It’s always a scary prospect as a dealer to have a car available on your lot that has a known issue, especially if you hold yourself to a high standard. It’s even scarier when the car doesn’t show that issue when it’s in your inventory, but you know it’ll happen in the very near future. And it’s the scariest when the issue in question costs thousands of dollars to fix and needs a full engine tear down to fix it up.
Some of the 4 ring enthusiasts in the room may already know what car I’m talking about, but for the uninitiated it’s the b7 S4, sold between 2006 and 2008. These cars had timing chains instead of belts, and some genius engineer decided they belonged at the back of the engine bay.
They also used timing guides/tensioners made from reinforced plastic. Not kidding, it was an $80,000 car with a wearable part in the worst possible place. I’m no mechanic, but that sounds like a real bitch.
Dial your clocks back to summer of 2018, and my dealer found itself in possession of not one, but TWO of these V8 beasts. They were the kind of wet dream that you’d wake up from with a serious itch in your underpants – fun, fast and awesome as hell right up to the moment that something blows up, and you’d find yourself in a puddle of tears and bodily fluids.
Chalk it up to misfortune, bad timing or people having enough of the bullshit those cars come with and we’d been sitting on both units for well over 3 months. Long enough for any manager to start getting real nervous.
One of them was an absolute pig – a swirled up, high mileage beater of a sedan with minimal service records, and had clearly been thrashed on for its entire existence. The only redeeming quality was the 3rd pedal and V8 engine.
The other was the total opposite – a garage-queen grey convertible that had never seen a rainy day. The leather was crisp and smooth, the paint was flawless, and it had a book full of service records in the glove box with a fresh diaper on the driver’s side for wiping away bird poop.
The downside? The crap auto transmission fitted from the factory, complete with shift paddles that may or may not have been connected. Who knows?
It would take a very special buyer for either of these cars, and when they finally would come along, it was sure to be a roller coaster of a process getting the deal done.
They sure didn’t disappoint.
Enter Mikey.
Mikey was a salt of Earth, working class hero who knew he wanted a V8 and knew he wanted a convertible. He’d called in after spotting the garage queen online, and knew it would fit the bill for what he was after. Our sales rep took him out for a rip, let him open the taps a bit, and see exactly what kind of power was lurking under the bonnet.
He was smitten.
Now came the fun part – on any car that’s 10 years old, we’d normally expect the buyer to be breaking out a cheque book or getting their pennies together. Not the case here.
Mikey wanted to finance, and he KNEW he would get the best rate possible. Here we go again…
We stitch up a deal with the only bank in Candyland that’ll touch a vehicle that old, and my used car manager insisted on using the lowest rate possible to get this damn curse off our lot. Lucky me once again - getting to pick up all the pieces and make magic happen.
I meet with Mikey and do my whole song and dance through the credit app. He’s paid in cash and works for a company that has no website. Red flag one. Proof of income? Not a chance!
I probed about the industry he’s in to at least see if there’s something we can work with there. Turns out, he’s a partner at a local gentleman’s club that some of the fellas were pretty familiar with. That kind of explains the cash, even though he was a bit too heavy to be getting up on stage.
Hopefully he at least pays his bills…
By the graces of God, he was clean as a whistle. Credit cards and all accounts were up to date, and everything was looking solid for the approval. Cool beans.
I dive into my warranty pitch and he’s having none of it. Tells me the car has been great so far, why would anything happen now. Oh buddy… if you only knew.
I tiptoe gently around the fact that these cars tend to have some catastrophic repairs that need to be done and that it would be a good idea to at least think about a warranty since he can get an OEM program. Fair enough, we stick a pin in it.
Time to start getting this approval done – he wants a 6 year term to make his payments fall into his budget. Bank comes back with a hard no capping it off at 4.5 years… better than nothing.
He’s agreeable to it, and wants to come pick up the car ASAP. He’d also done some talking with a few friends, and had come to his senses about putting a warranty on the car. Go drive the snot out of this thing bud, it’s on our dime now!
We’d barely gotten his loan set up when the service department gets a call.
Guess who?
Mikey had fired up the beast for his daily commute, and heard a strange rattle coming from the engine bay. Here we go…
He brings it in to get it diagnosed and go figure, it’s a timing chain issue. They slap him in a loaner, and bring the car out to the back of our lot.
I must have walked by this thing 50 times over the next couple of weeks and it looked it never budged. Apparently the tensioners are a tricky part to get a hold of, so Mikey was getting his kicks in with a brand new loaner A4.
I spotted him in service a few months later, and he looked like a broken man. Sure, he’d bought the warranty, but at the cost of his sanity. It seemed like issue after issue popped up on this car from chain issues to roof failures, battery charge issues and alternator faults.
I'm sure he wishes that he wrapped it around a pole just like the ladies in his field of work.

So here we are – Riders on exile. Well, better this fate than becoming Swiss cheese. If they sent such a big offensive there, they were really determined. But they really think they’ll find some documents there? They can try, but Yan claimed that there’s nothing of value left.
I was the one leading the group – with Svarog detector in one hand, with my eight-shot revolver in the other and with cig in my mouth. Our gear was unchanged – I still had my SV-338 on my back and had my armor, which I found out it was modified version of Clear Sky’s CS-3b.
Sorrow wasn’t far from me. Even though we had most likely the most advanced detectors out there, he still was throwing bolts here and there. Probably because of boredom. This doesn’t mean that I stopped using them myself – I had a pack of bolts on my belt.
I should’ve mention it – we were heading to the Garbage through northeastern path. Soldiers came from southwest and they are most likely looking for internal dangers rather than those from the outside, so we were relatively safe.
After failing a couple of times to spark a conversation in our group, I was just focused on finding a safe route to the Zone’s first crossroads. And – I’ll be honest – I wanted to find an artifact. Not only to gain some cash, but maybe to find something that would make this journey more interesting. The luck wasn’t on my side that day, sadly.
We came to the Garbage. We all knew by instinct to prepare ourselves for some resistance. Resistance as powerful as Clear Sky these days, but resistance nonetheless. To our surprise, however, we found the nearest ”outpost” empty.
Confused a little, we started exploring the surrounding area. No presence of bandits could be located. I even used my scope to see the insides of a hangar, but on the surface, it was safe. Even the sentry dressed in Sunrise suit, standing before the brick wall didn’t open fire at us. Quite the opposite, actually – he waved when he saw us and said to come closer. And we did just that.
”Riders!” – he shouted with joy. - ”Holy fuck!”
”Hey, em…” – I tried to remind myself of his name. - ”Oh! You’re Yara Bubble. One who was a ”whale” on our party.”
”Yeah, I overestimated my capabilities. I shouldn’t drink that much.”
”At least you’re alive and well now.”
”Yep.”
”Still, we’re curious about the current situation in this hangar.”
”Nothing to write a book about, I’m afraid. Duty and few hired loners executed an assault on the complex, clearing the place from this scum. For now, bandits haven’t inducted any sort of retaliation.”
”Not surprised. They’re…”
Suddenly, Zrak started… What’s the name for crow’s sound? Let me check… so I found the name ”caw”. So he was… cawing? Sounds stupid. But that’s the most common answer. Anyway, he started making loud sounds.
For others, it’d seem like he’s doing this for no reason. But we’ve found out this meant that an emission is approaching. And that meant we should be careful, Zrak especially. Codex said that crows die way faster in blowouts than humans.
”We should get inside.” – Sorrow stated. - ”Emission’s gonna hit us in a moment.”
”Wow…” – Yara was impressed. - ”Your bird can sense such things?”
”Yeah – one of the reasons why I love him. Come on.”
We made our way into the hangar. It was occupied mostly by loners, but few Dutyers were hanging around here as well. To spy on us or escape from the superiors for at least a moment – it’s hard to blame them.
Of course, even if emission just started, we won’t just sit like cowards, doing nothing. We popped a vodka bottle and I shared smokes with Sorrow and Craver. We were exchanging jokes of various quality. I felt good, but couldn’t get rid off the feeling that this was… artificial.
After blowout stopped, we bid our farewells with Yara and continued going to Army Warehouses. Atmosphere here was pretty much calm. Bandits may not be present at that time, but mutants were still roaming the lands. They weren’t attacking us, though.
We weren’t going to Duty outpost – we still weren’t sure if we could safely enter Rostok, even though some ex-soldiers claimed that they miss our visits and were surprised that we stopped going there. Hell, they promised us to talk to their highest superiors for an official invitation. We got one, but we continued to be hesitant about this.
Instead, we used Garbage-Wild Territory route. It’s rarely used, so even better for us. Unfortunately, that meant going through the field rich in fire anomalies. Nothing that four Svarogs and lots of bolts can’t solve.
Going further into this location (that many claim to be almost as bad as Red Forest, which I can’t understand), we found something interesting. Okay, maybe not that interesting, but we found bodies of mercs and loners that had to be fresh, judging by the state of corpses. We decided that we’d leave them alone.
Soon after, we got near the wreckage of helicopter that had fire anomalies around it. One of it was still active, but that’s because the body of flesh was in it. Strange that it didn’t turn into ash. But we went to nearby big door that was hiding a part of Rostok complex.
I’ll be completely honest here – I don’t know what should I write about this location. Really, it’s so uninteresting that I’d have to lie to say something worthwhile. And I don’t want to do that. So for your entertainment, I’ll just skip to Warehouses.
We ended up near bloodsucker village – the location that’s our destination. In south of it, there’s a small farmstead that poses as Freedom outpost. That’s official information, but it’s actually Irina’s place where she lives and that’s where Quarrel visits her.
Yep, living next to abandoned village that bloodsuckers really like for some reason plus it’s dotted with various fire anomalies. How she can live here without problems is unknown to me, but hey – strange shelter is better than no shelter… I think.
We were careful about stepping here. With weapons in our hands, we were slowly approaching the farmstead. We didn’t saw any signs of Freedom presence, which made me (but maybe others too) slightly disturbed. This didn’t last long, though.
”Guys, it’s safe, I assure you.” – said the woman in Freedom helmetless SEVA, coming out of cover.
”Hi, Iri.” – Quarrel waved at her.
”Hi, Cas. Oh, and hello, Riders.”
We just nodded at her, without uttering a word.
”What brings all of you here?” – she asked, a bit surprised.
”Army raided our place.” – our tough guy replied. - ”Big offensive – with choppers and such.”
”Huh… good that you didn’t stay to fight them.”
”Of course. It’d be stupid, so I commanded that we should get somewhere else, at least temporarily, so we could come up with the plan of recapturing the place.”
I rolled my eyes when I heard this. Quarrel – prideful as usual, even if it involves lying. He really changed through these months. But I wanted to get straight to the point.
”Long story short – army raided our place and Quarrel suggested that we should come to you.” – I said after a moment of silence. - ”Are you willing to share some space with us?”
”Of course.” – Flora replied. - ”Perhaps not the house, but this barn should be enough. It has relatively whole roof, so you won’t get wet. Are you fine with that?”
”Yeah. But there shouldn’t be any problems with… neighbors, right?”
”Last bloodsucker was killed by me more than a month ago. They didn’t reappear since then. Other mutants don’t come here as well. It’s really a safe location.”
”I’ll stash the items there.” – Quarrel joined the talk. - ”After that… maybe you want to go somewhere?”
”With you? Always.”
After this exchange of words, we got to the barn. Quarrel just left the stuff he was carrying through this journey in the corner and he was heading out with his girl, saying ”See you later, guys” before leaving us.
Craver quickly organized his part of this barn and instead of helping any of us, he proceeded to eat some sausage. I wanted to say something, but I knew that this won’t help much, if at all. Suddenly, he got a message that made him visibly happy.
”Lads, I have to go.” – he said loudly.
”Have fun…” – I replied to him with indifference.
Ex-ex-merc (I know this sound stupid, but still wanted to write this) grabbed his gear and quickly left the hideout, leaving me and Sorrow alone in our new home. I should feel bad about this, but I started to feel… lighter. Like a tension got swiped away.
We finished organizing out parts at the exact same moment. I briefly checked if Sorrow is alright, but he said he’s fine and then he started another vodka bottle. I should leave him to his thoughts and let him rest for a while.
I looked through our items and grabbed new pack of cigarettes. I lit one and lied on my sleeping bag. After thinking about what to do, I pulled out my PDA and started watching some videos on the internet. I don’t know why, but in Army Warehouses, there were much better speeds.
So I was detached from that world for some time, not thinking about my or others’ problems. This felt… good. Very good, even. But then I turned towards Sorrow, who had his head buried in his legs. I got to him, sat nearby and pat his shoulder. He immediately raised his gaze to me.
”Plagued?” – he was a bit confused.
”What’s the problem, Sorrow?” – I asked with genuine intent.
”Can I be completely honest with you?”
”Sorrow… you’re my brother. I’d never replace you. I’ll never sell you out. I’d rather pop a bullet in my head than to give you up. So yes, you can be perfectly honest with me.”
”Plagued… I don’t think coming here was a good idea.”
”Why?” – I asked, even though I suspected what the answer might be.
”Quarrel said it’s good that he’ll have us and Irina close. It’s not even that I’m envious. It will create new problems, new arguments. More likely for our group to fall apart. Craver going to mercs and his girl isn’t helpful either. I don’t want to stop them, but with each day, we grow more distant from one another. I wish it was like in our old days.”
”I want that too, Sorrow. But sadly, there isn’t much we can do about this. I tried pretty much anything I could. And us leaving them won’t help either. It’ll just cement the fall of our team.”
”Yeah…”
”One can hope that it’ll eventually get better. At least we have each other.”
”There’s that… Eh…”
”You feel better?”
”A bit. Thanks. But…”
”What?”
”I’m curious about how the soldiers do in our former base.”
”Huh… I won’t stop you.”
”I’ll try to return as fast as I can.”
”Be careful, brother.”
”I will. Goodbye.”
And I became last man standing. Eh… Even though I let him to do the thing he wants to do, we both know it’s an excuse to be alone with his thoughts. He still cares, otherwise he’d pull out Kurt Cobain long ago.
Few minutes later, I got up and went outside. I couldn’t find Sorrow anywhere. I lit up another smoke and started to look around my new place. Mutants were really far from my current location, but I saw approaching Freedomer. I was cautious, with revolver in my hand.
”Hey!” – guy shouted cheerfully.
”Greetings.” – I replied calmly.
”Is there Irina Flora around?”
”She’s absent. Personal matters. Why do you ask?”
”She was supposed to give me a report, so I could give it to Lukash.”
”Really?”
”Nah, it’s just an excuse, so I could get out from the base.”
”But what do you want from her?”
”My amount of weed is getting low. I asked pretty much everyone if they have some to spare. Looks like I’ll have to look elsewhere. You’re here alone?”
”Yeah. And who are you exactly?”
”Yurik Bear. I know you’re Rider, but I don’t remember which one.”
”Plagued.”
”Maybe you want to go with me? I’ll have someone to talk to.”
”If weed is involved then I’ll go.”
”Great. I’ll go around for a while and ask others for some plant. But after that, I know the place where we can chill out. Follow me.”

Hello to you, fellow ingrates.
Year 6 of DABR Defends the New York Giants from Criticism has arrived.

Season Recap

tl;dr: The Giants had their most successful season since 2016, and arguably since winning the Super Bowl in 2012 (if the draft spot/playoff success is the measurement) and went into draft night with the latest selection they've had since 2012, the first outside the top 11 since 2016.
Giants fans didn't really expect to win that many games this year. There were still some hopefuls for Daniel Jones but most people had come to terms with new GM Joe Schoen and new HC Brian Daboll pretty much setting up to replace him, declining his 5th year option.
It was the first year of this regime, they hadn't really been able to fix up the roster fully, etc. Most Giants fans I know were expecting a 4-7 win season, not sniffing the playoff race. Ha.
It all started week 1 vs Tennessee. It was honestly a story Giants fans have gotten familiar with. Look absolutely horrible in the first half of the game, but somehow struggle back into it in the second half, only to be dramatically disappointed at the end of the game. After Daniel Jones threw a red zone interception with just under 9 minutes to go, we thought that was pretty much it.
But then with 4 minutes left, Saquon Barkley rips off a 33 yard run, Daniel Jones converts a 4th and 1, and the Giants score a TD to pull them to just a 1 point deficit. Most Giants fans are thinking "okay he's gonna kick it, play for overtime, I respect that, we didn't think it would be that close anyways."
And then we see the offense staying on the field...uh oh. The offense wasn't exactly clicking on all cylinders to that point in the game, having been shut out in the first half. If we don't get it, the game is pretty much lost. Daboll calls a shovel pass, Saquon gets it, it looks like it's completely doomed...I'm thinking "here we go again, his first game and the media is already going to be all over him for going for it"...but Saquon fights his way in! Giants take the lead for the first time in the game. We're feeling good, Daboll's huge balls in that situation giving us some confidence.
Then the Titans methodically work the ball down the field (along with a couple of assists from Austin Calitro and Darnay Holmes), setting up a 47 yard field goal for Randy Bullock to win the game.
Now, I'm thinking, "of course this is what happened, they gave us some hope, now it's going to get ripped away from us, just like always. Story of the last few years at times."
...and then Bullock missed the kick. That was the start of what turned into a magical first half of the season, the Giants getting off to a 7-2 start, all 7 wins coming by a 1 score margin (though the Bears and Texans games were a bit cleaner than the final scoreline suggests), and 5 of them really coming down to big time plays in the last 5 minutes of the game.
The Titans story, taking the lead with 3:38 left in the 4th quarter and Julian Love sacking Baker Mayfield to force 4th and 15 the next drive against Carolina, Kayvon Thibodeaux and Xavier McKinney batting down Aaron Rodgers' passes in London, Love intercepting Lamar Jackson to set up the game winning score against Baltimore, McKinney and Love stopping Christian Kirk at the 1 yard line on the last play against Jacksonville.
All of those games are games that go against us in previous years. But this year was just different. And somehow through it all, there were Saquon Barkley and Daniel Jones as well. Saquon was the focal point of the offense early in the season, Jones being efficient in a heavy, limited, play action focused passing attack.
All thoughts of the Giants earning a top pick and replacing Daniel Jones pretty much went out the window by week 4, and hope for Jones maybe finally becoming the QB he was drafted to be started to blossom in some parts of the Giants fanbase.
Things came crashing down a bit the next 4 weeks. Awful losses to Detroit, Dallas, and Philly, with a tie against Washington in there too that many Giants fans felt they deserved to win capped off a 1-4-1 stretch where the Giants simply did not look good. They looked more like what we expected the team to look like coming into the year. The playoff spot was no longer guaranteed, at 7-5-1. But a flexed SNF game against Washington would pretty much decide the season.
And the Giants took that win against Washington and ran with it. A close loss against the Vikings that was probably the best passing attack game of the season to that point, a dominating win against the hapless Colts that locked the Giants into the playoffs, and a surprisingly tight and scrappy game between the Eagles starters and the Giants backups gave Giants fans some hope headed into the playoffs. We didn't expect to win a Super Bowl, but the matchup against the Vikings seemed winnable.
And winnable it was, as in classic 2023 Giants fashion, they took a lead about halfway through the 4th quarter, and a couple of clutch plays on defense by Cordale Flott and Xavier McKinney ended the game.
Then we went to Philly and got absolutely ass blasted, ending our season.
That left the Giants with the 25th pick in the class, entering an offseason with a lot of business to take care of.

Free Agency Recap

The Giants had a lot more room to operate in free agency this year than last year, and Schoen was relatively creative in how he wanted to go about it.
The first step in that process though was figuring out the status of his pending free agents; most notably, the two who led the way on offense most of the year: Daniel Jones and Saquon Barkley. The Jones negotiations were tense, Jones asked for the moon and the team was not having it. Eventually (literally right before the tag deadline) they settled on a 4 yr, 160m extension with 82m fully guaranteed and a boatload of incentives that could push the value up to almost 200m. That allowed the team to tag Saquon Barkley, whose extension talks are reportedly still stalled, as Barkley declined an offer worth almost 14m during the Giants' bye week, and continues to find the Giants' offer(s) unpalatable.
Speculation is that Barkley is seeking more guaranteed money from the Giants (greater than the sum of 2 franchise tags), but Barkley's camp is not leaking much (reportedly because Saquon doesn't want them to). And according to most reporters, Saquon is too competitive to actually sit out the season, removing his last bit of leverage.
Possibly the biggest addition of the Giants' free agency period was actually a trade: The Giants traded the Chiefs' 3rd rounder (acquired for Kadarius Toney) for TE Darren Waller. This is a huge move because the Giants were dead last in explosive pass play rate by a WIDE margin. Only like 6 individual team seasons since 2010 had fewer explosive passing plays than the 2022 Giants. That's something that Schoen and Daboll immediately set out to fix, and Darren Waller is one of the best explosive pass weapons in the league, leading all TEs in explosive pass plays this season despite playing just 9 games this year. Reports out of OTAs are that the Giants are expecting Waller to basically fill a "WR1" role for them; not necessarily in alignment but being the focal point of the offense, high target share, etc.
Schoen and Daboll followed that addition up with two more explosive pass play options: retaining Darius Slayton, and adding Parris Campbell to the room. Slayton is a solid WR, he's good for 600-700 yards when he gets run. His hands are inconsistent, but he makes up for it often. Campbell finally broke out having a healthy season for the Colts this season. I think Campbell is mostly insurance for Wan'Dale Robinson, who is coming off of a torn ACL, but if healthy should get primary run in the slot.
The Giants' other two main moves came on the defensive side of the ball, adding LB Bobby Okereke to a LB room that comprised of: Jarrad Davis, Micah McFadden, and Darrian Beavers (coming off a torn ACL). Much needed improvement in that room. The Giants also added Rakeen Nunez-Roches and A'Shawn Robinson to the DL room to improve the depth there; Dexter Lawrence and Leonard Williams were playing too many snaps, and the Giants were really bad against the run last year.
In the process though, the Giants lost both of their starting centers from 2022, Nick Gates and Jon Feliciano, as well as S Julian Love, who had been a consistent staple of the defense the last few years.

Draft Needs

The Giants roster was in much better shape this year than last year, but the team still had a number of problems:

1. CB was still a HUGE need for the Giants, and one that had not been properly addressed yet. Adoree' Jackson had another very good year in 2022, but the spot across from him had been a mishmosh of misfit toys: Fabian Moreau had a nice little run, but struggled down the stretch. Nick McCloud got a lot of run at CB2 after being claimed on waivers from the Bills. Cordale Flott had been drafted as a nickel defender but got some run there. And the slot position wasn't much better, as Darnay Holmes continued to be a liability there. This position needed reinforcements. I've been a relatively vocal minority in the Giants fandom saying this has been the BIGGEST need the team had for a couple of years now (basically aside from the one year that we had Bradberry and Jackson both on the team).
2. Despite adding Slayton, Campbell, and Waller, WR was still something the team needed. Specifically someone who could develop into a WR1 type player. The Giants WR room is relatively deep, but just adding Campbell and Waller and running back last year's group didn't feel sufficient. The team clearly was putting an emphasis on speed, separation, and yards after the catch ability.
3. Center was a massive need. The Giants basically didn't have a center on the roster who had played meaningful NFL snaps. Ben Bredeson could move to center if needed, but it wasn't that solid of a plan. And in what seemed like a good center class, this seemed like a good way to solve that problem.
4. LB. The LB2 spot currently will be either Jarrad Davis, Micah McFadden (who basically lost the job last year to Jarrad Davis), or Darrian Beavers (who tore his ACL last year). I think that says it all.
5. RB: Saquon is on the tag, so you feel okay here, but the team has been seeking a solid compliment for him for a while. They were in on a few of the RBs last year and the value never lined up, and Matt Breida and Gary Brightwell didn't really cut it last year. They don't want to run Saquon into the ground early in the year like they did last year, so having a compliment for him is big.
6. S: Losing Julian Love is a tough one. He played a lot of snaps and wore a lot of hats for this defense last year, especially with McKinney missing time with a hand injury. The team likes Jason Pinnock, and drafted Dane Belton in the early 4th last year, but more depth and competition here would be very welcome.

So let's get into the picks:

1.24: Deonte Banks, CB, Maryland

Seems like maybe Schoen agreed with me!
It was a lot harder to try to predict what the Giants would do this year, just by virtue of having a later pick. But the general consensus among the beat seemed to be that the team wanted to get a CB or an offensive playmaker with that first pick. I was a little skeptical of CB being an option, seeing how many mocks had all 5 of the top CBs off the board, but that often left WRs available.
So right after the Jets took Will McDonald at 15, if you looked at the board, only 1 CB had been taken and no WRs had been taken. That felt pretty good for the Giants.
Then Forbes and Gonzalez come off the board, and the top 4 WRs come off the board from 20-23.
That left the Giants feeling a little antsy. They had one guy they really wanted left, and negotiated a trade up one spot with the Jaguars to secure their guy: Deonte Banks.
This pick is perfect for what the Giants want to do on defense. Wink Martindale's reaction should say it all, if you go watch the Giants' behind the scenes videos on the draft process.
Banks is a tall, long, and athletic corner, which are all important traits for Wink's press man heavy defense. He's super fluid and smooth in his hips. He tested absolutely crazy. He also plays with a swag that I think Wink and Giants fans will come to really appreciate. He plays confident, he plays fast in terms of processing, and he plays physical.
He still has some development to go, I'm not saying he's going to be a top CB in the league from day 1. He wasn't a super ball productive corner, but that's not something Wink necessarily needs. It will take some time for him to get comfortable with the complexity of route runners in the NFL. But the tools are all there, and the Giants get a perfect scheme fit.
Banks will come in and immediately be the starter at CB across from Adoree' Jackson, and the trickle down effect that will have on the Giants depth chart at CB will be tangible.

2.57: John Michael Schmitz, OC, Minnesota

As this pick was coming up, Schoen and Daboll were discussing who to pick, and basically said "okay we're either going with Schmitz or (we'll get to that later ;) )".
Then the Bears traded up to the pick before the Giants pick. And Joe Schoen said "oh fuck." Daboll tried to calm him down and said "well I guess we're getting ."
Then the Bears took Tyrique Stevenson (good pick!), leaving the Giants the choice between the two players. And the Giants went with Schmitz.
Full disclosure: I was not a huge JMS fan in the draft process. I thought he was super solid all around, but he wasn't really impressive to me, there weren't a lot of overwhelmingly positive reps or traits in my eyes. I thought he was maybe a little heavy footed, especially in pass pro, and his testing kind of backed that up, and I didn't really see full unlocked power either.
I was probably a bit harsh on him in terms of the grade though. Like I said, he's a super solid player. There's relatively little to really complain about. He's smart, he's experienced, and he made few mental mistakes. His snaps were consistent. He is pretty strong though not crazy so. His anchor is really good, and he plays nasty and competitive, which is something the Giants are definitely looking for. It helps he had a really good Senior Bowl week too.
Was Schmitz my favorite center in this class? No. But he was for many people, and for some good reasons. Schmitz will come in and immediately start at center for the Giants, bringing the dead snap with him. If he can be the 3rd best player on this unit (behind Andrew Thomas and hopefully Evan Neal taking a step forward this year and being healthy), it'll be an immensely calming and steadying presence that should raise the OL play of the whole unit.

3.73: Jalin Hyatt, WR, Tennessee

So you may be wondering: Who was Player X?
Well immediately after drafting Schmitz, Schoen looked around the room and pretty much said "what if we can still get ?" He decided that the price he was willing to pay was the Giants 4th round pick. And he and everybody else in the room started calling.
That included Brian Daboll, who leaned over and said "hey should I text [Rams HC Sean] McVay?" Schoen said "yeah sure go for it." And Daboll officially negotiated the Giants trading up from 89 to 73 to select Player X: Tennessee WR Jalin Hyatt
Hyatt is a really fun player to watch. The speed blows you away on tape. It's the kind of speed that even if you're not throwing it to him all the time, defenses have to take note when he comes on the field and play him differently. He's not necessarily slippery or elusive after the catch but (and I'm scared to frame it this way but I'm doing it anyway) the speed and acceleration gives him credibility there, the way that Odell was such a YAC threat on slants just getting to full speed and outrunning everyone.
He's a little high cut I think, and that leads to a little bit of trouble with crisper routes. He wasn't asked to run a very complex route tree at Tennessee, though I do think he has the skills to improve in that sense. The biggest concern for me is just how quickly we can get him up to speed beating press and playing through physicality. When he has room to work, he can beat CBs in a few ways, but NFL DBs will knock even very good WRs off their routes at times. And that follows through to contested catches.
The Giants' WR room is so crowded it's hard for me to say exactly what Hyatt's role will be starting out. The Giants started last year trying to use different WRs in different ways on a game to game basis. Then the wheels fell off obviously, with Shep, Wan'Dale, and Toney being hurt and Golladay stinking and all that. So I wonder if we see a return to that.
Hyatt can be a threat in a lot of ways, end arounds, screens, etc in addition to the obvious "go long" situations. Just how many reps he can carve out will be fun to track in training camp.

So the Giants come out of the first 3 rounds with 3 players who were commonly mocked to them at 25. Pretty good business! But let's get into day 3:

5.172: Eric Gray, RB, Oklahoma

The Giants traded away their 4th round pick to get Hyatt so they went 99 picks without making a selection.
Like I said earlier, the team has been looking for a compliment to Saquon Barkley for a long time, and they find it here with Eric Gray.
Schoen said he sees Eric Gray as a 3 down back. And you can definitely see why. He caught 88 passes over the last 3 years at Oklahoma and only dropped 2. He's also strong and physical, willing to pass protect. That physicality carries over into his running style, he runs hard and is willing to run through guys. He's bursty in short areas and has pretty solid vision in my opinion.
He's a compact guy, just 5'9 207. He's not super slippery or elusive, and he's not really a home run hitter. But in terms of finding a backup RB on day 3 to feed some of those tough yardage carries to and keep Saquon fresh, you could do worse than Eric Gray for sure.
The Giants ran a fair bit of "Pony" type formations in 2022, using 2 or even 3 RBs at times. The competition between Gray and Matt Breida for the true RB2 spot will be fun to see. Breida brings a little more explosiveness to the table, but Gray will certainly give him a run for his money. And depending on what happens with Saquon Barkley's contract situation, we may see even more of Gray down the line.

6.209: Tre Hawkins, CB, Old Dominion

When asked about what is different this year from last year, what improvements or what has gotten easier now that he's been in the chair for a full year, Joe Schoen talked a lot about really getting a good handle on what his coaches look for in players. And he singled out Wink in that respect because him and Daboll have worked together so much.
The Giants selection of Tre Hawkins really highlights that. Like with Deonte Banks, Hawkins brings a ton of physical traits. He tested through the roof. He has the length that the Giants look for. He's also super physical in both phases, run and pass, which Wink loves. ODU let him just play press man, so he's comfortable doing that.
He's a little slim still, so his frame needs some reworking, but that's common with CBs and especially ones from outside the P5 schools. He also has a lot of technique and FBIQ stuff to clean up. His footwork is messy, he's not always patient enough with his punch. His ball skills still leave something to be desired. He's still learning to read routes and manage space both in man and zone.
I figure Hawkins will come in and be a depth player and core STer for the Giants. If his play strength holds up against NFL scrutiny, he can definitely be a day 1 punt gunner. Wink has started calling Jerome Henderson the best DB coach in the league, so it'll be fun to see what Henderson can do with a ball of clay like Hawkins. Even if he ends up just being a STer and CB5 type guy, that's still a pretty good pick in the 6th round like this.
Also, sorry Patriots writer :)

7.243: Jordon Riley, DL, Oregon

Beating a dead horse at this point, but this is another pick Schoen highlighted as an example of his understanding of what Wink is looking for.
Obviously Riley is a flawed prospect, it's the 7th round. He was a 6th year senior who spent time at 4 different schools, starting at UNC, then going to JUCO for a year, then Nebraska for 2 years where he barely played, and finishing his college career at Oregon. PFF lists him as having just 534 career snaps in college despite the 5 years he spent at the P5 level. He wasn't very productive, partly because he barely played and partly because he's just not very good. He's not a good athlete.
What Riley does have, though, is size, strength, and knockback power. And that's what Wink is looking for in a depth NT. He eats blocks, stuffs up lanes, and just is hard to move.
Schoen put it this way:
"It’s hard to find these guys. When you get into the seventh round, you are looking for guys that maybe it will be hard to get at different areas. And another guy we spent time with, big run stopper in there, 6-foot-5, 330.
You walk out to practice, and there’s this 6-5, 330-pound guy, who piques your interest right there. Again, some of these guys in different schemes may not have the production, the tackles, the sacks. But for what Wink looks for in terms of size, length, knock-back — he possesses those traits.”

7.254: Gervarrius Owens, DB, Houston

Last pick in the draft and the Giants go back to the DB room. They took two CBs already, but some depth/developmental guys at safety would help. Enter: Gervarrius Owens.
Owens is a former CB turned S from Houston. The CB in him flashes to me on tape, I thought his ball skills as a safety were good. He's athletic enough to play pretty much any safety spot, including that single high spot that teams find difficult to fill. He's super physical and willing to play downhill and tackle. He's super experienced, he was a team captain and 4 year starter for Houston.
He makes a lot of mistakes, however. The angles he takes to the ball in both phases are super inconsistent. He missed a ton of tackles in college, so that technique needs to be worked on. The ball skills turned into PBUs rather than INTs; Wink won't mind that but some of them were like "he really should have just caught that."
Owens is another guy like Hawkins who looks primed to earn his roster spot on special teams and provide solid depth for the team's DB room. Wink likes to play 3+ safety sets, especially when he feels like he has a good group there. And the Giants' S room right now is basically Xavier McKinney and a bunch of question marks, so it's entirely feasible that Owens can come in and beat Dane Belton, Jason Pinnock, and Bobby McCain to earn playing time early on.

UDFAs

The Giants UDFA class included a few notable names. 5 total players who got 100k+ in guarantees:

1. Bryce Ford-Wheaton, WR, WVU: The Giants gave Bryce Ford-Wheaton a LOT of guaranteed money for a UDFA: 236k, which is the full season PS salary plus 20k. BFW was one of "my guys" this year I was hoping for the Giants to get. He's got the size and athleticism to be really good, but he's a little one note right now. In a crowded WR room, I kind of doubt he'll make the roster without some injuries (or Wan'Dale/Shep being on PUP) but like other late rounders/UDFAs, if he can find some value on special teams, he's a fun upside swing.
2. Dyontae Johnson, LB, Toledo: Another guy who got a lot of guaranteed money. The Giants needed some reinforcements at LB and clearly didn't find them in the draft. Super productive in college, very instinctive player, but I'm not sure if he can run with the league. He'll compete with the Giants mishmosh of LBs to play on special teams.
3. Ryan Jones, TE/FB, East Carolina: The Giants have been searching for a kind of H-Back type for a while now. Last year they brought in Jeremiah Hall from Oklahoma, that didn't stick. Andre Miller, who was a WR at Maine, seemed like he was getting run at that spot in camp last year, but a broken arm ended his season. Chris Myarick ended up taking some of those reps. Ryan Jones kind of fits that mold as well.
4. Habakkuk Baldonado, EDGE, Pittsburgh: The Giants' pass rusher depth is...not great. Behind Kayvon Thibodeaux and Azeez Ojulari, it's Jihad Ward, Oshane Ximines, and Tomon Fox. And Ojulari missed a lot of time last year. Baldonado could potentially come in and earn a spot over Ximines/Fox. He's got good play strength and power and fits what the Giants would need as more of an edge setter and run defender to give Thibodeaux/Ojulari a rest rep before letting them loose to rush the passer.
5. Gemon Green, CB, Michigan: Another tough and physical corner. I don't think there's really a spot for him on this roster with the additions of Banks and Hawkins, and I think he's not quite the athlete the Giants look for at CB, but as a last resort/STer he can potentially get somewhere.

Final Takeaways

I did this last year because it was Schoen's first year here, but I like the idea of doing it every year. What can we learn from the way Schoen drafted this year that we can file away and learn for the future? What can mockers learn from this to inform them of who makes sense for the Giants.
And it's pretty similar to last year:

1. Athleticism. Once again, pretty much every player the Giants drafted, and the UDFAs generally, were excellent athletes who tested well. The main exceptions being JMS (who was still a solid athlete) and Jordon Riley this year; where the exception last year basically was just DJ Davidson. This team has faith in its coaching staff and wants to give them players they can work with.
2. Scheme/Roster Fits. I talked about it a lot with the defensive picks, but every single one is a "Wink Martindale" guy. What does Wink want for his system? This can be a little dangerous considering Wink was in the running for a HC gig last year, and another strong year might finally get him the HC job he has been looking for. If he leaves and the scheme changes, these players need to be able to match the new scheme too. But it's clear that the FO values the input of the coaching staff and there's really clear communication there. This also applies to the offensive side of the ball, where it's super clear that the team wanted more speed on offense, which pointed to Hyatt a little bit.
3. Youth. This one is a little less applicable this year as they did draft a few older players, like JMS and Riley, even Eric Gray who turns 24 in November or Tre Hawkins who turns 23 over the summer. But Banks just turned 22, Jalin Hyatt will turn 22 in late September. It feels like maybe they felt more attached to the age stuff when they thought this was a full on rebuild, but now that they're hoping to be a playoff team again, they need some more instant contributors.
4. Aggressiveness/willingness to trade. This is a newer one, as last year the Giants only traded back. But this year the Giants traded up twice, giving up 3 day 3 picks in the process. Schoen is not afraid to make trades in either direction. Up to secure guys he really wants (Banks/Hyatt), or down if there's nothing there. Schoen talked about having trades lined up in both directions with the first round pick, he had a trade down ready if there was no one he wanted left.

The Giants went into the 2022 draft clearly rebuilding, 5 picks in the top 81 and making 11 selections. This year, the team came into the draft with 10 picks and came out with just 7. Clearly the team thinks the depth is improving and wants to focus on building the championship contender they are looking to be.

Hi,
I am really suffering with hayfever this year. I do not respond to any medications or nasal sprays and have even had the hayfever injection (kenalog) this year to no avail. My hayfever would definitely be considered severe.
Generally I experience the following: - waking up with puffy eyelids and red eyes - itchy throat/roof of mouth - itchy nose and sneezing - hives on arms, legs and neck (normally when I’ve been outside) - fatigue/tiredness, generally feel lethargic during hayfever seasons.
If anybody has any advice or recommendations (including products, I don’t mind trying something new) it would be greatly appreciated.
Thanks in advance

Pt 1 If you haven't read it yet.
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Pt 2 If you haven't read it yet.
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Pt 3 If you haven't read it yet.
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Pt 4 If you haven't read it yet.
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Pt 5 If you haven't read it yet.
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The sun had begun to set, so I made my way over to the metro station we agreed upon as the rendezvous point. The walk took me about 20 minutes so by the time I got back the streetlights were beginning to switch on as the last red rays of starlight dipped below the horizon. It was there I anxiously awaited for Tromō, expecting him to take longer. I stayed for about a half hour, but at that point my stomach had slowly begun to sink with dread. My mind raced. In an attempt to dismiss these fears I reached for my communicator to check his location (I know, I know, risky in a public location but I had made my way over to a much quieter location.) I found him en route to the warehouse district, about 20 kilometers north-northeast of my location. Something had gone terribly wrong. Sensing the worst I quickly commandeered a nearby truck, hot-wired it, and hauled ass back to the hotel. I was never particularly any good at combat so
a different strategy would be required. I also had many moral qualms at the thought of murder, but since Tromō would likely have his identity compromised, protocol states clearly that anyone who comes in contact with that knowledge must be promptly terminated, and the blind rage made quick work eliminating that psychological barrier.
On the drive back to the hotel I began to plot his rescue. My mind, overcome with anger, jumped to a most unorthodox manner of dealing death. The plan I had settled on was to deploy a gas, engineered to only affect Ix. The gas would serve as the medium for the transmission of a specially designed virus to act as a genetic trojan horse to gain access to their cells, and disable their DNA from being read. None of their immune systems could cope with such a virus, allowing it to wreak havoc on their bodies unimpeded. Now, I did design the virus to prevent itself from spreading to new hosts and would only last a few milliseconds while outside the gas.
Getting back to the hotel room I sequenced the Ix's genome so I could tailor the virus. How it would work is a CRISPR protein would be released once access had been gained to the cell, this would identify active strings of genetic code, and replace them with deactivated strands, which the body wouldn't read for. Repeat this 100 or so trillion more times and you have a rather unpleasant appointment with the grim reaper in just 48 hours. The gas, however, would paralyze them, preventing any movement while the virus made its way through the body.
I worked for the next 4 hours, as quickly as I could, making sure to inform Bridge about what had happened to Tomō, but only mentioned that I was "Handling it." when it came to finding a solution. Captain didn't follow up as there was a general understanding that you don't talk about what you had to do on a rescue mission. At regular intervals I checked his location and vitals making sure that not only was he not moving, but also still remained alive.
Leaving the hotel I got back in the truck and went as fast as I could to the warehouse they were keeping him in. Rage and fear boiling over. What were they doing to Tomō? Is he hurt? I'm gonna kill those fuckers. They fucked with the wrong person and now they're gonna be in a world of hurt unlike anything they could possibly imagine.
Slamming on the brakes when I got there, I took in my surroundings. The building was small, no larger than a barn, with a slanted roof with two skylights. Surrounding the building was a tall fence, nothing I couldn't climb and the entrance was padlocked shut, both the gate and the door. After scaling the fence I climbed up a dumpster and up onto the roof, making sure to crawl whenever I could. Peeking through the skylight, which was cracked open slightly, allowing me to not only see but hear what was going on inside.
It was a most distressing scene, Tomō, tied to an iron column, all bruised and bloodied, with four other people, 2 men and 2 women, standing nearby. I was lucky to have calibrated the dose for 5 people.
"It's been 5 hours, your little friend isn't coming to save you." One of the men said approaching Tomō
Fearing that he could hurt him once more I readied the bow with the special arrow that would release the gas on impact.
Release.
The arrow landed right in-between the man and the three others. They all turned to look at me, but I had quickly hidden myself from view.
"Looks like your friend is here after all. Shame he missed!" He shouted.
"I didn't need to!" I shouted back, clicked the button that would release the gas along with the virus.
I crawled back over to the skylight to see my creation take action. They began to cough. One of them fell down.
"You don't know, do you?" He said, laughing and still coughing.
"We knew where you were. That tracker is on you too. Oh, and that little bioweapon you designed, it doesn't work on us."
He pulled off a sort of latex disguise. He was not Ix, none of them were. They were all Trexel, the sworn enemy of The Federation who they had been fighting with, largely in the form of border skirmishes and territorial disputes for the last 200 years.
"Get him." The man said, pointing at me as the three others began running out of the building.
FUCK SHIT FUCK FUCK FUCK
I quickly climbed down the roof and only had time to get onto the top of the dumpster, I was unarmed, or so I thought, remembering the pair of scissors I kept in one of my pockets. I did ditch my bow and at this point it was dead weight to me.
"You're gonna fucking pay for what you did to Tomō." I growled.
"With a pair of scissors! HA!" one of the women said.
"You fucked around..."
Splitting the scissors in two, I grabbed one of the halves and threw it.
"ACK" Was her last word as the blade pierced right through her neck.
THUMP was the noise her body made collapsing onto the floor as she bled out and choked. Her peers readied their swords. (Kinetic weapons would make too much noise and Energy weapons could have some... unintended consequences.) I grabbed a short, half-meter pipe and taped the remaining half of the scissors to one end.
"with a human.. and now... you find out."
I jumped down from my position, while that did mean sacrificing my high ground, I needed to make the quickest work of the two in order to get to Tomō as quickly as possible.
They both charged me at the same time, trying to flank, but I just circled around, making sure to keep line of sight.
Eventually one charged me, I let her attack me, always making sure to move out of the way, this kept the both of them in motion, never quite getting close enough to strike.
Leading them in circles I eventually picked the man who didn't seem as skilled due to his lack of participation compared to his other colleague.
Lunging towards him I made quick steps towards, when I got inside striking range he I had to sidestep his sword, but in the end that didn't matter, a swift stab to the chin and I just pushed him aside with the other end of the pipe to bled out.
Now all that was left was the woman standing there, alone, and moderately terrified.
Adrenaline coursing through my veins in ever increasing quantities, and desperation coursing through hers, we charged at each other, and I stabbed her in the torso, striking one of her vital organs.
But I was but a 10th of a second too late, and the steel of her blade sliced about 2 and a half centimeters into my right shoulder. Adrenaline quieted the pain, but it still hurt like hell as the blood trickled out and I began to lose feeling in my right arm.
Pulling my communicator I hit the SOS button.
Pushing her body to the side I ran as fast I could to the door and charged the last man toppling him to the ground. But he was prepared, holding a knife in his hand, stabbing and slashing until his last breath. When all was done I ran over to Tomō but collapsed just centimeters from freeing him as the amount of blood I lost grew, and the pain returned.
I waited for 2 minutes, but it felt like eternity, barely being able to open my eyes, and the pain shooting throughout my body, all while I could hear Tomō struggling to break free to try and treat my wounds.
But at the end of those two minutes I was lifted up into a medevac shuttle.
"Tomō?" I groaned, forcing the word out with every fiber of my being.
"Yes we have Tomō he'll be okay but our priority is you right now."
I recognized the voice, it was Jiply, the ship's doctor, but I could barely parse it out through the noise of other doctors and whirring, beeping machines as the crew of doctors attended to my injuries.
By the next time I had opened my eyes I was lying down in a cold room by myself, dressed in my underwear and a knee-length hospital gown, hooked up to a heart rate monitor and a pack of blood to replenish what I had lost. Nearby though was a call button, which I sat up slowly to reach, upon sitting up I inspected myself, noticing that my torso had 5 scars from the fight, and I estimated another 2 on my back judging by the tenderness of the skin. I pressed the button repeatedly until someone came.
"Well I see you're awake!" Smiled Jiply.
"Would you like me to tell the crew you're awake?"
"Just Tomō for now, I'll tell the crew myself" I said, groggily.
"Oh and could you get me something to wear please?"
"Sure thing I can get you something!"
She left the room and shortly afterwards brought me a pair of pants, the same color as my gown and made of flannel. Since I couldn't get out of bed quite yet she put them on for me.
"Thank you." I whispered.
Jiply left once more to get Tromō, I didn't have to wait long until I heard him bursting through the door.
"You're okay!" He exclaimed while crying.
"Oh thank the stars you're okay!"
He bolted towards me, tightly wrapping his arms around me.
"Too much squeeze, too much squeeze!"
Not only was he hugging me too tightly, but it also irritated my tender scars. He quickly loosened his hug, allowing me to feel his soft, wrinkly skin, and hear the pitter-patter of his hearts.
"So good to see you're okay too."
We were both crying tears of joy, and while I knew whatever just happened would only be the start, I would always have someone I could rely on. Tomō would always have my back, and I would always have his. I fell asleep mid-embrace.
When I woke up once more, it was already the next day, and while the bag of blood had been removed, its place was a clear IV bag to, you know, prevent me from starving.
I just laid down, facing the ceiling, taking in the calm. Savoring it. For about... 5 minutes, after that I got bored, so I pressed the call button. To no-one's surprise by this point, Jiply walks in shortly afterwards. I strongly suspect that she was personally overseeing me as it likely got priority over Klob'lar freaking out over stubbing their toe again.
"Is there anything I can help you with?" She asked
"Could you get me a cane, I would like to tell the crew that I'm okay."
She handed me a cane, carefully lifting myself back onto my shaking legs.
"So what's the damage doc?"
"Well, your liver got punctured but we were able to repair that, and we had concerns about the long term viability of your L-3 vertebrae and your right shoulder so we replaced the both of them."
"Not too bad." I chuckled.
I slowly made my way over to the door one hand clasped around the cane, and the other around the IV bag stand. It took me about half an hour to head down the hallway over to the bridge. The door opened and I belted out as hard as I could
"IMM BAACK!" *Cough* *Cough*
Everyone stood up to face me and began to clap, which I signaled for them to stop since I didn't care for the noise. I was smiling though
"We figured you were okay, Tomō seemed happier than ever before so we assumed it meant good news for you!" The captain said walking over to me.
"Awww man he spoiled the surprise!" I laughed.
"Oh please, seeing you walking is plenty surprise enough."
"So how did you manage to rescue me so quickly without being discovered?"
"Oh we didn't, we unfortunately had to prematurely inform them of other life in the galaxy."
"You're fucking with me aren't you."
"After how you fought, we all respect you too much to fuck with you like that."
"Well shit." I said, the smile I had was wiped from my face.
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So that's it for Pt 6, hope you liked the fight scene! Pt 7 should be coming out in another 2 days. As always, thanks for reading!

This year I plan on attending the 2023 NHL Draft in Nashville. For those who have attended the draft in person, what was your experience like?
I always remember watching on TV, seeing the big red carpet out and seeing fans get autographs from the prospects. Is it actually easy to get at least 1 autograph or have an interaction with any of the players? Also did the arena sell stuff for each and every team, or was it more NHL Draft themed items/ the home host selling their stuff?
I'd love to hear stories, what all I can expect, etc.

So I guess newsreaders can hide their emotions really well on TV. I’ve never seen Mary Markov in any state of heightened temper. The time she came down to help after I’d burned down the FunFlair building with Frankie was definitely a first in that regard. Then again, I’d never committed arson before either, so there were a lot of firsts that night. It’s been two days, but I can still see her angry face before me when I close my eyes. It frightened me a little.
After the fire had been doused by her staff, she gave Fran and me a look unlike anything I’d ever seen before. There was a homicidal rage in her eyes, her mouth had turned into a thin, steely line and the vein on her forehead threatened to pop. To my surprise (and admittedly relief), she turned the entirety of that wrath against Frankie Preston. “What in the world were you thinking?” she thundered, looming dangerously over the shorter man. “You committed a goddamn crime! If you were a normal person, I’d have to get you behind bars now!”
“Wait, I’m the privileged one here?” he snapped. “That woman tortured me! She brought me into this world by fault and proceeded to make me wish I’d never been born! And there was nothing I could ever do about it, because, oh, that’s right, I’m not a normal person! As you so endearingly put it. No one has a fucking clue what I am, so it’s okay for me to suffer, isn’t it?”
Mary opened her mouth to respond, but only ended up shutting it again. Then she focused her scrutiny onto me. “I thought you’d have known better.”
“I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but I knew what I was getting myself into. This was a contemplated decision.”
“Was it ever.”
I motioned for her to step aside with me, bringing a bit of distance between ourselves and my waiter. “I’ll make it up to you,” I began. “I will, but please, please drop this.”
“Did he force you to come?”
“You don’t actually believe he could force me into anything, do you?”
Mary Markov sighed. “I guess not. Look, it’s not like I don’t understand his grudge. And from what I know of Ms Wallis, she won’t be missed by many. I just wish it didn’t have to come to this. This means a ton of work for me.”
“It means so much more to him.”
Another sorrowful moan. Then, “Alright. I have your back. But don’t, um… encourage this kind of behavior in him, please.”
“I won’t,” I promised. “What are you going to do about the other doll?”
“She’s in bad shape—”
“Trash shape,” Fran chimed in from behind, having inconspicuously strayed closer.
“She’s in bad shape,” Mary repeated, pointedly ignoring him, “and currently unresponsive, but since you said she’s shown signs of sentience, I guess we’ll have to look into her. It prompts a very interesting question, after all.”
“Being?” I offered.
“Think about it. I don’t know if you’re familiar with the other two living dolls, Zion Boyd and Bunny Martell, but they came alive after Frank tinkered with them. And now there’s this one. Maybe your little boyfriend has some kind of yet to be explored ability, seeing as he was the first to gain awareness.” She fell silent for a pregnant pause, glancing between the two of us. “Something to ponder on your drive home. Which you will be starting now.” She made a shooing motion with both her hands.
The message being quite clear, Frankie and I got back into his car. The ride was quiet at first, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable stillness. It felt like a weight I didn’t know I’d been carrying had been lifted. I stared at the server’s profile, alternately framed by nightly darkness and moonlight, drinking in every little detail about it. It was hard to believe that someone as cruel as Philomena Wallis had created something this breathtaking.
“So you’ll probably wanna talk about all of this, huh. About what I am, I mean.” Frankie’s voice was light and relaxed with only a hint of uncertainty gnawing at it.
“What’s there to talk about?”
“Aren’t you surprised? A little… disgusted, maybe?”
“I always knew you weren’t human. Beyond that, it doesn’t really matter to me what you are.” I shrugged. “I mean, I’d be fine if you were human, too. I’d be fine if you were a squonk.”
“What’s a squonk?”
“I don’t know, I just made that up. Anyways, did you actually think I would be grossed out? Did you?”
He smiled. “I guess not. This’ll sound crazy, and it’s hard to explain, but it’s like I got a voice in the back of my head constantly telling me that… that I should wash myself again or that I ought not to touch you. I suppose it’s not really a voice; it’s only these thoughts that kind of keep pushing into my mind even though I should know better. And I do know better. But that doesn’t stop the thoughts.”
I nodded slowly. “I think I understand. I can’t tell you how much I disagree with that voice, though. You’re the cleanest person I’ve ever met and if I could, I’d live in your hair like a cootie."
"That's how close you want me?"
"Yup.”
He let out a soft laugh. “I’m really, really glad you came with me. If there’s ever anything you need, I’ll do it. No matter what. If you want to bury a body, I’ll dig the hole.” He paused. “Actually, we should sell any corpses you might have. It’s wonderfully lucrative.”
I shot him a quick smile before turning to stare out the window with knitted brows. “What do you think about what Mary Markov said? About you being able to make the dolls come alive somehow.”
“I don’t know if there’s anything to it. I don’t remember doing anything special with them. Zion and Bunny were just standing around when I turned them on, and they came to within minutes. I figured they were sentient before, and it was simply repressed. I woke up randomly, too, after all.”
I hummed pensively. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”
“Well, if you’re implying it’s some kinda superpower, then that’s probably the most useless one ever.”
“We don’t have to talk about this now,” I told him, to which he gave me a grateful half-grin.
Per my request, he dropped me off at Nettie’s place. I kissed him goodbye on the crown of his head and told him we’d text the following day. He thanked me again and I watched him drive off before going up to ring the doorbell, mentally preparing an apology for showing up at five-thirty in the morning. My savior human was surprisingly quick to answer, giving me an indulgent wave as soon as I stumbled over my first “I’m sorry”.
“It’s fine,” she muttered. “I hadn’t gone to bed yet.”
I gave her an incredulous look and she sighed, crossing her arms in front of her chest. Her normally soft, rounded cheeks were sunken, her eyes oddly dull. Judging from the angry red marks, she’d apparently been chewing on her lower lip with some force. It was only then that I took note of the sweater she was wearing. A faded, shaggy piece of fabric that clearly hadn’t been washed since Kit Sutton had given it to her on the cliff that day. I felt a sharp pang in my chest and pulled her into a hug as soon as I’d stepped inside with her.
She stifled a sob when she wrapped her arms around me in return. “It’s hit or miss with me when it comes to sleep lately,” she confessed in a brittle voice.
I swallowed. “I’m working on it. I’ll get her back for you, I have a lead. Is there anything I can do in the meantime?”
“Not really. I just gotta distract myself ‘til the morning comes, I’ll be fine then.”
“Then I’ll stay up with you.”
It was thus decided. We sat down in the living room for a while, then went out into the garden to watch the sunrise. My savior human had taken her place in her mother’s chair while I whipped up some chocolate chip pancakes (one of her favorites) for her for breakfast. I carried them out to her on a little plate with a cup of tea, and for a moment, her expression cleared up for a beam of happiness to shine through. “We should do something productive,” she remarked, and I gave her a questioning tilt of the head. “I’ve been thinking,” she went on. “Isn’t it weird how all these years, you didn’t hop dimensions once, and now all of a sudden it keeps happening?”
“Don’t worry about that right now.”
“I always worry, baby girl. It’s my natural state of being.”
“It shouldn’t be,” I insisted. “It feels wrong. You have your own problems, I don’t want to add to that.”
“Seriously, that’s not what’s happening here. This is just how I keep my mind off… things.”
I rolled my lips together. Blue-haired things, probably. “You deserve so much better. You deserve this to be way, way easier,” I stated.
“That’s a nice thought. But it doesn’t change anything right now. You can control your body, can’t you? Your teeth and tentacles?”
“Yes. It happens automatically when I get scared sometimes, but for the most part, I’m actively doing it.”
“Then how about if we could somehow start getting you on top of your dimension jumping, too? It would be a tad risky and I’m not sure how to go about it exactly, but it would be far better if you could toggle it. You’d be able to stop yourself from hopping when you don’t want to, but maybe you could venture into these other spaces for exploration purposes, too.” The words spilled out of her like a babbling little waterfall as she plucked apart one of her pancakes and stuffed them into her mouth. “Because there has to be more to this. I just have that feeling. So I reckon we try and find a way to work with this. What do you think?”
“Sure. I guess I’d be… open to that.”
“Really? I-I don’t want to pressure you…”
“No, no, it sounds fine! I wanna try!”
“Okay!” She set aside her plate, rubbing her hands in blatant excitement. “So it happens when your flight instinct kicks in, correct? How about we get you in that headspace on purpose?”
“How would we do that?” I asked cautiously.
When I was sitting cross-legged on the ground among my savior human’s countless flowers with my eyes closed and her hand in mine, that question had pretty much answered itself. Nettie Peterson was leading me in a “guided meditation” consisting of several intrusive queries about my first ever jump—the most terrifying moment of my entire life.
“The thing, that floating maw, what did it look like?” she began, referring to the creature that had ended it all.
I furrowed my brows. “It didn’t look like anything,” I replied meekly. “Mostly, it was just… really big and dark.”
“Dark? What color dark?”
“Black, I guess. It swallowed the light.” A pulsating pain began to flare up behind my forehead. “It was nothing. It was like a giant ball of nothing.”
“You told me once that it made a noise,” my best friend went on, her fingers grasping mine a little tighter. “Do you remember that sound?”
I winced. “Yes.”
“Describe it.”
“It was more like a vibration that went through everything,” I mumbled. “The ground was shaking. And then we all screamed.”
“Did you see inside its mouth?”
“No. There was nothing inside of its mouth. There was nothing inside of it. Just emptiness.” I shifted my weight. Images were flashing in front of my inner eye, filling the darkness behind my closed lids. My breath had caught in my throat and it felt like ants were crawling beneath my skin. “And then all of us were suddenly… nothing, everything was gone and at that last moment, everyone was so terrified. They all knew it was over. All of them.”
At first, I thought Nettie Peterson’s hand was trembling. Then I realized it was my own, shaking hers through the contact. For a moment, my body felt feather-light, but not in a relaxing or comfortable way. It was as though I was afloat, out of control and weightless. I didn’t like it. “Can we stop?” I choked out.
“Of course,” my best friend replied, gently squeezing my fingers.
I let go of a deep breath, blinking my eyes open. Across from me, Nettie was giving me a soft but deeply apologetic smile. “Did I push you too far?”
“It’s not your fault. I think I simply wasn’t ready for this.”
“I understand. Let’s go inside and make some more of those—” She stopped mid-sentence. She’d been pointing her chin at the plate of pancakes resting on her chair, only to see that it had changed.
The food I had just served her half an hour ago had turned into a moldy, rotten mess. A couple flies were circling it, emitting a low, almost melodic buzz. My savior human and I traded wide-eyed glances, disbelief, fear and excitement mirrored in our eyes. We then got up to take in our surroundings. The flowers surrounding us weren’t the same anymore. They were either withered or deathly pale; formerly pink, yellow and red petals had become either light gray or iridescently white. Thick, soupy fog was hanging over everything, it was denser and heavier than any we’d ever had in town before. The mist seemed to have consumed all the noise and color in the world, leaving only cold, oppressive silence.
Nettie was the first to regain speech. “It worked! Oh my Lord, it actually worked.”
I clasped her arm and she immediately fell silent. Wordlessly, I pointed at the rolling fog on the other side of the garden fence. There was something moving within. An enormous, caterpillar-like shape soundlessly dragged itself through the air, its long body slowly moving along across the street. My savior human’s jaw had dropped, her mouth wide open as she followed my gaze. Neither of us moved a muscle as we waited for the creature to pass by. Thankfully, it didn’t seem to take note of us at all. I didn’t want to imagine what could happen if one were to draw its attention.
“This is… I don’t believe this,” Nettie breathed, running a hand over her mussed coils. “You did it. We’re not home anymore.”
“What do you propose to do now?”
“Keep our heads low and try to find out anything useful, I’d say.”
I nodded and she folded her hand into the crook of my arm. Together, we proceeded through the open door back into the house. Wammawink and Nettie’s old convertible were standing in their garage, a pool of motor fluid surrounding each vehicle. The paint was peeling from the car doors, matching the way the pictures and photographs around her house had faded.
The food in her kitchen had morphed into a self-contained ecosystem. Bugs were crawling up and down the walls and ghostly white mice scuttled across the floor with shocking brazenness. There was no trace of human life anywhere in sight. We stepped out the front door and into the street only for Nettie to grab me and fling me to the ground next to her. We flattened ourselves against the curb as another one of the gigantic caterpillar-figures snaked its way along just a couple feet above our heads. I craned my neck to give my best friend a sidelong glance out of terrified, saucer-sized eyes. I could see my reflection in hers as she pressed a finger to her lips. I gave her a tiny nod.
Finally, it was gone again and we helped each other to our feet. Nettie brushed down her sweater with great care before tilting her head at me as though asking if I was alright. I gave a reassuring, albeit wavering smile which she returned with a slight strain to her brow. We linked arms again and started walking down the street. The whole dimension seemed to be a mirror image of our hometown, only deader. Aside from the flies and vermin, there seemed to be very little life. All of the houses we were so familiar with looked decrepit, old and empty. Walls were crumbling down, roofs looked to be seconds away from caving in and most windows were shattered. It was impossible to see ahead through the mist, but we managed to hide from the flying worm-things everytime they came up.
We were starting to become a little frustrated seeing as our exploration yielded nothing of note. There was hardly anything to be seen safe from the depressing alternate version of our neighborhood. On top of that, the clammy chill that hung in the air along with the fog was making us increasingly uncomfortable. Finally, we decided we should try and get back home. We returned to Nettie’s garden where we crouched down once again, hand in hand. Before my savior human could begin her questioning though, the ground beneath us suddenly began to shudder, heaving as if moved by some kind of subterranean pulse.
Nettie Peterson and I snapped our eyes open at the exact same time, mouths agape in bewilderment. And then we saw it. It was in the sky, partially veiled by the thick fog yet impossible to overlook. It became darker and darker as it neared, its indescribably large form seemed to envelop the entirety of the heavens. It had been five years since I had last seen it, but I recognized it immediately. Not that it had any features I could have recognized. I remembered though, and in that moment, it all came flooding back to me. The breeders that threw themselves in front of their young, the cries that echoed across the plains together with the stones and soil sent rolling by the earthquake. I caught my best friend’s gaze, read the terror in it and knew that it was just as immense as my own. Her lips were parted in an ear-piercing scream that ended up being drowned out by the hovering roar of the Devourer Of Worlds.
I squeezed her hand so tightly I feared I’d snap her fingers. And suddenly, before I knew it, all was silent again. The air was warmer, filled with the fragrances of countless different flowers. The early morning sun was shining down on us, and it felt like it was heating up my very core. We were back. In the blink of an eye, Nettie had thrown her arms around me, pulling me close to her chest.
“Baby girl,” she whispered.
“That was it,” I rasped out. “That was it.”
“I know.” Withdrawing just an inch, she wiped a thumb over my eye, careful not to scrape me with her nail. It was only then that I realized I was crying. Tears were streaming down my cheeks, noiseless and hot, dripping from my chin and wetting my chest.
"You're not hurt, are you? Look, it's going to be alright. You just take it easy now. We'll go inside, have some tea or coffee or whatever and calm down, a-and then we can figure this all out. Come on. Get up. Easy, easy now." She hugged me even as she pulled me to my feet and into the house alongside her. "So tea. How about strawberry? Or Turkish apple? Or classic chamomile? Something for the nerves, at any rate."
"Wait," I stammered, interrupting her monologue. "What about you? Are you okay?"
"Oh, no. No, no, no, far from it. I'll sign us both up for therapy once I find the time, but for now, tea! Tea."
"Nettie, please don't strain yourse—"
"Listen here, I'm gonna make you some goddamn tea and we'll sit down with it and it's gonna be warm and nice and we'll forget all about this. I'm here. I can take care of you. You do not need to be scared." She pressed her face close up to mine, her voice sharp and a mite threatening.
"I'm sort of scared of you right now."
"Oh." She drew back. "Pardon. I'll put on the tea." A forced, crooked tune tumbled from her lips as she went ahead into the kitchen.
We've both simmered down a little since the incident. It's been two days now. I used most of that time to unwind and recover from what had to be the single most eventful night of my time here on earth. Keep in mind, this happened the morning after the fire. The calm is not going to last much longer, though. I don't mind that, I just need to brace myself.
Rhonda's been in touch.
X
1
2: deadbeat roommate
3: creepy crush
4: relocation
5: beach concert
6: First date
7: Temp work
8: roommate talk
9: a dismal worldview
10: warehouse
11: staircase
12: explanation
13: hurt
14: hospital
15: ocean
16: diner
17: government work
18: something in the caves
19: shopping cart
20: olms and Jewels
21: long hair
22: recruitment
23: waitresses
24: dollhouse
25: burning plastic

The sun began to set on the small Scottish island, casting a warm orange glow across the quaint village. As the residents finished their meals and the last few visitors trickled out of the local pub, a man named Ewan slipped into the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to make his move. Ewan, a middle-aged man with a scruffy beard and unkempt hair, was an alcoholic. He was known by many on the island for his frequent drunken antics and had been kicked out of the pub more times than he could count. Despite several attempts to quit drinking, Ewan was powerless to resist the allure of alcohol. As the last of the pub's patrons made their way out the door and the owner began to close up, Ewan seized his opportunity. He snuck into the now-empty pub through a back door, hiding behind a large wooden barrel in a corner. He held his breath, praying he wouldn't be discovered as the owner locked up and left for the night. Once he was sure the coast was clear, Ewan emerged from his hiding spot and surveyed the room, his eyes gleaming with excitement. He licked his lips as he approached the rows of bottles behind the bar, the promise of a long night of uninterrupted drinking weighing heavily on his mind. However, as Ewan began to move across the pub, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off about the pub. The warm, lively atmosphere he was accustomed to had been replaced Ewan looked around as he approached the bar and wondered to himself. Why do pubs always limit themselves to the same decor? The harsh shades of red. The black and white photos of people long dead and oil paintings which seem to have been painted to fade into the background. Ewan had both drank and been barred from every pub on the island now and has seen little to no variety in interiors. "I guess it is to make it feel homely and familiar. Our brains associate familiarity with safety and people who feel safe are likely to drink more." while still feeling unsettled moving across the bar. The feeling of unease wasn't going to stop him from drinking as much as he can physically take before sneaking out leaving the landlord none the wiser. Until a stock take shows some discrepancies that he will probably put down to spillages or his carelessness with bookkeeping. Then he thought "No I will drink as much as I want and top the bottles up with water" Ewan's eyes grazed over the selection of choices on the Optic. Grouse being his usual preferred choice when he wants to spoil himself on the rare occasions he has money to burn, Bells being his usual go-to poison as the price and alcohol content measure up quite nicely but tonight he was going to drink like a king. He grabbed the bottle of Redbreast and carefully unscrewed it from the optic and began to greedily chug straight from the bottle. He walked drunkenly from behind the bar to a stool he sat down and for no reason held the bottle to the sky and said "cheers" at that moment the jukebox began to blast out at an incredibly loud volume "You're mine" by Ritchie Valens. "FUCK!" Screamed Ewan as he put down his bottle and hurried over to the jukebox. The light emitted from which was now making the shadowy areas seem darker by contrast. He scrambled to the floor feeling for a plug socket behind it to unplug the thing. The sound up close was almost deafening. After feeling along the wall to no success he quickly pulled at it to come forward so he could get behind it to where the plug must be and sure enough it was there. He yanked it out of the wall with a hard jerk and the record began to slow "yourrr minee forrrr eternityyyyyy....." and then silence. Ewan let out a sigh of relief. "Thing must be connected to some sort of sensor" Ewan walked to the window, crouched down in case anyone was looking in to see what the noise was. He looked to see if anyone in the opposite building heard the commotion. He looked and the only building on the other side of the road facing the pub was a thatched-roof cottage. Dimly lit by street light, with a sign above the door that read "Alf's funeral home" "Well Alf. I'm sorry if I woke up any of your clients" slurred Ewan while chuckling to himself. He reached for the bottle on the bar while turning and no bottle. He retraced his steps from the bar to the jukebox to the window and back to the bar but the
bottle was nowhere to be seen. Then he looked up at the Optics. There he saw it. The fine redbreast whiskey. He staggered over to it. Holding the bar for balance. There it was and seemingly untouched. He must have drank near on a quarter of the bottle but there it is. Almost full and back where it was. "I must have tipped it up with water after drinking and put it back. This isn't the first time I've lost chunks of time from drinking and it won't be the last" mumbled Ewan allowed as an attempt to reassure himself. Putting his feeling of unease down to the nerves of being caught along with the dull twinge of guilt he feels for stealing Ewan decided to look for cheaper alternatives for his next binge. He finally settled on a bottle of Jack. Only total pussies who want to pretend they like whisky because they think it gives them an edge drink Jack Daniels. The faggots that drink it non ironically will never notice it is watered down. Ewan grabbed a glass this time deciding to drink measured amounts. Aware that loss of time while drinking is usually followed by passing out entirely. Ewan sat hunched over on a rickety wooden stool, the creaking of the floorboards beneath him barely audible over the deafening silence that enveloped the empty pub. The musty smell of stale beer and old wood filled his nostrils as he took another swig from the glass of his Jack Daniels, a bitter taste lingering on his tongue. “Piss water,” he thought to himself. The room was dark, though his eyes had now adjusted enough to fully take in his surroundings. The old faces in frames on the wall. A photo on the wall to his left was of a party being held in this very pub. Looking to be in the 1910s judging from the fashion. Amongst the 20 or so people in the image, one woman stood out in the dead center. Her long hair was down, a contrast from the other ladies in the photos sporting the traditional Pompadour style of the time. She was smiling while looking off to the side. Seemingly unaware that she was to be the star of the photograph. Above the photo on a shelf made from taxidermy antlers sat an antique hunting rifle. The light from the street lamp reflected off the mettle barrel casting eerie shadows across the rows of dusty liquor bottles. Ewan thought about how many parties would have taken place here over hundreds of years this pub had been open. The idea of drinking for any kind of pleasure had become such an alien concept to him now. Drinking for Ewan wasn't a way to unwind or relax or even in his mind feed an addiction. Not anymore anyway. Now he finds himself desperate for a drink to quell the demons that haunted his every waking moment. As the alcohol began to take hold of him again, the memory he had been trying so hard to suppress clawed its way back to the forefront of his mind. It was a memory that he could never escape, a weight that anchored him to the ocean floor of despair. It had been over six years since the accident. The night had started like any other: dinner with friends, laughter, and, of course, alcohol. It was supposed to be a celebration of Ewan and Isla, his wife's fifth wedding anniversary. But as the night wore on and the glasses piled up, so too did the tension between them. “We need to get a taxi.” Said Isla after excusing herself and Ewan “I am fine to drive! It is only a mile down the road” “You were supposed to stay sober tonight” “Yeah, and you were supposed to get your license 3 years ago.” “Do you really wanna do this now?” Ewan thought on this for a second before speaking “No. I am sorry I was only meant to have a couple but got a little carried away. I am sorry, but you know we will never get a taxi at this time of night. Come on I'll drive slow” Ewan cut this memory short. He wouldn't allow himself to think about this anymore. As tears began to fall from his face he necked the remainder of the contents of his glass. Before he had a chance to pour himself another drink the stall he was sitting on was jerked back with such force that Ewan landed on the ground with a thud. Smashing the glass that was tightly gripped in his hand in the process. Ewan let out a pained gargled yelp as he shook his now bleeding hand in pain. The blood splatters landed on the wall art and photos. He looked at his hand and saw that yes indeed a large chunk of glass was sticking out of his hand. He yanked it out. With that more blood trickled out rapidly. He turned to see what happened to his seat. And there almost 3 feet away from him sat his bar stool. “Fuck this!” said Ewan as he hurried to the back door. Locked. He tried the fired exit, the windows. All locked. At this point, he didn't care about being discovered. He turned all the lights on. And started bashing his fists against the windows. The glass wouldn't budge he grabbed a chair and began smacking the window over and over again until the chair had fallen to pieces. Suddenly the Jukebox started playing again. Some big band highland number that he did not recognize this time. “I know I unplugged that” as he looked at the jukebox he noticed that the hunting rifle that sat on the shelf to the right of that was gone he scanned the room and to his horror, he saw a lady standing in the corner of the room facing away from him. His vision was slightly wavy from the alcohol. “Hey I don't know if you work here and you are trying to mess with me for breaking in. You have successfully scared the shit out of me and I am happy to wait outside for the police to arrive or whatever. I am bleeding, let me leave?” The woman turned around. It was the lady from the photograph. Her face was covered in bruises. Her eyes were red and puffy. She put the hunting rifle that was in her hands up to her chin and pulled the trigger. The front of her face exploded revealing bits of teeth and a gaping hole where her mouth should be parts of her brain decorated the ceiling the remainder half that was still in her skull pulsated a little as blood tricked out. She fell to her knees and now with her few remaining teeth bare, she looked as though she was smiling. Though her eyes gave the impression of pure rage. As she fell head first on the floor the electricity died. Ewan scurried away while on the floor to the corner by the bar and then vomited. “not real, it's not real it's not real” he said while covering his eyes. Afraid to look. He sat like this for what felt like hours. In that time a puddle of urine collected around him. “Usually I don't piss myself until I've finished my second bottle” he darkly thought to himself. “I need to find a way out of here” Thought Ewan as he opened his eyes and saw that there was no trace of the lady from the photograph anymore. The ceiling was clean and the gun was back on its shelf. He stood shakily. As He stood he noticed that the building on the opposite end of the street now had a light on. He began banging on the window again “Hey! I am trapped in here! Send help!” He saw movement in the window as someone pulled back the curtain to look. It was a middle-aged gentleman with greying hair. He looked around confused to see where the noise was coming from “OVER HERE!” Shouted Ewan and he banged on the window until his other hand was just as bloody. The gentleman then turned in Ewans direction “YEAH OVER HERE I AM TRAPPED! PLEASE COME AND HELP ME!” The gentleman looked as though he was trying to hear while with his hand he reached for the lining of his shirt. With one motion he ripped his shirt open relieving a gash going all the way up his body stitched together with what appeared to be wire. His look of concern turned to amusement and he pulled the wire. Undoing the stitches to show where his vital organs that have now been donated used to be. He laughed like a madman as he pulled his skin back. His head now leaning against the glass and his laughter which sounded muffled due to the distance was still audible from the pub. Deep and raspy but that of a madman. Ewans attention was broken by the sound of a familiar clank of something metallic. It was a sound that was instantly recognizable to anyone. The sound of coins dropping to the floor. Ewan turned and looked and sure enough, there were two coins on the ground behind where he stood. He bent to pick them up. They were old. Very old. From what he could see in the dim light they looked to be that of the Victorian times. He heard the sound again. This time over by the jukebox. He walked over to pick them up and noticed something. The floor under the jukebox looks to be a cellar door. He dragged it out some more to reveal that yes indeed, it was some kinda entrance to a hatch of some kind. This time Ewan saw the coins drop to the floor. He looked up at the ceiling and saw dozens of corpses laying flat against the ceiling with coins covering their eyes dressed in their funeral clothes all shoulder to shoulder. The sight was horrifying. And as if waiting to be viewed, at that moment their flesh began to melt to just skeletal remains, and coins and blood showed Ewan as he frantically tried to get the hatch on the floor open. Digging his fingers into the gaps trying to grip it to lift it until he eventually found a bit to latch onto. With one firm pull the hatch came up. He dove into the cellar. Not caring what he will find at this point. Slamming it shut behind him. He searched his pocket to find his lighter. After a few attempts at getting it to light he managed. He saw it wasn't a cellar at all. Instead, it was a tunnel. He began to follow it along. After walking for about 30 minutes the tunnel got narrower and narrower until Ewan was crawling on his hands and knees. He noticed a light ahead and felt hopeful that this could be the end of his ordeal. He began to notice he was crawling on pavement and broken glass. He kept going until he could stand and he could see trees and a road he hurried out of the tunnel and saw to his confusion. He was still inside the cellar. The trees stopped sharply at the ceiling and the road stopped sharply at the four walls that surrounded him. He turned to go back through the tunnel, Back the way he came. this was not the way out. what he saw as he turned defied all logic. The small part of his brain that clung to rational explanation broke as he saw that the tunnel he had just crawled through had been replaced with a tipped-over car. He saw a younger version of himself slowly regain consciousness while suspended upside down. He froze unable to move or look away. “Oh god please don't make me relive this” “Isla? Oh my god, Isla” Ewan checked her pulse but couldn't find one. He could see emergency services lights coming towards them from a distance. He knew he would go to prison for manslaughter if caught causing death by dangerous driving “I am so sorry baby. I am so sorry” Ewan said through tears while unbuckling her seatbelt and moving her over to the drivers side and then crawling back out of the car to flag down the ambulances. "They'll be able to resuscitate her, She will be okay and I will take care of her". Ewan didn't notice that the car had begun to ignite until it was too late. The flames spread quickly. “Ewan..?” said a dull voice from the car. Ewan turns and hurried to the car but by that point, it was too late “Isla!” He cried as he watched the flame cover his wife. Isla screamed in pain until her face was completely burnt away and all she could make was gargles and all Ewan could do was watch in horror. Then the entire room went up in flames and became ash leaving Ewan completely in the dark. Sobbing. “I am sorry I didn't know. I didn't mean to. I.... I...!" Ewan composed himself. "I deserve to die but I am not dying in here" Ewan stood and pulled out his lighter again to light the room only to see it was now filled with hundreds of bodies all staring at him. the tips of their feet scraping across the floor as they floated closer. Ewan backed away until he felt something metallic. A ladder leading up to a manhole shaft. he quickly began to climb as the ghostly rotting corpses moved closer to him at a more rapid speed now. as he reached the top and forced the lid open he was greeted by sunlight. hands clutched at his ankles dragging him back but with determination to survive he pulled himself free and was finally outside in the open. He closed the cover shut. He could hear birds chirping, and sounds of people driving to work. The world had never seemed so beautiful. "Oh my god buddy are you okay?" said a young man who looked horrified at Ewan who was covered in dried blood, ash, and a collection of injuries. "I am going to call you an ambulance buddy hang tight" The young man pulled out his phone and began to dial. by this point, Ewan began to pass out. He slipped in and out of consciousness while getting carefully placed on the gurney. "What is your name?" "Have you taken anything?" "Who's blood is this" "My name is Ewan, I haven't taken anything. I guess I have had far too many spirits last night though" he laughed to himself as the doors to the ambulance closed. as the vehicle began to speed away music began to play on the radio. "I didn't think ambulances had radios" said Ewan as he began to recognize the music. "Your mine and we belong together. Yes, we belong together" He tried to stand but he had been strapped down to the gurney. The walls of the ambulance began to melt away. The paramedics all had coins covering their eyes and mouths stitched shut. Ewan let out a scream as fire began to cover his body he could see once the walls of the ambulance were fully gone he was still in the pub. it was still night and he was now very much on fire. He let out one final scream before his lips were completely gone. His chard body fell to the floor by the bar with a thud. An empty bottle of Jack tightly gripped in one hand and his lighter in the other. In his final state of living consciousness before his inevitable death, he saw the light emerge from the window. The sun was finally rising for real. He closed what remained of is eyelids and let out a pained sigh as he died. Ewans body was discovered later that day by a confused and horrified cleaner. Who immediately phoned the police. The investigating officers, who knew all about Ewans drunken antics on the island and had their suspensions regarding the circumstances involving his wifes death. Put Ewans demise down to an elaborate and painful suicide. That night as his body lay on the slab in Alfs funeral home. After the sun had set and everyone had left for the evening. But in the pub opposite the funeral home, Ewan emerged from his hiding spot behind the barrels and surveyed the room, his eyes gleaming with excitement. He licked his lips as he approached the rows of bottles behind the bar, He felt an unsettling feeling of deja vu but had managed to shake it off by the promise of a long night of uninterrupted drinking which weighed heavily on his mind.

I’m going to be spending nine nights in Canton coming up and I’m looking for somewhere cheap to stay. It’s gotta be under 100 a night, I don’t want to pay almost a thousand dollars. I don’t care about amenities, it can be run down as long as it’s not in a dangerous area where I’ll get robbed or something. Any recommendations?
Edit: the cheapest I could find on booking.com was the Red Roof Inn where I could stay nine nights for just over 500 dollars. I’ve stayed in a red roof inn before and it was perfectly fine. Anything I should know about the red roof inn in Canton before I book?

I’m traveling out to see the USFL playoffs, and both the North Division playoff game on June 24 and the USFL Championship game on July 1 are in Canton. Consequently I’m going to be spending a whole week in Canton between the two games since it doesn’t make sense to drive six hours to Canton and back twice in one week.
Once I’ve seen the Hall of Fame there isn’t much to do in Canton itself, so I’m looking for some things to do in nearby Akron and Cleveland to fill the rest of the week. I’m open to anything really. Hikes, museums, zoos, things like that. Also any restaurants I should eat at in Canton, Akron, or Cleveland. As long as it’s not ridiculously expensive. I’m likely going to be traveling by myself so keep that in mind. I’m leaning towards driving instead of taking Amtrak so I will likely have a car available to drive places. What things should I do in Akron and Cleveland during my trip?
Edit: I’ll likely be staying in a Red Roof Inn which doesn’t charge extra for pets, so I may have my dog with me. Does anyone happen to know if Tom Benson Hall of Fame stadium allows pets so I could bring her to the games? I’ll probably leave her at home if not.

Self-improvement is kinda crazy.
One week you can feel on top of the world; you're being consistent with your habits, making progress in the gym, eating right, having unshakeable self-belief, etc.
It's just all going right.
Then within just a few days, you can go from sigma-male-nothing-can-stop-me-I'm-a-beast levels of enthusiasm to I'm-such-a-loser-all-I-do-is-lose levels of hate and frustration.
I'm sure you know this all too well. You've probably gone through multiple stages of both progression and regression that have made you doubt whether or not it is possible to stop slipping back into your old ways. I've been through the motions too many times to count, so I know: it sucks.
But have you ever wondered why you keep regressing to your old degenerate ways? Have you ever considered what causes it and when it happens?
Understanding this will be the first step towards achieving progress for longer and more often.
And don't worry! It's not because of some external force, genetic condition, or ingrained personality trait that is the cause of this. It's usually due to a lack of knowledge or certain misunderstandings.
Anybody can change with the correct awareness and beliefs. Truly. It just takes some time.
Here is my ultimate guide to why you keep regressing and struggling to progress. There are quite a few points, so let's not waste any more time.

Do You Deserve It?

Self-improvement is hard. If you don't find it difficult, you're probably doing something wrong.
Whether it is a business you're trying to build, a body you're trying to perfect, or just a simple habit you're trying to stick to, you will face resistance.
This resistance will manifest in countless ways: procrastination, fear, anxiety, doubt, perfectionism, avoidance, etc. How you react to and tolerate that resistance determines just how much you deserve to progress.
The reason for this is that it is the universe testing you to see if you deserve whatever desired result you're striving for. You ask the universe for a desired future, and in return, it challenges you to make sure you deserve it. These challenges from the universe will come as a form of resistance.
When you apply effort to something that you are resisting, you will get pain.
Effort x Resistance = Pain
However much pain you are willing to tolerate and persist with will predict how much success you will be given.
​

“To get what you want, you have to deserve what you want. The world is not yet a crazy enough place to reward a whole bunch of undeserving people.” ~ Charlie Munger

​
Do you tolerate and persist with 80% of the pain you have felt? Then the universe will give you 80% of the desired outcome. If it is 40%, then you'll get 40%. You can also think of this in terms of momentum.
The universe is always watching and will know when you're deserving of something. It almost works like a transaction: you want a desired outcome, the universe asks for pain as currency to pay for this outcome, you accumulate this currency and pay when you meet resistance with effort, and then you get the amount you deserve.
So ask yourself: how do you react to resistance? Do you give up quickly? Do you give in to resistance and reduce all effort that is needed?
Now ask yourself: do you deserve to achieve your goals given how much pain you tolerate and how much effort you meet resistance with?

You Are At War With Yourself

On the topic of pain, there is a form of resistance you feel that you might never have noticed. A form of resistance that will peak when you have the most momentum.
What is this form of resistance?
The fear of improving. The fear of forming a different, better identity.
All living things have a sort of factory setting that ensures every action they take is geared towards a better chance of survival. Otherwise, organisms would die out. Duh.
When you improve, you are moving further and further away from your current identity; you are transcending into someone different - into someone capable of achieving your goals.
And your current sense of self hates that. What you are essentially doing is committing a form of psychological suicide.
And remember, things are geared to survive. Your current self will put up a fight to try and keep you from evolving and killing your current identity.
It fights by creating fear, doubt, anxiety, etc. It will fight the hardest when you are closest to killing it and transcending. This is when you are most likely to concede to the negative emotions it conjures up.
This is why you have a wave-like pattern of ups and downs. Your current self keeps fighting to pull you back, and it does so with formidable determination.
You must take note when you are gaining momentum and reaching a peak. These are the moments when pain and resistance must be tolerated most.
Also, remember: you know yourself best. So your current self will pit every weakness against you. It won't play nice and most certainly won't play fair. It's fighting to survive!

The Brick Wall Of Beliefs

Beliefs dictate how reality manifests to you. How you perceive the world, other people, and everything else is the result of your belief systems.
You could be getting pranked into a false sense of reality for your whole life.
For example, if you believe that bulls get provoked by the colour red, you will go through life adhering to that. So if you see a matador wave a red cape in front of a raging bull, you will think: "Oh, it's angry because of the red!". When in truth, bulls are red-green colour-blind. It is the motion of the cape that provokes them.
That was a trivial example, but imagine how many false or negative beliefs have a significant impact.
And once you believe something and receive feedback, the belief strengthens and solidifies. Then it becomes harder to break and has more emotion tied to it
Understand, however, that no belief is necessarily bad. If your beliefs are in accordance with nature and are conducive towards your goals, who is to say they are bad?
Unfortunately, most people will go through life without realising this and continue to have beliefs that work against and limit them.
Maybe you believe that:

• You can't improve
• Improving is hard
• It is hard to be happy
• It is difficult to change your beliefs

If you believe these, they will likely become true due to feedback loops.
The most important belief is believing that you are capable of changing your beliefs. Neuroplasticity has proven that you can change the neural circuits in your brain. You are not fixed. You are malleable and are in control of rewiring your brain.
Use this information to your advantage: set yourself up for success by converting negative beliefs into good ones.
Your beliefs will determine what actions you take. If you want to change your actions, change your beliefs.
If you believe improving is difficult or takes forever, then it will present itself as so.
If you believe that you will always regress, then you will.
If you believe you can't do x, y, or z, you probably won't be able to.
Set yourself up for success. Adopt serving beliefs and act accordingly. Get positive results and let the feedback response do the rest.
Beliefs can make or break you. What would you prefer?

Diving Straight Into The Deep End

This is dedicated to my fellow perfectionists, over-achievers, and people who set way too high a standard for themselves.
Firstly, hey! Secondly: it sucks, doesn't it?
When I first decided to create a routine, it took me two days. Two. Days. How f*cking crazy is that? I reckon That's a record.
I over-perfected the shit out of that routine. I included: meditation, journalling, playing an instrument, learning a language, reading time, writing time, gym work, yoga, jogging, meditation again, studying, visualisation, deep work... and much more. Oh, and I also planned every single 30 minutes of the day.
Shit, I feel overwhelmed just reading that. Wtf was I thinking?
I jumped into a routine - that should take years to implement - within just a few seconds. And I had hardly ever done most of those habits before!
Do you think it was sustainable? Of course not. I stuck to it for about one week (if that).
My past self really did have his bruh moments.
It took me a few more (ok, many more) attempts to figure out how slowly I should take it.
So bro, chill with it a bit at first, y'know? Don't dive straight into the deep end. My journey started properly by underachieving. Only then I could build on it.
So, instead of doing a hundred things at once, go reaaaal low. Lower than you think you should. You've got to play limbo with this shit.
Otherwise, you'll burn out and overwhelm yourself.
Instead of setting a goal of 30 mins of meditation for 30 days, set a goal of 3 mins of meditation for five days. Once you've proven yourself capable, then add more to the discipline. You can also add new habits to complement it.
And if you struggle with that, go even lower. There is no shame in it - you don't need to be a sigma-male, nut-sack-grindset, wake-up-at-3:45 am-every-day, and meditate-57-hours-per-day nerd to "improve". There is no rush. Rushing into it is more likely to waste your time and cause you to default to old ways.
​
A super-cool quick tip: Instead of setting goals and putting them on a pedestal, create "messy experiments". If, like me, you have consistently been inconsistent with your disciplines, you will probably feel like you will fail before you start, creating undue tension and stress.
By creating experiments, you remove this mindset, giving it a less stressful appearance.

• Failing a goal: "Oh no, I failed! I'm bad at this. I keep struggling to stick to things."
• Failing an experiment: "Oh, this didn't go to plan! I will create another experiment and, based upon what I learned, alter it slightly."

This has worked well for me. Experiments I don't tend to over-plan or perfect. Goals and stuff like that I do. Why don't you experiment (sorry) and see what works for you?

Are You Someone That You Want to Improve?

This point is of such significance that I created a separate Reddit post about it.
Are you sure that you are someone that you want the best for? Are you somebody that you want to care for and look after? Do you treat yourself more like a friend or a foe?
Has it ever occurred to you the possibility that you don't like yourself enough to be better?
Have you ever gone out of your way to thoroughly improve the quality of life for somebody you find insufferable?
I doubt it.
If you see yourself as insufferable, it will be near-impossible to progress. Your beliefs determine your actions, remember.
If you act out of alignment with your beliefs you will create incongruence. Act in a way that says: "I want to improve", but then think of yourself as someone who deserves the worst, and it just ain't gonna work, man.
You'll be able to make some progress, but you will fall back to default quickly. Self-sabotage will be way too rife.
If you believe this is the case, please try to focus on rekindling your relationship with yourself.

Don't Raise The Roof; Raise Your Standards

Would you tolerate going for one week without washing? What about one month?
How about your teeth; how long would you tolerate going without brushing them?
Now, take note of every time that you have broken this intolerance. Chances are, you haven't (at least I hope not, you dirty animal).
Instead of raising goals and reaching high into the sky, raise your standards instead. Standards you never breach, goals you rarely reach. It even has a nice lil rhyme!
Putting goals up high inflates their importance, making you think they're difficult to obtain. The more unobtainable something seems, the less reasonable it will seem to act towards. Thus, you won't act as you are required.
If, instead, you set goals as your new standard, you will work towards ensuring you never dip below them or breach them.
Think right now about the default habits and actions you keep returning to. Notice how you never go lower than that? It's because you won't tolerate it. Lowering yourself past that would disgust you or make you feel slightly sick.
When you notice yourself gaining momentum or starting to peak, be aware and make it a standard from now on. This will help prevent you from regressing.
You can do this for both short-term and long-term situations. Either way, it shifts your ass into gear if implemented correctly.
Remind yourself of this often. It can take some time to stick.

You're A Little Too Cozy

You are likely improving yourself to make your situation better. That's what you think.
The more likely reason is that you're trying to escape an undesirable situation. Instead of chasing something, you're running from something.
The more undesirable - or uncomfortable - your situation, the more drive you will have to free yourself from it.
So, if you're content with how things are, you have nothing to run from.
This creates less urgency and a less powerful call to action.
Lots of successful people (whose wealth isn't family derived) have track records of being in horrible situations.
If you're doing pretty solid right now, you might not be able to justify the effort needed to do the work required to improve.
I'm not saying that you need to make yourself seriously uncomfortable! That would be dumb.
However, some situational analysis could come in handy.
What would your dream position be in five years? Would you reach that dream situation, given how you currently behave? Give this some deep thought, not a barely-conscious read. This stuff is vital.
Compare who you are right now with who you need to be to achieve your dreams. Do they match? If not, what sort of future do you envision if you continue as you are?
Explore this more and see if it helps. Jordan Peterson has a course called "the self-authoring Program", which is all of this, but in detail. I've not personally bought it, but I've heard great things.

"You're a victim!"

The victim mentality is yet another one of the unfortunate cancers that society propagates as normality. Most of the time, it is promoted and endorsed.
Victim mentality is phenomenal... if you want to sacrifice your freedom to take control of your life.
Don't get me wrong - shit happens to people. Real bad things. And there will be circumstances that call for a time to say: "It's not my fault!". This is rare. And in any case, being indignant has never helped anybody.
As long as you offload blame for your current circumstance onto other people and external forces, you will remain unable to take control of your life. You will perpetually flee from responsibility.
It isn't anyone's fault.
It isn't some higher being's fault.
It isn't that one person who said that one thing that caused that one thing's fault.
Where you currently are is a result of every action you've ever taken. Sometimes things will happen to you that are out of your control. How you react and use these experiences is within your control, however.
The more control and excuses you attach to other people, the less power you have over your development.
Having the "f*ck everyone else, it's all their fault, capitalism is a scam, life's unfair, blah blah blah" mentality is such an easy way out. So firstly, how boring! Secondly, Nobody with sense will want to be around you. And thirdly, you will shut down avenues of improvement that will stunt your growth.
It isn't easy to suddenly feel responsible for so much in your life. It might feel quite daunting! But it is much better than living your life as a shell of what you could have been.
Hopefully, at the same time, it feels liberating. You can finally take back control.
Take responsibility, and the growth potential becomes infinite.

Direction, Direction, Direction.

Do you have clear goals? Do you know exactly who you need to become for these goals?
A vivid picture of the future should be painted in your mind. This is vital for many reasons:

1. Trajectory prevents chaos and anxiety. Instead, it promotes order and a sense of direction.
2. It allows the subconscious to justify work and give reason to your actions.
3. He who is lost cannot be found.

If you do not have goals or an understanding of who you want to become - and I mean a really clear understanding - then you will go through life blind. You will stumble into who you become rather than intentionally choosing the best future for yourself.
If you do tasks for the sake of it - like meditation and journalling - and don't apply any reason or purpose behind them, you will struggle to maintain them.
You won't be able to justify doing them when resistance comes into play.
​

"He who has a why can bear almost any how" - Friedrich Nietzsche

​
Once you have an intense and clear image of the ideal future set out for yourself, you will naturally find aligning your actions for improvement easier. Your subconscious will no longer be working against you.
You'll be shooting in the dark if you're uncertain who you're becoming.
This will make your actions seem unimportant or futile.
As long as there is a lack of intention behind your actions, It will be hard to track any form of significant improvement.
Find your "what", and you will have a "why". This will empower every action you take.

You're Not Tracking Enough

If you do not track what you do:

1. How will you be able to know if you do or do not make progress?
2. You will not be able to identify patterns for your progression/regression.

Firstly: how certain are you that you are not making progress?
If you're not tracking your habits and what you're doing, you will struggle to evaluate your situation and how you're doing.
Use google sheets - or something similar - and note some important metrics:

• Were you consistent today?
• How focused were you?
• How did you find it?
• Is anything else of significance to add?

Over time you will build a bank of understanding and, most importantly, a way to identify your highs and lows.
​
You need an objective way to identify what you're doing. It will allow you to identify any emerging patterns that either aid or hinder your progress.
Once you notice these patterns, you can learn to identify them as they happen, allowing you to rectify them. Understanding yourself and patterns of action that lead to regression is paramount to preventing it from happening.
The first step is always awareness.
Become your own lil data scientist. Seeing tangible data about yourself and using it to learn more about yourself to grow can be surprisingly fun.

Concluding Thoughts And Stuff

It's important not to beat yourself up when you have dips; it's all a part of the learning process. I know it's disheartening after all the work you've put in, but no experience is a bad experience.
Setbacks are necessary to grow: you need them to learn and develop.
So, be grateful for the setbacks. They are a test for you to prove your worth - to see how much you deserve to progress.
You should feel honoured that the universe has chosen you to rise to the occasion.
​
The purpose of the post was to give you insight into why progression can seem so challenging. I talked little about solutions, as that would make the post kinda chunky.
Although I touch on how to solve each issue slightly, there is much more depth to them that I want to describe separately.
Thus, I will make future posts with solutions dedicated to each separate issue and how I have personally dealt with them. That's the plan, at least!
​
There are probably a bunch more points to discuss, but these are the ones that have been most prevalent for me.
So lmk what you think! I'd love to hear anything you've learnt from experience.
Thanks for reading.

This is a story that happened 2 years ago, that has recently been appearing in my dreams, so I can't stop thinking about it. I decided to post it here, since the only people who know about this are my bestfriend who i'll call Esther (fake name) and her older sister Evelyn (fake name).
Sorry for the grammar mistakesc 1) my english isnt that good 2) im typing this on my computer
I was about 13 years old when me and my bestfriend went to explore the torn down house , that was about 12 meters away from hers. Whenever i would visit her I saw it.. tho it was a bit hard to spot, since the roof was dropped down to the ground ( sorry if it sounds wrong, my english isn't that good) and the whole place was overgrown with tall grass and bushes, there was a terriotory that seperated my bestfriends land and the land the abandoned house was on. I asked about the house, and she said it belonged to a fairly old lady, that happened to live now in the apartment block next to mine, and was the grandmother of one of the schoolamates i used to go to middleschool with. Esther said she remembered blurry memories from her childhood, that the old lady (when she still lived there) would come next to their house , specifically next to the well and say word in a foreign language, that sounded much like a ritual, Esther has suspicion that she tried to curse her family because of jealousy - the old ladys son was killed by a drunk guy with a rock, her husband had died and her children didnt acknowledge her, but my bestfriend had the perfect life - wealthy, 2 sisters, loving parents, and a stable life. To be honest when she told me this i thought it was some made up lie, so we decided to go there to explore if anything was left, or whatever. Our 13year old selves were a like wusses so we decided to take my bestfriends older sister along , and we went to explore. The house was black, looked almost like it had tried to be burned, the inside i remmeber very blurry too - old kitchen supplies, rotten food, dusted down furniture etc, but it was unecseeible from the inside since the roof had been broken down. We decided to give up on it, and decided tto loook around , we saw a thread that was supported by 2 trees with old cloth , looked like a drying thing. But there was something else - a greenhouse. We decided to explore, and since then i remmeber this as the incident that freaked me out the most. The greenhouse was small, with dead plants and unhealthy soil all around, but there was a stool with a duffelbag that stood out. We were hesitant to open it, because it almost gave a ''bad'''aura, but we did anyway, because it was the most interesting thing we had seen this summer, since the village we live in doesnt have a whole lot of things to do. On the inside there was a skull, horns of some sort and a bible that was half burned, we decided to open it was full of satanic like drawings over the original pages in red ink, words in some odd language and crossed out words of the bible. i dont remember a whole lot from it, since we were so freaked out that wee dropped it and ran away asap. Scariest shit either of us experieneced, and its still eerie to think about it.
We have not been to the greenhouse since, but if we will go back, ill add some pictures of the place, and most importantly if the dufflebag is still there, because i have a feeling there was more contents in it, tho im a bit hesitant.

It's been almost a week since I entered the Zone.
With nothing to my name but a pistol and a second hand suit, I needed to find a way to get better gear if I wanted to reach The Heart of the Zone, and find out if the Wish Granter was real, or just another story that drunkard at the bar made up to have someone buy him a drink.
After a couple of days of travelling between Cordon and Garbage, I decided I had head north to Rostok and find a way through the Red Forest in order to get to Pripyat before spring.
On my way there I found a corpse on the ground: a Mercenary, he had a nice modified MP5 on him, and some coordinates to a stash in Truck Cemetery.
Had it be from someone else I would have probably ignored it, but it being from a Merc, it tempted me like a siren on the sharp rocks.
Nonetheless I decided that for the time being, I needed some better gear if I even just dreamed of going there.
Spoke with a certain Colonel Petrenko for about an hour, and decided to help Duty out for a while, the pay is good, and the jobs are pretty straight forward.
Made a friend in the form of the local technician: Mangun, though I guess Sponge would be a better name for him, due all the empty bottles of vodka I saw lying around his shop.
Everyone got their coping mechanism in the zone, alcohol is one of the least dangerous ones I suppose, better than hunting mutants or going for a jog in the swamps anyway.
A couple of days passed, and I amassed about 30k Rubles and repaired a double barrel shotgun, and baptized it with a short hunt.
I then decided to stock up in vodka and buy a Basic Toolkit from Spirit, yet another drunk, this time with a better fitting name, loitering in the Yantar region, right next to the scientists. Honestly I'm just surprised he didn't manage to get his hands on their medical alcohol, but I digress.
Mangun was ecstatic like a kid on Christmas morning when I handed it to him, to give credit where credit is due, that man managed to keep a platoon worth of weapons and gear functional with very minimal equipment, and in a complete stupor for most of the time.
However, I was too distracted to participate in his celebrations, something was still gnawing at the back of my head every day since I found it.
That stash.
Every time I glanced over at the map, it was mocking me: a giant green circle in the middle of rows of cars, like a bright middle finger pointed directly at my face.
It was time I confronted my fears and head there.
I decided I'll deliver a package to Army Warehouse first, then head south towards it.
While giving away the small parcel I met 2 loners passing by, I convinced them to join me and try to get to the stash, we would split the loot once returned to Rostok.
We crossed the collapsed barbed wire fence, and there it was, an ocean of wrecks and anomalies laying in front of us.
Can't quite make it out in words, but the whole place seemed to shift around every time I would look away for a moment, as if it was haunted by the ghosts of all the people that died in those vehicles, being them heroes or jackals.
Being part of the latter, I decided not to dwell on that thought further, and just move on.
After dispatching part of the local fauna we slowly crept south-east, stopping only to check the map and to listen for the direction of distant gunfire.
I heard a lot of horror stories from other Loners regarding the Cemetery, from bloodsucking monstrosities to mind altering midgets, to hooded people that would just make you blow your own brain without moving a muscle, but nothing would prepare me for what we were about to meet.
We approached the last turn of our journey with great caution as the floor was littered with dozens of blind-dogs and boars.
I thought that maybe a group of Duty soldier culled the area, but the closer we got to them, the more we noticed that there were no bullet wounds, but rather they seemed as if they have been crushed under an immense weigh.
As if on cue, with a thunderous noise, a giant stepped out of a burrow.
I thought of it a boulder of some sort at first, but as it uncovered from the debris it mantled itself with, I started to notice the features of a disgusted and disgruntled face, framed in between two legs the size of ancient oak trunks.
I panicked and bolted for the roof of one of the trucks behind me, my companions were not as lucky: the first one died on the spot, having his entire body been folded into a pool of gore and bones.
I reached for the other one to come closer and grab my hand, but he was too terrified to hear reason and just kept shooting at the abomination.
I... prefer not to speak of what happened to him.
I kept pelleting the beast from my position, jumping from a truck to the other when it would get to close to tipping the one I was standing on.
In the end however it was not me who killed it, but The Zone itself.
In its blind rage it charged through an anomaly and got trapped in it, not even its might could save it from what The Zone had in stock.
After getting down from the truck I searched for what remained of my former comrades: an AK-105 from the first and a gas mask from the second.
I leaned over a car, only to see a small tool box inside of it.
All the pain, all the horror, it would have been worth it, if only for this treasure.
I opened it, and found just a few cans of food and a moldy suit, way too ruined to be worn by anyone.
It was all for nothing.
2 brave Stalker have been lost to the zone, and I got nothing to show for it.
I retreated back to Rostok, and sat down on the mattress set up for me across the hall from Mangun's shop.
"I don't even remember their names" I muttered
"I didn't even pay attention to their names"
The Zone changed me for the worst.
I want out of here, but there is no place for me outside now.
I am now part of The Zone, and will be lost to it.

Standing and moving still brought the Arbiter a lot of pain. But the Law’s grim enforcer couldn’t let anyone see that weakness. Especially not with the pirate before them and the very same assassin who had nearly killed them weeks before beneath that pirate’s foot.
The Arbiter had only just been cleared for light duty and decided to spend that time with the Officers in charge of watching the pirates Demon ship. They weren’t ADCU since those officers couldn’t be wasted on a simple stakeout. The Arbiter however had been assured the Officers in charge there were the best they had. But not two minutes within the stakeout tent the Arbiter had learned that the pirate Captain had slipped past the officers assigned to tail her. And more disturbingly that every pirate who left the Astaroth had slipped their tails with disdainful ease.

The utter lack of concern had further stoked their fury. According to the officer on duty every pirate that left eventually made a mess of something and stirred up a minor disturbance. And that only a few that left were unaccounted for. 

The complete lack of awareness for how shady and suspicious all that should have sounded baffled the Arbiter’s mind. They knew crime and violence didn’t come so naturally to other species as it did for the Arbiter’s human mind. But the failure to make such a basic connection that the pirates were creating distractions so that other pirates could do their work covertly, screamed at incompetence.
That led to the Arbiter learning that all the officers in charge of the overwatch operation were actually low level beat cops and file clerks. Looking into the system used to select these officers the Arbiter learned that they weren’t just incompetent, but so incompetent that the staggering number of negative reports had confused the filing system and had placed them into the highest bracket of trusted officers. The system was made to calculate negative values but couldn’t properly place such incompetent people into their proper bracket because there wasn’t a bracket appropriately low enough to place them into. So instead it simply went past the lowest level and placed them into the highest level.
And of course such poor officers couldn’t simply be fired because the officers workers union would make a fuss. Which meant the SS couldn’t replace these idiots with any slightly more intelligent sapients.
The bureaucratic idiocy was so infuriating that the Arbiter had lashed out at a nearby pole before they could think better of it. The pole snapped at the impact, fell over, and collapsed half the tent with it.
After that little outburst the Arbiter decided to take a walk and calm down. Only to stumble upon the missing pirate captain locked in a life-or-death battle with the very same assassin who had ambushed them just weeks before.
The Arbiter hadn’t been there for the start of the fight, but simple deduction was enough to reason that the assassin had likely initiated the conflict. They had mentioned Astarte’s name on the night of the attack. And the Pirate had no reason to seek out and attack the assassin.
During that fight The Arbiter had barely survived their encounter with the assassin. The assassin’s prosthetic modifications presented a gap in power that the Arbiter just couldn’t bridge. But despite fighting what should have been a one sided battle, the pirate was doing surprisingly well. In fact if the Arbiter was any judge, Astarte seemed to have a slight advantage.
Not in speed, power, or endurance. The assassin’s mechanical body was simply too powerful for a human to matchup. But in skill Astarte out matched the mechanical assassin.
Astarte dodged and weaved without effortless ease, getting past the assassin’s guard to strike at their, or her, mechanical body. If the assassin hadn’t been a machine then Astarte would have won by now, even with the gap in power.
Rachel felt slightly ashamed at her own poor showing against the assassin when compared to Astarte’s fight. The shame then quickly burned into anger as the Arbiter gripped the rifle at their side and pulled it out to try and shoot the assassin. Unlike the Arbiter had been that night, Astarte was wearing that ridiculous dark red armor and had a sword like she was some sort of space samurai. The Arbiter had done well that night, and their lack of superior weaponry had been their only flaw. One that had been amended with the addition of a more powerful pulse rifle.
They tried to line up a shot on the assassin that wouldn’t hit Astarte, when Astarte began to speak. “You wanna know the funny part. Greyson didn’t even care that you were gone.”
Wait, did these two share a past. The Arbiter guessed that old saying about birds of a feather was true. Who was Greyson? Some sort of man they had both known?
“Didn’t even question me about. Just said ‘Zera’s gone, now you will guard my back’” the pirate continued. “Then not even a week later I was second in command and got to sleep in his comfy bed.” The pirate gave her attacker a sloppy lascivious grin.
“And then you killed him like the deceptive whore you are!” the assassin spat, her attacks becoming sloppier with more openings.
Where these two quarreling over a man? The Arbiter felt bile rise into their throat. Two of the deadliest human women they had ever seen fighting over some man they had known. Pathetic. No man was worth that. Especially not whoever this Greyson bastard was given how quickly he had let the pirate into his bed after his first girlfriend disappeared.
Wait, Greyson, pirate, dead. Were they talking about the infamous human pirate, Byron Greyson? The one who had been a menace to the Femeri system, who was responsible for the disappearance of over thirty thousand humans and the deaths of many more? The one whose headless body had turned up one day aboard the drifting remains of the Black Saint? It couldn’t be, right?
But the rise of the Astaroth and Astarte had happened shortly before Greyson’s mysterious death. It seemed too coincidental.
“Of course I did, I refused to be the latest women he ruined and dumped into the gutter. Face it, your days were numbered. If it wasn’t me it would have been him.” The pirate said with a derisive sneer.
A bit callous and mercenary, but if they were discussing Greyson then likely not inaccurate.
The assassin however didn’t see that logic. “LIAR!” she screamed as she flew into a rage.
Then the Arbiter saw the reasoning behind Astarte’s taunts. This assassin was dangerously unhinged, and Astarte was using that to bait her into a trap.
The next sequence of attacks was too fast for the Arbiter to follow. A sword hilt to the face, followed by something launching out of the assassin’s arm. Then somehow Astarte had her other arm in her grip and flipped the assassin over a shoulder. With the assassin on the ground, Astarte quickly pressed one leg to their back, and with the arm in hand began to pull. The assassins sudden ultrasonic scream made the Arbiter vison darken at the edges, and maybe caused their ears to bleed a little.
Then the arm came out with a pop and the screaming stopped.
The pirate looked at the arm for a second, before lifting it above her head and swinging it down into the assassin’s head. The loud conk of metal on metal was enough to startle the Arbiter out of her awe and terror.
The barrel of their pulse cannon lifted up with Astarte centered in its sight “FREEZE!” the Arbiter roared with all their might.
Astarte paused mid swing, looked towards the Arbiter, and then raised both of her hands above her head. As well as the assassins severed arm. “It was self defense.” The pirate said quickly.
The Arbiter could have sworn they saw a flash of red. But it happened so fast that they weren’t sure if it was really there. And if it was then why would the pirates eye flash red?
The eye crossed by a gruesome scar. Did the pirate have a glass color changing eye?
No, her eyes were both clearly moving around and focusing on things like they should. Could it be cybernetic? Those were supposed to be impossible, too complicated to properly miniaturize with current technology.
It was something to investigate.
The Arbiter had been so focused on Astarte that they hadn’t been watching the assassin close enough. In a movement the Arbiter hadn’t seen the assassin threw Astarte off her back before popping up to her feet. Astarte went down onto the ground and the assassin lurched forward to attack her downed foe. But before she could reach the pirate three quick blasts from the Arbiters rifle stopped her in her tracks.
One had winged her side, another went wide. But the third had caught her right where a liver should have been. The assassin stuttered, but wasn’t dead. They dodged the next shot by ducking and then the second by somehow leaping ten meters into the air and onto a window seal. The assassin looked down on the two women and was clearly judging their chances at victory. But with an, admittable impressive, one-handed springlike flip Astarte was back on her feet, sword ready for another round.
The assassin’s strange mechanical face scowled before another impossible jump sent her over a nearby building and out of sight.
The Arbiter relaxed once the assassin was gone, but Astarte didn’t. The pirate turned, grabbed the Arbiters gloved hand, and pulled her into a jog down the open alleyway. “Come on, there’s an open lot nearby. Can’t jump us from there.” She said without looking back as she dragged the Arbiter along.
For a stunned few seconds Rachel stared at the strong hand grasping her own smaller one. But then the Arbiter saw the logic in Astarte’s worry and forced their hand to release the pirate and ran alongside her.
A few times the Arbiter had noticed a thin humanoid shadow leap between the buildings above them, but a quick turn down an alley from Astarte had them moving away from the incoming ambush from the assassin chasing them via roof tops. In no time at all they made it to an open loading dock for a nearby warehouse. Astarte ran into its center and scanned the roof tops, the Arbiter followed suit.
The Arbiter and the Pirate stood back to back, each searching for any signs of the mutual foe.
“There!” Astarte shouted while pointing her finger at a roof top.
The Arbiter stared up, but couldn’t see anything. But following the pirate’s direction they raised their rifle and shot at the edge of the building Astarte had pointed at. The blasts landed and then the crouched figure of the assassin rose up and backed away.
How had the pirate seen her? The Arbiter spared her a glance and saw a second flash of red before the pirate shifted her head.
“You should call for backup.” The pirate stated while still scanning the roof tops.
“To arrest the assassin?” the Arbiter asked before they could think better of it.
Astarte snorted. “Wouldn’t trust any SS to arrest a dead log, let alone Zera. But more witnesses might scare her off.”
Two things stood out in that statement, the assassin’s apparent name, and “SS, is that supposed to be short for station security?”
“Schutzstaffel actually, its just a strange coincidence they line up” the Pirate joked wryly.
The Arbiter scowled “You think the Station security are like the Nazi’s?” The Arbiter’s lessons about the various evil factions during Earths history had left her with nightmares for years. Crucifixion, death by a thousand cuts, blood eagles, and the like had disturbed their six-year-old mind. Their lessons had spent weeks on all the evils humanity inflicted upon each other, all the way until First contact.
“If the kinky boot fits.” Astarte said while examining the Arbiter’s own black boots.
The Arbiter swished their cloak to hide their boots, and the pirates gaze snapped back up to the rooftops. The Arbiter made the call, and the idiots in charge of the tent said they would need a few minutes to ‘locate’ their rifles and arm shields. Why they had to be located in the first place confused the Arbiter? They couldn’t be so incompetent as to not know where their weapons were, right?”
Tense minutes past before Astarte let out a sigh of relief. “I think she gave up.” she then shot the Arbiter an accusing glare “I almost had the bitch. If you hadn’t interfered we wouldn’t have to worry about her coming back.”
"You expect me to stand by while you committed murder?” The Arbiter growled, now stepping back from the pirate and reaching for a set of cuffs.
The pirate frowned, then glanced up as if recalling a distant memory. “I… ugh felt my life was in imminent danger, and feared for my life while facing down a clearly aggressive and violent deathworlder with a weapon. I used whatever objects I could find at the time…I carry no weapons and was forced to use ceremonial objects in crude, and ugh…unusual ways for self defense. I did not think retreat was possible so I acted to end the threat” she said in a bland staccato rhythm of everyone reciting words from memory. Her words obviously citing several different laws pertaining to self-defense.
The Arbiter felt an eye twitch. “The law pertaining to Deathworlder assailants was not intended to include Deathworlder victims.” The Arbiter said slowly.
Astarte shrugged “Union vs. Trevor Philips established that the enforcement of the law was done by the letter of the law, not the spirit. By that ruling and precedent I acted reasonably and was within my rights for self-defense. Any attempt to detain me would result in punitive measures from my legal representation.”
In all their time on the ADCU the Arbiter had never encountered a criminal so well versed in the intricacies of Union law. Some loop holes were well known, and easy for Officers to circumvent in order to attain an arrest. But the Arbiter hadn’t encountered something like this before.
The Arbiter looked down and noticed the sword she still held, red blood from the pirate running down its blade. “So that sword isn’t a weapon?” The Arbiter asked pointedly.
The feline smile that covered Astarte’s face sent shivers up their spine. “My dear officer, as you can notice I am of half Japanese heritage, a hafu if you will. I am dressing in the traditional fashions of my people. The armor, the katana, and the wakizashi are all hallmarks of the samurai I am descended from. None of these are worn for anything beyond cultural heritage. And for that matter, my crew wear the same to honor my ancestry.”
The Arbiter sighed. Astarte’s defense, though blatantly false, was airtight. Arresting her now would only give her ammunition to legally strike back. And with the recent backlash of the Deathworlder crack down the Arbiter could doom Judge’s career. It had been a celebrated move of the last chief, but the knock-on effects of it had resulted in several months of rioting, looting, and political discourse in the heart of the Union. The last chief was forced to step down and Judge took his place and was still trying to reverse the damages. Which was hard with all the precincts fighting him on it. Those officers had too many friends torn apart by Terran criminals to ever let that grudge go.
“Then you may leave the arm behind and be one your way.” The Arbiter ordered.
Astarte blinked, “the arm?”
The Arbiter pointed to the severed arm still within the pirate’s grasp “That is evidence in an on going investigation. LEAVE. IT. BEHIND” The Arbiter explained, growling out the last words slowly. Just because Astarte had likely saved the Arbiter’s life with some quick thinking didn’t erase the fact that she was a person of interest/suspect in the same case.
Astarte glanced down at the severed arm and blinked as if surprised she was still holding it. Then tossed it carelessly onto the ground. “All yours, make sure to check for bugs before plugging it in.”
“Bugs?”
“Computer viruses hidden in its OS. Thing could have all sorts of things hidden within.”
“And how do you know?”
“I don’t. It’s just the sort of thing I would do myself. Try loading it onto a separate server. Oh, and check for small explosives.”
“Danm Deathworlders” the Arbiter growled as they now considered the severed arm on the ground next to a small splatter of Astarte’s blood. She was right, Deathworlders were known for their tricks and traps. Humans especially. During one investigation a load of seized morphine from an illegal clinic had been stored next to an unstable chemical that reacted poorly to the jostling of the transport and destroyed the evidence in a fiery explosion.
Astarte chuckled “Glass stones Arbiter.”
“What?”
“Glass stones, it’s a human malaphor of sorts. I’ll leave the details for you to figure out. Good luck with tracking down Zera, I’d recommend starting with the prison records on Union Station Parox.” She said as she turned aways and strode off. Walking in the opposite direction of the arriving officers, half of which were missing their weapons or shields.
The Arbiter let out a sigh as she observed the most incompetent idoits she had ever seen strut onto the lot without a care in the universe.
“You called us Sir.” The lead Voral said.
The Arbiter took in a deep breath “Yes I did. Ten minutes ago.”
“It was a long walk.” The officer said defensively, no care for the Arbiters growing anger.
“Its only a few hundred standard meters. But that doesn’t matter I encountered an assassin in the midst of their crime. That’s their arm.”
The Voral looked panicked and began to look from side to side.
The Arbiter felt an involuntary eye twitch and clenched her fist. “The assassin is gone.”
The Voral relaxed “So you want us to secure the evidence?” he asked.
That had been the Arbiters plan, but now seeing them mill about aimlessly they changed their mind. “No, secure the area and stay out of CSI’s way. Understood?”
The officer looked offended. “Sir, its just an arm. We don’t need to wait around for CSI, one of my men can bag it right now.”
Patience wearing thin the Arbiter marched right into the Voral’s face. The fact the Officer loomed over her by two meters did little to diminish the Arbiter’s menacing aura. “AM. I. UNDERSTOOD?”
“Yes Sir.” The cowed Voral officer answered with a nervous buzz of his wings.
“Then go.”
Ten minutes later six medium shuttles from the CSI unit, and two small shuttles from the ADCU were on the scene of the lot and in the alley where the Arbiter had stumbled upon Astarte. Edict and Prosecutor began to jump along the rooftops, recreating the assassin’s movements and collecting more evidence.
The assassin’s arm, and the dried sample of Astarte’s blood was collected. As well as fragments of what looked to be a broken glass eye with a micro camera.
They lost the assassin’s trail after they ducked into the inner hull of the station and escaped across the pipes, wires, and support structure of Unity.
Thirty minutes after that they departed for the central precinct. The Arbiter within the darkened confines of the ADCU shuttle felt safe enough to take off the hood. Caleb and Bartolv did the same. They noticed her pensive mood and didn’t disturb her.
It wasn’t lost on her that Astarte knew exactly who this assassin was. And if she hadn’t left those pretty blatant clues about how to identify her then then Rachel would be trying to acquire a warrant to bring her in for questioning. But that still left her with a lot of questions.
And despite the answers she might get, she had the sinking feeling it wouldn’t be enough to see the whole picture. How big was this whole thing?
Previous/Patreon/Next

Thirty Years ago all the objects were removed from a spare bedroom of a trailer. Everything was cleaned, floor vacuumed; using cardboard, aluminum foil snuggly attached to the lone window with duct tape, I journeyed to the local hardware store to build a Crate. I choose boards and cut them by hand with a Saw.
Once complete, using a corner for two of the walls, building a door with a simple hinge, a roof over the whole human Cave, the Second Recapitulation of my life began. Armed with a flashlight, an old red worn binder containing lists of every human being my feeble brain could muster forth after several years of compiling, adding on rearranging into various weird categories like x-lovers, teammates on sports teams, teachers, family…stuff like that.
Not too long after visiting my recapitulation Cave on a daily basis which as it turned out was quite dark even in the daytime, although mostly used at night after work,going over names and seeking minutiae of details which perhaps I had overlooked due to my original sloppy mess, having been inspired or influenced by a book written by Taisha Abelar,recently read,or for whatever more than likely unknown impulse the thought popped up one day that I really, really ought to write her a swell letter. Then again despite my cool intentions perhaps…No. I shouldn’t do it. It seemed a sacrilege. Are we not suppose to let the signs and omens come to us? How dare I think this….or anything? One must stop the internal dialogue at all costs. Let the thing come to me. Oh why not do it anyway, throw caution out the door.
Of course I gave in feeling jubilant and energized when I put my pen to paper. I thought of Sandra. She was my babysitter when I was a kid. She was such a beautiful girl and so much fun. Tall, pretty yet severely handicapped because she had polio. Her left leg much smaller than the other, propped up by an enormous brace she wore at all times. For some reason or other she had the brightest of spirits. Never complaining, her joy at times boundless. She really liked me, and unlike some babysitters spent time with me like a real person. We played a card game called Rook which had a picture of a Crow on the front. I don’t know why that stands out for me. I remember the day not long after she graduated from high school and her and her Mom moved away. They packed everything away and I never saw her again.
One day she was at my house and she made us a sandwich for lunch and afterward she got real serious for the first time. She said she had an English assignment to do and we couldn’t hang out like we usually do. She had to use her time to get this done so she could graduate. She told me I would one day grow up and write the Twenty Essays; how I spent my Summer Vacation or the Most Beautiful Thing I ever Saw. Then She cleaned off the kitchen table and spread her notebook out before her and grabbed her pen with serious purpose.I knew then without knowing how I knew that she was a great writer and that the serious pain she didn’t let me see until that day was coming out of her. I left her alone to her work.
I neatly folded the letter, placed a stamp on the envelope and off it went to Taisha Abelar in care of her Book Publisher.
Then I felt stupid. Oh, hell, torment,my internal dialogue told me I had blown it now. If she gets the letter, probably not, she’ll realize I’m an idiot, another jerk who wants to be her Apprentice. Shit…
Weeks passed and one day I opened the mailbox and a neat letter arrived. It had a nice subtle color of an almost undefinable light hue;warm and fragrant. Personal stationary; elegant.
The postmark was Los Angeles yet had no return address. I sat at the kitchen table and slowly opened it up.
Right away I noticed two different handwritings. The body of the letter was written by one person and the signature of Taisha Abelar was very different. An assistant no doubt wrote the body of the letter and the signature was of a more elegant nature.
There were only two people who wrote books like Dr.Castaneda and she had obviously dictated every word. Every word mattered. The last sentence got my attention, especially.
A real gem. An Intention directed towards me which permeates to this Day.