood for the North Independence.

When she emerged, Sansa walked on the Hound's left, away from the burned side of his face. "Tell me what I've done." "Not you. Your kingly brother." "Robb's a traitor." Sansa knew the words by rote. "I had no part in whatever he did." Gods be good, don't let it be the Kingslayer. If Robb had harmed Jaime Lannister, it would mean her life. She thought of Ser Ilyn, and how those terrible pale eyes staring pitilessly out of that gaunt pockmarked face.....Joffrey stood in the center of the throng, winding an ornate crossbow. Ser Boros and Ser Meryn were with him. The sight of them was enough to tie her insides in knots. "Your Grace." She fell to her knees. Frowning, he lowered the crossbow. "I'd shoot you too, but if I do Mother says they'd kill my uncle Jaime. Instead you'll just be punished and we'll send word to your brother about what will happen to you if he doesn't yield. Dog, hit her." "Let me beat her!" Ser Dontos shoved forward, tin armor clattering. He was armed with a "morningstar" whose head was a melon. My Florian. She could have kissed him, blotchy skin and broken veins and all. He trotted his broomstick around her, shouting "Traitor, traitor" and whacking her over the head with the melon. Sansa covered herself with her hands, staggering every time the fruit pounded her, her hair sticky by the second blow. People were laughing. The melon flew to pieces. Laugh, Joffrey, she prayed as the juice ran down her face and the front of her blue silk gown. Laugh and be satisfied. Joffrey did not so much as snigger. "Boros. Meryn." Leave her face, I like her pretty... Boros slammed a fist into Sansa's belly, driving the air out of her. When she doubled over, the knight grabbed her hair and drew his sword, and for one hideous instant she was certain he meant to open her throat. As he laid the flat of the blade across her thighs, she thought her legs might break from the force of the blow. Sansa screamed. Tears welled in her eyes. It will be over soon. She soon lost count of the blows. Enough," she heard the Hound rasp. "No it isn't," the king replied. "Boros, make her naked." Boros shoved a meaty hand down the front of Sansa's bodice and gave a hard yank. The silk came tearing away, baring her to the waist. Sansa covered her breasts with her hands. She could hear sniggers, far off and cruel. "Beat her bloody," Joffrey said, "we'll see how her brother fancies—" What is the meaning of this?" The Imp's voice cracked like a whip, and suddenly Sansa was free. She stumbled to her knees, arms crossed over her chest, her breath ragged.

A Clash of Kings - Sansa III
Sansa was abused, beaten, humiliated and threatened with death because the North proclaimed independence, her blood was spilled every time Robb achieved a victory. And by the end, for her to suddenly giving up after so much pain and sorrow doesn't seem likely.
sooo, yeah, those are my ramblings. I have been re reading the books now after season 8 and I am not gonna lie to you, some storylines do seem to have come straight from George.
So yeah, I think we may have a clash of those two characters in the end, just like season 8, but I believe it would be better done by George himself.

Tiamat let out a hissing laugh as she raised both hands, unleashing a wave of twisting and churning purple mist at the party standing before her. The mist expanded towards the group before Misha rammed his great blade into the ground, fire erupting from the impact as he and Ludwig roared in unison, Ludwigs claws clapping together before separating wide as he shouted:
”AEGIS!”
A barrier , made of Ludwig and Mishas magic mixed together, formed around them and the others, flashing and warping as the miasma struck it, battering the barrier like a horde of smoky tendrils.
Tamil hissed under his breath, bow snapping up and twangling as the smaller dragon unleashed arrows as fast as he could, each one glinting with green magic and fizzing as it struck the miasma.
“Cyka….” Svet mumbled, her blade at the ready, breathing in and preparing to unleash more Dragons Fire-
The red clad mage sprinted forward, ignoring Tamils panicked shouts as he hung low to the ground, right as Svet breathed out, unleashing a amethyst blast of plasma.
The Lich Queen laughed as she held up a claw, a barrier of miasma erupting to block the flame. “Silly, foolish welp~ I Know how to keep Cleansing Fire from-” she jerked back as a metal fist erupted out of the miasma, much to her shock, followed by the mage, unharmed, if a little singed. Her hand shot up and caught the metal fist, a smirk forming on her face. ”Fascinating~ I wonder, how did you survive the Fog of the undead, little squishy~?” she purred, before a click was heard.
“That's for me to know, and you to ponder” Talos said with a tone indicative of a smug grin-
BOOM
The pipe on the back of his arm went off, its payload breaking the claws that held his metal hand and drilling into the face of the dragon Lich, making her stumble back as the sound of shattering metals could be heard behind her.
She swung her arm, using the remains of her claws to throw the smaller magic user across the room, and spun around to stare at the remains of the odd pedestal she had been messing with. Sick sounds of cracking bone, splintering and reforming to maintain her shape, were heard as she realized what the little mage had done.
”.......no…..no no NO NO NO!” She snarled as she looked up into the darkness of the massive room behind her and began to slowly step back….
Around them, they heard the sound of something whining, rising in pitch and volume as Talos heaved himself up from where he had been thrown, his glowing irises locked on the Lich Queen in horror. “You actually tried to activate and control it!? Are you FECKING insane!?” He shouted, as a single, massive, crimson light suddenly illuminated the darkness.
“WARNING. PURGER ONLINE. ALL REMAINING PERSONNEL ARE REQUIRED TO MAKE THEIR PEACE AND PREPARE FOR IMMOLATION.”
The strange voice seemed to echo around them, as around the crimson light, two blue lights ignited, burning with a baleful glow, swiveling around in the shadows, aimed at them.
“GET TO COVER, NOW!” Talos yelled, diving for a hole in the wall as the rest of the party ducked out the door they came in through, escaping just before whatever was in the darkness unleashed a storm of blue energy, filling the room with a blast of light and destructive energy.
/zzzzzzzzzz/
WARNING! Mana Regeneration nullified due to Mana acclimators in use within vicinity
WARNING! Mana loss detected! Rate of .05 per second!
Mana Low, Mana:20/75
Talos cursed as he twisted through the air, mentally berating himself as the light from the smoldering, immolated room above him illuminated the area he had thrown himself into. Before him stretched a massive room, lined with concrete and rails designed to carry heavy assembly arms, one of which hanging just on the edge of the illuminated area…… and as he was taking all in he caught sight of a metal hydraulic piston swinging out at him, easily multiple times bigger than himself.
Channeling a little Mana to his feet, he twisted himself upright, before expelling it out in an explosive, bright blast in an effort to slow himself down. Despite his efforts, he still slammed into the piston hard, slid down and catching on a metal panel-
“UN4L1GHN3D 4UT0M4NC3R D3T3CT3D. PR10R1T151NG T4RG3T.”
“......feck.'' Talos sighed as he heard the blast of binary shake the room, thankful he didn't have eardrums for the machine to damage, despite its best efforts.
WARNING! MANA CRITICALLY LOW!
Mana:9.95/75
The automancer cursed to himself softly as he saw just how little Mana he had remaining, and how much he had used to slow himself down, before movement catches his eye. He barely swings himself around the piston as a massive metal, arachnid like leg slams down where he just was.
Shaking his head from the clouds, he began to pull himself up the piston he was on, climbing on top and running along it, a malevolent optic focusing on him as he moved.
“T4RG3T L0C4T3D.”
The sound of rocket motors filled the room, bright lights from missile exhaust partially illuminating the machine as they arched through the dark chamber, forming a pseudo eclipse of their own engines as they angled at the running skeleton.
Sounds of metal shutters opening were heard, accompanied by the whine of something charging up and dozens of pinpricks of light illuminating underneath, around and above the massive optic focused on Talos, along with the two larger Plasma casters on either side of the eye.
Talos wasn't playing fair, however. Reaching down into his bag, he pulled out the metal grapple and rope he still had on him from going spelunking in that cave for ores, and twirled it as he ran….
Just as the missiles were about to hit his cloak, he let the grapple fly, swinging it down around the slowly moving machine’s leg, only for it to come back up and hook on its armor on the other side. Once hooked, he leapt off the side of the piston, letting his weight and momentum swing him to avoid the missiles, if only barley, before landing on the other side of where he jumped from. Once he landed the hook slipped free, as his weight wasn't pulling down to keep it in place anymore.
Talos pulled the rope back, twirling it again before letting it fly forward, latching onto the leg once again, this time at the height of its knee joint that was sticking out into the air, a blue, crystal like cylinder jutting out from it, armor covering the half of it aimed away from the main body, and glowed brightly.
It seemed to be pulling some form of mist into itself…
“Bingo.” Talos muttered as he spotted the cylinder, clambering up the rope as fast as he could, even as the chatter of weapons fire erupted around him and the leg began to move, forcing the rope, and himself, to be flung back and forth.
“THR34T 45535M3NT, T4RG3T 4PPR04CH1NG 4CCUMUL4T0R. CUTT1NG 0FF R0UT3”
Weapons fire screamed through the air in a flurry of energy, the projectiles launched all traveled slower than a bullet, but were easily able to singe the rope burning it in half as Talos watched helplessly.
He cursed as he fell, spinning about as he saw another leg aimed at him, and grinned, grabbing onto it as it barely missed him and using its momentum to fling himself back to the piston.
He drew his revolver from its holster and ran, ducking and dodging around blasts of prepared spells and mana, ignoring the explosions and debris the spells sent flying off the concrete walls of the room, leaping from the piston to its casing as it moved, and began chanting quietly to himself, a golden energy forming around the barrel of the ring action pistol, Aurebesh swirling around the glowing sphere as he moved.
One particularly nasty blast of energy forced him to jump, and he took advantage of it, spinning around in the air and aiming, before pulling the trigger.
The muted explosion of the cartridge going off went unnoticed as the glowing round streaked from the barrel, striking the Mana Accumulator and causing it to cave in on itself-
WA-BOOM
The ensuing detonation blew the leg off and unleashed a wave of stored mana, slamming into Talos and being absorbed by his body, and more importantly, his Phylactery.
WARNING! MANA SURGE DETECTED!
MANA POOL OVERLOADED! Mana: @>²()!?/75
WARNING! MANA LEVELS RISING!
EXPEL MANA TO PREVENT CRITICAL FAILURE OF PHYLACTERY!
Talos hissed as his prosthetic arm spasmed and twitched, fighting with it to get it under control, using the sudden surge of power to speed up his perception and buy time to think.
The room was illuminated by the ethereal glow of the Mana, some being absorbed by him, but much of it was flowing back into the other crystals of the massive, six legged machine….
Well. Five legged, now.
The machine in question looked odd, a sphere connected to the arachnid like legs, acting as a central hub, with a second sphere acting as its abdomen, massive and covered with weapons, arranged in a ring pattern and pushing out of hatches on its back. The outermost ones looked to be some sort of anti infantry armament, fast and able to overwhelm infantry armor and shields, while inner rings seemed to contain artillery and anti aircraft weapons. On its head area was the spherical optic, the twin plasma casters on either side of said optic appearing like some form of facsimile of fangs. The machine itself clung to the wall, its optic swiveling to look ‘up’ from its perspective, tracking him closely from its position.
Waves of mana pinged off it, like echolocation, striking him, though slower now with his altered perception, letting him see how they interacted with the machine-
New skill gained!
Mana Scanning. 1/10
By sending out a pulse of mana, Talos can do an in-depth scan of a target to find weaknesses in its armor, weapons, and many other things. Mana absorbing materials, however, can nullify this ability unless overcharged
The scan showed there were little in the way of weakpoints….well, short of the Mana Accumulators on the ‘knees’, but that could make things worse then better, if destroying one was anything to go by.
He hissed as he saw exactly what he feared in the very Core of the machine, a beating, pulsing heart consisting of radioactive isotopes and severely unstable Mana, both providing power for the mechanoid’s destructive rampage……
And the final end. If he removed the legs, he suspected it would trigger its own self destruct, and if it was anything like a Mjölnir class core he was used to, anywhere from the surrounding area to the whole continent was going to be a uninhabitable crater, and the entire planet would end up irradiated.
He didn't have a team to coordinate with, so he would make do with what he had.
Twisting around, he examined the chamber, now illuminated by the mana… and saw massive, mechanical armature laying around the room, likely meant for other mechanoids like the one he faced down now, but never being completed or having been discarded to be cannibalized for parts, even another one of the massive bucket wheel excavators from the entry hall lay off to the side, mostly disassembled except for the arm….
It clicked. The mechanoid was designed for infantry or armor….
But not another one of its Own.
/zzzzzzzzzz/
Tiamat, the Lich Queen, floated above the fight, watching in fascination as the massive warmachine she had tried to control focused down the Automancer, her smirk widening as she saw the mage run headlong into the fight, pulling out some quite clever tricks when he realized the mana drain in progress. She herself could feel the negligible drain on her mana, but ignored it, having the mana to spare, watching as the mage shot the Mana Accumulator, causing it to explode.
She sighed, a pity. The little mage was far too close to the explosion, such a thing would fry any normal organic, and even a Lich like herself would have an issue with such an influx of mana…. Truly, a great loss. Not many would think to close the gap between herself and them under the cover of their own allies' fire and use a Force Multiplier at point blank on her. The aim was a bit off, but she attributed that to him thinking her Heart for this body was in her head-
WHOOOORACK-CRACK-CRACK-CRACK
She flinched and shot back as a flood of golden mana erupted from the tiny pinprick that was the mages body, acting like ethereal mechadendrites, ripping the long dormant machines around them off the walls, from their resting areas on the floor or in storage. As components flew, they started to pop apart and began swirling around the tiny mage as he floated back up, hovering before the Purge Machine, much to its, and her, confusion.
The Automancer spread his arms, and the machinery began to assemble itself around him, first forming what looked like a Command Throne, which floated up for him to sit in, before a shell surrounded him…..
And then the components bound themselves together, forming a massive, bipedal body, digitigrade legs keeping balance as pistons hissed once it touched the floor, feet designed with three toe claws in the front and one in the back, capable of digging into the ground if needed. One arm ended with the massive bucket wheel of the excavator rather than a hand, while the other arm was tipped with bladelike claws, around a massive Mana Cannon, glowing with ethereal golden energy.
The shoulder joints were protected with rectangular pauldrons, the arms made out of massive pistons and supports. The upper body was designed like a knight's cuirass, though the belly area was segmented armor plates, while a short, segmented tail stuck out like that of a dragon, allowing for balance.
Along the spine area were dormant Mana Accumulators, retracted and shrouded to protect them, hidden underneath short, sharp spines. The head was ripped off one of the older bipedal Purge Machine frames, like the legs had been, and designed to look draconic, its optical bar igniting, a glowing point of light panning back and forth on the visor as the machine stared down its competitor.
“ŔØŮÑĎ ŤẀØ, MÓŤĤÉŘFËĈĶƏŔ.”Came the distorted voice of the automancer at the heart of the monstrosity, as the war machine dropped into a combat stance. Leading with a brutal right hook, the mech brought the spinning bucket wheel slashing across his opponents back before it could fire, the sound of screeching metal ringing out and filling the chamber.
/zzzzzzzzzz/
“ACH DU HEILIGE SCHEISSE! SVET, DIE HÖLLE DID YOU FIND!?” Ludwig said in stupefied horror as they watched their teammate pull machinery around him apart and form a massive Automail armor.Its optical bar light going back and forth was all they could make out in the distant shadows, until the sound of screeching metal and the sight of sparks illuminated him and the machine he was fighting.
The others around the pearly white dragon were watching in shock, all of them looking out the window of the room they were in, which appeared to be some kind of control room. Around them stood a variety of destroyed machines, and what looked to them like something where one would stand and place a book or scroll, but nothing but ash remained on it.
The room just outside the window looked like a arena, the massive spider like machine leaping off the wall, its legs spinning around to try and pin down their mages Automail armor, only for a glow of mana to erupt from the armor, launching it to the side and bringing the other hand to bear. The barrel in its ‘palm’ began to charge up as the claws retracted, unleashing a bright golden blast of energy and punching a massive dent in his opponents armor, causing the spider to screech loudly
“THR34T 45535M3NT R41S3D, T4RG3T C4P4BL3 0F C0MB4T C0NSTRUCT5.*”
Ludwig couldn't make out what the machine said, even as the two circled one another in the arena, the massive wheel spinning on Talos’s armor while the spider mech kept its single optic focused on him, its remaining weapons aimed at the other machine, but not firing.
Misha hissed angrily as a purple haze suddenly hit the massive spider machine, making it screech and chitter as the miasma tried to push into the holes in the armor from its fight with Talos, the crimson light from its glass eye flickering from red to purple.
“3RR0R-3RR0R! H05T1L3 PR0GR4M SP3LL D3T3CT3D! S34RCH1NG……T4RG3T L0C4T3D.”
The machine blasted out, still unintelligible to Ludwig, but even he could see the optic snap to look up, locking onto a small purple spot in the air, as it charged forward.
The weapons on its back ignited, hissing as spellfire erupted from the remaining functional weapons systems, unleashing blast after blast and causing the purple pin prick to begin teleporting around to avoid the spellfire. The Automail armor caught the spider as it charged, the bucket wheel spinning to pin a leg between it and the arm to hold it in place, trying to lift the arachnid up by its front legs before delivering a brutal spartan kick to its underside, directly hitting a hatch trying to open up and crushing whatever was popping out.
The spider screeched as it slammed onto its back from the kick, its legs spinning around to lift it up off the ground, MORE weapons popping out from its underside-turned back, though they were noticeably smaller, likely meant for infantry.
The weapons took aim at both of its opponents, unleashing blast after blast into the air, missing the smaller, faster target. The larger one, built using the cast offs of its own design phases, simply shrugged off the attacks, choosing to rush forward itself, leaving gouges in the floor as it charged, one shoulder down in a tackle position.
The spider hissed and lept to the side, chattering in what almost appeared as mockery….
Right as the spinning bucket wheel struck another one of its leg’s knees, shattering the glowing column in it and letting loose another vicious blast of mana….
But this time, instead of an explosion, it was all pulled into the massive Automail armor's own crystals, which had, for but a moment, popped out of its spine, drawing all the mana into itself and converting it into a deep, golden color.
Just as they retracted into the armor once more, a purple miasma began covering both combatants, cruel laughter ringing out over the arena….. only to be cut off as a massive blast erupted out from the Automail armor, punching a hole in the ceiling where the purple pin prick had been and causing part of the cave to collapse down, catching the purple blight and pulverizing it against the floor.
/zzzzzzzzzz/
Talos panted heavily on his command throne, cables running under his cloak and connecting to his Phylactery, allowing fine motor control over the towering mechanism as if it were his own body, but he had a time limit, mentally and mana wise. The strain of minutely controlling every sub system was hard on a human mind, and he was running low on mana, even drawing from the mechs own reserves.
The top up from the Purge machines Mana Accumulator had helped stave off power loss, but the consecutive blasts from the main cannon, purification spells to keep the miasma out, and minute shield spells across the armor was running him ragged, especially with his own Accumulators shrouded to protect them. He had already burned off the initial charge he had gotten at point blank range when he built the armor, and he had to take out the Purge Machine before it set off its core…..
“...that's it!” He mumbled to himself, sending out an overcharged mana pulse, much to the spider mech’s confusion, easily overpowering its remaining mana Accumulator’s defenses, and got another in depth scan.
“Now, where….There!” The smaller Lich smirked before charging forward, pumping a little extra mana into the pistons to help launch him forward, cannon arm's claws extended as he rammed it through the hole he had made earlier on the arachnids back, now underside, and dug them into the core, wrapping the claws around it.
The massive spider mech screeched again, binary alarms blasting out as he yanked, bucket wheel pressed against machine’s side, helping brace him against it….
And with one final tug, just as the Spider mech brought its leg down and broke the bucket wheel, he tore the core out, the sudden loss of opposing power allowing him to shove the other mech away…. even as he felt his own mech loose power, both from lack of mana, and his Phylactery forcing him to sleep, mind tired from working every system under heavy duress…..
/zzzzzzzzzz/
Tiamat watched, unseen, no longer inhabiting the simulacrum which had been ground to dust under the rubble, as the mecha before her lost power, the stub of its arm resting against the ground, while the other hand clutched the remains of a NIM core tightly, carefully, as if to protect it.
She slowly smirked to herself, an idea beginning to form in her mind as she stared up at the machine. True, she failed in her objective…. but she had also found something so, so much better.
“I'll see you soon…. my little Automancer~” She purred as she faded away to one of her other, spare bodies, pulling it from its casket with a smirk on her boney muzzle.

Hey everyone, We're building Agent Cloud and we’ve been working in the RAG space since last couple of months and we’re open-source.

Agent Cloud is an open-source platform enabling companies to build and deploy private LLM chat apps, empowering teams to securely interact with their data. AgentCloud internally uses Airbyte to build data pipelines allowing us to split, chunk, and embed data from over 300 data sources, including NoSQL databases like MongoDB. It simplifies the process of ingesting data into the vector store for the initial setup and subsequent scheduled updates, ensuring that the vector store information is always updated. AgentCloud uses Qdrant as the vector store to efficiently store and manage large sets of vector embeddings. For a given user query the RAG application fetches relevant documents from vector store by analyzing how similar their vector representation is compared to the query vector.
You can find more info about how it works and how to use it in the project’s README and We're launching cloud version by end of this week.

We’re also very open to contributions and added good first issues for beginners.
​

• Sync strategies - we still need to implement ability to change to incremental append instead of full overwrite
• Chunking strategies - We have semantic chunking, we want to implement custom strategies that would work well with Airbyte connections - currently chunking message by message (Rust)
• Retrieval strategies - Currently we use agents to craft the query, we would either like more standard retrieval strategies that can be added out of the box in our RAG connector (TS, Python, Mongo)
• Conversation app ease of setup - we have a design pattern we would like to employ to make setup of conversation apps simpler.
• APIs - Publish our current Web App APIs as open API spec and more.

Happy to answer any questions. [GitHub repo](https://github.com/rnadigital/agentcloud)

Author's Note:
One of these chapters is short, so we decided to release both in one update.
​
--
​
Chapter 38
What?
The word caught in Adam's throat. He couldn't speak, his body frozen as he stared transfixed at Eric. Are you...serious? Did you really...again? It wasn't all just in my head?
I was right?
Eric's Curse flashed in his mind. 'The subject of this meeting will be the Emperor granting amnesty for severe crimes. I will not take credit from slaying the Ghost of Water. I will acknowledge that the Ghost of Waters was killed during the journey from Penumbria to the Puppet Mines, which I was not part of.'
It was meant to be ironclad. Something that laid all worries to rest. Both Eric and his own subconscious had argued that it was more than enough proof; that any doubt on Adam's part was unfair.
But fair or not, those fears proved correct. The meeting came, and credit was given...to Tenver.
I was right.
He thought back to the many paintings he'd shown Eric. One of them, surely, should have revealed the truth of his duplicitous nature. Yet he hadn't stolen Adam's work out of jealousy, or anger, or revenge. They truly had been friends at one point, and Eric didn't need the contest's prize money. Nor was Eric desperate to make a name for himself. It wasn't that he thought he could never create a piece of art on that level. He didn't wish to drive Adam to suicide, or for Adam to never be around, and he did care about him to at least some degree.
Adam knew that most people would have considered all that...excessive. There was covering your bases, and then there was locking your bases down in a fortress of steel. At the very least, though, it meant he could finally put his paranoia behind him.
Except that paranoia was only paranoia if it ended up being wrong.
I...was right.
"My Hangman has made a bold claim indeed." The Emperor turned to face Adam, arching a regal eyebrow. "Have you any words in your defense?"
Adam didn't bother speaking up. Nothing he could say would salvage this. Instead, he looked directly at Eric. Maybe the Hangman had...misspoken, somehow. Maybe he would have a last-minute change of heart.
It wasn't too late.
"Be wary of the Pretender's lies," Eric stated. His eyes showed not an inkling of regret. "After Tenver slew the Ghost of Waters, the Pretender used his Talent – granted to him by the Dark Sorcerer – to alter the memories of everyone aboard his ship. I was the only one who did not fall prey to it."
Oh.
We're really going there, then?
No rightful anger took over Adam's body. He didn't stand in silent disbelief at what had transpired. His body did not tremble, in either sadness or anger. At no point did his vision blur, or his stomach threaten to empty itself.
There was only a quiet sadness within him.
In spite of everything, one small part of Adam had still trusted Eric – or wanted to, anyway– and it would have leapt with joy if proven right.
Now, it was quiet, never to raise its voice again.
Adam stared at Eric with a gaze of muted grief, knowing that their bond couldn't ever be repaired.
"Very well then," Ciro said, unsurprised. "I see no reason to delay my verdict." His voice and the clap of his hands may as well have been announcing the start of a brothel's show of debauchery. "For the crime of treason, you are condemned to death by execution."
The Emperor's eyes narrowed. "It will take place here and now."
Adam forced himself to speak as a great pressure started to build around him, well-aware that his time was limited. "Tell me," he muttered, addressing Eric directly. "I just – I need to know why. Why would you do that? You...you had nothing to gain. You could've gotten more by just...telling the truth."
Eric gave him nothing but silence in response.
"Do you know what the worst part is?" Adam said, barely containing his tears. God, this didn't hurt any less the second time. "I was trying to...I was trying to – until the very last possible second, I wasn't sure what I should do. I thought that if I planned for your betrayal, and if you turned out to be telling the truth, I wouldn't deserve your friendship. It made me–"
"–Ah, boredom," Ciro said, lifting his hands. "Die already."
A maelstrom of darkness appeared from nowhere. It was as if a dark sun had spawned inside the room, affecting Adam alone. The Emperor merely stood untouched before him, like he was separated by an invisible glass shield. Ciro waved at him, as if bidding farewell – and perhaps he was.
Every inch of Adam's body was twisted, contorted, then drawn into the maelstrom, swallowed by a voracious void. Time slowed to a crawl. An eternity passed, the very light around him bending sideways as his legs flew ahead of him.
Adam watched himself die over the course of an everlasting instant. He had only time to think of one word before his body ceased to be. Gravi–
The hole collapsed out of reality, leaving nothing behind.
--
Ciro stood up. "Well, this was a pleasant afternoon. Clean things up for me, will you, Eric?" He walked off. "I suppose I'll have company soon – now that my nephew has been cleared of his crimes. Most unfortunate. Anyhow, it simply wouldn't do to greet him in a damaged throne room. I'm sure one of your Talents can figure something out, yes?"
For a moment, only the Emperor's distant footsteps could be heard among the silence. At least until he stopped to turn around, casting an impassive gaze back at his subordinate. "Oh, yes. Eric? Good job."
After the Emperor exited his throne room, a full minute passed before the Hangman dared to speak. Drawing a deep breath, he glanced at what remained of Adam.
Which was nothing. No flesh, blood or bone. Not even a stain. Not even atoms.
Still...Eric found it fitting to gaze upon the spot where his best friend had died.
For several seconds, he stood in a quiet vigil. This was the only funeral that would honor the Pretender of Penumbria. And as its sole participant, it fell to Eric to deliver the eulogy.
He opened his mouth, speaking straight from the heart. "Honestly? I never wanted the world, Adam."
Eric inclined his head. "I just wanted you to have nothing."
"Is that so?" Adam replied, sadly.
"WHA–"
He didn't give Eric time to reply. As his body rewound itself into its previous state, Adam slammed his fist against the man's face. Violence overwhelms Talents. Even yours.
Eric collapsed to the floor, momentarily stunned. Adam was already running. He couldn't waste even a single moment. The Hangman would strike as soon as he regained his wits, and the Emperor wasn't far away, either. Every second that passed was one second closer to ruination.
Yet there was still one thing that Adam needed to say. Enough to risk his life for.
"The worst part was that I wanted to believe in you," Adam continued, as if he hadn't been rudely interrupted by a gruesome death. "I tried to, you know? Until the very last instant, I tried."
He sighed. "I would've been satisfied if I could – even if you betrayed me. Didn't really need anything else. But despite how much I wished for it, or what my heart desired...I think I'm just completely unable to trust you again. That's the worst part. Worse than the betrayal could ever be."
"Adam, I–you–how dare–"
"But just because I don't trust you..."
The Painter rolled up his sleeves to show an inked pattern.
"Doesn't mean I can't trust anyone."
'Solara, I'm going to use my new Talent on us,' Adam had told her last night. 'It'll give me limited use of your revival Talent, and you of my Flames. That way, when Eric betrays me, I'll fake death and escape.'
The elf smiled teasingly. 'Oh? Aren't you afraid of what I might do with access to your powers? That I might turn out like the Hangman?'
Her tone grew more serious. 'According to your ability, I'll be able to use your Talent if you trust me. But if I don't trust you, then you won't be able to use mine. Aren't you afraid I'm deceiving you? That you might die and simply not wake up?'
'I am,' he admitted. 'But even so...I want to believe in you.'
Adam dashed over to the far end wall, calling on his Stained Vines. This was his best chance of escaping. The Emperor's guards would be waiting behind doors, not solid walls, and his experiments with Aspreay's prisoners had taught him that Stained Ink could cut through even the most magical of stones.
"WAIT, ADAM!" Eric shouted. There was a remorseless pain in his voice. It was deep, perhaps even genuine, yet... "You don't – you don't get it! Tenver, that literal bastard, he tricked me, manipulated me, threatened to kill an entire city with a bomb he stole from the puppets. He was never your friend! I was going to undo your death later, when it was safe! You have to trust me, this was the only way–"
Adam didn't wait for him to finish. He cut a hole through the wall and launched himself out of the castle.
It starts now, he thought. Our rebellion.
The die was cast.
​
--
​
Chapter 39
The Night Before
"Assuming that I'm executed," Adam began, "would it be possible to delay my resurrection until after the Emperor is gone?"
Solara nodded. "You should have some amount of control over my Talent. Don't push it too hard – after dying, your body will start to repel your soul, like opposing magnets. If you wait overly long, you might not be able to come back."
That aligned with some of what the Grandmaster had alluded to about how the Dragons used to capture souls for creating Puppets. While it wasn't relevant to the plan at hand, Adam found it noteworthy, regardless.
Tenver stirred in his seat. "This scheme is far too reckless. Why meet up with the Emperor at all if you are so certain of Eric's betrayal?"
"Because I'm not," Adam plainly answered. "My brain feels like it's a certainty, but my heart can't quite accept it. Even right now, making this plan with you guys...there's a part of me that keeps saying: You're wasting time, planning for something that won't happen. Eric has always got your back." He laughed heartily and bitterly at himself. "Quite the foolish thought, don't you agree?"
Then, with deadly confidence, he spoke in a low voice. "That's why I want to do this." His hand tightened on the left side of his chest. "I want to rid myself of hesitation before we do anything drastic."
"Anything drastic, eh..." Solara aimed her gaze at the ceiling. "Such as killing the Emperor?"
"Him too," Adam said, nodding. "There's a few excuses I could make about why I'm going through with the meeting. For one, making ourselves an enemy of the Emperor publicly would raise our banner as the one his enemies should rally behind. Maybe I'll also get lucky and find out enough about him to paint his soul. If nothing else, he might have important information on things we need to know, such as how my world and the Painted World are connected."
He paused. "But if I'm being honest...more than all of that...I just want to throw away my doubts before burning everything to the ground."
Silence.
"Thanks for going along with this," Adam muttered. "It's selfish of me."
Solara laughed. "I'm glad that you are capable of selfishness. Being helped by a saint makes every temptation feel like a sin." She stretched her arms above her head. "Worry not. All of us owe the other debts we cannot repay, so let's not fuss over it."
Tenver nodded in agreement. "Aye. Knowing of your greed lessens my guilt for my own." He shook his head, as if arguing with himself. "Moreover, some of those 'excuses' are quite valid, especially the one you haven't bothered to state aloud – that your existence is still seen as treason by the Emperor. Should he not grant you amnesty, your life and that of Penumbria's will be forfeit. Considering we have no way of matching the Empire's military, making an attempt at peace is prudent."
"If you will excuse me," Solara cut in, "earlier you mentioned 'your world' and–"
"I'll explain later," Adam promised her. "We don't have much time, so let's focus on our escape plan. Remember; you shouldn't enter the throne room with me no matter what. They'll probably want to separate us anyway, but if they allow you guys in for some reason, make something up and calmly get out. My escape will distract them from yours. We left the Airship outside the city's Barrier for a reason."
Tenver fell into thought. "Right. The moment you head inside the throne room, we'll devise an excuse to leave the castle. You won't be declared a traitor for at least about five minutes, so they'll have no reason to keep us from leaving...officially, anyhow. I'm sure they'll still try to force us to stay, but the guards should be easier to get through."
"I could kill myself," Solara proposed. "Pretend there's an emergency and you need to mourn my sudden, inexplicable death. Even if they're under orders to keep us in, that might confuse them enough to let us go, even if they keep an eye on us."
She glanced at Adam. "But what about you? Won't the Emperor hunt you down immediately after you escape? We are inside his Realm, after all."
Adam had considered this point intensely for a long while. It was something he'd considered even back when imprisoned by Aspreay:
Would the lord have been able to tell if someone escaped his city? How closely could he track its inhabitants?
This was a vital detail, and Adam had treated it as such. Between books, references, his own experiences, and his tablet, he'd made sure to gather as much information as possible.
He couldn't be wrong about this.
"I doubt it," Adam said, frankly. "The Emperor has the strongest Talent of a Lord in the world, no doubt about that. But...the Capital is also the largest city in the world. To use myself as an example – while I'm roughly aware of how many people there are in Penumbria, it's not like I can keep track of them."
He tapped his thigh. "Even if the Emperor is far stronger than me, it's not like he can monitor every person in a city of hundreds of thousands. It's like watching an ant colony. Even if you can see all of them, your brain can't really process everything, much less narrow down the search to a single one. He won't be able to find me that easily."
Although that would be a different story if the Realm's size was smaller, with fewer people. Then the Emperor might even be able to tell what someone thinks inside of it.
Solara wasn't yet convinced. "I like to think that I'd notice if one of the ants suddenly employed a Talent, though. And using Resurrection is definitely going to draw his awareness towards you."
"Yeah. Probably." Adam acknowledged the point easily enough. That was within his margin of acceptable risks. "Which is why I'll only have a few moments to act. First I'll use Resurrection to come back to life, then cut open the walls with Stained Ink and jump outside. After that, I'll try to blend in with the crowd in the streets. It's a big city, and the Emperor is unlikely to come after me personally. I'm dressed well, but not so well that I'll stand out in the Capital of all places. Normal guards will struggle to pick me out of the masses."
His words were true – yet they brought forth the point that none wished to acknowledge. "The guards will struggle...but what of the Hangmen?" Tenver quietly asked. "Aside from Eric, the Emperor should have others at his disposal."
"Valeria got us some information about that," Adam said. Though the Puppet Detective had remained in the Mines for the time being, she was committed to her sworn fealty as a citizen of Penumbria, eagerly – almost scarily – investigating everything asked of her. "There are six Hangmen that usually stay in the city and rarely go out on missions. The Emperor typically has each of them patrolling the districts that lead out of the castle, and he frequently changes who goes where."
"Just our bloody luck," Tenver muttered. "All six of them..."
Solara folded her arms, seeming hesitant. "Tenver...ah...I know this is a difficult question, but you're the one who'd be most familiar with the Empire's Hangmen. Anything you can tell us?"
It was a sensitive question, as some of those Hangmen had likely aided the Emperor in killing Tenver's father. Nonetheless, the knight needed less than a second to answer.
"Fighting against any of them is out of the question," he began. "Even if we could muster up a win – which is truly unlikely – it would take so long that other Hangmen could arrive. And after a battle like that, even normal guards without any godly Talents would be enough to subdue you."
He sighed. "But considering Lord Adam's Talents, even if he stumbles upon one of them, he should be able to escape. We're not here to fight; just to survive. And I'm confident he can manage that against most of them. Except..."
There was a pause.
"Except against their Captain." Tenver lowered his gaze to the floor and clasped his hands together. Was he...trembling? "If you see a man with white hair and purple eyes, who looks like he hasn't slept in days...even just escaping will be impossible."
Adam couldn't disagree. He'd never met the Captain in person, but the stories he'd heard told all he needed to know. "That's the man who killed the Mountain Puppets, right?"
At that, Solara sat up. "The one who single-handedly carved a tunnel between Gama and Penumbria?"
"The very same," Tenver replied, with an acrid tone. "He...Adam, if you see him, don't even try running. Remember that my Father also possessed an Emperor level Talent – unfair fight or not, who do you think killed him?"
A mild shiver went down Adam's spine. He put on a brave face, trying not to think about what potentially awaited him in the capital city. "Between the Captain and the current Emperor, which one of them is stronger?"
"The Captain doesn't possess a Lord's Realm, so he can't rule over people as my dear old Uncle does," Tenver slowly replied. "But when it comes to simple, overwhelming strength...there is not a single man who could best him throughout the entire Empire."
Adam hesitated before responding. "It should be fine," he said, with forced optimism. "If each Hangman is guarding just one of six districts, then I've got over an 80% chance of avoiding the Captain."
He nodded in an attempt to persuade both his allies and himself. "All of this hinges on Eric's betrayal, anyway. He might surprise us. And there's a slim chance that even with his betrayal, I'll be able to convince the Emperor that I should be left alive. It's a gamble, but if we do nothing, the Empire will just come knocking on our door sooner rather than later."
Adam drew himself up. He could feel the reaper hang its scythe over his neck, waiting to see if it should cut down.
"I'll take these odds."
--
Present Day
Adam launched himself out of the castle. He needed to move fast – Emperor Ciro would have certainly noticed his Resurrection, and he'd already wasted too much time exchanging words with Eric.
That goes for both just now...and for my entire life.
The cold, hard streets were rushing up to meet him. Ciro's throne room was located rather high up in his castle – no normal person could have survived a fall like this. Thankfully, Adam had accounted for that in his planning.
Although he did find some irony in the fact that it was raining outside. If only the Ghost of Waters hadn't been made up of so many different souls, he mused. I could've stolen his Talent and escaped through the raindrops. Would've been way easier. While there hadn't been any realistic chance of him stealing that Talent, the regret burned regardless.
It didn't last long. None of his emotions did. Adam focused all of his attention on the task at hand, shoving aside his lingering concerns until nothing else mattered. Even his grief over having to accept Eric's final betrayal could wait.
Right now...he had a city to escape. "Stained Vines!" Adam stabbed through the side of the castle walls, using his Talent to slow his fall. Initially, he'd half-planned to start a fire and use the Haunted Flames to escape, but the sudden onset of rain had taken that option away from him.
It's not all bad, though. The heavy rain worked as a cover, obscuring him from sight as he descended. Guards and citizens down below won't see me. They don't have any reason to look up at one specific area of the Imperial Palace during a storm. I can escape – no one's coming after me!
Adam screamed the thought in his head...which didn't make it sound any more convincing. He'd earned a head start on his pursuers, but that was it. Eric would be rushing to alert the Emperor by now, and it was likely that at least a few people had witnessed the indistinct, rain-cloaked figure rappelling down the castle's walls.
Still, he had to make himself believe it. He couldn't let fear touch him, lest he become its slave.
And he would never allow himself to controlled ever aga–
"Well, well. You survived?"
His heart froze as the Emperor's voice filled inside his head. "Was that the Talent of Resurrection? What a curious little Painter you are." Casual malice dripped from every word. "Stay put. I shall send–"
Adam tuned out the voice. Despite being a bit high up, he forcibly let go of his Stained Vines, quickly plummeting to the ground below. The impact was painful, but nothing seemed broken. Good enough.
Two thoughts came to him at once. The first was, He can send thoughts into the heads of people inside his Realm? How does that– and the second, I can't have been using my Talents for longer than a minute. Was that enough for him to find me? That's absurd! If that's the case, then I'm already dead!
Uncertainty clouded his questions of the future, but the truth of the moment reigned supreme – inaction meant death. Adam could only grit his teeth and set himself running into the rainy streets, his feet clicking against the cobblestone and echoing throughout the city.
For a moment, for just a singular, solitary second, Adam stopped pretending. He quit being a superhuman above such petty concerns, and allowed himself to think everything that he'd forbidden from himself until now.
'This is hopeless.'
'I'm already dead.'
'I can't escape the Emperor.'
'I've gotten everyone killed.'
Each and every one, a valid thought.
Adam discarded them all. "Being reasonable isn't going to get me anywhere," he declared to himself. "I'm going to escape. That's a guarantee."
His vow sustained him as he fled, the encroaching shadows chasing close behind.
–
Adam's flight from the castle was a desperate blur. His breath was ragged in the chill air, and his sense of time had deserted him. It should have been midday, yet the stormclouds masked even that. Too gray for the light of day, too gray for the dark of night.
Fear clung onto him tighter than his wet, rain-soaked shroud. It was both a heavy chain of burden and the only thing that moved him forward. Every time the sharp reality of betrayal struck, invoking a feeling of hopelessness within, the threat of hostile footsteps prompted him to run ever faster.
Eric...you really couldn't help yourself, could y–
Adam quickened his pace. The Capital city's mazelike design was a blessing and a curse; easy to hide inside, yet difficult to find your own way out of. Streets twisted, turned, grew narrower, then wider. For how long? A few minutes? A few hours?
He couldn't know for sure. Adam didn't have the luxury of calm thought, for his legs now mattered more than his brain.
Can't–let–the–Hangmen–get–me!
The crowd was a wave of faceless figures, every cloak a dark whisper, every laugh a burning threat. No time to discern passersby from the people hunting me down. Have to assume everything is a danger to me. Objects no longer stood only for themselves. Shadows hid watchers, and flickers of torchlight beckoned accusatory, malevolent gazes.
Nowhere was safe. In that demented, manic haze, Adam's most primal instincts guided him towards the only direction he could go – away.
Away from them.
The storm poured down still. It was less of a rain and more of a dense, almost green mist that sprayed against his face with every passing moment. Coldness clung at his skin as Adam's uneven breath forged a mist of its own. Those vengeful clouds were his ally and his enemy; the wet cobblestone threatened to slip his boots many a time, yet the rainy mist camouflaged his desperate flight among hundreds of others seeking shelter from the elements.
Suddenly, the rain seemed to pause. Nothing felt the same as it had been one moment before. The world slowed down as Adam's heartbeat raced faster.
All to herald the arrival of the Dark Captain.
The Captain was a tall, somewhat elegantly dressed man, with eyes of purple, and hair of white. He stood beneath the rain as if unbothered by the growing storm.
No. Not as if.
"The rain...it...it isn't touching him," Adam muttered to himself, in disbelief.
It was hard to make out details from a distance, but this much, he was sure of. Despite the raging storm above, the Captain was completely dry. Each time the water neared him, it would close up, yet never touch him, sent sideways like it had been repelled by a magnetic force.
Are the raindrops scared of him to the point of fleeing?
A mere glance was enough to understand – strength was not a word befitting of this man. This was one of those rare few that was an anomaly in existence; a life akin to an army in and of itself. Another creature alike the Emperor and the Grandmaster. There was no need for Adam to glance at his tablet to know the man's name or title.
Valente Marinyo, Head of the House of Estrela Verde, and Captain of the Hangmen.
The Strongest Man in the Empire.
Their gazes met, and all color vanished.
It wasn't poetry; it was sight, it was reality. Shades of blue, red, and green turned to pitch-black before Adam's eyes. This is...the world telling me I'm about to die. He didn't know where the thought had come from, yet it felt indisputable, and ruled his mind from that moment onward. His hopes perished within that monochrome world.
He's going to kill me. Six possible Hangmen, only one to worry about...and I got the absolute worst possible outcome.
At first, the Captain seemed to be grimacing, but his expression soon relaxed into a relieved smile. "Ah, look over there! Where was this luck in the Colosseum? Dice should've favored me more, they should have."
Valente lifted a foot high up in the air as if readying himself for a theatrical, exaggerated march. His intention was clear – he was approaching Adam.
I have to do something before he gets here! What can I do? Run? No, there's no way someone like him wouldn't be able to outrun me. My best chance would be to blend in with the–
"Now, now," Valente said. He lowered his leg.
And immediately appeared in front of Adam, placing a hand on his shoulder. "What should I do with you? I don't enjoy killing. Enemies of the Empire do have to die, though. Gods, I'd much rather someone else dealt with you...but as the Colosseum taught me, luck isn't my strong suit."
Adam was stunned into silence as the Hangman rambled on. One instant he'd been across the street, and the next he was inches away. That hadn't been mere speed. It was as if–
NO TIME FOR THAT! With haste, he stepped on the man's shadow and called on his Talent of a Lord. "Kneel," Adam commanded, his eyes sparkling with intensity.
"I think not," Valente cheerfully replied. Upon seeing Adam's expression, he let out a gentle laugh. "Surprised that your Shadow Realm isn't working? Or is it that I've suddenly appeared in front of you?"
Tenver's warning rang true in Adam's mind. 'You have no chance of fighting against him. Forsake the goal of winning. Even running is impossible. Survival should be your only priority.'
No fighting, winning, or running. What else could he do right now? What options did he have?
Get him talking. Delay the execution. "Admittedly, my Lord Talent failing to work is puzzling," Adam said, with false amusement in his voice. Stay confident. Make him think you're not afraid. "Care to elaborate why?"
"For one, I'm pretty confident that I'd be strong enough to survive even inside your Realm," Valente said, his voice sounding both joyful and puzzled. "But then again...I'm not a specialist in Lordly Realms. How about you elucidate for us?"
It was here that Adam noticed Valente was speaking to someone else. "You've been watching for a while now, right?" the Captain said.
A figure emerged from the shadows, stepping closer to them.
Adam then realized, far too late, that he'd been wrong. Happening upon the Captain of the Hangmen – despite having over an 80% chance of avoiding him – was not the worst possible outcome.
"If you insist," said Aspreay.
This was.
"I suppose I can spare a few words." The former Lord wore an expression of vague distaste. "It's not a total waste. At least one of you will live to remember them."
Dealing with a Hangman was difficult enough. Dealing with their Captain was virtually impossible. Adding Aspreay of Penumbria, the only man in this world who hated Adam more than himself, made the problem so insurmountable as to make him want to laugh. It was beyond absurd.
"Your Shadow Realm is an extension of your Realm in Penumbria," Aspreay continued, his every word dripping with disgust. He placed a hand on Adam's other shoulder, standing opposite to the Hangman. "It's the same principle as to why the Emperor cannot so easily pinpoint your location. The power of your Realm is a simple calculation of its size and your overall strength. At present, it is too weak to function inside the Emperor's Realm."
With a tilt of his head, Valente muttered a soft, contemplative hum that skirted between pure innocence and a thinly-veiled aura of murder. "Isn't the Shadow Realm really small, though? It only applies if he can step on my shadow."
"Weren't you listening, white-haired imbecile?" Aspreay said, with annoyance. "It only looks small. It's still derived from the Realm he established in Penumbria. Considering the difference in Rank between him and the Emperor, building a functional Realm inside the Emperor's Realm would require much more finesse."
That seemed easier for the Hangman to understand, who nodded along happily to the explanation. "Yes, I've got it, I see! You're saying that if Adam wanted to fight me with his Lordly Realm, he'd need to first undo the one in Penumbria?"
"Yes. That's exactly it." Aspreay tightened his grip on Adam's shoulder. "If he were to undo his Realm there...he could recreate it here. Make it smaller. Instead of a gigantic Imperial city, if he focused everything onto a narrow street, then perhaps he would have a chance. Lordship is among the few Talents that the Emperor cannot detect inside his Realm."
"I see, I see!" Valente excitedly said. "So the question is whether or not the Pretender is willing to doom his city – and his treasonous followers – in order to save his own skin. Villains such as he will die regardless, but this way he could try to put up a fight."
"Correct," Aspreay stated. "That is precisely the question. So, Painter. What's it going to be? Your life...or Penumbria?"
In response to that, Adam could only bark out a low laugh. "This isn't the first time I've had to decide between those two." He adopted a dry tone, locking eyes with both men. "But considering how dire this situation is...it might actually be my last."
"You don't fear death?" Valente raised an eyebrow. "You bluff, surely."
"I've already made arrangements for my inheritance. If I die, I know who the Lord Talent will get passed down to – and it won't be someone like Aspreay."
Truthfully, he had no idea if his Talent of a Lord even could be passed down like other people's. There were many unknown oddities related to Painted abilities. Still, he had followed the protocol as learned, instituting heirs just in case: Tenver, then Solara, then Esteban, then Vasco. While he wasn't entirely happy with his selection, he'd assumed that if Tenver and Solara had also fallen...there were likely few people left to protect, anyhow.
"I won't disband Penumbria's barrier," Adam calmly told them. "If you want to kill me, go ahead." More sternly, he added, "But Aspreay – you'd better go back and make sure someone has a barrier set up there after you take my head, you hear me?"
He paused, and when he continued, it was with a low voice, almost a growl. "Listen carefully Aspreay. If you let monsters overrun our city, then I'll haunt you for the rest of eternity!"
"Do you mean that?" Aspreay asked, slowly. He didn't seem bothered by the threat, nor did he acknowledge it. "Will you truly not lift the barrier in Penumbria, even in the face of death?"
Adam drew a deep breath and closed his eyes. It's easy to say those things in the heat of the moment. But when I actually stop to think about it...it's terrifying. Dying is scary. I don't want to die. I want to help more people. I want to have fun. I want to trust people again. There's so many things I still have to do.
But...even so...
He opened his eyes and glared at Aspreay. "If I wasn't willing to do this much, I would have had no right to take Penumbria from you."
"Is that so?" Aspreay repeated, in a deadpan. "I suppose that's true." He let go of Adam's shoulder and peered at the Hangman. "Valente, I have a proposal for you."
The Hangman recoiled, as if hurt, but still didn't release his grip on Adam's shoulder. If anything, it grew tighter. "Oh? What could you possibly want? We must impose the will of His Imperial Highness upon creatures such as this man. Surely you don't intend to suggest that we merely let this villain go?"
"No," Aspreay immediately replied. "But you were muttering some inanity earlier about how murdering him or allowing his escape would both be troublesome, were you not?"
"Was I?"
"You were," Aspreay said, with a degree of anger. Then, more formally, he asked, "What do you say that I kill him?" When Valente didn't respond, he added, "The Emperor's reward will be yours. I only want the satisfaction of murdering the man who stole everything from me."
Valente's eyes became alight with a fiery malice, licking his lips as if anticipating a feast. "Oh, I can certainly deal with those terms. It's only fair that you kill the Pretender brat. And I could use the Orbs after how my last night at the Colosseum went...yes, this would be acceptable!"
This is pathetic, Adam seethed. Am I seriously just going to wait here and let them debate how to kill me?
No. He wasn't going to give them the satisfaction. If they meant for Aspreay to kill him, then the Hangman would need to let go of his shoulder and step back. That would be the best time for Adam to unleash whatever mad attack he could conjure up in his last moments.
Maybe I can try pulling out my tablet to trap Aspreay's soul. It won't save my life, but I'll die happier knowing that he doesn't get to live to gloat about this. Or maybe if I can find a way to start a fire to use Haunted Flames – maybe give the Curse to one of them on purpose.
All hopeless plans, Adam knew. There wouldn't be time to do any of that. If either man saw him reaching for his tablet, they'd murder him on the spot. Using any Talent outside of Lordship would alert the Emperor of his location, and using Lordship would doom Penumbria to a swift and merciless demise by Stained Creatures.
Was this checkmate?
It certainly felt that way when the Hangman let go of Adam's shoulder and took several steps back. "Is this far enough, Aspreay? I don't want to get blood on my suit. Lost my other good one in the Colosseum, you know?"
"A few more steps," Aspreay annoyedly shouted. As Valente acquiesced to his request, the former Lord of Penumbria glanced at Adam and lowered his voice to a whisper. "If you let Vasco die, then I'll be the one haunting you for eternity, brat."
Adam blinked. "The hell are you–"
"Quiet." Aspreay took two steps away – and towards the Hangman. "Get out of my sight."
Suddenly, color returned to Adam's world. It wasn't a full palette yet. Almost every color was dark, an odd shade of blue for most of it, and some dark greens for the rest...but it wasn't monochrome anymore.
"Aspr–" Adam started, then stopped as he recoiled in pain. He instinctively tried to approach Aspreay, one hand extended toward the empty air between the two – then pulled it back as it burned intensely as if he'd just touched...fire? No. Something else. As if a sudden jolt of electricity had just shocked his hand. It was a familiar sensation. Where had he felt that before?
Remembrance came to him in a flash. Adam paled, the blood draining from his face. There's...no way. He wouldn't be able to touch Aspreay right now. No one from the outside could. If you do that, you're going to...
Across from them, the smile was gone from the Hangman's face. When he spoke, it was in a raspier, more malicious tone. "Aspreay, Aspreay Aspreay..." He shook his head. "Oi, oi, oi...are you serious?"
"If you can't understand it still, then you bear the sin of stupidity. You heard my explanation earlier, yes? You also must have heard the brat explaining why he refuses to abandon the city. But I..."
Aspreay lifted his right elbow, dangling his hand before his face as if holding a marionette. "...I am no longer Lord of Penumbria. No attachments. Nothing to hold me back. Nothing to protect."
He clenched his hand into a fist. "Nothing to fear."
"I disagree," Valente said, in that same low, raspy voice. "You should fear me."
"Mayhap so," Aspreay acknowledged.
The Hangman sighed. "Once you utter the words," he warned, "there will be no turning back."
"Aye." Aspreay cracked his neck. "A single street...even against the Emperor's Realm, I should be able to manage it if I narrow it down this much."
The two were about ten steps apart from each other. In this narrow street, the storied buildings and bustling taverns practically felt claustrophobic, as if threatening to envelop them all. A few people walked quickly, not fully cognizant of any of their identities, yet feeling the oncoming storm heavier than the deluge that was presently falling upon them.
For a moment, only the sound of rain punctuated this stage of theirs.
Then Aspreay whipped his arm to the side, as if to signal an invisible army to start its advance, and cried out:
"–REALM–RECONSTRUCTION–!"
​
--
​
Thanks for reading!