Living in a Housing and Development Board (HDB) flat doesn't mean compromising on style and comfort. With a dash of creativity and thoughtful planning, you can transform your HDB home into a personalized haven that reflects your unique taste and lifestyle. In this article, we present a collection of trendy and innovative renovation ideas along with expert renovation contractor to help you elevate your HDB living experience.
Open Concept Living
Say goodbye to cramped spaces and embrace the open-concept living trend. Knock down walls to create a seamless flow between your living, dining, and kitchen areas. This not only enhances the sense of spaciousness but also encourages social interaction and connectivity. Consider installing a kitchen island that doubles as a dining table, adding functionality and a modern touch to your home.
Smart Storage Solutions
Maximize the limited space in your HDB flat with smart storage solutions. Opt for built-in cabinets and shelves to make the most of vertical space. Explore hidden storage options such as under-bed drawers or ottomans with storage compartments. Utilize multi-functional furniture like sofa beds or extendable dining tables that can adapt to your changing needs. By keeping your belongings organized and minimizing clutter, you can create a more visually appealing and functional living environment.
Statement Walls and Creative Lighting
Transform the look and feel of your HDB flat with statement walls and creative lighting. Consider adding textured wallpapers, geometric patterns, or a vibrant accent color to create a focal point in your living room or bedroom. Experiment with different lighting fixtures, such as pendant lights or track lighting, to add depth and ambiance to your space. Creative lighting techniques can also highlight artwork or architectural features, further enhancing the overall aesthetic appeal of your home.
Bring Nature Indoors
Introduce a touch of nature into your HDB renovation by incorporating indoor plants. Create a vertical garden using wall-mounted planters or install hanging planters near windows. Plants not only add visual interest and freshness to your home but also improve air quality and create a soothing ambiance. Choose low-maintenance plants that thrive indoors, such as pothos, snake plants, or peace lilies. Additionally, consider adding natural materials like wood or bamboo to your furniture and decor choices to create a warm and earthy atmosphere.
With these trendy HDB renovation ideas, you can unlock the full potential of your living space. From open-concept living to smart storage solutions, statement walls, and incorporating nature indoors, there are endless possibilities to transform your HDB flat into a stylish and functional home. Embrace your creativity, personalize your space, and enjoy the elevated living experience that reflects your unique personality and preferences. Homerenoguru provides the most experienced renovation contractor are always ready to help you out in all aspects to transform your home as you like it.

I have recently purchased a 1995 Toyota Granvia that was imported to New Zealand, and I am dying to find an owner's manual. It's an XH-10 HiAce/Regius/Granvia with the 1KZ-TE engine, and I'm beside myself with frustration trying to find a copy. The Toyota website does not even have HiAce/Regius/Granvia models as an option, nor do they provide manuals that predate 2013. I've tried to find archives of their sites to no avail. Is this a lost cause?
I really need a manual because I've run into a few issues with this aging van:

• I cannot adjust the driver's seat - other owners that I've reached out to have manual controls (like my passenger seat), but there's no such option for my driver's seat. I believe it's an electric system, but I'm clueless and there are no resources available online.
• The electrical system for the curtains is no longer functional on the side windows, and I can't figure out how to unpin the electrical pins - or how to test them... I just don't want to break anything, but I'd love to know which fuse controls these!
• The sunroof opens at high-speeds... there isn't a lock for it, and I'm not sure how to open or close it, but it jumps up a centimeter going 100kph, and makes horrendous wind-noises... thankfully it doesn't leak else I would have it glued down already...
• The roof is leaking - and I really just want to know what's going on behind all the paneling - there's like a 2" gap between the ceiling and roof that has all sorts of tubing running through it - blinker fluid? (lol). I cannot figure it out, it looks like a gutter system for drainage, I can update with pics if anyone cares.
• My rear, center-top brake/stop light is dying, and I'm not sure how to replace these LEDs... I doubt the owner's manual would help, but maybe!

Does anyone know where to find "vintage" owner's manuals? I really just want a circuit guide and a map for the fuse boxe(s)... It's an awesome van, but it's becoming the Mystery Machine.
Thanks to anyone who knows anything!

This is the official end of the first Volume. Next week will begin Volume 2!
After a lot of progress on my story, I'm making changes to my Patreon and instead of reading 3 chapters ahead, you'll get access to 5.
Elijah Commission
Azeline Commission
The Little Menace
Worship Her
If you want to read 5 chapters ahead, check out my Patreon!
Support me by upvoting me or leaving a comment!
I also have the series uploaded to Royal Road, come leave a comment and give me a review by clicking HERE
Here's a map of where the area
Join my Discord!
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Bennett was dead asleep in his hammock when he was roused by hushed whispers and the sound of activity echoed throughout the room, seemingly amplified by its cramped space.
“Ben.” A voice called out.
As the engineer slowly opened a singular eye, he found himself struggling to make sense of the situation. A figure was just a few meters away from him, rifling through a bag when they turned around and faced him. However, Bennetts groggy state prevented him from fully discerning who or what was responsible for the disruption.
“Ben, wake up.” The voice called out one more time.
Scowling in irritation, Bennett chose to ignore the voice and flipped over, burying his face into the hammock's fabric. He was determined to get back to sleep, even as the voice grew more insistent and the room's activity continued.
“Ben, wake the fuck up!” The voice finally yelled.
Suddenly, Bennett found himself suspended in the air, his groggy state replaced with fear and anxiety as he was forcefully yanked out of his hammock. He tried to process what was happening, but before he could comprehend the situation, he felt the cold embrace of the hardwood floor.
THUD
“Argh! Fuck!” The Engineer groaned as he slowly lifted himself up off the ground. "You goddamn asshole!" Bennett snapped, his voice hoarse from the mixture of pain and anger.
Standing over Bennett with a cackling Fairy on his shoulder, Elijah decided he wasn’t going to wait for the stubborn man to get up on his own. "It's time to get up," Elijah said, turning around to continue sifting through his bag. "We got a lot of shit to do before we leave, and I can't afford to have you sleeping in."
Bennett’s glare shifted between his captain and his sadistic partner. "Fine, fine. I'm up," he grumbled, rubbing his sore back. He knew Elijah was right, but that didn't make the sudden wake-up call any less infuriating. Yana, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying Bennett's misery, her laughter ringing in his ears.
THUD
Pulling out his remaining Bioscanner, Elijah began running diagnostics on the device, ensuring it was in working order for when he delivered it to Salvanius. It was a trade that he was loathing, but it was a trade he would make 1000 times if given the chance to get the rest of their equipment back. Even if they only managed to find a quarter of their property, that was still a lot better than having nothing at all.
As the Bioscanner's display indicated the device was functioning optimally, Elijah let out a small depressed sigh and slid it into his pocket. "Alright, let's get this over with," he said, opening the door and stepping out into the dimly lit corridor. Bennett followed, still grumbling under his breath about the hostile work environment while shifting his stink eye at both Yana and Elijah.
THUD
“GOD DAMNIT!!” Bennett yelled, rubbing his head after hitting the top of the door frame.
He had completely forgotten how cramped everything was on this wooden death trap and how he had to crouch throughout the entire interior. Frustration and annoyance etched on his face, Bennett muttered a string of curses under his breath as he adjusted his posture to avoid the low ceilings and narrow passageways.
“Midgets…” The Engineer sneered as he heard Elijah snicker father up ahead.
It only took a few moments for Elijah and Bennett to reach the deck, and there they observed Rhea efficiently issuing orders to the ship's sailors. Her authoritative voice rang out over the hustle and bustle of the ship’s crew, who were quickly scurrying about, securing ropes and checking supplies. What really caught their attention, though, was Rhea was finally out of her armor.
Adorned in a faded white linen long-sleeved shirt, Rhea left her chest straps slightly undone, revealing a hint of her modest, but alluring cleavage. The Knight Captain’s slim, athletic figure was displayed in stark contrast to the thick padding underneath the metal armor she normally wore. To accentuate her figure, the tight brown linen pants she wore hugged her humbly, but satisfyingly shapely curves and seamlessly tucked into her leather boots. The outfit, deceptively sultry, effortlessly exuded a sense of casual confidence and undeniable charm.
Turning her head slight, the Knight Captain finally noticed the two Humans and acknowledged them with a nod. “Good morning Sir Elijah, Sir Bennett and…” She made a difficult face when her eyes locked onto Yana.
“Your Honor will do!” The Fairy said in a chipper voice, crossing her legs. “I am both a Goddess and a confirmed Eternal Judge of the Fae courts!”
Rhea’s expression turned sour for a moment, but decided it was best not to engage any further with the mischievous Vanir. "Very well, good morning Your Honor," Rhea replied, forcing a polite smile. "We're running a bit late, but we should be ready to set sail in just a few hours.”
Elijah raised an eyebrow at the small fairy at the mention of being a confirmed judge, but shifted his attention back towards Rhea and nodded in understanding. "We'll be ready whenever you are," he said with his eyes traveling up her entire figure attire before refocusing on her face. "Just give us the signal when it's time to set sail." .
“I’m assuming the northern woman is still asleep?” The Knight Captain asked, tilting her head curiously.
Seeing her long elf ears bounce up and down seemed to be the final straw for Elijah, as an unbidden and almost adolescent fascination welled up within him. He blinked a few times, trying to regain his composure before replying. "Uh, yeah, she’s still asleep," Elijah finally responded, exhaling deeply. "We’ve been up for almost 36 hours, so I think it's best to let her rest for a while longer." he replied, trying to maintain a professional demeanor despite the lingering fascination with her elf ears.
Bennett narrowed his eyes in annoyance as he regarded his captain with a disgusted look. "Can you control yourself?" he asked with a judgmental tone.
Also noticing Elijah’s basically ogling her, Rhea couldn't help but laugh at the exchange while running a hand through her hair. "I'm glad to see at least someone finds me attractive," she said, her cheeks tinted with a slight blush. Elijah cleared his throat, trying to regain some semblance of dignity as he shifted his gaze away from her.
"Ah... My apologies, Lady Rhea, but I was caught off guard," Elijah said, giving her a genuine smile. "I wasn’t prepared for the famed Knight Captain to be so beautiful out of her armor. It's a pleasant surprise, to say the least."
Rhea found herself momentarily speechless as her cheeks flushing a deep shade of red. She wasn't used to receiving compliments, let alone being called beautiful by someone as striking as Elijah. A small, bashful smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she looked down to hide her embarrassment. "Well… I, um… Thank you, Sir Elijah.” she managed to say, her voice uncharacteristically timid. “I appreciate the kind words."
Noticing the usually confident and stern Knight Captain was completely flustered, Elijah knew she was on the backfoot and went for blood. “You’re more than welcome Lady Rhea,” he responded, bowing his head. “I was just saying it how I see it—”
"Yana, zap him!" Bennett ordered, sensing that Elijah was about to push his luck too far.
The mischievous fairy didn't hesitate, and with a magical pop, she immediately shifted forms, transforming the fiery inferno atop her head into a flowing teal, wind that cascaded past her shoulders. After her transformation, a maniacal grin spread across her face as she clutched two fistfuls of Elijah's hair.
“AHH FUCK!” Elijah yelped in pain.
A light chuckle escaped Rhea's lips as she watched the scene play out before her, momentarily pushing aside her embarrassment and wariness of the group. Their playful antics, though unprofessional, stirred a sense of lighthearted camaraderie she hadn't experienced in years. The thrill of exploring the unknown alongside trusted friends had been lost to her ever since she joined Salvanius' Order. The organization's rigid structure and hierarchy had dampened her once-adventurous spirit, and witnessing Elijah's crew sparked a touch of envy within her.
Yana, still grinning mischievously, finally released her grip on Elijah's hair. The man, now fuming with anger, made a hasty attempt to snatch her out of the air, but the nimble fairy easily dodged his grasp, giggling all the while.
"I'm going to kill the both of you!" Elijah yelled, glaring at both Yana and Bennett. His frustration only caused more laughter from the fairy and an amused smirk from Bennett, who crossed his arms and leaned back against the railing.
"Come now, Sir Elijah, there's no need for violence," Rhea interjected while covering her mouth in a poor attempt to hide her own laughter. "I'm sure you can find it in your heart to forgive their little prank.” She continued, adjusting her hair that was flowing in the wind. “We’re going to spend a few long days sailing if we’re going to catch up with them, after all.”
Glancing back at her crew, Rhea's face returned to its usual stern expression when she noticed the sailors gawking and whispering amongst themselves. It was evident that her momentary display of mirth had taken them by surprise, as they rarely saw their Knight Captain in such a lighthearted state.
"What in the name of Tylas are you all gawking at!?" She roared, placing her hands firmly on her hips “GET BACK TO WORK!”
Rhea's eyes narrowed as the scrambling crew members hastily returned to their tasks, their faces pale with fear. The ship's atmosphere instantly shifted back to its usual disciplined state as the sailors focused on their duties, aware that their Knight Captain's gaze was upon them.
Elijah let out an annoyed sigh in the realization that he was probably never going to catch that little psychopath and shifted his gaze to Bennett. “I’m gonna get you.” He hissed hatefully. “Mark my words, you piece of shit.” However, Bennett merely smirked in response, clearly unfazed by his captain's threats.
Just as Elijah was about to ask the Knight Captain about the whereabouts of her liege, the man himself appeared on deck. Salvanius came sauntering up the planks that connected the ship to the docks, his imposing figure drawing the attention of everyone present.
"It's quite rare to hear you so jovial, Rhea," the Demigod remarked, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Rhea, slightly taken aback by her liege's observation, straightened her posture and cleared her throat.
"My apologies, your grace," she replied respectfully, attempting to regain her usual composure. "I shall see to it that this Cog is ready to depart, post haste."
Salvanius waved a dismissive hand, his expression softening slightly. "There's no need to apologize, Rhea. It's good to see you enjoying yourself, even if just for a moment. However, you are correct; our guest would most likely appreciate departing as soon as possible."
With that, Rhea nodded and began barking orders to her crew, ensuring that everything was in order for their imminent departure.
Turning to his guests, Salvanius addressed them with an air of authority. "I assume you two have the magical tool..." He paused, recalling the events that transpired the previous day. "I mean, the tool. Is it ready?"
The two Human’s exchanged glances before Elijah stepped forward, pulling out the bioscanner from his pocket. "You’re not going to be able to understand it, but I’ve configured it in a way where you can still get a lot of functionality without having to read." he explained, holding the device out for Salvanius to see.
Time flew as Elijah went into an in depth explanation of the bioscanner's functions and features. He walked Salvanius through everything all the way from disease diagnosis to health monitoring and treatments. With each new feature the human listed seemed to make Salvanius’ jaw drop lower and lower until he found himself looking like a fool.
"And finally, if a red tube with a bolt of lightning ever just starts flashing, all you have to do is flip it over so these panels face the star and just wait," Elijah explained, pointing at the bright orb in the morning sky as he showed the Demigod the solar panels. "It's designed to recharge itself using starlight, so you'll never have to worry about finding a power source."
Salvanius' eyes widened even further, if that were possible. "Astounding," he breathed, clearly impressed. "And you’re just willing to give this to me…?"
“Eh.” Elijah shrugged dismissively. “I have augments- I mean I can already do most of that stuff other than a few things, so it’s mainly just redundant fail safe incase I’m away or dead.”
A complicated expression spread across Salvanius' face as Elijah mentioned that the device was merely a redundancy measure in case of his absence. Suddenly the prospect of having this man as a retainer became much, MUCH more appealing. However, his thoughts were soon interrupted when the Vanir made its appearance by landing squarely on Elijah’s shoulder while glaring daggers at the Demigod.
Salvanius met Yana's gaze and sighed, dispelling the intrusive and dishonorable thoughts of taking these Artificers for himself.
“I understand.” The demigod said, turning his focus back to Elijah. “The Holy Dominion will not forget this grace you’ve bestowed upon us.” He gave a grateful nod before spinning around and heading towards the dock.
However, he soon came to a halt as his eyes fell upon a group of women arguing with his knights at the ramp leading to the ship. The women seemed intent on gaining access to the ship, their arms laden with various items, including several sizable platters of food.
“W-Wait! I-I was instructed to board!” A slim and fearful redhead said, holding a large burlap sack.
Something felt… Off about her.
It was almost as if Salvanius could recognize the woman, even though he was fairly certain he hadn't met her before. Then again, he had met a great number of people in this damned village, but his instincts kept nudging him to take a closer look. But his thoughts were interrupted when he recognized the Beastkin woman and the gaggle of Ferfolk slaves next to her.
"What do ye mean we ain't allowed entry!? I gotta deliver me gratitude before it's too late!" the dog-like woman bellowed, her voice full of frustration and urgency.
An amused huff left Salvanius’ mouth before looking over his shoulder. “I do believe you have guests.” The Demigod said before making his way down the plank.
“Let them through.” He said to his knights, waving his hand dismissively as he walked past the group.
The knights obeyed without hesitation and stepped aside allowing the gaggle of women to board the ship. "Thank ye, yer grace," The dog-like woman bowed deeply before her and the Ferfolk ran up the ramp.
As Elijah approached at the edge of the ship , confusion spread across his face as Mara suddenly appeared with her renowned tubers in hand. The woman stopped a good distance away, staring intently at the man, attempting to gauge his reaction and determine whether he would be receptive to her presence. Seeing he was just staring at her impassively, Mara gathered her courage, and stepped forward with a warm smile.
"I... I wanted to give ye this as a token of me gratitude…” She said shyly. “Ye know, for everything ye done for us."
Elijah's eyes flicked between Mara and the tubers, his confusion slowly melting away into a wry smile as he flicked his hand in a beckoning motion. The action caused Mara’s Shyness to completely dissipate as she bounded forward and handed him the tubers with enthusiasm. "You really didn't have to, but thank you," Elijah said, accepting the gift.
Mara beamed at his response, clearly relieved. "It's the least I could do!” She said, with her tail wagging vigorously. “I couldn’t bear the thought of not makin’ amends with ye.”
Turning around, Elijah handed this plate of tubers to the salivating Engineer and watched as Yana bolted off his shoulder in an attempt to attack the pile of food. Shaking his head, Elijah turned back to Mara and the group of women with a bemused expression. "Hopefully they’ll leave me some," he commented.
“Ye can always come back and get more.” Mara replied with a coy. “I’ll let ye have all the service ye want.”
A chuckle escaped Elijah’s mouth as he ran a hand through his hair. "I might just take you up on that," he said with a smirk. "Your food isn’t the only thing I’m going to miss."
Mara's cheeks flushed deeply at Elijah's reply, her tail wagging even faster as she tried to play it cool. "Well, I'll be sure to make myself available whenever ye are in need of some company," she replied, propping up her supple chest.
Elijah couldn't help but let his eyes wander for a moment before meeting Mara's gaze again, a lopsided grin playing at the corners of his mouth. "I'll… keep that in mind as long as you promise not to try to get me killed again." he replied with a goofy tone that made the dog-girl giggle.
“So all I need to do is spread my legs if I’m ever in need of your forgiveness?” Azelines voice rang out from behind him as the blond Elf woman emerged from the ship still rubbing the sleepiness from her eyes.
With a mouth full of fried tubers, Bennett decided to chime in. “I told him his dick is going to eventually get him killed.” He said, beckoning the Ferfolks to place the other platters on a nearby box.
Bringing a hand up to press against his eyes, Elijah let out an annoyed groan before turning his attention towards the two. “Why do you have to make this weird?” He asked in exasperation. "It’s all about sincerity.”
Bennett snickered, shoving another tuber into his mouth. "Ah yes. You hear that Aze?” He continued in a mocking tone while elbowing Azeline in the ribs. “You need to put more effort in your apologies!"
Azeline smirked, her teasing nature starting to leak out. "Is that so? I guess I’ll make sure any future apologies come with… an appropriate amount of sincerity and effort." She said, striking a pose that was more satirical than seductive.
“Jesus Christ…” Elijah muttered under his breath while his two crewmates broke out into laughter. “I hate both of you.”
The laughter continued after successfully eliciting an annoyed response from their beleaguered captain. However, a quiet seemed to take over the deck as everyone's attention shifted towards the approaching Knight Captain. "So that's the type of man you are, Sir Eli-jah" Rhea remarked with a raised eyebrow. "I'll bear that in mind when you try to charm me with your honeyed words."
“Oh god damnit…” Elijah facepalmed and dragged his hand down his face as another roar of laughter erupted from everyone in the group.
Rhea’s hand was covering her mouth as she tried to suppress a chuckle. “A-Anyways…” She chortled. “We should be ready to sail any moment now, so make sure you’re all prepared for departure.” The woman said, walking off in the direction of the Helm while her shoulders shook in mirth.
Elijah just stood there for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Where the hell is Auri?” He asked no one in particular, his frustration starting to show.
“A-Ahh… H-Hello.”
Recognizing the voice, Elijah looked up to see a petite woman with bright red hair looking up at him expectantly while holding onto a large burlap sack. Glad to see that he at least didn’t have to go hunting for the dainty woman, Elijah let loose a heavy breath of relief. “Alright, I’ll go tell Lady Rhea-” He tried to say, but Auri interrupted him.
Auri squirmed nervously before asking, "Umm… Should I be worried that you also have designs on me?"
“Oh for fucks sake!” Elijah threw his arms up and let them slap against his thighs in frustration as the rest of the crew barked in laughter. "Let’s just go already!”
Yana however, completely ignored the incessant bickering and Instead, she hungrily finished off one of the smaller platters of tubers and chomped down on the last tiny morsel on the wooden plate. Sighing Contentedly, the Fairy’s gaze fell upon Mara and her small group of Ferfolks as they said their goodbyes and disappeared from view. In their place was the other, more fidgety whelping that always looked at her servants with gleeful eyes. The man was far weaker than the other, but at least he seemed somewhat reverent towards Eli and Ben.
In their stead, the more fidgety whelping appeared, the one who always seemed to look at Ben and Eli with eager eyes. Although this man seemed far weaker than his sibling, he at least displayed a measure of reverence towards her servants.
Turning her head up towards the clear blue sky, Yana placed a hand on her tiny belly and sighed contentedly. She couldn't wait to see what other delightful mortal delicacies or fanciful experiences she would get to experience in the future.
​
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Vivo V29 Lite Price In India

vivo V29 Lite price in India is expected to be ₹31,840. vivo V29 Lite launch date is speculated to be on July 3, 2023. The mobile will be available in multiple color variants.
Vivo V29 Lite Details
Display, Design, Security
The newest model in the V29 series from Chinese smartphone maker Vivo is the V29. This brand-new Vivo smartphone has a large 6.67-inch AMOLED display with vivid colours and fine detail. The display panel has a punch-hole cutout, a 20:9 aspect ratio, and Full HD+ resolution. The phone sports a 120Hz refresh rate, 395 PPI screen density, and tiny bezels on both sides. Additionally, the phone sports a side-mounted fingerprint sensor and a face unlock function that uses the selfie camera.
Processor, Storage, Software
The device's operating system is Funtouch OS 13, which is based on the Android 13 platform. Under the hood, the V29 Lite is powered by an Adreno 619 GPU and an octa-core Snapdragon 695 CPU. The smartphone has 128GB of built-in storage that can be increased to 512GB by using a microSD card. With 8GB of RAM, the gadget provides slick and fluid performance for all of your everyday work and entertainment requirements.
Dual-Camera Setup
The gadget has a twin camera arrangement on the rear. A 50MP primary camera with an f/1.89 aperture and OIS capability makes up the camera module. The 50MP sensor also includes a number of photographic settings and supports 4K video recording. A 2MP macro lens is included with the 50MP sensor. The smartphone sports a 16MP front-facing camera with an f/2.0 aperture.
Battery, Fast Charging, Connectivity
A 5,000mAh battery powers the Vivo V29 Lite and supports 33W rapid charging. The device supports 5G and offers Wi-Fi 802.11 b/g/n/ac, Bluetooth v5.3, GPS, 4G VoLTE, and a USB Type-C connector for communication.
The Latest Vivo V29 Lite News
Vivo V29 Lite 5G With 6.78-inch AMOLED 120Hz Display, Snapdragon 695 SoC Launched: Price, Specifications.
The 6.78-inch AMOLED screen on the Vivo V29 Lite 5G sports a Full HD+ resolution, curved edges, and a 120Hz refresh rate. The Snapdragon 695 processor within the handset powers it.
Vivo V29 Lite 5G: Design Renders Reveal Phone in Full Glory
An anticipated mid-range smartphone from the firm is the Vivo V29 Lite 5G. It is anticipated to go on sale in a number of locations in the upcoming weeks.
Vivo V29 Lite 5G: Design Renders and Specifications
A brand-new mid-range smartphone called the Vivo V29 Lite 5G will go on sale very soon. Online leaks include renderings of the phone's design.

Vivo V29 Lite Specifications

SUMMARY

Processor Chipset Qualcomm Snapdragon 695
RAM 8 GB
Rear Camera Triple (64MP + 2MP + 2MP)
Internal Memory 128 GB
Screen Size 6.78 inches (17.22 cms)
Battery Capacity 5000 mAh

PERFORMANCE

Chipset Qualcomm Snapdragon 695
No Of Cores 8 (Octa Core)
CPU 2.2GHz, Dual core, Kryo 6601.8GHz, Hexa Core, Kryo 660
Architecture 64-bit
Fabrication 6 nm
RAM 8 GB
Graphics Adreno 619

DESIGN

Height 6.47 inches (164.24 mm)
Width 2.94 inches (74.79 mm)
Thickness 0.31 inches (7.89 mm)
Weight 177 grams
Water Resistant Yes, Splash proof, IP54
Ruggedness Dust proof, Water proof
Screen Unlock Fingerprint, Face unlock

DISPLAY

Resolution 1080 x 2400 pixels
Aspect ratio 20:9
Display Type AMOLED
Size 6.78 inches (17.22 cms)
Bezel-less display Yes, with Punch-hole
Pixel Density 388 pixels per inch (ppi)
TouchScreen Yes, Capacitive, Multi-touch
Color Reproduction 16M Colors
Screen to body percentage 90.35 %

CAMERA

Rear camera setup Triple
Rear camera(Primary) 64 MP resolutionf/1.79 aperture
Rear camera(Secondary) 2 MP resolutionMacro lensf/2.4 aperture
Rear camera(Tertiary) 2 MP resolutionDepth lensf/2.4 aperture
Front camera setup Single
Front camera(Primary) 16 MP resolutionf/2.45 aperture
Flash LED Rear flash
Video Resolution(Front) 1920x1080 @ 30 fps
Optical Image Stabilization(OIS) Yes
Camera Features Auto FlashAuto FocusFace detectionTouch to focus
Shooting Modes Continuous ShootingHigh Dynamic Range mode (HDR)

BATTERY

Type Li-Polymer
Capacity 5000 mAh
Removable No
Fast Charging Yes, Flash, 44W

STORAGE

Internal Memory 128 GB
Memory type UFS 2.2
Expandable Memory Yes, microSD, Up to 1 TB (Hybrid Slot)

SOFTWARE

Operating System Android v13
Custom UI Funtouch OS

CONNECTIVITY

SIM Configuration Dual SIMSIM1: NanoSIM2: Hybrid
Network SIM1: 5G, 4GSIM2: 5G, 4G
SIM1 Bands5G: FDD N3 ; TDD N40
4G: TD-LTE 2300(band 40) ; FD-LTE 1800(band 3)
SIM2 Bands5G: FDD N3 ; TDD N40
4G: TD-LTE 2300(band 40) ; FD-LTE 1800(band 3)
Voice over LTE(VoLTE) Yes
Wi-Fi Yes, with b/g/n
Wi-fi features Mobile Hotspot
Bluetooth Bluetooth v5.2
USB USB Type-C, Mass storage device, USB charging
GPS Yes with A-GPS, Glonass
NFC Chipset Yes
Infrared Yes

SOUND

Speaker Yes
Audio Jack Yes, USB Type-C
Video Player Yes, Video Formats: MP4

SENSORS

Fingerprint sensor Yes, On-screen
Face Unlock Yes
Other Sensor Light sensor Proximity sensor Accelerometer Compass Gyroscope
​

I'm currently using a Logitech C920 camera to live-stream (via Zoom) some yoga classes at our studio. For each of these classes, the teacher has to set up a tripod, set up the (mac) laptop, run the USB extension cable over to the laptop and plug it in, then configure Zoom. It's a pain in the arse, and prone to user error in the (often rushed) setup process.
Additionally, the C920 quality isn't great generally; the zoom is slow and clunky, and it's pretty bad in low light scenarios. I know I'm using it for a different purpose than intended; there's probably 2-2.5m between the camera and the teacher, which isn't ideal for a webcam.
I'm looking to buy a camera, mount it from the ceiling, and use a USB- or HDMI-extender (ethernet or fibre) to run the cable to a fixed position where the laptop is. This would remove the requirement for the teacher to set up the tripod, run the cable/plug it in, set things up in Zoom etc.
I'm thinking of using a GoPro Hero 11 Black to replace the C920. It would be permanently mounted from the ceiling, and have a permanent power supply. I was intending to use the Media Mod to get a HDMI out from the camera, then run that to the laptop (via an extender), and use an Elgato capture card to get the video into Zoom.
We currently use a Rode Wireless Go mic pack for these classes, which is manually plugged into the laptop. I think, using the mic input on the Media Mod, I could permanently mount the Go receiver with the GoPro, and use the audio sent via the HDMI feed.
So - is this a feasible idea? Am I overcomplicating or over-engineering this solution? Is the GoPro a good camera for this sort of setup? Is anyone using a GoPro in a scenario like this, that can share their experience?
Thanks heaps!

My sleepless dream ends with an alarm, the pounding klaxon of mission start. The whirring of servos and pump of hydraulics brings my body to full readiness, ready for one last ticket.
The Woman from Angeri gave us this mission. She gave it to us and us alone. For the glory of all Mankind she said, strike at the heart of the Imperium. Bloody their nose in a way they’ll never forget.
The pilot, a good one from Yord, helps me get into gear. Everything from the combat armor, thrusters, and the ever-important Agamemnon device.
Myself and the rest of my team step into the waiting airlock, turning on the armor seals and tapping into the armor air reserves. The chamber depressurizes before the airlock finally opens. We jump outside the deployment vessel and switch our radios on, waiting for the signal to begin our descent to the world below.
“Mayday, Mayday, this is the Independent Trader Timberwolf,”
“Acknowledged Timberwolf, how may we assist,” came the response from the Imperial highport authorities.
“I don’t know, there seems to be an issue with the jump fuel li-” the captain began to say before the ship suddenly went up in a ball of white. The captain played her part beautifully, and the wreckage would act as our cover to hot drop onto the world.
Thrusters activate and I deploy my heat shield as I gun for the palace. The Coalition will be sorry to lose that pilot, she got us right over target.Now initially the Imps didn’t seem too perturbed. Debris from a ship that small would just burn up in atmosphere, no skin off their back, but they did get worried seeing five little metallic things drop from high orbit right over the palace. We made it to about cloud level before they scrambled fighters. Pretty good all be told.
Jond did his part too, he flipped around and pushed his thrusters to meet the oncoming jets. As he did so I activated the Agamemnon device. Jond got off about four rockets, splashing four of the jets, before he got taken out.
The rest flew around like headless chickens, this hot and heavy device strapped to my back cast out hundreds of false sensor pings for them to follow, blinding them in all capacities except the MK. 1 eyeball.
Even then, we were small, we were fast, and we were refracting light thanks to these cloaks. Imps never knew what hit em as we finally made touch down in the gardens of the palace. Asha, Nargör, and Dekan went to make a nuisance of themselves, sliver guns out and on the bounce.
The shoulder mounted plasma gun took out the main door, and some poor Imp standing behind it. I stormed into a room of Imperial marines, guns in hand, and practically as reflex I washed em out with hypersonic slivers. This ballistic computer was worth every penny of Coalition dime as I ripped holes into Imp after Imp.
One poor bastard even tried to knife me, as if a little knife is going to stop the one-ton steel abomination that is me. I ripped his head off and continued further into the palace. Everywhere I go is decorated with frescoes, paintings, and statues depicting all the glories of Mankind they revere, and everything that drove them to conflict with us. I find it a bit arrogant, but mine is not to question why.
A few Imps try to interrupt my thoughts, but again they are ripped apart by slivers on reflex. They even bothered to set-up a heavy laser emplacement at the end of the hallway, not that it does them any good. They burn through a decent chunk of my left arm as I rolled out of the way and down a side passage. A quick particulate grenade obscures their next shot, and a plas grenade silences the gun. That was a very quick response, clearly not enough though.
Pushing through a few more isolated bands of Imps, I find the rather gaudy throne room with its big golden doors. Left arm is at reduced effectiveness, and I can only guess that most of his personal guard is in the room with him.
Instead of walking through the front door, I push up to the ceiling. Hanging there I bore through it with a breaching charge, and emerge up on the roof. I find a rather surprised team of snipers who are quickly dispatched by my saka after I leap at them.
Dropping down from the skylight I make ready to dispatch the Emperor’s personal guard, only to find none. Just an old man on a gaudy throne.
“My sons and daughters have already evacuated the palace Coalition Man,”
“They were not our target,”
“Truly? You have far more restraint than my generals it would seem,"
“Call it a difference in philosophy,” I said, and at that the Emperor of the Empire of the Mind laughed long and deep.
“I know you find me repugnant Coalition Man, but would you honor a final request?”“Depends,”
“I wish to fall on my sword,”
“Then do it,” I said, to which the Emperor gave a simple nod.
There the Emperor drew from his throne a long blade, and succeeded in his final will. I took his head, and split his spine to ensure there was no recovery.
“Target eliminated. Adiri 1-5, report,”
“War Cabinet eliminated. Adiri 2,”
“Engaging the enemy. Adiri 3,”
“I am near overrun. Adiri 4,”
“Mission success, say your final prayers,”
No Imps come to avenge their emperor. Maybe they’re distracted? Or cowards. Either way, it seems I have a moment. I sit on this throne, this paltry thing of stone and gold that enables little men to end millions. Don’t know what I expected. It's a little vindicating to deliver the death he so flippantly affected back to him and his councilors, each of which could have schemed to prevent this. When my soul goes to Orz, to the living Void, I think he’ll find this all very funny. It's been long enough, I confirm the self-destruct order.
It burns for only a moment.
​
For another perspective of this conflict:
A Chance Meeting
​
Author's Note: If anyone understands why Reddit ruined my formatting three different ways when posting this that would be wonderful.

This piece recounts the first time I drank an ancient plant medicine called Ayahuasca. It comes from Amazonian tribes who consider it a sacred plant medicine with healing powers and, given what a hugely beneficial impact it has had on my life, I am very comfortable describing it as medicine.
One Saturday, in the spring of 2016 I was greeted by the medicine man himself with a big hug, let’s call him Blu. I came into his kitchen to be greeted by several women with slightly comical homemade, feather headdresses and couldn’t help but think I’d walked into a kid’s birthday party. In the garden, there was a small festival tent set up which had a hay bale altar with easter decorations.
The ceremony had around 30 other participants and 10 shamans. In the middle of the tent stood the medicine man’s wife, Sun who was very much the master of the ceremony. She had the most daring headdress, flowing orange robes and a rattle in her hand. She spoke to us with warm, friendly humour telling us that we would know the medicine had kicked in once her singing started to sound good!
She advised that each experience is unique and we should try not to have huge expectations, sometimes nothing at all happens the first time. Having waited five years for this day I was quietly confident that this would not be the case for me and boy was I right!
We went around the circle introducing ourselves and explained what we were hoping to get out of the ceremony. Focusing on your intent during a psychedelic experience is meant to help you get what you are looking for.
During my turn, I expressed my desire to regain my self-confidence and passion for the opportunities and women in my life to whom I never seem to be able to fully commit.
Once we had all shared, we learned that it was time to drink.
My heart was filled with profound forbearing and excitement as I went up to receive a small glass of harsh-tasting, brown liquid which certainly tasted like medicine!
I had a basic camping mattress and a duvet laid out for me which I snuggled into before pulling on my eye mask. I was on my back trying not to think too much about the medicine, whether it was working or maybe wouldn’t work while I meditated for an hour.
The shamans started singing and shaking rattles. One of the female shamans, Nubia had an incredibly beautiful soprano voice that stood out from the others. It was while listening to the song of the shamans that I started to feel a warm flow of energy along my limbs. I tried to dismiss it at first, thinking it might somehow be related to my fasting for 40 hours prior.
When I moved my eye mask to let some light into my eyes I saw the tent roof overlaid with a flowing grid of beautiful, metallic, geometric grids with multi-coloured light flowing through the lines. The Individual elements of the grid reflected every colour of the rainbow like oil on water’s surface and I started to feel joyful, like a child rolling through leaves on a warm autumn day.
Nubia started singing to us again and it was like nothing I’d ever heard. It was so beautiful and mesmerizing I didn’t want her to stop.
I could hear the people around me, some giggling and some vomiting or, purging medicine into their buckets. I checked myself, asking if should I purge but I felt a gentle presence speak inside of me saying: ‘No, you’re fine. Just relax.’

They call this presence Mother Ayahuasca. The reason people drink the brew is to speak with and receive her guidance.

My eye mask was back on my face and I turned into the fetal position with the duvet pulled over my head I felt exceptionally comfy with this strange yet familiar presence as I started to explore the un-intimidating hallucinogenic world within my mind. She showed me complex pictures of flowing energy with multicoloured lights in perfect alignment while I was gently gliding along, watching the beautiful colourful spectacle.
It was around this time that Sun asked into the ceremony if anybody would like a second dose. I slowly sat upright and looked around. I checked myself. Truthfully, I was enjoying the experience. I was slightly nervous that having more could take me to a deeper, darker place however I had mentally prepared myself for the full immersion experience.
The presence told me: ‘It’s okay. You can handle it. I’ll be gentle.’
So I pulled on my shoes, got up and slowly walked over feeling slightly wobbly. I was worried Sun might tell me I’d had enough but when I sat in front of her, she gave me a big smile and beckoned me towards her. The second dose was about half the previous one and tasted familiar, not quite as harsh.
After I got up I walked out of the tent into the house. Sitting in the small toilet I saw the walls gently rippling with energy and recognized the phenomenon from previous psychedelic experiences. I’ve experienced mild, LSD-induced hallucinations before but nothing quite as mesmerizing as watching bright sparks of colorful energy emerging from objects and pictures.
Snuggling back under my duvet I listened to the rattles and felt myself floating deeper into the kaleidoscopic universe seeing my own body curled up but instead of my skin and flesh, I saw myself as streaming veins of energy. Millions of thin fibre optic threads pulsated with warm healing energy which outlined my body.
I felt myself lying on the floor in the jungle with mystical symbols and ineffable tribal figures around me. I felt like I was in a different, timeless dimension however I was surprisingly lucid and could snap out of it to check myself with ease. At some point I had to giggle as my boring pragmatist made the smart-ass remark, ‘You’re not lying in the jungle. You’re in a garden less than 100 meters from the Thames estuary!’
I had my eyes closed for most of the afternoon. I was seeing ever richer patterns. When I opened my eyes the patterns were still there but they were overlaid on the reality in front of my eyes. I could change them with the blink of an eye or bring back shapes I had seen previously.
I started thanking this entity for showing me all this beauty and felt the urge to reciprocate. I revealed some personal memories but they looked so very different. It seemed like they had a photo filter applied that filled the memory with golden light as they came alive with breathtaking beauty, streaming with colourful energy. I visited various life moments and it felt like entering into a photo and suddenly being there on that day!
I was there sitting in our garden at home. Once again I was a chubby baby covering my face with baked beans. I was actually there! I was picking the baked beans off my face and pushing them, one by one into my mouth.
They say that Mother Ayahuasca is a deep ancient spirit and I always imagined her as a deeply serious, majestic queen. I started wondering what she might look like… and so she appeared.
She was stern but not an old woman. Aya was young, perfectly matched to my age and exceptionally beautiful. She had long, smooth brown hair and big beautiful eyes filled with power and inspiration. As I looked closer at her exquisite face I realized that her features were constantly changing complexion. Her skin cycled from Amazonian to Latin to Nubian to Oriental and Mediterranean. She was outlined by swirling rainbow-coloured curls of light. The rest of her naked body only came into being when I directly looked at it. I realize that she was not one woman but a combination of every beautiful woman I’ve ever felt attracted to. I wanted her. She wanted me. We kissed and whirled around as we floated through my Entheoverse. My body of swirling rainbow energy flowed into her and hers into mine and this is how we made love passionately.
I had visions of us being on a summer weekend getaway in a stylish city. We lay in luxurious hotel rooms and I remember a cream-coloured clock on the wall, with Roman numerals but no hands to tell the time. I was dressed smartly as I led her by her hand into classy restaurants that had champagne poured, waiting by our table. It was like we were on a never-ending date, teleporting from one experience into the next, eloping while taking our time to enjoy each other’s energy, and passionately loving one another.
Afterwards, she lay in my arms and I asked what else she could show me and she replied; ‘What else would you like me to show you?’ I wasn’t prepared for this and my mind went a bit blank realizing that I could do anything, go anywhere in space and time I wanted.
I asked her; ‘Can you help me find my confidence?’
There was no clear answer. Instead, I had the random idea to become the temple stem of my friend Julio’s glasses. I looked at him from the bit next to the hinge and I could see him put the glasses on in the morning, and take them off at night and in the reflection of his right eye, I saw him coming home and watched his beautiful daughter jumping into his arms. Then I saw on his eyeball the reflection of me walking into the room and a felt warm glow spread through me.
Next, I visited my baby nephew sitting in my brother’s living room, in his red chair. I crossed my hands on my chest like he does and saw my brother and his wife smiling at me giving me warm hugs but more than seeing their faces while they hugged my body I could feel the way they felt when they put their arms around me and press me to their chests.
I saw all my brother’s smiles and happy faces as we jollied about, trying to make each other laugh as we do. I visited all my closest friends, took in their smiles and one by one, as I hugged each of them, I could feel their love for me.

Later I realized that Aya was indeed trying to give me confidence by showing me how much the people in my life care for me

I visited the girl I had just started dating called Anna whose raw energy I find simply irresistible. I came into her new apartment that I’d never visited before. She was standing in sexy lingerie by a floor-to-ceiling window looking down onto the busy Tottenham Court road. I remember her turning her beautiful face as I approached, touching it with ten fingers and kissing her lips passionately as we erupted into rainbow swirls of energy.
I also visited my ex-girlfriend Jo, whose body and spiritual mind I still loved but whose soul is too damaged by the fear of rejection and tough mental armour I never managed to vanquish.
She was asleep in our white room in LA that she had so carefully decorated and I spooned my energy into her little body. She woke and we cuddled and kissed and I said I was sorry it didn’t work out between us and she replied; ‘It’s ok. I wasn’t ready for you…’
I asked Aya if we had made the right decision to stop forcing it and just be friends and felt her nod wisely.
At some point, I remember all three of us lying in bed together but instead of feeling like the king of the world, I felt like a greedy pig.
One of the underlying themes of the whole journey was how slowly gently and unhurried everything felt and I think the lesson I was meant to learn was that it’s ok to not settle right now — I thought I just haven’t found the one, the right woman to share my life with…
Aya kept giving me gentle advice throughout. I asked her about the stimulants I love such as cannabis, coffee and alcohol but instead of the stern telling-off I was secretly hoping to receive she told me; ‘You know they don’t serve you when you abuse them but they are also a part of what shaped you… Take care of the beautiful body you have been given.’
She repeated many times; Take care of yourself more… take care.
I asked Aya how I could find the power to harness my mind which has always been blessed and cursed with a distracting imagination and to keep my lack of attention from killing my dreams.
Instantly, I saw an unreal version of myself.
I was standing in something like a black shiny display window, straight out of a Mercedes advert. This guy was not merely a little bit better than I am now and I realized that the version staring back at me was my best self!
That guy is sharp, he is determined, and he dresses immaculately. That guy knows exactly what he is doing. When he enters the room, people notice his presence from the invisible halo that brightly surrounds him.
I asked Aya, how I could become him and the answer became clear. That guy works. He knows exactly where his energy comes from and all of a sudden I understood — The confident image he projects comes from the love he feels for himself which makes him look loved and successful in other people’s eyes. There is no room for distraction because that guy knows his worth and knows his purpose.
She gave me such a clear image of myself. I can still see myself standing motionless in the black, shiny shop window with rainbow-coloured fibre optic strains lighting the air that gently flowed around me.
How long I lay like that is impossible to say but I guess it was around 5–6 hours but it felt like an eternity of journeying into myself.
But it wasn’t all just warm energy and neon colours. I distinctly remember at some point realizing, it was time to go to the toilet. Afterwards, I walked back into the garden and found the Ewok-faced little terrier yapping at me. I laughed at him as I noticed the blue silver and chrome energy swirls around his head and ears. I couched down to see if I could pacify him but I suddenly became aware that his barking must be interfering with other people’s experiences. I turned to hurry into the tent as one of the shamans came out, to tell off the dog saying; ‘What’s wrong doggy, he’s alright!’ As I walked into the tent there were certainly more people sitting upright than when I had left and I read some irritated expressions on people’s faces, at least three people got up and walked out.
I lay down in shame but all my friend’s energy avatars ran up to me saying ‘It’s fine!’ as they doggy piled on top of me. It made me feel better. I felt them warm the cold shame out of me and I began relaxing again. I played around as before but the energy had markedly changed, it didn’t feel as light-hearted anymore. It was heavier and more serious. I was feeling the effects of the medicine becoming even stronger so I decided to sit up but when I opened my eyes, I saw Nubia hit the deck at my feet on a hastily arranged bed after having just purged into a bucket. I could see vomit in her black wavy hair as I started to think, ‘…oh dear if even the shamans are starting to falter, I’m in trouble.’
I didn’t know what to do. I tried to lie back down again. I asked Aya to help me, as she had several times previously when I’d gotten a little bit frightened but this time I could not sense her presence and I knew why. I had to go through this for myself.
It felt like I was sitting in a shopping trolley, rolling down a steep hill toward darkness, realizing as it picked up speed and bucked to and fro that this had been a bad decision, a dangerous idea and the only way it would end would be for the momentum to collide with suffering.
I needed help so I weakly put up my hand and within a few seconds, one of the shamans sat down next to me. She was wearing a white feather dress and occoured to me like an angel. She helped me sit up and as soon as I was sitting upright I began to retch. She passed me my bucket which I gratefully barfed into…
After I purged I felt better. My angel asked me if I felt okay again and I asked her to stay with me and hold my hand for a while longer, which she did. I gently leaned over and rested my head on her feathery bosom and felt a sense of peace and strength flow back into me. I saw my energy self, the swirling electrons of light curling my limbs as I sat cross-legged, hunched over like a bear cub being cradled by his mother bear.
She helped me lie back down and I started to return to my technicoloured dream state. I asked Aya if we could make love again and she said ‘Of course’ but it felt different, when I opened my inner eye to see the face of the person I was entangled with I saw my own. Aya had taken on my form and this might well be the strangest thing I’ve ever written but I was exceptionally attracted to myself and I realized that this could be how girls who are in bed with me see me. I could feel the burning desire a girl feels when we make love. It felt strange but also good.

They said Ayahuasca show you not what you want to see but rather what you need to see at any specific point in your life.

I visited countless friends, some people no longer in my life becouse we have grown apart and even those whose who have passed away. I visited my German grandparents and told them how much I loved them.
While I cuddled Oskar, the dog I grew up with, and played with him in our garden I looked up to see my dad approach us with tears in his eyes. I knew what he was going to say. When he told me that my grandmother had died I didn’t run away in confusion as I had on that day, instead, I went to hug my mom and for the first time, I empathized with the pain she had felt in that moment of hearing that her mother had passed.
I visited my friend Keith whose passing I have always felt a slight responsibility for since I know he read my travel blog and went to Costa Rica a month after I’d been there where he swam out to sea and drowned. I hugged him tightly and cried gently but he grabbed me firmly by the shoulders and said; ‘It wasn’t you! It wasn’t you…’
I visited my old school friend Alex who I had not been close to but whose misfortune to be on flight 447 still touched me. I told him and his beautiful fiance whom I’d never met that I was so sorry for them having been so frightened when they died but instead of me comforting them, they hugged and comforted me as I lay there silently crying for the people I missed. But it was not painful. Quite the opposite, it felt cathartic, like I was letting out the pain and healing myself.
At some point, while it was still light out Sun said “OK, I know that some of you are still on your journey but we will start having some food soon so if you want to share what you experienced now is the time.” I listened to some of the reports.
Several people said that they had a very rough ride because they had tried to fight it. One girl even said she was convinced she was dying. I felt very lucky and grateful for my gentle, warm ride through my multi-coloured Enthenoverse and wondered if I would ever return…
When it was my turn I said that I had finally been able to see how my friends and family see me and why they think I am awesome which will give me the confidence to finally believe that I am awesome (that got a laugh :). I also shared my new appreciation for how profoundly beautiful my life has been up until now and hoped that it will give me the strength to stop comparing myself to others, to focus on my own path and become my best self.

10 weeks later

My life has undeniably changed over the last 10 weeks.
The following day I drove back to my rented shepherd’s hut in a nature reserve and had an exceptionally rich experience walking through the marshes. The sun was shining and everything seemed so intensely beautiful. I was moved just by watching something as simple as a male and a female bird fly across the water in perfect sync. It made me well up emotionally.
I’ve cried a lot recently and I believe it’s a good thing. I cry on most days.
Usually, it happens when I see someone doing something kind and for a brief moment I get overwhelmed and shed a tear. But again, they are not tears of pain they are usually tears of joy and I feel like I have become much more in touch with my emotions.
It feels like bringing Aya’s female spirit into my awareness has tripped a switch in my brain making me more feminine, hence a more complete human being. I’ve also started to care more about my appearance. My mum commented recently that I looked different and she is right. I’ve been working out more. I get my hair cut more frequently and I’ve even gone and bought new clothes that dress me with more style, even when it’s not particularly necessary.
My work attitude has also changed. I find myself a lot more productive and capable of operating at a higher level while enjoying the entire experience so much more!
I honestly feel more in control of my life. I feel focused on who I am, who I can become and what I can achieve. Previously my decisions in life seemed more vague and fuzzy.
Above all, I feel the happiest that I have felt since childhood. The last 10 weeks have been almost like a too-good-to-be-true dream for me.
I’m also positively influencing the people around me. My grandfather wrote me the following sentence after my most recent visit.
You have this mysterious gift of raising the spirits of people both just by being there and by your gift of empathy.

Epilogue

I have indeed had more Ayahuasca ceremonies since I first wrote this and even though there was a 4 year gap between my 4th and my 5th experience I have felt the effect compound over time. I will be publishing more of my trip reports over on medium and would appreciate your supporting me by following me over there where I also publish contant whihc is not just psychedilic in nature. https://medium.com/@hi_niels

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“Pete knows what he saw, Martha!”

“Bunch ‘a frightened children ain’t exactly the--”

A door slammed shut.

Clark Kent, only a young boy, squeezed his eyes shut until it hurt and pressed his hands against his ears until his temples throbbed.

One step after the other. Heavy. Crunching grass.

“You think I’m an idiot, Martha?!”

“Now, I never said that.”

The pained look on Clark’s face softened -- softened, so it could be remolded into a whimper while the rest of his body stiffened.

“He ain’t done nothing wrong, all I’m saying is--”

“All you’re saying is that you’d rather not talk about it!”

“There’s nothing to talk about!”

Then why wouldn’t they stop talking! All of these voices, the thousand-million voices screaming at him, and all Clark could hear were the two arguing over him! Him!

A long, creaking groan. Wood shuddering.

“CLARK!”

The word, his name, knocked the other two sources of dismay from his head, an instant of soothing comfort before the pain took hold again and even more intensely, now as if he were pressing his head against a bass booster. “Pa!” Clark cried out, only to regret it as quickly as he had acted on the impulse.

“CLARK!”

His father called for him again and, judging from what should have been the imperceptible way the wind whistled, began dashing around in search of him; it took nothing less than an eternity for Pa to finally find him and one thunderous thwump after the other to finally lay eyes on him.
Pa pulled down the last barrel of hay -- Clark had stacked some around himself in an attempt to muffle the noise -- before breathing a sigh of relief; little did he know, it was a veritable wind storm to his son. “Remember…” he made sure to whisper, his small crisis finally abetting, if only a little. “This is all you. You’re inside your own head and that’s making it so much worse. You are the one in control.”
Clark’s only response was a strangled noise and to curl up further into himself.
To that, Pa felt his own throat tighten. “So open your eyes, son, get on back to the rest of the world… I’m right here.” He extended his hand, gently nudging Clark.
Again, no response and, again, Pa’s throat tightened, twisting and winding until the strain became too much to bear, and finally snapped loose under the pressure.

“DAMNIT, CLARK!”

He burst out, the sudden snap of tension giving each word a trembling quality as it all came pouring out. And then Clark flinched, like all boys do when they’re scared or hurt or both, and the dam was suddenly closed again, sealed with a silent promise.
“Son, I--” Pa stammered, his voice the sort of wreck so mired with cracks and creaks that it was a miracle it held together at all. “I didn’t--”
It was then that Clark finally stirred, hands at last unwrapping themselves from around his head, which peaked up ever so slightly to look out beyond his hay-fort at his father. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice so small that Pa struggled to hear it.
His body screamed a thousand different things to say, but he knew that just was the last thing Clark needed right now. So, fighting back to the calm, measured tone he had managed just a scant few moments ago, Pa said, “You best not be sorry, you ain’t done nothing wrong,” and pulled his son out from his refuge.
“Seriously?” Clark seemed dumbfounded by the statement, so much so that he even resisted the tug, if only for a passing second. “You seen what’s happening back there?” He jabbed a finger towards the house. “It’s all me. Literally. They’re arguing about me. ‘Cuz I-I’m some sort of freak or something!”
Pa was quick to correct him. “You ain’t no different from any other boy I ever met.”
He was met with a piercing glare from his son.
“You know what I mean, aside from your gifts--”
“How the hell’re these supposed to be gifts!” Clark threw up his hands in his best attempt at exasperation, but even an ear without super hearing could hear how his throat stiffened with each word.
Pa smiled, shrugging. “Able to race the car, leap the barn in a single bound…”
“But I don’t want to do any of that!” he said, voice finally breaking. “And w-when it comes with stuff like… this…! I just wanna be Clark Kent: Pete and Lana’s friend. Your and Ma’s son. Not some freak!”
“Clark--!” A cross of anger and dread flared in Pa’s voice, and he caught himself from pulling Clark into a hug. Swallowing hard, he instead summoned the warmest smile he could, ruffling the boy’s hair.

“You are my son, but you are so much more than that too.”

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DC Next Proudly Presents…!

SUPERMAN: HOUSE OF EL

The Return of Superman - Part 3, Moving at Super Speed
By JPM11S
Edited by ClaraEclair & Deadislandman1
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To say silence hung thick in the air would have been an understatement, because even silence was something more than being frozen in a single, inescapable instant: Kal-El staring down the man clutching his throbbing hand, the man’s friend looking on flush-faced, and the rest of the establishment bracing for whatever happened next. It was a rare thing that Jon Kent found himself slipping into Bullet Time on accident -- a state of heightened awareness where the world seemed to grow still around him -- and an even rarer thing that it should happen when a bright red cape wasn’t slung around his shoulders; simply put, as an instinctual reaction to being threatened, there needed to be, well, something that could threaten him, and there weren’t very many things that seriously could: Kryptonite, which Jon was confident wasn’t in play, and being yelled at, which he couldn’t have even known.
It was then that it dawned on him, so obvious that the muscles and tendons along Jon’s arm tensed in anticipation of slapping himself upside the head before he stopped himself -- a small thunderclap born from his own embarrassment was likely to only make the feeling worse. ‘Just an adrenaline rush…’ Jon explained to no one but himself. ‘Because… you know… watching dad do… that.’ The recently appeared doppelganger of his father had broken a man’s finger to “teach him a lesson” -- something his father most certainly would not have done; what he would have done, and what Jon was currently doing, was take a deep, relaxing breath, easing the stress away so that he could “hit play” on the rest of the world.
It came as something of a mild surprise when… nothing happened; Jon panicked, doing a double take as the terrible thought sprung into his mind: What if this was something else, some time-weapon unleashed just then on the city? Or what if he had failed to slow himself down? Would he be forced to wander the world a waking ghost? Jon shook his head, knocking such silly notions from his mind -- and also getting the attention of Natasha Irons.
“Something up?” she asked, broken from her spellbound trance.
Jon blinked. “Nope. Nothing.” The Ace ‘o Clubs could be a little rough around the edges, so what didn’t even qualify as a minor scuffle at the bar hardly registered with many of the patrons, who merely kept about their business as if nothing had happened -- because, to them, nothing had. Jon shook his head again, chidding himself for thinking that a cursory glance in that general direction had been any real indication of interest; his own bias, he supposed.
Kal-El returned to the table, his sheer weight and size making it known despite the fact that Jon’s attention had been elsewhere. No one said anything, and it took the visitor from another world a few passing seconds to realize that fact -- like they were all waiting for him to do something.
Kal looked up, a look of restrained puzzlement on his face.
Lois’s lips went thin. “What was that?”
“What was… what?” Kal-El’s eyes darted across everyone’s face, searching for an answer.
Irons nudged him gently.
“Wait, really?” he almost recoiled, tilting his chin up and cocking his head, confusion finally overtaking him. “I--”
“Was wrong.” Lois finished the sentence for him. “The hell were you thinking?!”
Jon and Natasha exchanged looks.
Kal-El shrugged it off. Literally. “The way I see it, a broken finger or two isn’t going to impede him in any real way, while also being something he’s not going to just forget.”
“So that makes it alright?!” insisted Lois, leaning forward.
“...yes?” he answered. “Though I feel like that’s… not the answer you wanted.”
“That’s not how we do things here.”
At that moment, with just how each word was frozen in a block of ice, Jon could have swore his mom had spontaneously developed Frost Breath; ironically, that was what inspired him to finally intervene. “You know, mom,” he explained, “In class, the professors always talked about how different all these cultures were from each other: food, clothing, language, medicine, you get the idea… Their sense of justice, how they handled punishments and such… that was one of the big ones too. Judeo-Christian morality versus something like Hammurabi's ‘an eye for an eye.’” He paused, making sure his mom was actually listening. “So, you know, on Kal’s Earth, maybe that was perfectly acceptable. Heck, there’re a lot of people here who would agree with him.”
Lois stopped to consider her answer, though it seemed more an imitation of the action than a genuine attempt. “He’s here now, and that wouldn’t make it right if he wasn’t.”
“Listen, I’m really sorry if--” Kal-El raised his hands in apology.
“No, no,” Jon waved him off, gaze never breaking from his mom. “You can’t just force your values onto another culture.”
“Like he forced that guy’s finger back?” she countered, rising to the bait. “Seems like that’s exactly what you’re talking about.”
“If I was talking about him right now, sure, but I’m talking about you,” insisted Jon. “You’re just doing the same thing you’re complaining about him doing.”
Lois lowered her chin, motioning towards herself. “So, wait, I’m the one who’s done something wrong here?”
“The both of you, yes.”
“So you’re saying it was perfectly alright?”
“I just said it wasn’t.”
“Oh, so you’re not judging him based on your own values?”
Jon shook his head, grinning. “You’re trying to distract from the point!”
“No, I just think the entire argument is flawed, since by criticizing someone like that, you’re inherently impressing your own values on them,” she explained. “You know, the thing you’re taking issue with.”
“But you’re from the same culture as I am: he isn’t.”
“He isn’t sitting right here, yes…” Kal-El groaned.
Lois and Jon kept going like he wasn’t.
“He’s impressing his own cultural values on someone from another.”
“Right, and I agree, but I’m taking issue with you right now, because--”
“Because it’s time for this conversation to end,” Irons finally interjected, much to the audible relief of Kal and Natasha, whose shoulders visibly relaxed. “Seriously, I think I speak for all of us when I say I can hardly follow what you two are going on about.”
“We’re saying--” Jon and Lois began in unison, only to be cut off with a raised hand.
“We’ll manage without it,” he chuckled.
There was a brief lull in the conversation, a time where the most activity was Jon’s eyes scampering about the place and the beat of Kal-El’s fingers against the table. Eventually, Jon’s gaze locked onto something or, more accurately, the lack of something.
With his mouth hung open just slightly, Jon asked, “Hey, did anyone notice Mr. Bibbowski?”
“Yeah,” Natasha spoke up, glancing around the table. “Didn’t you guys’s see?”
She took the blank stares as a no.
“Didn’t you guys catch the sign-note-thing?”
More blank stares.
“Okay, seriously, two of you have literal super senses and the other two are, like, super geniuses.” Nat waved her hands around. “You know what, doesn’t matter. I’m getting off topic. Bibbo’s in the hospital. The sign was about raising money.”
“What?” Lois pressed, immediately leaning forward. “What’s wrong?”
His gaze a million miles away -- or, more accurately, only a few -- Jon answered first. “Lung cancer. He’s in Metropolis General. Room 414.”
Irons chewed his lip, then looked up directly into Jon’s eyes. “First thing tomorrow, you pay him a visit, ‘kay?”
“But I was just going to now…?” Jon cocked his head. “What don’t I know about?”
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In retrospect, the thought that Kal-El would need somewhere to stay really should have occurred to him sooner than it had -- well, that might have been putting it a little too generously: had occurred to him at all. To be fair, though, it wasn’t every day that you met your deceased father from another world, though, also to be fair, he dealt with weirder things on a regular basis.
The Fortress of Solitude, Superman’s icy abode at the top of the world and one of the scant few remaining pieces of Krypton, seemed the most logical place to house Kal while they worked on returning him -- and everyone else -- back to the proper Earth, and it seemed that Jon wasn’t the only one who thought so. Following their malaise-laiden departure from the Ace ‘o Clubs, it was the immediate destination of the not-so-merry band, traveling up across the globe to it’s frosty doorstep, where they needed Jon to heft the Fortress’s giant, golden key above his head and unlock an equally gargantuan front door. The key was made of Supermanium, a metal forged by Clark from the heart of a dying star, and weighed an incalculable millions of tons, the only security measure needed despite it sitting out in the open.
Jon slotted the end of the key bearing the Crest of El into the groove, turning it to trigger the rumblings of icy shards as they peeled back to reveal a wall of blinding, cleansing white light. The group took a step forward, entering into another world -- almost literally: born of materials not of Earth and minds born far from it, the Fortress resembled something best described as an alien, crystalline landscape. The ground was a maze of large, roughly hexagonal spires with smoothly shorn tops, each of which peaked at a slightly different elevation and tapered off in the distance to create a sheer drop; at the edge of that cliff sat a circular array of crystals gently pulsing with light and humming just barely above perception. Placed around what was assumedly the central chamber of the Fortress, judging from the hewn hallway entrances at the perimeter, were trophies and mementos from Clark’s decades-spanning career as Superman, items ranging from the mundane, like Lex Luthor’s shrinking ray, to the absurd, such as psychic sand from the dimension of Quarm, to the profound, like the precious Bottled City of Kandor, a shrunken Kryptonian city rescued from the clutches of the vile Brainiac many years ago.
Kal-El loosed a low whistle. “Wow,” he said, eyes flitting about the place, jumping from the looming pillars that came together to form an arched ceiling, to the large, gaping voids dotted around where the spires didn’t conjoin. “It’s so… clean.”
“Come again?” Jon quirked a brow.
With a flutter of his cape and a look that Jon almost mistook for melancholy, Kal-El raised several inches above the ground and began drifting between the various exhibits on display. “Clean. See, I… I live in my… Fortress of Solitude, so--”
Jon finished for him. “Like a dirty room.”
“Exactly,” Kal looked up from the display and flashed him a subtle smile. “Like a dirty room.”
Lois, unable to fly and wearing shoes ill-begotten for her husband’s arctic-O.S.H.A.-violation, carefully stepped across one hexagonal tile to the next until she finally approached the black-suited Superman. “Little lonely living at the top of the world, no?”
“It is called the Fortress of Solitude.” There was a slight edge to his voice, though Lois could tell it wasn’t one pointed towards her. “Maybe, I wanted to be alone.”
Lois cocked her hip, rested her hand on it, and considered for a long moment pressing deeper, giving in to the gut screaming at her that this was the thing to pick at. Her heart, though… her heart counseled now was not the time, and she had long since learned the wisdom of always following her heart. “If you’re looking for solitude, we might have brought you to the wrong place,” she suggested instead.
In the same manner Jon had not a moment ago, Kal quirked a brow. “What do you mean?”
“A thousand apologies.” From across the room, a voice not unlike his carried, though distorted to an almost unnatural bass and strained with what was best described as someone fighting hard against a thick accent. “If I had been expecting guests, I would have prepared something for you all to enjoy.”
The comparisons to Clark and Kal-El didn’t end with just the man’s voice; while his face and form were the same general shape, his skin was ashen and craggy, like a smooth stone. With every step forward he took, the mass of rippling, coiled muscle underneath his purple-blue Superman t-shirt strained against their confines. “Ah, I see we have another visitor, unless my brother decided death didn’t suit him.” He inclined his head, placing a large hand over his even larger chest. “For now, you can call me Bizarro.”
Natasha, a gleaming smile on her face, chimed in. “We’ve been working on choosing a name!” she said, bounding towards the behemoth and wrapping herself around one of his hulking arms.
Bizarro returned the affection as best he could. “It was Nat’s idea. We were watching Space Trek: Pathfinder one night and--”
“And I was there too,” Jon interjected.
“And Jon was there too,” he chuckled. “But one of the characters was searching for a name and, considering the circumstances, it seemed appropriate that I do the same.”
Floating over towards Bizarro, Kal-El dragged his sight up and down the man, the doppelganger of his enemy from another world, eyeing him with a mix of reservation and curiosity. Eventually, Kal paused on the Crest of El worn on his chest. “You’re not like mine.”
Bizarro nodded. “In one key respect, yes. I’m not as--”
“Dumb.”
“Slow,” he finished, correcting him with a side-eyed glance. “While Jon was working a case with the Flash, Mister Allen devised a way to ‘speed up’ my thought processes.” (Author’s Note: See The Flash #19!) Bizarro paused for several more long moments, looking at Kal like he had to him not a second ago before shaking his head, seemingly perishing the thought. “You’ve met me,” he said, smiling. “Have you had the chance to meet our other housemate?”
Kal cocked his head. “Other housemate?” He threw his eyes behind Bizarro, expecting someone else to enter the chamber, but no one came. “Another reformed villain?”
“Your cousin,” Jon interjected, taking a step forward. “Kara. She got here only a few months ago.”
The spark of joy on Kal’s face lived up to its description: appearing in a bright instant, only to vanish as soon as it came, replaced now by a deeply furrowed brow, emphasizing the lines on the man’s face. “How’s she taking the adjustment? Losing one world, then another, I can’t--” Kal cut himself off when he saw Jon’s eyes widen slightly and his mouth open in response: he didn’t need to wait for the correction he was about to receive. “She’s not from another Earth like me… Where is she? I’d like to meet her.”
Lois shrugged. “She’s busy in National City right now, if I remember correctly, but--”
Irons stepped behind Lois, his hulking form framing her. “But we’d like to wait a minute and figure out how to break the news to her first.”
“No,” Kal said, every muscle in his powerful body visibly tensing, rearing. “She needs my help! You don’t understand what it’s like! You’re not like her! None of you, not really. Only I can understand.”
With a withering look, Irons replied. “You’ve never even met her, how can you know better than her own family?”
“I am her family,” asserted Kal, beginning his ascent into the air. “I helped my Kara through this once already, I can do it again.”
“And you’re the problem! You know how much she’s going through right now?!” Irons shouted up at him. “You died! The person she was sent here to protect! Dead! And now here you are in the flesh and blood! She’s got a lot to process already without that!”
There was a lengthy bout of silence between Kal and everyone else, only coming to an end when the otherworldly Man of Steel asked, “And who’s going to stop me if I try anyway?”
Jon swallowed.
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To be continued in Superman: House of El #4, Don’t Call her Supergirl!

1. Digital Storage (Memory) 12.1. Why digital? The advantages of the digital systems over the analog systems are the reproducibility of the results and accuracy; the ease of design (no special math skills needed to visualize the behavior of small digital logic circuits); the flexibility and functionality; the programmability; the speed (a digital logic element can produce an output in less than 10 nanoseconds) and the economy (due to the integration of millions of digital logic elements on a single miniature chip forming low cost integrated circuit (ICs). 12.2. Digital Memory Terms and Concepts data – stored information address – the location of the data

tracks and sectors – physical location of the data random access – to address quickly and precisely a specific data location within the device sequential access – the function of the random access is not possible here writing – storing a piece of data to a memory device reading – retrieving data from a memory device read-only memory (ROM) – pre-written memory device, that does not allow the writing of new data read-write memory – pre-written or blank memory device, that allows to be re- written volatile memory – an electric power is maintained to the circuit non-volatile memory – no source of power is needed to maintain data storage random access memory (RAM) – volatile electronic memory read-only memory (ROM) – non-volatile memory integrated circuit 12.3. Modern Nonmechanical Memory A very simple type of electronic memory is the bistable multivibrator. Capable of storing a single bit of data, it is volatile (requiring power to maintain its memory) and very fast. The D-latch is probably the simplest implementation of a bistable multivibrator for memory usage, the D input serving as the data “write” input, the Q output serving as the “read” output, and the enable input serving as the read/write control line:
If we desire more than one bit’s worth of storage, we’ll have to have many latches arranged in some kind of an array where we can selectively address which one (or which set) we’re reading from or writing to. Using a pair of tristate buffers, we can connect both the data write input and the data read output to a common data bus line, and enable those buffers to either connect the Q output to the data line (READ), connect the D input to the data line (WRITE), or keep both buffers in the High-Z state to disconnect D and Q from the data line (unaddressed mode). One memory “cell” would look like this, internally: When the address enable input is 0, both tristate buffers will be placed in high- Z mode, and the latch will be disconnected from the data input/output (bus) line. Only when the address enable input is active (1) will the latch be connected to the data bus. Every latch circuit, of course, will be enabled with a different “address enable” (AE) input line, which will come from a 1-of-n output decoder:
In the above circuit, 16 memory cells are individually addressed with a 4- bit binary code input into the decoder. If a cell is not addressed, it will be disconnected from the 1-bit data bus by its internal tristate buffers: consequently, data cannot be either written or read through the bus to or from that cell. Only the cell circuit that is addressed by the 4-bit decoder input will be accessible through the data bus. This simple memory circuit is random- access and volatile. Technically, it is known as static RAM. Its total memory capacity is 16 bits. Since it contains 16 addresses and has a data bus that is 1 bit wide, it would be designated as a 16 x 1 bit static RAM circuit. As you can see, it takes an incredible number of gates (and multiple transistors per gate) to construct a practical static RAM circuit. This makes the static RAM a relatively low-density device, with less capacity than most other types of RAM technology per unit IC chip space. Because each cell circuit consumes a certain amount of power, the overall power consumption for a large array of cells can be quite high. Early static RAM banks in personal computers consumed a fair amount of power and generated a lot of heat, too. CMOS IC technology has made it possible to lower the specific power consumption of static RAM circuits, but low storage density is still an issue. To address this, engineers
turned to the capacitor instead of the bistable multivibrator as a means of storing binary data. A tiny capacitor could serve as a memory cell, complete with a single MOSFET transistor for connecting it to the data bus for charging (writing a 1), discharging (writing a 0), or reading. Unfortunately, such tiny capacitors have very small capacitances, and their charge tends to “leak” away through any circuit impedances quite rapidly. To combat this tendency, engineers designed circuits internal to the RAM memory chip which would periodically read all cells and recharge (or “refresh”) the capacitors as needed. Although this added to the complexity of the circuit, it still required far less componentry than a RAM built of multivibrators. They called this type of memory circuit a dynamic RAM, because of its need of periodic refreshing. Recent advances in IC chip manufacturing have led to the introduction of flash memory, which works on a capacitive storage principle like the dynamic RAM but uses the insulated gate of a MOSFET as the capacitor itself. Before the advent of transistors (especially the MOSFET), engineers had to implement digital circuitry with gates constructed from vacuum tubes. The enormous comparative size and power consumption of a vacuum tube as compared to a transistor made memory circuits like static and dynamic RAM a practical impossibility. Other, rather ingenious, techniques to store digital data without the use of moving parts were developed. 12.4. Historical, Nonmechanical Memory Technologies Perhaps the most ingenious technique was that of the delay line. A delay line is any kind of device which delays the propagation of a pulse or wave signal. The delay line “stores” data on a very temporary basis if the signal is not strengthened periodically, but the very fact that it stores data at all is a phenomenon exploitable for memory technology. Early computer delay lines used long tubes filled with liquid mercury, which was used as the physical medium through which sound waves traveled along the length of the tube. An electrical/sound transducer was mounted at each end, one to create sound waves from electrical impulses, and the other to generate electrical impulses from sound waves. A stream of serial binary data was sent to the transmitting transducer as a voltage signal. The sequence of sound waves would travel from left to right through the mercury in the tube and be received by the transducer at the other end. The receiving transducer would receive the pulses in the same order as they were transmitted:
The next major advance in computer memory came when engineers turned to magnetic materials as a means of storing binary data. It was discovered that certain compounds of iron, namely “ferrite,” possessed hysteresis curves that were almost square: Shown on a graph with the strength of the applied magnetic field on the horizontal axis (field intensity), and the actual magnetization (orientation of electron spins in the ferrite material) on the vertical axis (flux density), ferrite won’t become magnetized one direction until the applied field exceeds a critical threshold value. Once that critical value is exceeded, the electrons in the ferrite “snap” into magnetic alignment and the ferrite becomes magnetized.
Jay Forrester of MIT applied this principle in inventing the magnetic “core” memory, which became the dominant computer memory technology during the 1970’s. A grid of wires, electrically insulated from one another, crossed through the center of many ferrite rings, each of which being called a “core.” As DC current moved through any wire from the power supply to ground, a circular magnetic field was generated around that energized wire. The resistor values were set so that the amount of current at the regulated power supply voltage would produce slightly more than 1/2 the critical magnetic field strength needed to magnetize any one of the ferrite rings. Therefore, if column #4 wire was energized, all the cores on that column would be subjected to the magnetic field from that one wire, but it would not be strong enough to change the magnetization of any of those cores. However, if column #4 wire and row #5 wire were both energized, the core at that intersection of column #4 and row #5 would be subjected to a sum of those two magnetic fields: a magnitude strong enough to “set” or “reset” the magnetization of that core. In other
words, each core was addressed by the intersection of row and column. The distinction between “set” and “reset” was the direction of the core’s magnetic polarity, and that bit value of data would be determined by the polarity of the voltages (with respect to ground) that the row and column wires would be energized with. The following photograph shows a core memory board from a Data General brand, “Nova” model computer, circa late 1960’s or early 1970’s. It had a total storage capacity of 4 kbytes. A ball-point pen is shown for size comparison: 12.5. Read-Only Memory (ROM) Read-only memory (ROM) is similar in design to static or dynamic RAM circuits, except that the “latching” mechanism is made for one-time (or limited) operation. The simplest type of ROM is that which uses tiny “fuses” which can be selectively blown or left alone to represent the two binary states. Obviously, once one of the little fuses is blown, it cannot be made whole again, so the writing of such ROM circuits is one-time only. Because it can be written (programmed) once, these circuits are sometimes referred to as PROMs (Programmable Read-Only Memory).
However, not all writing methods are as permanent as blown fuses. If a transistor latch can be made which is resettable only with significant effort, a memory device that’s something of a cross between a RAM and a ROM can be built. Such a device is given a rather oxymoronic name: the EPROM (Erasable Programmable Read-Only Memory). EPROMs come in two basic varieties: Electrically-erasable (EEPROM) and Ultraviolet-erasable (UV/EPROM). Both types of EPROMs use capacitive charge MOSFET devices to latch on or off. UV/EPROMs are “cleared” by long-term exposure to ultraviolet light. They are easy to identify: they have a transparent glass window which exposes the silicon chip material to light. Once programmed, you must cover that glass window with tape to prevent ambient light from degrading the data over time. EPROMs are often programmed using higher signal voltages than what is used during “read-only” mode. 12.6. Memory with moving parts: ‘’Drives’’ Modern disk drives use multiple platters made of hard material (hence the name, “hard drive”) with multiple read/write heads for every platter. The gap between the head and platter is much smaller than the diameter of a human hair. If the hermetically sealed environment inside a hard disk drive is contaminated with outside air, the hard drive will be rendered useless. Dust will lodge between the heads and the platters, causing damage to the surface of the media. Here is a hard drive with four platters, although the angle of the shot only allows viewing of the top platter. This unit is complete with drive motor, read/write heads, and associated electronics. It has a storage capacity of 340 Mbytes, and is about the same length as the ball-point pen shown in the previous photograph:
An incentive for digital data storage technology advancement was the advent of digitally encoded music. A joint venture between Sony and Phillips resulted in the release of the “compact audio disc” (CD) to the public in the late 1980’s. This technology is a read-only type, the media being a transparent plastic disc backed by a thin film of aluminum. Binary bits are encoded as pits in the plastic which vary the path length of a low-power laser beam. Data is read by the low-power laser (the beam of which can be focused more precisely than normal light) reflecting off the aluminum to a photocell receiver. The advantages of CDs over magnetic tape are legion. Being digital, the information is highly resistant to corruption. Being non-contact in operation, there is no wear incurred through playing. Being optical, they are immune to magnetic fields (which can easily corrupt data on magnetic tape or disks). It is possible to purchase CD “burner” drives which contain the high-power laser necessary to write to a blank disc. Following on the heels of the music industry, the video entertainment industry has leveraged the technology of optical storage with the introduction of the Digital Video Disc, or DVD. Using a similar-sized plastic disc as the music CD, a DVD employs closer spacing of pits to achieve much greater storage density. This increased density allows feature-length movies to be encoded on DVD media, complete with trivia information about the movie, director’s notes, and so on. Much effort is being directed toward the development of a practical read/write optical disc (CD-W). Success has been found in using chemical substances whose color may be changed through exposure to bright laser light, then “read” by lower-intensity light. These optical discs are immediately identified by their characteristically colored surfaces, as opposed to the silver-colored underside of a standard CD

6.7. Time-delay Relays Some relays are constructed with a kind of “shock absorber” mechanism attached to the armature which prevents immediate, full motion when the coil is either energized or de-energized. This addition gives the relay the property of time-delay actuation. Time-delay relays can be constructed to delay armature motion on coil energization, de-energization, or both.Time-delay relay contacts must be specified not only as either normally-open or normally- closed but whether the delay operates in the direction of closing or in the direction of opening. Time delay relays are built in these four basic modes of contact operation: 1: Normally-open, timed-closed. Abbreviated “NOTC”, these relays open immediately upon coil de-energization and close only if the coil is continuously energized for the time duration period. Also called normally-open, on-delay relays.
2: Normally-open, timed-open. Abbreviated “NOTO”, these relays close immediately upon coil energization and open after the coil has been de- energized for the time duration period. Also called normally-open, off delay relays. 3: Normally-closed, timed-open. Abbreviated “NCTO”, these relays close immediately upon coil de-energization and open only if the coil is continuously energized for the time duration period. Also called normally-closed, on-delay relays.
4: Normally-closed, timed-closed. Abbreviated “NCTC”, these relays open immediately upon coil energization and close after the coil has been de- energized for the time duration period. Also called normally-closed, off delay relays.
There are also the so-called advanced timer features such as: One-shot timers provide a single contact pulse of specified duration for each coil energization (transition from coil off to coil on). Recycle timers provide a repeating sequence of on-off contact pulses as long as the coil is maintained in an energized state. Watchdog timers actuate their contacts only if the coil fails to be continuously sequenced on and off (energized and de-energized) at a minimum frequency.
6.8. Protective Relays A special type of relay is one that monitors the current, voltage, frequency, or any other type of electric power measurement either from a generating source or to a load for the purpose of triggering a circuit breaker to open in the event of an abnormal condition. These relays are referred to in the electrical power industry as protective relays. The circuit breakers which are used to switch large quantities of electric power on and off are actually electromechanical relays, themselves. Unlike the circuit breakers found in residential and commercial use which determine when to trip (open) by means of a bimetallic strip inside that bends when it gets too hot from overcurrent, large industrial circuit breakers must be “told” by an external device when to open. Protective relays can monitor large AC currents by means of current transformers (CT’s), which encircle the current-carrying conductors exiting a large circuit breaker, transformer, generator, or other devices. Likewise, (protective) voltage relays can monitor high AC voltages by means of voltage, or potential, transformers (PT’s) which step down the monitored voltage to a secondary range of 0 to 120 Volts AC, typically. 6.9. Solid-state Relays As versatile as electromechanical relays can be, they do suffer many limitations. They can be expensive to build, have a limited contact cycle life, take up a lot of room, and switch slowly, compared to modern semiconductor devices. These limitations are especially true for large power contactor relays. To address these limitations, many relay manufacturers offer “solid-state” relays, which use an SCR, TRIAC, or transistor output instead of mechanical contacts to switch the controlled power. The output device (SCR, TRIAC, or transistor) is optically coupled to an LED light source inside the relay. The relay is turned on by energizing this LED, usually with low-voltage DC power. This optical isolation between input to output rivals the best that electromechanical relays can offer.
6.10. ‘’Ladder’’ Diagrams Ladder diagrams (sometimes called “ladder logic”) are a type of electrical notation and symbology frequently used to illustrate how electromechanical switches and relays are interconnected. The two vertical lines are called “rails” and attach to opposite poles of a power supply, usually 120 volts AC. L1 designates the “hot” AC wire and L2 the “neutral” (grounded) conductor. Horizontal lines in a ladder diagram are called “rungs,” each one representing a unique parallel circuit branch between the poles of the power supply. Typically, wires in control systems are marked with numbers and/or letters for identification. The rule is, all permanently connected (electrically common) points must bear the same label. 6.11. Digital Logic Functions We can construct a simple logic function for our hypothetical lamp circuit, using multiple contacts, and document these circuits quite easily and understandably with additional rungs to our original “ladder.” Parallel contacts are logically equivalent to an OR gate.
Series contacts are logically equivalent to an AND gate. Normally closed (N.C.) contacts are logically equivalent to a NOT gate. A relay must be used to invert the output of a logic gate function, while simple normally-closed switch contacts are sufficient to represent inverted gate inputs. 6.12. Permissive and Interlock Circuits Switch contacts installed in a rung of ladder logic designed to interrupt a circuit if certain physical conditions are not met are called permissive contacts, because the system requires permission from these inputs to activate. Switch contacts designed to prevent a control system from taking two incompatible actions at once (such as powering an electric motor forward and backward simultaneously) are called interlocks.
6.13. Motor Control Circuits Motor contactor (or “starter”) coils are typically designated by the letter “M” in ladder logic diagrams. Continuous motor operation with a momentary “start” switch is possible if a normally-open “seal-in” contact from the contactor is connected in parallel with the start switch so that once the contactor is energized it maintains power to itself and keeps itself “latched” on. Time delay relays are commonly used in large motor control circuits to prevent the motor from being started (or reversed) until a certain amount of time has elapsed from an event. 6.14. Fail-safe Design The goal of fail-safe design is to make a control system as tolerant as possible to likely wiring or component failures. The most common type of wiring and component failure is an “open” circuit, or broken connection. Therefore, a fail- safe system should be designed to default to its safest mode of operation in the case of an open circuit.
6.15. Programmable Logic Controllers (PLC) A programmable logic controller (PLC) or programmable controller is an industrial computer that has been ruggedized and adapted for the control of manufacturing processes, such as assembly lines, machines, robotic devices, or any activity that requires high reliability, ease of programming, and process fault diagnosis. Dick Morley is considered as the father of PLC as he had invented the first PLC, the Modicon 084, for General Motors in 1968. PLCs can range from small modular devices with tens of inputs and outputs (I/O), in a housing integral with the processor, to large rack-mounted modular devices with thousands of I/O, and which are often networked to other PLC and SCADA systems. They can be designed for many arrangements of digital and analog I/O, extended temperature ranges, immunity to electrical noise, and resistance to vibration and impact. Programs to control machine operation are typically stored in battery-backed-up or non-volatile memory.

COINTELPRO Techniques for dilution, misdirection and control of a internet forum - Reposting

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Reposting this, long read but relevant for the coming deluge of 💩
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1. COINTELPRO Techniques for dilution, misdirection and control of a internet forum
2. Twenty-Five Rules of Disinformation
3. Eight Traits of the Disinformationalist
4. How to Spot a Spy (Cointelpro Agent)
5. Seventeen Techniques for Truth Suppression

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COINTELPRO Techniques for dilution, misdirection and control of a internet forum..
There are several techniques for the control and manipulation of a internet forum no matter what, or who is on it. We will go over each technique and demonstrate that only a minimal number of operatives can be used to eventually and effectively gain a control of a 'uncontrolled forum.'
Technique #1 - 'FORUM SLIDING'
If a very sensitive posting of a critical nature has been posted on a forum - it can be quickly removed from public view by 'forum sliding.' In this technique a number of unrelated posts are quietly prepositioned on the forum and allowed to 'age.' Each of these misdirectional forum postings can then be called upon at will to trigger a 'forum slide.' The second requirement is that several fake accounts exist, which can be called upon, to ensure that this technique is not exposed to the public. To trigger a 'forum slide' and 'flush' the critical post out of public view it is simply a matter of logging into each account both real and fake and then 'replying' to prepositined postings with a simple 1 or 2 line comment. This brings the unrelated postings to the top of the forum list, and the critical posting 'slides' down the front page, and quickly out of public view. Although it is difficult or impossible to censor the posting it is now lost in a sea of unrelated and unuseful postings. By this means it becomes effective to keep the readers of the forum reading unrelated and non-issue items.
Technique #2 - 'CONSENSUS CRACKING'
A second highly effective technique (which you can see in operation all the time at www.abovetopsecret.com) is 'consensus cracking.' To develop a consensus crack, the following technique is used. Under the guise of a fake account a posting is made which looks legitimate and is towards the truth is made - but the critical point is that it has a VERY WEAK PREMISE without substantive proof to back the posting. Once this is done then under alternative fake accounts a very strong position in your favour is slowly introduced over the life of the posting. It is IMPERATIVE that both sides are initially presented, so the uninformed reader cannot determine which side is the truth. As postings and replies are made the stronger 'evidence' or disinformation in your favour is slowly 'seeded in.' Thus the uninformed reader will most like develop the same position as you, and if their position is against you their opposition to your posting will be most likely dropped. However in some cases where the forum members are highly educated and can counter your disinformation with real facts and linked postings, you can then 'abort' the consensus cracking by initiating a 'forum slide.'
Technique #3 - 'TOPIC DILUTION'
Topic dilution is not only effective in forum sliding it is also very useful in keeping the forum readers on unrelated and non-productive issues. This is a critical and useful technique to cause a 'RESOURCE BURN.' By implementing continual and non-related postings that distract and disrupt (trolling ) the forum readers they are more effectively stopped from anything of any real productivity. If the intensity of gradual dilution is intense enough, the readers will effectively stop researching and simply slip into a 'gossip mode.' In this state they can be more easily misdirected away from facts towards uninformed conjecture and opinion. The less informed they are the more effective and easy it becomes to control the entire group in the direction that you would desire the group to go in. It must be stressed that a proper assessment of the psychological capabilities and levels of education is first determined of the group to determine at what level to 'drive in the wedge.' By being too far off topic too quickly it may trigger censorship by a forum moderator.
Technique #4 - 'INFORMATION COLLECTION'
Information collection is also a very effective method to determine the psychological level of the forum members, and to gather intelligence that can be used against them. In this technique in a light and positive environment a 'show you mine so me yours' posting is initiated. From the number of replies and the answers that are provided much statistical information can be gathered. An example is to post your 'favourite weapon' and then encourage other members of the forum to showcase what they have. In this matter it can be determined by reverse proration what percentage of the forum community owns a firearm, and or a illegal weapon. This same method can be used by posing as one of the form members and posting your favourite 'technique of operation.' From the replies various methods that the group utilizes can be studied and effective methods developed to stop them from their activities.
Technique #5 - 'ANGER TROLLING'
Statistically, there is always a percentage of the forum posters who are more inclined to violence. In order to determine who these individuals are, it is a requirement to present a image to the forum to deliberately incite a strong psychological reaction. From this the most violent in the group can be effectively singled out for reverse IP location and possibly local enforcement tracking. To accomplish this only requires posting a link to a video depicting a local police officer massively abusing his power against a very innocent individual. Statistically of the million or so police officers in America there is always one or two being caught abusing there powers and the taping of the activity can be then used for intelligence gathering purposes - without the requirement to 'stage' a fake abuse video. This method is extremely effective, and the more so the more abusive the video can be made to look. Sometimes it is useful to 'lead' the forum by replying to your own posting with your own statement of violent intent, and that you 'do not care what the authorities think!!' inflammation. By doing this and showing no fear it may be more effective in getting the more silent and self-disciplined violent intent members of the forum to slip and post their real intentions. This can be used later in a court of law during prosecution.
Technique #6 - 'GAINING FULL CONTROL'
It is important to also be harvesting and continually maneuvering for a forum moderator position. Once this position is obtained, the forum can then be effectively and quietly controlled by deleting unfavourable postings - and one can eventually steer the forum into complete failure and lack of interest by the general public. This is the 'ultimate victory' as the forum is no longer participated with by the general public and no longer useful in maintaining their freedoms. Depending on the level of control you can obtain, you can deliberately steer a forum into defeat by censoring postings, deleting memberships, flooding, and or accidentally taking the forum offline. By this method the forum can be quickly killed. However it is not always in the interest to kill a forum as it can be converted into a 'honey pot' gathering center to collect and misdirect newcomers and from this point be completely used for your control for your agenda purposes.
CONCLUSION
Remember these techniques are only effective if the forum participants DO NOT KNOW ABOUT THEM. Once they are aware of these techniques the operation can completely fail, and the forum can become uncontrolled. At this point other avenues must be considered such as initiating a false legal precidence to simply have the forum shut down and taken offline. This is not desirable as it then leaves the enforcement agencies unable to track the percentage of those in the population who always resist attempts for control against them. Many other techniques can be utilized and developed by the individual and as you develop further techniques of infiltration and control it is imperative to share then with HQ.
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Twenty-Five Rules of Disinformation
Note: The first rule and last five (or six, depending on situation) rules are generally not directly within the ability of the traditional disinfo artist to apply. These rules are generally used more directly by those at the leadership, key players, or planning level of the criminal conspiracy or conspiracy to cover up.
1. Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil. Regardless of what you know, don't discuss it -- especially if you are a public figure, news anchor, etc. If it's not reported, it didn't happen, and you never have to deal with the issues.
2. Become incredulous and indignant. Avoid discussing key issues and instead focus on side issues which can be used show the topic as being critical of some otherwise sacrosanct group or theme. This is also known as the 'How dare you!' gambit.
3. Create rumor mongers. Avoid discussing issues by describing all charges, regardless of venue or evidence, as mere rumors and wild accusations. Other derogatory terms mutually exclusive of truth may work as well. This method which works especially well with a silent press, because the only way the public can learn of the facts are through such 'arguable rumors'. If you can associate the material with the Internet, use this fact to certify it a 'wild rumor' from a 'bunch of kids on the Internet' which can have no basis in fact.
4. Use a straw man. Find or create a seeming element of your opponent's argument which you can easily knock down to make yourself look good and the opponent to look bad. Either make up an issue you may safely imply exists based on your interpretation of the opponent/opponent arguments/situation, or select the weakest aspect of the weakest charges. Amplify their significance and destroy them in a way which appears to debunk all the charges, real and fabricated alike, while actually avoiding discussion of the real issues.
5. Sidetrack opponents with name calling and ridicule. This is also known as the primary 'attack the messenger' ploy, though other methods qualify as variants of that approach. Associate opponents with unpopular titles such as 'kooks', 'right-wing', 'liberal', 'left-wing', 'terrorists', 'conspiracy buffs', 'radicals', 'militia', 'racists', 'religious fanatics', 'sexual deviates', and so forth. This makes others shrink from support out of fear of gaining the same label, and you avoid dealing with issues.
6. Hit and Run. In any public forum, make a brief attack of your opponent or the opponent position and then scamper off before an answer can be fielded, or simply ignore any answer. This works extremely well in Internet and letters-to-the-editor environments where a steady stream of new identities can be called upon without having to explain criticism, reasoning -- simply make an accusation or other attack, never discussing issues, and never answering any subsequent response, for that would dignify the opponent's viewpoint.
7. Question motives. Twist or amplify any fact which could be taken to imply that the opponent operates out of a hidden personal agenda or other bias. This avoids discussing issues and forces the accuser on the defensive.
8. Invoke authority. Claim for yourself or associate yourself with authority and present your argument with enough 'jargon' and 'minutia' to illustrate you are 'one who knows', and simply say it isn't so without discussing issues or demonstrating concretely why or citing sources.
9. Play Dumb. No matter what evidence or logical argument is offered, avoid discussing issues except with denials they have any credibility, make any sense, provide any proof, contain or make a point, have logic, or support a conclusion. Mix well for maximum effect.
10. Associate opponent charges with old news. A derivative of the straw man -- usually, in any large-scale matter of high visibility, someone will make charges early on which can be or were already easily dealt with - a kind of investment for the future should the matter not be so easily contained.) Where it can be foreseen, have your own side raise a straw man issue and have it dealt with early on as part of the initial contingency plans. Subsequent charges, regardless of validity or new ground uncovered, can usually then be associated with the original charge and dismissed as simply being a rehash without need to address current issues -- so much the better where the opponent is or was involved with the original source.
11. Establish and rely upon fall-back positions. Using a minor matter or element of the facts, take the 'high road' and 'confess' with candor that some innocent mistake, in hindsight, was made -- but that opponents have seized on the opportunity to blow it all out of proportion and imply greater criminalities which, 'just isn't so.' Others can reinforce this on your behalf, later, and even publicly 'call for an end to the nonsense' because you have already 'done the right thing.' Done properly, this can garner sympathy and respect for 'coming clean' and 'owning up' to your mistakes without addressing more serious issues.
12. Enigmas have no solution. Drawing upon the overall umbrella of events surrounding the crime and the multitude of players and events, paint the entire affair as too complex to solve. This causes those otherwise following the matter to begin to lose interest more quickly without having to address the actual issues.
13. Alice in Wonderland Logic. Avoid discussion of the issues by reasoning backwards or with an apparent deductive logic which forbears any actual material fact.
14. Demand complete solutions. Avoid the issues by requiring opponents to solve the crime at hand completely, a ploy which works best with issues qualifying for rule 10.
15. Fit the facts to alternate conclusions. This requires creative thinking unless the crime was planned with contingency conclusions in place.
16. Vanish evidence and witnesses. If it does not exist, it is not fact, and you won't have to address the issue.
17. Change the subject. Usually in connection with one of the other ploys listed here, find a way to side-track the discussion with abrasive or controversial comments in hopes of turning attention to a new, more manageable topic. This works especially well with companions who can 'argue' with you over the new topic and polarize the discussion arena in order to avoid discussing more key issues.
18. Emotionalize, Antagonize, and Goad Opponents. If you can't do anything else, chide and taunt your opponents and draw them into emotional responses which will tend to make them look foolish and overly motivated, and generally render their material somewhat less coherent. Not only will you avoid discussing the issues in the first instance, but even if their emotional response addresses the issue, you can further avoid the issues by then focusing on how 'sensitive they are to criticism.'
19. Ignore proof presented, demand impossible proofs. This is perhaps a variant of the 'play dumb' rule. Regardless of what material may be presented by an opponent in public forums, claim the material irrelevant and demand proof that is impossible for the opponent to come by (it may exist, but not be at his disposal, or it may be something which is known to be safely destroyed or withheld, such as a murder weapon.) In order to completely avoid discussing issues, it may be required that you to categorically deny and be critical of media or books as valid sources, deny that witnesses are acceptable, or even deny that statements made by government or other authorities have any meaning or relevance.
20. False evidence. Whenever possible, introduce new facts or clues designed and manufactured to conflict with opponent presentations -- as useful tools to neutralize sensitive issues or impede resolution. This works best when the crime was designed with contingencies for the purpose, and the facts cannot be easily separated from the fabrications.
21. Call a Grand Jury, Special Prosecutor, or other empowered investigative body. Subvert the (process) to your benefit and effectively neutralize all sensitive issues without open discussion. Once convened, the evidence and testimony are required to be secret when properly handled. For instance, if you own the prosecuting attorney, it can insure a Grand Jury hears no useful evidence and that the evidence is sealed and unavailable to subsequent investigators. Once a favorable verdict is achieved, the matter can be considered officially closed. Usually, this technique is applied to find the guilty innocent, but it can also be used to obtain charges when seeking to frame a victim.
22. Manufacture a new truth. Create your own expert(s), group(s), author(s), leader(s) or influence existing ones willing to forge new ground via scientific, investigative, or social research or testimony which concludes favorably. In this way, if you must actually address issues, you can do so authoritatively.
23. Create bigger distractions. If the above does not seem to be working to distract from sensitive issues, or to prevent unwanted media coverage of unstoppable events such as trials, create bigger news stories (or treat them as such) to distract the multitudes.
24. Silence critics. If the above methods do not prevail, consider removing opponents from circulation by some definitive solution so that the need to address issues is removed entirely. This can be by their death, arrest and detention, blackmail or destruction of their character by release of blackmail information, or merely by destroying them financially, emotionally, or severely damaging their health.
25. Vanish. If you are a key holder of secrets or otherwise overly illuminated and you think the heat is getting too hot, to avoid the issues, vacate the kitchen.
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Eight Traits of the Disinformationalist
1) Avoidance. They never actually discuss issues head-on or provide constructive input, generally avoiding citation of references or credentials. Rather, they merely imply this, that, and the other. Virtually everything about their presentation implies their authority and expert knowledge in the matter without any further justification for credibility.
2) Selectivity. They tend to pick and choose opponents carefully, either applying the hit-and-run approach against mere commentators supportive of opponents, or focusing heavier attacks on key opponents who are known to directly address issues. Should a commentator become argumentative with any success, the focus will shift to include the commentator as well.
3) Coincidental. They tend to surface suddenly and somewhat coincidentally with a new controversial topic with no clear prior record of participation in general discussions in the particular public arena involved. They likewise tend to vanish once the topic is no longer of general concern. They were likely directed or elected to be there for a reason, and vanish with the reason.
4) Teamwork. They tend to operate in self-congratulatory and complementary packs or teams. Of course, this can happen naturally in any public forum, but there will likely be an ongoing pattern of frequent exchanges of this sort where professionals are involved. Sometimes one of the players will infiltrate the opponent camp to become a source for straw man or other tactics designed to dilute opponent presentation strength.
5) Anti-conspiratorial. They almost always have disdain for 'conspiracy theorists' and, usually, for those who in any way believe JFK was not killed by LHO. Ask yourself why, if they hold such disdain for conspiracy theorists, do they focus on defending a single topic discussed in a NG focusing on conspiracies? One might think they would either be trying to make fools of everyone on every topic, or simply ignore the group they hold in such disdain.Or, one might more rightly conclude they have an ulterior motive for their actions in going out of their way to focus as they do.
6) Artificial Emotions. An odd kind of 'artificial' emotionalism and an unusually thick skin -- an ability to persevere and persist even in the face of overwhelming criticism and unacceptance. This likely stems from intelligence community training that, no matter how condemning the evidence, deny everything, and never become emotionally involved or reactive. The net result for a disinfo artist is that emotions can seem artificial.
Most people, if responding in anger, for instance, will express their animosity throughout their rebuttal. But disinfo types usually have trouble maintaining the 'image' and are hot and cold with respect to pretended emotions and their usually more calm or unemotional communications style. It's just a job, and they often seem unable to 'act their role in character' as well in a communications medium as they might be able in a real face-to-face conversation/confrontation. You might have outright rage and indignation one moment, ho-hum the next, and more anger later -- an emotional yo-yo.
With respect to being thick-skinned, no amount of criticism will deter them from doing their job, and they will generally continue their old disinfo patterns without any adjustments to criticisms of how obvious it is that they play that game -- where a more rational individual who truly cares what others think might seek to improve their communications style, substance, and so forth, or simply give up.
7) Inconsistent. There is also a tendency to make mistakes which betray their true self/motives. This may stem from not really knowing their topic, or it may be somewhat 'freudian', so to speak, in that perhaps they really root for the side of truth deep within.
I have noted that often, they will simply cite contradictory information which neutralizes itself and the author. For instance, one such player claimed to be a Navy pilot, but blamed his poor communicating skills (spelling, grammar, incoherent style) on having only a grade-school education. I'm not aware of too many Navy pilots who don't have a college degree. Another claimed no knowledge of a particular topic/situation but later claimed first-hand knowledge of it.
8) Time Constant. Recently discovered, with respect to News Groups, is the response time factor. There are three ways this can be seen to work, especially when the government or other empowered player is involved in a cover up operation:
a) ANY NG posting by a targeted proponent for truth can result in an IMMEDIATE response. The government and other empowered players can afford to pay people to sit there and watch for an opportunity to do some damage. SINCE DISINFO IN A NG ONLY WORKS IF THE READER SEES IT - FAST RESPONSE IS CALLED FOR, or the visitor may be swayed towards truth.
b) When dealing in more direct ways with a disinformationalist, such as email, DELAY IS CALLED FOR - there will usually be a minimum of a 48-72 hour delay. This allows a sit-down team discussion on response strategy for best effect, and even enough time to 'get permission' or instruction from a formal chain of command.
c) In the NG example 1) above, it will often ALSO be seen that bigger guns are drawn and fired after the same 48-72 hours delay - the team approach in play. This is especially true when the targeted truth seeker or their comments are considered more important with respect to potential to reveal truth. Thus, a serious truth sayer will be attacked twice for the same sin.
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How to Spot a Spy (Cointelpro Agent)
One way to neutralize a potential activist is to get them to be in a group that does all the wrong things. Why?
1) The message doesn't get out.
2) A lot of time is wasted
3) The activist is frustrated and discouraged
4) Nothing good is accomplished.
FBI and Police Informers and Infiltrators will infest any group and they have phoney activist organizations established.
Their purpose is to prevent any real movement for justice or eco-peace from developing in this country.
Agents come in small, medium or large. They can be of any ethnic background. They can be male or female.
The actual size of the group or movement being infiltrated is irrelevant. It is the potential the movement has for becoming large which brings on the spies and saboteurs.
This booklet lists tactics agents use to slow things down, foul things up, destroy the movement and keep tabs on activists.
It is the agent's job to keep the activist from quitting such a group, thus keeping him/her under control.
In some situations, to get control, the agent will tell the activist:

• "You're dividing the movement."

[Here, I have added the psychological reasons as to WHY this maneuver works to control people]
This invites guilty feelings. Many people can be controlled by guilt. The agents begin relationships with activists behind a well-developed mask of "dedication to the cause." Because of their often declared dedication, (and actions designed to prove this), when they criticize the activist, he or she - being truly dedicated to the movement - becomes convinced that somehow, any issues are THEIR fault. This is because a truly dedicated person tends to believe that everyone has a conscience and that nobody would dissimulate and lie like that "on purpose." It's amazing how far agents can go in manipulating an activist because the activist will constantly make excuses for the agent who regularly declares their dedication to the cause. Even if they do, occasionally, suspect the agent, they will pull the wool over their own eyes by rationalizing: "they did that unconsciously... they didn't really mean it... I can help them by being forgiving and accepting " and so on and so forth.
The agent will tell the activist:

• "You're a leader!"

This is designed to enhance the activist's self-esteem. His or her narcissistic admiration of his/her own activist/altruistic intentions increase as he or she identifies with and consciously admires the altruistic declarations of the agent which are deliberately set up to mirror those of the activist.
This is "malignant pseudoidentification." It is the process by which the agent consciously imitates or simulates a certain behavior to foster the activist's identification with him/her, thus increasing the activist's vulnerability to exploitation. The agent will simulate the more subtle self-concepts of the activist.
Activists and those who have altruistic self-concepts are most vulnerable to malignant pseudoidentification especially during work with the agent when the interaction includes matter relating to their competency, autonomy, or knowledge.
The goal of the agent is to increase the activist's general empathy for the agent through pseudo-identification with the activist's self-concepts.
The most common example of this is the agent who will compliment the activist for his competency or knowledge or value to the movement. On a more subtle level, the agent will simulate affects and mannerisms of the activist which promotes identification via mirroring and feelings of "twinship". It is not unheard of for activists, enamored by the perceived helpfulness and competence of a good agent, to find themselves considering ethical violations and perhaps, even illegal behavior, in the service of their agent/handler.
The activist's "felt quality of perfection" [self-concept] is enhanced, and a strong empathic bond is developed with the agent through his/her imitation and simulation of the victim's own narcissistic investments. [self-concepts] That is, if the activist knows, deep inside, their own dedication to the cause, they will project that onto the agent who is "mirroring" them.
The activist will be deluded into thinking that the agent shares this feeling of identification and bonding. In an activist/social movement setting, the adversarial roles that activists naturally play vis a vis the establishment/government, fosters ongoing processes of intrapsychic splitting so that "twinship alliances" between activist and agent may render whole sectors or reality testing unavailable to the activist. They literally "lose touch with reality."
Activists who deny their own narcissistic investments [do not have a good idea of their own self-concepts and that they ARE concepts] and consciously perceive themselves (accurately, as it were) to be "helpers" endowed with a special amount of altruism are exceedingly vulnerable to the affective (emotional) simulation of the accomplished agent.
Empathy is fostered in the activist through the expression of quite visible affects. The presentation of tearfulness, sadness, longing, fear, remorse, and guilt, may induce in the helper-oriented activist a strong sense of compassion, while unconsciously enhancing the activist's narcissistic investment in self as the embodiment of goodness.
The agent's expresssion of such simulated affects may be quite compelling to the observer and difficult to distinguish from deep emotion.
It can usually be identified by two events, however:
First, the activist who has analyzed his/her own narcissistic roots and is aware of his/her own potential for being "emotionally hooked," will be able to remain cool and unaffected by such emotional outpourings by the agent.
As a result of this unaffected, cool, attitude, the Second event will occur: The agent will recompensate much too quickly following such an affective expression leaving the activist with the impression that "the play has ended, the curtain has fallen," and the imposture, for the moment, has finished. The agent will then move quickly to another activist/victim.
The fact is, the movement doesn't need leaders, it needs MOVERS. "Follow the leader" is a waste of time.
A good agent will want to meet as often as possible. He or she will talk a lot and say little. One can expect an onslaught of long, unresolved discussions.
Some agents take on a pushy, arrogant, or defensive manner:
1) To disrupt the agenda
2) To side-track the discussion
3) To interrupt repeatedly
4) To feign ignorance
5) To make an unfounded accusation against a person.
Calling someone a racist, for example. This tactic is used to discredit a person in the eyes of all other group members.
Saboteurs
Some saboteurs pretend to be activists. She or he will ....
1) Write encyclopedic flyers (in the present day, websites)
2) Print flyers in English only.
3) Have demonstrations in places where no one cares.
4) Solicit funding from rich people instead of grass roots support
5) Display banners with too many words that are confusing.
6) Confuse issues.
7) Make the wrong demands.
8) Compromise the goal.
9) Have endless discussions that waste everyone's time. The agent may accompany the endless discussions with drinking, pot smoking or other amusement to slow down the activist's work.
Provocateurs
1) Want to establish "leaders" to set them up for a fall in order to stop the movement.
2) Suggest doing foolish, illegal things to get the activists in trouble.
3) Encourage militancy.
4) Want to taunt the authorities.
5) Attempt to make the activist compromise their values.
6) Attempt to instigate violence. Activisim ought to always be non-violent.
7) Attempt to provoke revolt among people who are ill-prepared to deal with the reaction of the authorities to such violence.
Informants
1) Want everyone to sign up and sing in and sign everything.
2) Ask a lot of questions (gathering data).
3) Want to know what events the activist is planning to attend.
4) Attempt to make the activist defend him or herself to identify his or her beliefs, goals, and level of committment.
Recruiting
Legitimate activists do not subject people to hours of persuasive dialog. Their actions, beliefs, and goals speak for themselves.
Groups that DO recruit are missionaries, military, and fake political parties or movements set up by agents.
Surveillance
ALWAYS assume that you are under surveillance.
At this point, if you are NOT under surveillance, you are not a very good activist!
Scare Tactics
They use them.
Such tactics include slander, defamation, threats, getting close to disaffected or minimally committed fellow activists to persuade them (via psychological tactics described above) to turn against the movement and give false testimony against their former compatriots. They will plant illegal substances on the activist and set up an arrest; they will plant false information and set up "exposure," they will send incriminating letters [emails] in the name of the activist; and more; they will do whatever society will allow.
This booklet in no way covers all the ways agents use to sabotage the lives of sincere an dedicated activists.
If an agent is "exposed," he or she will be transferred or replaced.
COINTELPRO is still in operation today under a different code name. It is no longer placed on paper where it can be discovered through the freedom of information act.
The FBI counterintelligence program's stated purpose: To expose, disrupt, misdirect, discredit, and otherwise neutralize individuals who the FBI categorize as opposed to the National Interests. "National Security" means the FBI's security from the people ever finding out the vicious things it does in violation of people's civil liberties.
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Seventeen Techniques for Truth Suppression
Strong, credible allegations of high-level criminal activity can bring down a government. When the government lacks an effective, fact-based defense, other techniques must be employed. The success of these techniques depends heavily upon a cooperative, compliant press and a mere token opposition party.
1. Dummy up. If it's not reported, if it's not news, it didn't happen.
2. Wax indignant. This is also known as the "How dare you?" gambit.
3. Characterize the charges as "rumors" or, better yet, "wild rumors." If, in spite of the news blackout, the public is still able to learn about the suspicious facts, it can only be through "rumors." (If they tend to believe the "rumors" it must be because they are simply "paranoid" or "hysterical.")
4. Knock down straw men. Deal only with the weakest aspects of the weakest charges. Even better, create your own straw men. Make up wild rumors (or plant false stories) and give them lead play when you appear to debunk all the charges, real and fanciful alike.
5. Call the skeptics names like "conspiracy theorist," "nutcase," "ranter," "kook," "crackpot," and, of course, "rumor monger." Be sure, too, to use heavily loaded verbs and adjectives when characterizing their charges and defending the "more reasonable" government and its defenders. You must then carefully avoid fair and open debate with any of the people you have thus maligned. For insurance, set up your own "skeptics" to shoot down.
6. Impugn motives. Attempt to marginalize the critics by suggesting strongly that they are not really interested in the truth but are simply pursuing a partisan political agenda or are out to make money (compared to over-compensated adherents to the government line who, presumably, are not).
7. Invoke authority. Here the controlled press and the sham opposition can be very useful.
8. Dismiss the charges as "old news."
9. Come half-clean. This is also known as "confession and avoidance" or "taking the limited hangout route." This way, you create the impression of candor and honesty while you admit only to relatively harmless, less-than-criminal "mistakes." This stratagem often requires the embrace of a fall-back position quite different from the one originally taken. With effective damage control, the fall-back position need only be peddled by stooge skeptics to carefully limited markets.
10. Characterize the crimes as impossibly complex and the truth as ultimately unknowable.
11. Reason backward, using the deductive method with a vengeance. With thoroughly rigorous deduction, troublesome evidence is irrelevant. E.g. We have a completely free press. If evidence exists that the Vince Foster "suicide" note was forged, they would have reported it. They haven't reported it so there is no such evidence. Another variation on this theme involves the likelihood of a conspiracy leaker and a press who would report the leak.
12. Require the skeptics to solve the crime completely. E.g. If Foster was murdered, who did it and why?
13. Change the subject. This technique includes creating and/or publicizing distractions.
14. Lightly report incriminating facts, and then make nothing of them. This is sometimes referred to as "bump and run" reporting.
15. Baldly and brazenly lie. A favorite way of doing this is to attribute the "facts" furnished the public to a plausible-sounding, but anonymous, source.
16. Expanding further on numbers 4 and 5, have your own stooges "expose" scandals and champion popular causes. Their job is to pre-empt real opponents and to play 99-yard football. A variation is to pay rich people for the job who will pretend to spend their own money.
17. Flood the Internet with agents. This is the answer to the question, "What could possibly motivate a person to spend hour upon hour on Internet news groups defending the government and/or the press and harassing genuine critics?" Don t the authorities have defenders enough in all the newspapers, magazines, radio, and television? One would think refusing to print critical letters and screening out serious callers or dumping them from radio talk shows would be control enough, but, obviously, it is not.

Three New Terrifying True Scary Tales
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Number One: The Pool
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Now, this happened a very long time ago. I am not going to mention when or where though and I am submitting it anonymously. I don’t want people going back and finding out more about it and then lashing out of me.
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I was 13 years old and my brother was 11. As I mentioned, this happened a long time ago and I think today, not a lot of parents would put a 13 year old in charge of an 11 year old. But this was not unusual at all back then. In fact, I was looking after my little brother all the time before either of us even hit 10 years old.
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After a while, of course, always keeping my eye on him began to get very annoying. It interfered with my hanging out with friends. It was quite a drag when I would try to talk to girls. It was just a pain in the ass, really.
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Anyway, one day during a really hot summer, our parents decided to drop us both off at the local swimming pool for the day. My dad had to work and my mom had errands and stuff to run plus work do to do for the church. It was so hot and there was no way we could afford air conditioning. We had one old fan in the house and a sprinkler in the yard that we could go play in. But the swimming pool was the much better option.
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Of course the pool was very crowded. Lots of families would drop their kids off there during the summertime. And of course, even though I knew it already, my mom stressed to me, “Keep an eye on your little brother at all times.”
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Some of my friends were at the pool too. I got to talking to them and they told me about this new girl who moved into town. She would be starting school that fall and supposedly she was really hot. So of course, I wanted to check her out. I knew the lifeguards would be watching my brother in the water, so he would be fine.
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I went with the guys and the girl was really cute. My buddies all dared me to approach her, which was admittedly a brave thing for a 13 year old boy to do. Of course, I couldn’t chicken out in front of them, so I did just that.
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She was a very sweet girl. We actually ended up talking for a little while. Her parents were at the pool though, and they called her back after too long. So I went back to the water to see how my little brother was doing.
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The only problem was that I couldn’t see him anywhere in the water. This was a small town in a rural area, so although I said the pool was crowded, it wasn’t like a water park is crowded though. I should have easily been able to pick him out of the water. He just wasn’t there.
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I went and searched around the area surrounding the pool and didn’t see him there either. My heart started beating faster and I began panicking. I went to the building where the showers and concession stand were. He wasn’t there either. You couldn’t leave that pool without going through that building, though. I asked the attendant if a 11 year old boy had left the pool on his own in the previous hour and he told me no.
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I then went to the lifeguards and my buddies. I thought maybe there was a chance that I had missed him. It’s easy to occasionally miss someone in a crowd. The lifeguards ordered everyone out of the pool. Fortunately, there were no drowned children in the pool. Unfortunately, my brother was nowhere to be found outside of the pool.
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The lifeguards had to call my mother at the church. I had never before lost track of my little brother like this before. I had no idea what to expect when she showed up. I was only thankful that the police were already at the pool or she probably would have whipped my ass right there in front of the entire pool.
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The trouble I got into at home isn’t something that I want to go into very much. My butt very much has PTSD from the experience. But that was minor compared to the fear I felt for my little brother. Hell, I didn’t even have time to feel guilty although that I knew that I was. I was only concerned for him and wondered what would happen.
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All day and night, I expected the police to bring him home. But that didn’t happen. I expected it the next day too. But it didn’t happen.
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The town organized a search to look for him. I kept expecting to hear from them that they had found him. But that didn’t happen either.
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After about a week of my brother not being found, I began fearing for the worst. I began thinking that he was dead. And I was terrified every waking moment of my life, expecting to absolutely hear the news that his dead body was found.
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Nearly two weeks after the disappearance, we got a phone call from the police. They had found my brother and thankfully, he was alive. But unfortunately, that’s not the whole story.
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Remember the attendant telling me that no boy had left on his own? Well that’s because the boy left with one of the lifeguards who was getting off duty. He had lured my brother out of the pool and into his car with promises of ice cream, something he and I rarely ever got. And my brother went to his house with him.
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For all of that time, he kept my little brother locked up in his basement. He didn’t do anything sexually to him, thank God. But there was a lot of mental and some physical torment when my brother wouldn’t do what he was told to you. But the scariest part for him was thinking he would never get out and be with his family again.
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Here is another weird part. The lifeguard wasn’t an adult. He did this while his parents were out of town for a few weeks. They came back early and caught him. And if you think I felt bad for my parents’ punishing me, what they did to him had to be legendary. The police thought he was either planning on killing or releasing my brother before his parents got home. But no one ever knew for sure.
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He had to live with it without much help for a long time. Mental health assistance had a very bad stigma back then. But we’re both still alive today and he forgave me a long time ago.
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Number Two: Taking the Garbage Out
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A few weeks ago I went outside at around 3am to move the garbage to the curb since pickup would be in the morning. I often do this in the middle of the night. I just tend to keep weird hours and as the weather warms up for the summer I find the warm nights preferable to the sweltering days.
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I’m not worried about bothering my neighbors since I don’t use noisy bins and all of the houses right next to me are currently empty. I actually find the quiet of the neighborhood at night quite relaxing.
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Unfortunately since I don’t use bins animals are able to get into the bags a bit easier and while this doesn’t happen often it had happened on this night. So I was outside picking up the strewn around garbage and putting it into another bag when the silence of the night was suddenly broken by multiple police sirens.
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At first they seemed distant and while they startled me it was not at all unheard of to hear sirens at night here. But usually it would be one in the distance. As I listened, still bagging the garbage, I could tell it was multiple sirens and they were getting closer. Then just as suddenly as it started it stopped again. There was just silence. By the time they stopped they sounded maybe four blocks away.
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For a moment the night was silent again and I began hauling the bags to the curb when the neighborhood dogs began barking all at once. It was like every dog in the neighborhood had gotten the cue to start barking. Many were even howling. It continued for maybe a minute and once again it just stopped as suddenly as it had started.
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I realized I hadn’t heard any barking or howling while the sirens were going and that’s normally how it would work. These dogs had started up separately from the sirens and just stopped all at once. It just wasn’t normal. I went back to the side of the house to grab more bags when the silence was broken a third time. 

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Just a single chime in the night. Like someone getting a phone notification. This sound wasn’t blocks away. This sound was here. RIGHT HERE. No more than feet away. As I said, the houses around me are empty.
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I was done. The rest of the garbage would wait until morning. I didn’t see anyone close by but that just made it worse. There was someone close by that I couldn’t see. I immediately went into the house to leave the garbage for the morning.
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I don’t know if these things were related. If the cops had been chasing someone who’s fleeing had caused the dogs to bark. Someone who received a message on their phone as they approached my house. Or if it was all just a coincidence. But I won’t be taking the garbage out at 3am anymore.
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A Commuter’s Nightmare
William M.
06/30/2021
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Back in the 80s, I worked at the Irwin Memorial Blood Bank in San Francisco while living and commuting from Oakland, CA
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My job as Registrar, took me all over Northern California, during Blood Drives at hospitals, clinics, major corporations, etc., where we would sometimes witness firsthand, the dead, being placed on gurneys, running out of the Coroner's or Medical Examiner’s rear doors, and down the sidewalks, because they simply didn’t have enough room or staff inside the morgues to process them. Mortuaries were having problems too due to the massive overload where deceased loved ones were admitted but not processed or interred for months or even years at a time.
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I remember watching the News and reading newspaper accounts of E.R.s in hospitals, clinics, etc. so clogged with patients, that 1 in 10 would die waiting to just get in to see a Dr. It was a Public Health and Safety nightmare. It was a National disgrace. It was politically orchestrated mass murder. It was the B purge of the ‘80s and ‘90s.
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I remember, starting work early on one of many Blood Drives (the A.I.D.S. epidemic was just getting started) and having to catch the first B.A.R.T. (Bay Area Rapid Transit) train out of the station at about 4:00 am, where morning after morning I would witness hundreds of people sleeping on the benches, or the sidewalks, or on the streets outside, waiting for it to open.
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Hundreds of others would be seen walking around like zombies in the early morning freeze amid the concomitant yelling, screaming, moaning, begging, and pleading, all of it looking like a newsreel of the death camps at Auschwitz-Birkenau.
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Many times, I was woken at home in the middle of the night, to the sounds of people howling and cursing outside my window at some real or imagined threat, until either the police came, which usually took hours because they were spread so thin, or some tenant, or other, ran them off.
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I remember the time I woke up to the sound of a woman’s voice begging in the early morning cold for someone to help her. She kept repeating it over and over growing weaker and weaker until it was little more than a whisper.
By the time I’d gotten up, armed myself with the steel-reinforced baton I’d purchased at a Police Supply store, and ran the 5 floors down to the ground floor, I found her sitting in a taxi shivering from the 42-degree drizzle coming in off the Pacific. The cabbie told me it was alright; she was just cold and needed someplace to rest and warm up; He’d drop her off at one of the nearby shelters.
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At the time, I was living in a local Residence Hall on Lake Merrit in Oakland, California which was little more than a converted Hotel from the San Francisco/Oakland Gilded Age of the late 1920s. It had 5 floors and a penthouse with a capacity of about 200. I never saw it get much beyond about 30 residents. It sported a full kitchen, dining area, big screen tv viewing room, swimming pool, and a recreation room with pool, foosball, and darts.
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I lived with a friend, at the time, on the 5th floor just under the penthouse. There was an elevator, but like most refurbs, it didn’t work. That meant we'd have to climb 10 flights of stairs every day to reach our room. The best part was that we had the entire floor to ourselves. I guess nobody wanted to climb that many stairs. Because we were both runners, it was a little like running the 900 feet to the top of Angel Island, running across The Golden Gate Bridge and back, or running the 3.4 miles around Lake Merrit twice a day.
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Because there was no air-conditioning, all the windows were left open during the summer months, but along with whatever cool air the San Francisco/Oakland Bay would bring through the gaping nearly wall-length vault ceilinged windows, it was always accompanied by the teeming, screaming City of Oakland street din: cabbies, buses, cars, trucks, vans, motorcycles, scooters, police sirens, ambulance, fire department, pedestrians, hustlers, druggies, break-dancers, prostitutes the homeless, et al. Day or night, winter or summer, it was like living in a jet engine test lab, somewhere on the 9th level of hell.
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Of course, we could always close the windows against the noise 5 stories below. But if it was summer, with all the humidity coming off the bay, we’d roast like 2 suckling pigs in our own sweat even if we used a fan.
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One night after a particularly grueling day at work, I came home, climbed Mount Everest (or at least K-2) to my steaming little abattoir, tore off my sports jacket, shirt, and tie, and fell into a coma-like sleep only to awake some 4 hours later to the sound of someone slamming a door, over and over, seemingly as hard as they could. It was about 2:00 am and raining so hard the water was pouring through the open window and flooding the floor and carpet. The sound was coming somewhere down the hall from one of the other units.
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After about the 15th or 16th slam to my inner ear, I was up, as in a trance, running like a lunatic from unit to unit and window to window, covering the entire southside of the 5th floor; battening down the hatches, and getting drenched in the process. It was, how should I say: exhilaratingly infuriating. I was supposed to get up in 2 hours and commute to work in the upper peninsula.
Having unconsciously completed this Sisyphean task and realizing that there was zero chance of getting any sleep, I donned my foul weather gear, equipped my trusty baton (I used to tuck its 2 ½-foot length up my sleeve when running), and headed out the front door to Lake Merrit which was just outside the main entrance. From there, I trotted to the sidewalk circling the lake, and began to run.
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As I ran counterclockwise against a torrential rain with a gale-force wind broken only by the occasional intermittent rainbow-hued lightning flashes which blinded me to almost everything around me, I almost ran into someone up ahead who was walking in the same direction.
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He was hunched over against the wind and rain and wearing a long heavy winter coat. Unusual for that time of year, I thought. Whenever I would run in public, I always made it a courtesy to let people know when I was approaching especially from behind. I’d blurt out a perfunctory:
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“Excuse me.” Followed by a conciliatory:
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“Sorry.”
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But apparently, the person ahead either didn’t hear me or didn’t care because, when I was about 6 feet from him, he suddenly turned around, exposing a darkened contorted face, jagged teeth, and a guttural growl that would have stopped a charging 600-pound Grizzly.
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The sheer force of the malevolence emitted from this inhuman thing almost made me stop, but because I was moving so fast, the inertia along with the gale force wind and lightning strikes propelled me past him (or it), and fingering my steel-reinforced baton, I, in turn, steeled my nerve and kept running. I looked back only once to reassure myself that he (or it) wasn’t following.
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Running on the leeward side now, with the rain at my back, I ran past a group of men in a circle smoking or drinking or doing whatever noxious or illicit thing I imagined, when, feeling charged with my own adrenalin, or the anger and resentment at that woman’s searing pleas for help, or the spook I’d almost run into, or just the gross injustices thrust upon the world in that dank, dark and dangerous time, I almost stopped, baton in hand, intending to take on the whole group: I may go down, I told myself, but at least I would take one or two with me.
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Just then, the lightning struck particularly close to where I and they stood and the sheer blinding flash and concussive boom shook all of us enough to break up their conspiratorial collaboration and my righteous crusade; just enough, that is, to shove me headlong around the next bend, to the long straight full out dash to the front doors, the 5 floors, 10 landings, and 50 risers to rain-sodden home.
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To get to work every day, I'd have to commute to the upper peninsula by using 3 buses, 1 train, and 1 cab and after a 10 or 12 or sometimes 14-hour day, I would have to take the same to get back. This meant that if I didn’t go out, make dinner, eat, or watch tv, I just might get about 4 hours sleep. Commuting took between 2 to 3 hours, one way.
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Once on the way home, almost every stop was crowded with commuters. I was told that it was because there were so many buses down for repair. The ones still running were so filled beyond capacity, that the shocks and springs were sitting on the chassis, and stop after stop proved nearly impossible to take on any more passengers. Still, and despite the few getting out at every stop, the driver would take on even more and just pack them in.
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I remember him yelling for people to get back behind the yellow line over and over. By then, he was long past any semblance of reason; his patience frayed to a single maniacal thought, his voice raspier and raspier, his manner, more and more brusk.
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I can still see when he finally lost it; jumping up, out of his seat, with a nickel-plated 38 Caliber Revolver pointing at one of the passengers; an elderly woman, screaming from the top of his lungs:
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“Get back behind the yellow line!”
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I can still hear the woman begging the driver:
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“Please...” while the passengers behind were practically trampling each other to get out of the line of fire.
I remember the sad, exhausted urgency in her voice; she really was trying to move back, but how could she, an old woman, do that with all those people blocking her way? Everyone knew this was an impossible task; everyone except the maddened driver. He just kept glaring, and bellowing with his gun out pointed right at her and the other passengers.
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"Back up and make room" he yelled.
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‘Or else what?’ I thought. ‘You're gonna kill an old woman?'
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Getting up out of my seat, pushing my way through the throng who were pushing against me to get away, I managed to get within about 6 feet from the front when, roaring through the din and my fear and anger, I ordered the bus driver to:
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“Put the gun down!” And again, with even more rage and authority:
“Put the gun down, now!”
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The bus driver shocked that it might be a cop, or worse, shakily, put his gun back in his concealed carry holster and hypnotically sat back down. He resumed driving without saying another word. I got out at the next stop, along with the elderly woman. She was so shaken, that she busted out crying. I held her still fuming despite the close call because I would now have to wait for another bus and after that, 2 more; the train and a cab to get home. I wasn’t going to make it until well after 8:00 pm. As soon as I got home, I reported the bus number and the driver to Muni.
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Many of the commuters I'd see day to day, or share a seat with were victims of the purge just trying to get out of the rain or the cold, or the wind, or the sun, even for just a little while. For them, it was easing the agony of living on the street, even just a little. For many of us regular commuters, during those dark times, it proved to be the same.
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On one of the final buses that would take me to the train and across the bay, I remember standing, with about 50 others, on Market Street waiting. Like ours, stop after stop was so packed with people, some were standing in the street because there was simply not enough room on the sidewalk. The ones in the street would stay where they were for fear of losing their place and missing their connection and having to wait another hour, or more, to catch another.
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Because the rapidly descending elevation of the southbound streets ending at Market Street from the upper peninsula were so steep and the transverse angle of the turn so sharp, some of the buses would skirt the edge of the curb, sometimes rolling up over it onto the sidewalk putting them dangerously close to the commuters waiting on the other side.
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If there were any people in the street, especially the old or the infirm, they would either have to get out of the way and lose their place in line or hope the bus driver stopped before completing the turn. Most of the drivers would. Once there was one who didn’t.
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I remember the television and newspaper account about an elderly woman waiting at one of the stops during the pm rush hour. When the bus made the oblique turn way too fast at 25 miles per hour she was either too close to the edge or standing in the street when she was hit by the side view mirror across the face and the left side of her head.
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She went down under the wheels and her body got hung up under the chassis. The bus driver too full of passengers to stop, or late for his break, or just too coked up to notice, kept on heading for the Embarcadero before he realized something was wrong. By then, the woman had been dragged over a quarter of a mile. No one knew for sure whether the concussion from the mirror or the relentless dragging was the cause of death. I guess it didn’t matter to her anymore, one way or the other. It mattered to a lot of those who witnessed the whole thing though; screaming and yelling, block after block, trying to get the bus driver to stop.
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To get across the Bay to San Francisco from Oakland or back, one alternative to the nightmare bus commute was the B.A.R.T (Bay Area Rapid Transit). It was quiet, clean, air-conditioned, and fast. Traveling under the Bay, it could span the 13 miles in minutes. Once I’d reach the train station, by bus, from the Oakland side, I’d descend one of the many street-level entries to the below-ground turnstiles which led to the train platform. Of course, there were always hundreds of derelicts, homeless, hustlers, etc., hanging out by the turnstiles waiting for their chance to slip through and get on any one of the many trains that serviced the Bay Area, but sometimes, especially after a scuffle with B.A.R.T. Security or the San Francisco/Oakland Police, they’d scatter to the winds (or the shadows as it were) until everything calmed down and then they'd be back at it again, day and night.
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Almost every week I'd hear about someone falling, or being pushed, or jumping down onto the third rail, which would either short-circuit the line and knock out the power or if it was particularly grisly, halt service entirely. Because service resumption could take hours, waiting passengers would have to go back up and out onto the street and catch another train, take a cab or a bus or just walk or, as was often the case for me, run.
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Once, I remember running to the next stop when I was ascending to the upper peninsula because the previous connection didn’t show up which meant it would have added another 45 minutes to my commute. The choice was obvious and inevitable: I could either
“wait to be late” or go for it. I chose the latter.
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You just can't imagine what it’s like to run at a 20-degree angle uphill for about 2 miles while wearing dress slacks, dress shoes, a white shirt and tie, and a sports jacket, in San Francisco, during the summer, with the humidity until you’ve tried it. It’s, how should I say: exhilaratingly infuriating.
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Running, I came upon a stand-alone, transmission shop, right in the middle of a residential area. The owners must have paid a pretty penny to get away with that one. There were police cars, the fire department, a metro ambulance, the San Francisco Chronicle, and a marked County Coroner’s Office vehicle scattered around the shop.
Some people along with some of the employees: their first names embroidered on their shirts, were standing on the sidewalk just outside the property watching. They’d been there for about an hour when I stopped to ask one of them (Bob) what happened.
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Wearily he said:
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“The girl who worked in the office answering the phone and typing up orders was shot to death by her boyfriend. The boyfriend got away but she was still down there being processed. God, she was only 24 years old. They’ll catch him, though. He hasn’t got a chance.”
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'Nope,' I thought.
'In this town, I don’t expect he would.'
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I was late again when I got home. Vaulting the 5 floors to reach our loft, I held my friend close, the entire night. She was ok with that. So was I.=

((CW: Wholesome and flirty. Credit to u/spacepaladin15 for creating “Nature of predators” that this is a fanfic of. And thanks for putting up with our BS along the way.))
FIRST//PREVIOUS//NEXT
Memory transcript subject: Arxur exchange subject Syle
Date [human standard time]: October 23, 2136
He stared at me. His eyes wide and his face very red. His eyes started on mine, looked me over from my face to my claws then back up, then nodded. I heard a faint "thank you god" but before I could ask him who he was thanking he finally answered me.
"Yeah. Yeah I would!"
Fuck yes he said yes! I clicked happily as my tail went fucking nuts! I didn't know much about this whole "dating" thing or human courting stuff, but I knew this was step 1. What you did with this dating I didn't know, but eh. Fuck it. Worth it.
He gave me a big hug before patting my head. "Well. Uhm… alright. Was actually going to ask you out myself, but didn't want to put pressure on you or make things difficult. I mean, you are already goi-"
I slid my head under his chin and curled my tail around his leg. Shut up. Be nice in other ways later and let's enjoy this. Luckily he got the message and rubbed the back of my head. "Alright. Shutting up now." He chuckled before rubbing under my chin. Once again betterment was proven to suck by the magic of human hands. More please. Loots more o- betterspotbetterspot ohhh yesssss neck rubs best rubs!
I clicked a few times as I finally gave in and pressed my body against his. And for once I felt him pressing back. Normally he just kinda held me, but now? Mm this dating thing is good already. I rubbed a bit against him for a bit before he finally patted my back.
“Alright hun. We both know I am enjoying this just as much as you, but I do need to put up the guns before we go inside. I don’t want them to get rusty.” He explained with a small chuckle and a wide smile on his face as he started to pick up a few guns.
“Well. Let me help so we can sit on the long chair together.”
He paused and looked at me. What did I say?
“Long…chair?” He asked before laughing at me. Jerk.
“Oh hun, that is called a couch!”
A what?
“I guess it is a pretty long chair, but the word for it is couch.” He then patted my head like I was a hatchling then continued his work. I let out a small annoyed hiss before I walked over and started to pick up some of the boxes of bullets. They were really heavy too!
“Sorry hun. Just nobody ever called it that around me before and the idea just.. Was funny!” He admitted chuckling a bit more as we put up some of the gear downstairs. He pointed out the empty spots where the ammo I was carrying went while he put up the guns.
“Alright. Fair. Now, what is this hun thing you keep calling me? My translator is saying something about conquerors.” I pointed out flicking my tail at him before going back up for more things.
He laughed again, but at least this time it wasn’t MY fault! I hope.
“That is pretty much the full opposite of what it means!” He then picked up a few more guns. “It's short for honey. A very long time ago the sweetest thing humans could find was honey. It's… made by a bug called bees. I will leave where it comes from at that.” I picked up the last of the ammo and we went back downstairs as he continued to explain. “So when someone wanted to call someone else the sweetest, best thing they called them honey. It IS a little predatory so I would be shocked if we could say it to the fed species, but I figured you would be okay with it.”
He chuckled a bit more as we put the stuff we were carrying away once more. “It's also just a habit. It would feel wrong to NOT call you that kinda stuff.”
I let out a breath and slid against him as we walked back upstairs. “Hmm. Fair. We don’t have much with nice names in the arxur.” I thought a bit then slid my tail under his chin. “I like it though. More please!”
His face turned so red I thought I broke him. The fact he stood up straight and just stared at me did NOT help. Finally he took a deep breath and kept on going upstairs. “Hoooly shit that felt better than I thought.” He said to himself. Was it just me or was it even easier to make him excited and happy now that we were dating? Then again I ne-
EEK!
He pinched my ass!
The fucker pinched my ass!
I mean, it did feel nice and he seemed to like doing it with how wide he was smiling. And it did make me feel good. But he PINCHED my ASS!
I hissed a bit at him and he held up his hands. “Sorry sorry! Its something humans do to tease those they date! If you don’t want it I won’t do it!”
What?
“Wait wait. You humans HURT each other to make each other feel GOOD?” I couldn’t believe it! I mean sure it made me feel good, but then again I was not exactly “normal.” I bet the feds would blow their little prey minds if they knew humans did that.
“Wellll… the answer to that question is yes. The full answer I am NOT ready to explain to you yet.” He shook his head a bit and took a deep breath. “But yes. Some ways of showing affection are pinching, light slaps to soft parts, small bites, and more. I would say I would love for you to do them, but with how sharp your claws and teeth are…” He shuddered and I had to admit he had a point.
“Fair enough.” I then picked up the last of the guns he was not carrying. Barrels pointed in a safe way, check! No finger on trigger, check! Treat like loaded, check! Make sure it's empty, check! Order wrong but all check!
We went back downstairs and put the rest of the guns away after setting aside his old rifle to be cleaned. He said the ammo was cheap so it could hurt the gun. While I would be surprised normally about someone taking that level of care of a gun considering how old it was, and how powerful the bullet seemed to be, I saw why he would be concerned.
Once everything was done I turned to look at him only for him to walk up and put an arm around me instead! He would start coming to me to cuddle!?
Dating was the best.
He then led us both upstairs. “Since we didn’t shoot much we only need to wash our hands. You can take the safety stuff off too.” he explained as he washed his hands first. “I will go change into something more comfy.” Damn, wanted him to take them off of me.
In a purely innocent way of course! I mean, his hands were the best things ever when they were on my face and head, but the non-innocent stuff was other things. I slipped them off and washed my hands before sitting down on the long-c- COUCH! Sitting down on the couch. Soon he walked into the kitchen in his sleep pants and t-shirt as he started to fix us a meat filled meal.
“So how much do you know about human dating?” He asked as he started to rub the tasty plant parts on the meat. Never thought I would be eating plants like a prey, but they were small and they tasted GREAT!
“Not much. Just know it’s what your kind do when they are very interested in someone. Usually a step before being mates.”
I heard the clatter of things as he stumbled. Yup. The reports of humans being nervous about mating was true! Mental note to possibly weaponi-USE this knowledge later.
“Uhm yes! Its when you spend lots of time with someone in ways that is far more close and personal than others and getting to know them more.” He explained from the kitchen.
“And how many do you date at once then?” I asked as I laid across the couch trying hard to ignore the wonderful smells from the kitchen.
“One at a time.” He answered. His voice sounded… off. As if he was confused.
“Isn’t that super inefficient?” I pointed out as I closed my eyes. “I mean, we arxur court multiple at once. That way if one dies or is found to be defective like me they have fallbacks. Also that way if one is found to be super good then they can spread their better genes.”
There was another noise. “Well uhm… Don’t worry. Unless for some reason you bring me another girl I will only be dating you.” He then let out a laugh as I pulled out my datapad. I knew that he was kidding, but I also could tell he wouldn’t exactly say no down the line. I hope. Still! Good enough for plan birdy!
Cuddlepunk: Hey firebird! I asked him and he said yes to me. Your turn up next. Will help you out don’t worry!
Once the message was sent I put down the datapa-
OHHHHHHHHhhHHHhh WHAT!? Ohhhh fuck so that is what it felt like to have a hand tease the tip of one’s tail.
I like. More please. Yessssss —-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Memory transcript subject: Krakotl exterminator team lead Taita
Date [human standard time]: October 23 2136
I was relaxing after a particularly hard claw. My favorite drink in one hand and latest news scrolling along my datapad in the other. Another “BIG CHANGE” in the exterminators I swear happens every few cycles, a new flavor of soda inspired by human soda, and a message from the arx-
Cuddlepunk: Hey firebird! I asked him and he said yes to me. Your turn up next. Will help you out don’t worry!
CHIRP!?
Waitwait yes to what!? Did the arxur know what dating was? I saw humans did but I doubt that she did! That means that!
CHIRP!
MY TURN!? MY TURN TO WHAT?!
CHIRP CHIRP!
AND HELP ME HOW!? Brahking speh i know the chirping is unprofessional but WHAT ELSE AM I SUPPOSED TO DO!
​
FIRST//PREVIOUS//NEXT

The way I see it, if you don’t notice that I exist, then I’m doing my job correctly.
​
My name is Ben McFarlane and I work as a municipal sewer inspector in the town of Tevam Sound, Ontario. It's not the most glamorous job, but hey, somebody's got to do it and it puts food on the table.
​
You'd probably think that working as a sewer inspector isn't that exciting… and yeah, for the most part you'd be right. Most of the time, all I'm doing is checking the pipes for damage. Unless there’s a reason for me to investigate a certain area, most of what I do is routine inspection, which helps ensure that the sewers remain in good working order. Trust me, nobody wants to see what happens when they aren’t.
​
Thankfully, a lot of what I do can be done without me needing to crawl through pipes. I can use a small camera to help me do the inspection. But with some of the larger pipes and cisterns, I need to actually go inside and take a look.
​
It’s never the best part of my day, but like I said before: somebody’s got to do it.
​
Going down into the bigger tunnels is always a little unnerving. Part of it is the claustrophobic atmosphere and part of it is the knowledge that you’re basically standing in a river of literal human waste. I can deal with it now, but back when I first started the smell alone was darn near impossible to deal with.
​
Ask most sanitation workers and I'm sure they'll have stories about what they've found in the sewers before. Heck, most of it isn't even stuff that people flush down the toilet. It's the stuff that people drop down manhole covers, or the stuff that gets washed into the sewers by the rain. Dead animals are surprisingly common, as are kids toys. I found an entire bicycle in the sewer once and I've got a buddy who found a loaded gun down there! Someone probably thought they'd get rid of it by just tossing it in the sewer.
​
Someone was wrong.
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But of all the strange things I've experienced during my time working in the sewers… none of it compares to the stuff I see in the pipes on the southeast side of town.
​
The things down there… I don't usually like to talk about them. Heck, I might not even be legally allowed to talk about them. I guess we'll find out, won't we? I've had a few drinks tonight and I'm feeling particularly chatty. So why not spill the beans? Hey, maybe someone out there will tell me something I don’t already know.
​
I’d been on the job for about a year or so before getting sent to the southeast side of town. It’s closer to the lake and the downtown area, so there’s some deeper pipes there. I’d always figured that that was the reason they only really ever sent certain people down there. I’d heard that those tunnels were old and a little labyrinthian. Anyone who didn’t know what they were doing could easily get lost.
​
But after we got hit with a particularly nasty rain storm back in summer of 2013, they needed to send someone down to check on some sensors and I just so happened to be one of the guys who was available.
​
A bad rain storm can push a sewer system to its limit, so it wasn’t really that surprising that we’d gotten that kind of call and at the time, I didn’t think that there was anything that strange about it. My supervisor told me to head on down toward the pumphouse on the southwest side of town like it was any other priority inspection, and I went along with no questions asked. It was a few streets away from downtown. I’d seen it before but never had a reason to go inside up until then.
​
I was working with a couple of other newbies at the time, a guy by the name of Stewart Long who’d only been on the job for a round three months or so, and another guy by the name of Tomas Opunui who’d started around the same time that I had.
​
We’d arrived at the pumphouse, and when we got there we noticed another team waiting on us. This wasn’t too shocking either. Depending on the size of the job, they might’ve sent some other guys in to help us handle it.
​
The guy in charge was an older man who looked to be pushing sixty. He had sort of a ‘Santa Claus on summer vacation’ look, with white hair, a short white beard, a big beer belly and a no nonsense expression.
​
He watched us get out of his truck with a look of stern disapproval, before huffing and trudging over to us.
“Where’s the usual fellas?” He asked.
“I dunno, out. They called us,” I replied.
​
He didn’t seem to like that answer but didn’t say anything in response to it.
“You ever worked on the southeast approach channel before?” He asked.
“Yeah, we’ve been in the ones on the north side of town,” I said.
“That’s not what I asked, kid. You ever worked in this one before?”
​
Something about the way he asked this question struck me as a little odd. I’d worked in an approach channel before. I knew the drill. What did it matter which one I’d worked in?
​
For the unenlightened, an approach channel is a cistern filled with wastewater. They feed into a deep tunnel which feeds into a water treatment plant and they’re considered to be fairly dangerous, due to their depth (if you fall off the ladder on your way down, you’re in for a long drop into a biohazardous lake unless you’re properly tethered) and the harmful gasses that can accumulate in them. Standard operating procedure is to always test the air before entering one just to make sure that it’s even safe to breathe down there.
​
Being reckless while going into an approach channel is a recipe for disaster, and I would have understood if the old man was concerned about us not having dealt with one before. But the way he spoke to us implied that this one was different somehow, which didn’t make a whole heck of a lot of sense to me.
“What’s the difference?” I asked. “Same procedure, right?”
“No, not the same procedure. We need people experienced with this approach channel. These tunnels are a little different than what you’re used to.
“Look, the boss sent us here. So I’m sure we’ll manage,” Tomas said. “You can show us what we need to know.”
​
The Old Man didn’t respond to him. He just shook his head and turned away.
“I’m gonna call this in and clear it with the boss first. You three, don’t move until I get back.”
I traded a look with both Tomas and Long as the Old Man trudged away. He said something to the two guys who were with him, before getting back into his truck to make a call.
​
Part of me was obliged to try and just get to work. But looking at the other two guys that the Old Man had with him, I had a feeling that they’d try to stop me. One of them, another older guy with a receding hairline and a bushy moustache was watching us like a hawk.
​
So we waited.
​
After a few minutes, the Old Man got out of his truck again, said something to his buddy with the mustache and trudged back over to us.
“Bad news, fellas. Looks like our usual company’s retired… guess you’re the replacement.”
“So we can get to work?” I asked.
“Yeah. We can get to work,” The Old Man said. “Come on, let’s get going.”
​
With that, he turned and led us into the pumphouse.
“Suppose I might as well introduce myself. Names Troy. My colleagues here are Craig and Peter.”
He gestured to the two men who were with him, Mr. Moustache (who I assumed was Craig) and the other guy, who looked to be in his mid thirties and had sunken eyes, as if he hadn’t slept in a few days. The one who I assumed was Craig just gave us a nod, while the guy I figured was Peter gave a lazy half wave before they followed us into the pumphouse.
“So if you don’t mind my asking, what’s so special about this channel?” I asked.
“I guess you’ll be seeing for yourself soon enough,” Troy replied as he started down a set of stairs. “The guys you’re replacing… well, guy… a fella named Tom… he always had a set of rules for working down here. He passed ‘em on to me and Craig when we started. We’ve passed ‘em on to Peter. Guess it’s time we passed ‘em on to you too.”
​
“Rules?” I asked, “What kind of rules?”
“The kind you listen very, very closely to, kid.”Troy looked back at me, before his eyes shifted to Tomas and Long behind me.
“Very, very closely.”
He descended the rest of the way down the stairs, where there was a hatch in the concrete floor beneath us, along with a large locker on the far side of the room.
​
“Rule number one,” Troy began. “You don’t enter this part of the sewers alone. You stay in a group of at least three to four at all times. No more, no less. Too many and it slows you down. Too few, and you might not come back at all.”
He trailed off, watching as Craig cracked open the hatch to test the air inside.
​
“Rule number two: You do not enter this part of the sewers without a gun and a radio.”
He opened the locker on the far side of the room and I was taken aback to see a collection of several handguns inside, along with boxes of ammunition and one shotgun in amongst the usual PPE.
Troy clipped one of the guns to his belt, along with one of the radios, before handing a pair off to Peter and looking over at us.
​
“Who’s taking it?” He asked.
“Whoa, just hold up for a minute!” Long interjected, “What the hell is down there?”
“Honestly, I don’t know,” Troy replied. “Hate to say it but it ain’t our job to know. I leave that to someone else. Our job is to follow the rules. You follow them, and you’ll be fine.”
Long seemed skeptical, but I looked at the gun in Troy’s hand and took it. I wasn’t sure if he was having a laugh with us or not, but I was there to do a job and I intended to do it.
​
Troy gave me a quiet nod, before thrusting the second gun over to Long. He didn’t seem to happy to get it.
“Are we gonna have to use these?” He asked.
“Not if you do as I say, you won’t. Rule 3: If you see a pipe or a tunnel with heavy spiderwebs, don’t go down it. Doesn’t matter if that’s where the sensor is. You make a note of it, report it to your supervisor and leave it alone.”
​
Spiderwebs? What the hell was he talking about?
“Rule 4: If you find a body… and odds are, you will find a body, don’t touch it. Don’t try to move it. Hell, don’t even get close to it. And don’t waste the supervisors time reporting it. Only time the bodies get reported is when they’re human.”
“I’m sorry, you’ve been finding human bodies down there?” I asked.
“Rarely,” He replied. “But it’s been known to happen. And if we do find one… the same rules apply. Don’t approach it. Don’t touch it. Stay as far away as possible.”
​
I could see some of the color draining from Long’s face.
“Rule 5: If you see anyone else down there, you are not to interact with them. You do not follow them if they try to lead you somewhere, if they ask you for help, you do not help them. I don’t care if they’re crying and begging. You leave them alone. You report it to your supervisor.”
“There are people down there?” I asked.
“Normally, no. Far as I know, Tom only ever ran into a couple during his career. I’ve only ever seen one. Like I said, best to leave them alone.”
​
“Why?” I asked, “If there’s someone stuck down there, we have an obligation to help them!”
“That would be very ill advised,” Troy said. “You don’t want to anger the things that are down there… which leads me to rule 6: Avoid killing anything you come across down there. They’re not yours to kill. And if you have absolutely no choice, if you have to break that rule for the sake of self defense, then we leave immediately. That’s rule number 7.”
​
“Air’s safe down there,” Craig said, interrupting our conversation.
“Good. Let’s get suited up, then. Oh… and rule 8. Final rule. If anything happens to any member of our team, we leave immediately. We don’t go after them. We don’t try to help them. We leave immediately. Is that clear? I don’t care if it’s me, begging you for help. You leave me behind.”
​
Long and I remained silent, neither of us entirely sure how to react to this or even what to say. Troy had made it sound as if we were about to descend into a level of hell. I couldn’t imagine what the hell could possibly be down there to elicit a list of rules like that, and I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to find out either!
“Well? You fellas getting ready or not?” Troy asked impatiently as he put on his PPE. “The quicker we get down there, the quicker we can get out again!”
​
“If this is so dangerous, why are they sending us?” Long asked, “Shouldn’t they be sending… I dunno, the cops or something?”
“They tolerate us being down there, so long as we don’t disturb them. They wouldn’t be so forgiving toward the local police,” Troy replied. “Listen, kid. Obey the rules and you’ll be fine, got that? We’ve been doing this for years without any problems. You keep your head on your shoulders, you do what we say and you go home safe. Alright?”
​
Long still didn’t seem convinced, but I did. By this point, I was morbidly curious about exactly what was down there… and Troy’s assurance that they’d come out unscathed before did set me at ease a little bit. These rules sounded kinda scary, but what could realistically go wrong? With Troy keeping us in line, everything would probably be fine and besides, I still wasn’t convinced that this wasn’t all some sort of elaborate prank the old man was pulling. I grabbed myself a set of PPE and got ready and after a moments hesitation, Long did the same.
​
When we were ready, Craig opened up the hatch in the floor, and Tomas helped get us tethered so that we wouldn’t plummet down into the waters below if we slipped on the ladder, then we finally began our descent.
​
Troy went first, climbing down the ladder and into the darkness below. I went second, followed by Peter and followed by Long.
​
We climbed down into the approach channel in relative silence, only really speaking again once we made it to the bottom of the ladder.
​
Troy helped me get untethered, before doing the same for Peter and Long as they reached the bottom, and while he did that I got my first look at the dreaded southeast approach channel. I can’t say that there was a heck of a lot to see. The walls were boxy and flat, and the dirty wastewater trickled over my boots and into the pipe sending it even deeper through the sewer system.
​
The sensors should have been mounted on the ceiling, and I traced the black conduit line with my flashlight as I searched for the sensor they connected to. Peter and Long stayed back as Tomas and Craig lowered our tools down after us, while Troy came up behind me.
“Should be quick work…” He noted, “Rain doesn’t seem to have done much in here. Water level is still fairly low.”
​
I saw his flashlight shift upward toward the ceiling before he spotted the sensor. He trudged through the water to get closer to it, and I followed him.
“No external damage,” I noted. “Conduit lines look good too.”
“Yeah, we’ll run our tests and get out of here,” Troy said. “Approach channel is usually pretty safe… usually.”
“Usually?” I asked, and Troy pointed his flashlight up toward a set of silky spiderwebs hanging from the ceiling a few feet behind the sensor.
​
“They don’t typically come up here… but every now and then you might find some proof of some young ones, trying to get into the pumphouse.”
I looked over at him.
“They try to break into the pumphouse?” I asked, “Did they ever get in?”
“Not that I’ve ever heard of. Can’t imagine they’d stay long if they did. Nothing to eat in there.”
“What exactly are they?” I asked, “And don’t you tell me that’s not for us to know. You’ve seen them, right? What do they look like?”
​
Troy had started to answer, when suddenly I heard Long screaming and swearing up a storm. Both of us turned to look, just in time to see something large skittering up the wall beside him. I only caught a brief glimpse of it, but it seemed to be roughly the size of a dog with more legs than I could count. Long stared at it with wide, horrified eyes as he fumbled with his gun, before pulling it free.
​
I saw Troy’s eyes widen before Long fired five times. Only one or two of the bullets actually hit the target. I heard Peter cry out in pain and grab at his arm before falling and whatever it was that Long had actually been shooting at collapsed into the shallow water, its pale body twitching violently.
“What did you just do?!” Troy demanded, running over to Peter’s side.
“I-it was coming for me!” Long protested, before noticing what he’d done to Peter. I saw his eyes widen in horror.
“Oh no… no, no, no… I didn’t…”
“Rule 6! You don’t kill anything down here! You leave them alone and they leave you alone!” Troy roared, before his attention returned to Peter. “How bad is it?”
​
“J-just a scratch, boss… I think I got hit by the ricochet,” Peter said, as Troy inspected his wound. I’ve never seen a gunshot wound before, but there was a lot of blood for it to just be a scratch.
“We’ll get you topside,” Troy said. “And come back down tomorrow with someone who knows how to follow rules!”
​
He shot Long a death glare before his radio crackled to life.
“Troy, everything good down there?” Craig asked.
“No, no it isn’t. One of the newbies got jumpy, shot at a centipede.” He huffed, “Put a hole in Peter in the process. Think you can reel him back up?”
“Yeah, sure thing. Hook him up. Tomas and I will bring him topside.”
​
Troy quietly hooked Peter up to the line, before helping him onto the ladder.
“You take it easy on the way up, and we’ll get that checked out,” He promised.
“Thanks boss,” Peter said quietly.
Troy’s attention returned to Long next, as he fixed him in a death glare.
“You, up the ladder behind him. And you…” He looked at me, his expression softening just a little.
“Behind him. I’ll go up last.”
​
Peter started to meekly climb the ladder, although it seemed like Craig and Tomas were doing most of the work, hoisting him up rung by rung. Once he’d made it part of the way up, Long started to hook himself up to climb behind him. Although before he could hook himself in, I saw him pause for a moment, staring at Troy.
“What is it?” Troy asked, before pausing.
​
Long craned his neck a little, his hand moving down to his gun again… and it was then that both Troy and I realized that he hadn’t been looking at Troy. He’d been looking at what was behind him.
​
I only saw a shadow, perched on the roof of the tunnel. But that was all that Long needed to see before he started shooting again.
“DON’T!”
But by the time Troy had gotten the word out, that trigger happy idiot had already started shooting again and this time, the thing that came for him didn’t drop dead.
​
Instead, it launched itself off of the ceiling of the tunnel, crashing into the ground a few feet away from me.
“WAIT!” Troy tried to protest before the thing in front of us knocked him aside, dashing him against the wall. Long scrambled away, retreating deeper into the tunnel while Peter frantically tried to unholster his gun.
“Troy? Troy, what’s going on down there?” I heard Craig calling over the radio, “Troy? Anyone, respond!”
​
The shape in front of us turned, looking over at me and Long. Eight eyes shone in the darkness and though I could only see the shadow of the creature before us, I saw enough. It had a body like a spider, with eight long chitinous legs. Only its body was much larger than any spider I’d ever seen before.
​
Much, much larger.
​
This creature was almost the size of a small car, but it wasn’t its size that terrified me. It was the humanoid torso coming out of the front of it. The two arms that ended in razor sharp claws, the snarling mouth that made noises that almost sounded human.
​
When this impossible thing looked at us, I saw real intelligence in its eyes. It was studying us, trying to determine how much of a threat we were…
​
Long kept his gun trained on it, hands shaking violently. I knew that he was going to shoot again, and hoping not to anger this thing, grabbed his arm, trying to force his gun down. He jumped the moment that I touched him giving me a hysterical look.
“Don’t!” I snapped, “You’re just gonna piss it off!”
​
The Spider took a step toward us, hissing as it did. Long pulled away from me.
“Stu!”
I tried calling his name, but Long had already made his choice and sealed his fate. He’d opted to fight this thing. And so, like the fool he was he shot at it again.
​
The Spider lunged for us.
​
I ran. Long didn’t.
​
He only had enough time to scream before it pounced on him, and then… all I could hear were the dying screams in his throat as he was pulled apart. I didn’t see him die. But I didn’t need to. I heard everything. I kept running, not even thinking about where the approach channel was going to end. And when it did end, all I could do was plummet into the darkness.
​
See, at the end of an approach channel is what is appropriately called a drop shaft. It’s where the water flows into a larger tunnel beneath the city. That tunnel, flows into the water treatment plant, eventually and the water down there… yeah… let’s just say that you don’t want to end up in the water down there.
​
Unfortunately, that was exactly where I was going.
​
I know that every job has its struggles, but I didn’t expect to need to choose between diving into raw sewage and fighting a giant spider monster when I woke up that morning. However the choice was presented to me and I did the best that I could given the circumstances.
​
Going into the wastewater was exactly an unpleasant experience as you’d think it would be. I’m inclined not to share the details of what it was like, simply because I genuinely do not want to remember them and I’m still not entirely convinced that dealing with the giant angry spider person wasn’t the better choice.
​
A small comfort was that the pain of hitting the water, combined with the confusing sensation of being flushed through a pipe and into an even larger pipe made the whole experience slightly less disgusting, at the cost of being considerably more painful.
​
At the end of it, I was washed out into the main pipe and collapsed into the water, covered in filth and gagging from the stench that had sank into my every pore. I felt disoriented and confused. I tried to stand, only to collapse back into the wastewater, before aimlessly looking around, hoping that maybe I could figure out what direction to go in. It was too dark to see much of anything and I’d lost my flashlight during my trip through the wastewater, so I was left to just wander aimlessly, following what I thought was the flow of the water as my eyes slowly started to acclimate to the darkness.
​
I could feel shapes in the water. Some of them I almost tripped over and I could smell rotting meat on top of the stink of human waste. In the darkness, I could make out shapes in the water and hear the buzzing of bugs around me. I could even feel a few whizz past my head and mindlessly swatted at them.
​
Old bones crunched under my boots, and I quietly thanked whatever God was listening that I couldn’t see what they’d belonged to. I wanted to assume they were animal bones… but who knew, right? I couldn’t shake the mental image of myself unknowingly stepping over the mauled corpse of Stewart Long… although that was more from the trauma of having recently witnessed a man die than any guilt over what had happened to him. Long had quite literally gotten himself killed. Although I was terrified that I’d be joining him at any second.
​
I kept listening in, half expecting to hear spider legs creeping up behind me. But it was impossible to tell if I was alone or not in that darkness and with the bugs buzzing past me. If there were anything after me, I truly would not know it until after it had pounced.
​
Still, I knew I couldn’t afford to let the fear get the better of me. So I just kept walking, hoping that maybe if I did, I’d somehow find myself at the water treatment plant and maybe then I’d get some help.
​
Maybe.
​
As I pressed on, I noticed a light ahead of me and picked up the pace, hoping to God that I’d finally found my way out of this mess. But as I drew closer, I became very aware that whatever the source of that light was, it was not from the water treatment plant.
​
In fact, I wasn’t entirely sure what it was. My first thought was that it was a fatberg (which is a solid mass of waste matter formed by an unholy mixture of wet wipes, grease, oil and every other piece of garbage people tend to flush down their toilets) but the longer I looked, the less certain I was about that.
​
Fatbergs usually didn’t have lamps embedded in them.
​
Fatbergs usually didn’t have thick spiderwebs clinging to them.
​
Fatbergs didn’t usually lead into a separate tunnel into the earth large enough for me to walk through.
​
And finally, fatbergs didn’t usually have dead deer protruding from them. Let alone dead deer with other bugs living in them. God… the sight of those corpses… the way the bugs crawled through the rotting flesh and exposed bone. The empty, hollow eyes… it was almost too horrible to look at.
​
And I swore that I could see things inside the corpses! Honeycombs of some sort, and the bugs who crawled around them looked almost like bees.
​
Was… was something cultivating some kind of bee in these things?
​
I thought back to Troy’s rules.
“Rule 4: If you find a body… and odds are, you will find a body, don’t touch it. Don’t try to move it. Hell, don’t even get close to it. And don’t waste the supervisor's time reporting it. Only time the bodies get reported is when they’re human.”
​
Suddenly, they made a little more sense. If those spider things were cultivating something in these bodies… of course we shouldn’t touch them. And if they were cultivating their food in the sewer… I paused, before staring down the tunnel that the corpses sat near the entrance of.
​
Dull lamps illuminated it as it wound down into the earth, and I could see several pale centipede things that looked a lot like the creature that Long had shot to get us into this mess in the first place. These things must have belonged to the Spiders too, although whether they were some sort of guard dog or another thing they were farming was hard to say.
​
I took a step away from the tunnel, before looking back to make sure that I was well enough alone and trudging onward. And that was when I heard the slow rustle of movement.
​
I paused, feeling a chill run through me as the imminent reality of my own death dawned on me.
​
Slowly I turned, just in time to see a dark shape descending from the ceiling. A fresh set of eyes settled on me, narrowing as they studied me.
​
I put my hands up, hoping that it might understand the gesture of surrender and slowly it drew closer to me. I wasn’t sure if it was curious, or looking to murder me and at that point, I don’t think it really mattered. I wish I could say that I faced my death with dignity, but I’m going to be honest, I didn’t. I sat there, quivering and praying to whatever God would listen that it wouldn’t, kill me.
​
And then… I heard a voice.
“Leave that one! He’s with me!”
​
Troy?
​
I saw a figure emerge from the tunnel in the wall, and against all logic, somehow it was Troy! He had a hell of a goose egg on his head from where he’d been hit earlier, but he was alive! He stepped between me and the spider person, arms outstretched.
​
“With me.” He repeated firmly.
The Spider stared down at him, before huffing and turning away. I watched as they disappeared down the nearby tunnel, and Troy watched them go, before quietly turning to me.
​
“Good lord, boy… I’m shocked to see you’re still alive!”
“W-what just happened?” Was the only thing I could stammer. “You can talk to them?!”
“Some of ‘em. I’ve been down here for long enough that they know me. Know I’m not a threat. But they ain’t too happy with us right now. So what you’re gonna do here is get up, follow me, and I’m gonna get you out of here.”
“How do you know they’re even gonna let us leave?” I asked.
​
Troy’s expression soured.
“Had to pay ‘em off…” He admitted, “Let them keep what was left of your friend. They considered it a fair trade, so long as we leave. Now, let’s go.”
I didn’t ask any more questions.
​
***
​
After I made it out of the sewers that day, I ended up in the hospital alongside Peter. I had some minor cuts and bruises, a burning rash over most of my body from all the sewage I’d been crawling around in… but I was still alive, and I figured that had to count for something.
​
Nobody said a word about what happened to Stewart Long down in the sewer. He got written off as a workplace accident and they never even tried to recover his body. I suspect what’s left of him is still down in the sewers, even now… feeding whatever it is that those things down there are cultivating, although I’ve never seen the body myself.
​
Yes… I have been back down beneath the southeast side of town. The next time they needed someone to go, they sent me and Tomas along with Troy, Craig and Peter. We know what’s down there and we know how to deal with them, after all. My second visit to those sewers was a lot less eventful, and most of my subsequent visits haven’t been all that eventful either.
​
Over the years, I’ve gotten better at dealing with the Spiders… they’re not the most friendly folk and I know all too well that if you cross them, they’ll rip your guts out before you even realize that you’re dead. But so long as you follow the rules and leave them alone, they’re content to live and let live. They can even be reasonable, to an extent. We’ve had a few small incidents over the years, but nothing like the one that Long caused.
​
Odds are, when Troy and Craig retire next year, Tomas and I will be training the next group on what to do when you’re down beneath the southeast side of town. So in preparation for that, I’ve made a point to keep a copy of Tom's rules in the pumphouse. I also keep a picture of Stewart Long in there. Not as a memorial and not out of spite either. Just as a grim reminder of what can happen when you don’t follow the [rules.](https://www.reddit.com/HeadOfSpectre/)

Reposting this, long read but relevant for the coming attacks
_______________________________________________________________________

1. COINTELPRO Techniques for dilution, misdirection and control of a internet forum
2. Twenty-Five Rules of Disinformation
3. Eight Traits of the Disinformationalist
4. How to Spot a Spy (Cointelpro Agent)
5. Seventeen Techniques for Truth Suppression

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COINTELPRO Techniques for dilution, misdirection and control of a internet forum..
There are several techniques for the control and manipulation of a internet forum no matter what, or who is on it. We will go over each technique and demonstrate that only a minimal number of operatives can be used to eventually and effectively gain a control of a 'uncontrolled forum.'
Technique #1 - 'FORUM SLIDING'
If a very sensitive posting of a critical nature has been posted on a forum - it can be quickly removed from public view by 'forum sliding.' In this technique a number of unrelated posts are quietly prepositioned on the forum and allowed to 'age.' Each of these misdirectional forum postings can then be called upon at will to trigger a 'forum slide.' The second requirement is that several fake accounts exist, which can be called upon, to ensure that this technique is not exposed to the public. To trigger a 'forum slide' and 'flush' the critical post out of public view it is simply a matter of logging into each account both real and fake and then 'replying' to prepositined postings with a simple 1 or 2 line comment. This brings the unrelated postings to the top of the forum list, and the critical posting 'slides' down the front page, and quickly out of public view. Although it is difficult or impossible to censor the posting it is now lost in a sea of unrelated and unuseful postings. By this means it becomes effective to keep the readers of the forum reading unrelated and non-issue items.
Technique #2 - 'CONSENSUS CRACKING'
A second highly effective technique (which you can see in operation all the time at www.abovetopsecret.com) is 'consensus cracking.' To develop a consensus crack, the following technique is used. Under the guise of a fake account a posting is made which looks legitimate and is towards the truth is made - but the critical point is that it has a VERY WEAK PREMISE without substantive proof to back the posting. Once this is done then under alternative fake accounts a very strong position in your favour is slowly introduced over the life of the posting. It is IMPERATIVE that both sides are initially presented, so the uninformed reader cannot determine which side is the truth. As postings and replies are made the stronger 'evidence' or disinformation in your favour is slowly 'seeded in.' Thus the uninformed reader will most like develop the same position as you, and if their position is against you their opposition to your posting will be most likely dropped. However in some cases where the forum members are highly educated and can counter your disinformation with real facts and linked postings, you can then 'abort' the consensus cracking by initiating a 'forum slide.'
Technique #3 - 'TOPIC DILUTION'
Topic dilution is not only effective in forum sliding it is also very useful in keeping the forum readers on unrelated and non-productive issues. This is a critical and useful technique to cause a 'RESOURCE BURN.' By implementing continual and non-related postings that distract and disrupt (trolling ) the forum readers they are more effectively stopped from anything of any real productivity. If the intensity of gradual dilution is intense enough, the readers will effectively stop researching and simply slip into a 'gossip mode.' In this state they can be more easily misdirected away from facts towards uninformed conjecture and opinion. The less informed they are the more effective and easy it becomes to control the entire group in the direction that you would desire the group to go in. It must be stressed that a proper assessment of the psychological capabilities and levels of education is first determined of the group to determine at what level to 'drive in the wedge.' By being too far off topic too quickly it may trigger censorship by a forum moderator.
Technique #4 - 'INFORMATION COLLECTION'
Information collection is also a very effective method to determine the psychological level of the forum members, and to gather intelligence that can be used against them. In this technique in a light and positive environment a 'show you mine so me yours' posting is initiated. From the number of replies and the answers that are provided much statistical information can be gathered. An example is to post your 'favourite weapon' and then encourage other members of the forum to showcase what they have. In this matter it can be determined by reverse proration what percentage of the forum community owns a firearm, and or a illegal weapon. This same method can be used by posing as one of the form members and posting your favourite 'technique of operation.' From the replies various methods that the group utilizes can be studied and effective methods developed to stop them from their activities.
Technique #5 - 'ANGER TROLLING'
Statistically, there is always a percentage of the forum posters who are more inclined to violence. In order to determine who these individuals are, it is a requirement to present a image to the forum to deliberately incite a strong psychological reaction. From this the most violent in the group can be effectively singled out for reverse IP location and possibly local enforcement tracking. To accomplish this only requires posting a link to a video depicting a local police officer massively abusing his power against a very innocent individual. Statistically of the million or so police officers in America there is always one or two being caught abusing there powers and the taping of the activity can be then used for intelligence gathering purposes - without the requirement to 'stage' a fake abuse video. This method is extremely effective, and the more so the more abusive the video can be made to look. Sometimes it is useful to 'lead' the forum by replying to your own posting with your own statement of violent intent, and that you 'do not care what the authorities think!!' inflammation. By doing this and showing no fear it may be more effective in getting the more silent and self-disciplined violent intent members of the forum to slip and post their real intentions. This can be used later in a court of law during prosecution.
Technique #6 - 'GAINING FULL CONTROL'
It is important to also be harvesting and continually maneuvering for a forum moderator position. Once this position is obtained, the forum can then be effectively and quietly controlled by deleting unfavourable postings - and one can eventually steer the forum into complete failure and lack of interest by the general public. This is the 'ultimate victory' as the forum is no longer participated with by the general public and no longer useful in maintaining their freedoms. Depending on the level of control you can obtain, you can deliberately steer a forum into defeat by censoring postings, deleting memberships, flooding, and or accidentally taking the forum offline. By this method the forum can be quickly killed. However it is not always in the interest to kill a forum as it can be converted into a 'honey pot' gathering center to collect and misdirect newcomers and from this point be completely used for your control for your agenda purposes.
CONCLUSION
Remember these techniques are only effective if the forum participants DO NOT KNOW ABOUT THEM. Once they are aware of these techniques the operation can completely fail, and the forum can become uncontrolled. At this point other avenues must be considered such as initiating a false legal precidence to simply have the forum shut down and taken offline. This is not desirable as it then leaves the enforcement agencies unable to track the percentage of those in the population who always resist attempts for control against them. Many other techniques can be utilized and developed by the individual and as you develop further techniques of infiltration and control it is imperative to share then with HQ.
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Twenty-Five Rules of Disinformation
Note: The first rule and last five (or six, depending on situation) rules are generally not directly within the ability of the traditional disinfo artist to apply. These rules are generally used more directly by those at the leadership, key players, or planning level of the criminal conspiracy or conspiracy to cover up.
1. Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil. Regardless of what you know, don't discuss it -- especially if you are a public figure, news anchor, etc. If it's not reported, it didn't happen, and you never have to deal with the issues.
2. Become incredulous and indignant. Avoid discussing key issues and instead focus on side issues which can be used show the topic as being critical of some otherwise sacrosanct group or theme. This is also known as the 'How dare you!' gambit.
3. Create rumor mongers. Avoid discussing issues by describing all charges, regardless of venue or evidence, as mere rumors and wild accusations. Other derogatory terms mutually exclusive of truth may work as well. This method which works especially well with a silent press, because the only way the public can learn of the facts are through such 'arguable rumors'. If you can associate the material with the Internet, use this fact to certify it a 'wild rumor' from a 'bunch of kids on the Internet' which can have no basis in fact.
4. Use a straw man. Find or create a seeming element of your opponent's argument which you can easily knock down to make yourself look good and the opponent to look bad. Either make up an issue you may safely imply exists based on your interpretation of the opponent/opponent arguments/situation, or select the weakest aspect of the weakest charges. Amplify their significance and destroy them in a way which appears to debunk all the charges, real and fabricated alike, while actually avoiding discussion of the real issues.
5. Sidetrack opponents with name calling and ridicule. This is also known as the primary 'attack the messenger' ploy, though other methods qualify as variants of that approach. Associate opponents with unpopular titles such as 'kooks', 'right-wing', 'liberal', 'left-wing', 'terrorists', 'conspiracy buffs', 'radicals', 'militia', 'racists', 'religious fanatics', 'sexual deviates', and so forth. This makes others shrink from support out of fear of gaining the same label, and you avoid dealing with issues.
6. Hit and Run. In any public forum, make a brief attack of your opponent or the opponent position and then scamper off before an answer can be fielded, or simply ignore any answer. This works extremely well in Internet and letters-to-the-editor environments where a steady stream of new identities can be called upon without having to explain criticism, reasoning -- simply make an accusation or other attack, never discussing issues, and never answering any subsequent response, for that would dignify the opponent's viewpoint.
7. Question motives. Twist or amplify any fact which could be taken to imply that the opponent operates out of a hidden personal agenda or other bias. This avoids discussing issues and forces the accuser on the defensive.
8. Invoke authority. Claim for yourself or associate yourself with authority and present your argument with enough 'jargon' and 'minutia' to illustrate you are 'one who knows', and simply say it isn't so without discussing issues or demonstrating concretely why or citing sources.
9. Play Dumb. No matter what evidence or logical argument is offered, avoid discussing issues except with denials they have any credibility, make any sense, provide any proof, contain or make a point, have logic, or support a conclusion. Mix well for maximum effect.
10. Associate opponent charges with old news. A derivative of the straw man -- usually, in any large-scale matter of high visibility, someone will make charges early on which can be or were already easily dealt with - a kind of investment for the future should the matter not be so easily contained.) Where it can be foreseen, have your own side raise a straw man issue and have it dealt with early on as part of the initial contingency plans. Subsequent charges, regardless of validity or new ground uncovered, can usually then be associated with the original charge and dismissed as simply being a rehash without need to address current issues -- so much the better where the opponent is or was involved with the original source.
11. Establish and rely upon fall-back positions. Using a minor matter or element of the facts, take the 'high road' and 'confess' with candor that some innocent mistake, in hindsight, was made -- but that opponents have seized on the opportunity to blow it all out of proportion and imply greater criminalities which, 'just isn't so.' Others can reinforce this on your behalf, later, and even publicly 'call for an end to the nonsense' because you have already 'done the right thing.' Done properly, this can garner sympathy and respect for 'coming clean' and 'owning up' to your mistakes without addressing more serious issues.
12. Enigmas have no solution. Drawing upon the overall umbrella of events surrounding the crime and the multitude of players and events, paint the entire affair as too complex to solve. This causes those otherwise following the matter to begin to lose interest more quickly without having to address the actual issues.
13. Alice in Wonderland Logic. Avoid discussion of the issues by reasoning backwards or with an apparent deductive logic which forbears any actual material fact.
14. Demand complete solutions. Avoid the issues by requiring opponents to solve the crime at hand completely, a ploy which works best with issues qualifying for rule 10.
15. Fit the facts to alternate conclusions. This requires creative thinking unless the crime was planned with contingency conclusions in place.
16. Vanish evidence and witnesses. If it does not exist, it is not fact, and you won't have to address the issue.
17. Change the subject. Usually in connection with one of the other ploys listed here, find a way to side-track the discussion with abrasive or controversial comments in hopes of turning attention to a new, more manageable topic. This works especially well with companions who can 'argue' with you over the new topic and polarize the discussion arena in order to avoid discussing more key issues.
18. Emotionalize, Antagonize, and Goad Opponents. If you can't do anything else, chide and taunt your opponents and draw them into emotional responses which will tend to make them look foolish and overly motivated, and generally render their material somewhat less coherent. Not only will you avoid discussing the issues in the first instance, but even if their emotional response addresses the issue, you can further avoid the issues by then focusing on how 'sensitive they are to criticism.'
19. Ignore proof presented, demand impossible proofs. This is perhaps a variant of the 'play dumb' rule. Regardless of what material may be presented by an opponent in public forums, claim the material irrelevant and demand proof that is impossible for the opponent to come by (it may exist, but not be at his disposal, or it may be something which is known to be safely destroyed or withheld, such as a murder weapon.) In order to completely avoid discussing issues, it may be required that you to categorically deny and be critical of media or books as valid sources, deny that witnesses are acceptable, or even deny that statements made by government or other authorities have any meaning or relevance.
20. False evidence. Whenever possible, introduce new facts or clues designed and manufactured to conflict with opponent presentations -- as useful tools to neutralize sensitive issues or impede resolution. This works best when the crime was designed with contingencies for the purpose, and the facts cannot be easily separated from the fabrications.
21. Call a Grand Jury, Special Prosecutor, or other empowered investigative body. Subvert the (process) to your benefit and effectively neutralize all sensitive issues without open discussion. Once convened, the evidence and testimony are required to be secret when properly handled. For instance, if you own the prosecuting attorney, it can insure a Grand Jury hears no useful evidence and that the evidence is sealed and unavailable to subsequent investigators. Once a favorable verdict is achieved, the matter can be considered officially closed. Usually, this technique is applied to find the guilty innocent, but it can also be used to obtain charges when seeking to frame a victim.
22. Manufacture a new truth. Create your own expert(s), group(s), author(s), leader(s) or influence existing ones willing to forge new ground via scientific, investigative, or social research or testimony which concludes favorably. In this way, if you must actually address issues, you can do so authoritatively.
23. Create bigger distractions. If the above does not seem to be working to distract from sensitive issues, or to prevent unwanted media coverage of unstoppable events such as trials, create bigger news stories (or treat them as such) to distract the multitudes.
24. Silence critics. If the above methods do not prevail, consider removing opponents from circulation by some definitive solution so that the need to address issues is removed entirely. This can be by their death, arrest and detention, blackmail or destruction of their character by release of blackmail information, or merely by destroying them financially, emotionally, or severely damaging their health.
25. Vanish. If you are a key holder of secrets or otherwise overly illuminated and you think the heat is getting too hot, to avoid the issues, vacate the kitchen.
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Eight Traits of the Disinformationalist
1) Avoidance. They never actually discuss issues head-on or provide constructive input, generally avoiding citation of references or credentials. Rather, they merely imply this, that, and the other. Virtually everything about their presentation implies their authority and expert knowledge in the matter without any further justification for credibility.
2) Selectivity. They tend to pick and choose opponents carefully, either applying the hit-and-run approach against mere commentators supportive of opponents, or focusing heavier attacks on key opponents who are known to directly address issues. Should a commentator become argumentative with any success, the focus will shift to include the commentator as well.
3) Coincidental. They tend to surface suddenly and somewhat coincidentally with a new controversial topic with no clear prior record of participation in general discussions in the particular public arena involved. They likewise tend to vanish once the topic is no longer of general concern. They were likely directed or elected to be there for a reason, and vanish with the reason.
4) Teamwork. They tend to operate in self-congratulatory and complementary packs or teams. Of course, this can happen naturally in any public forum, but there will likely be an ongoing pattern of frequent exchanges of this sort where professionals are involved. Sometimes one of the players will infiltrate the opponent camp to become a source for straw man or other tactics designed to dilute opponent presentation strength.
5) Anti-conspiratorial. They almost always have disdain for 'conspiracy theorists' and, usually, for those who in any way believe JFK was not killed by LHO. Ask yourself why, if they hold such disdain for conspiracy theorists, do they focus on defending a single topic discussed in a NG focusing on conspiracies? One might think they would either be trying to make fools of everyone on every topic, or simply ignore the group they hold in such disdain.Or, one might more rightly conclude they have an ulterior motive for their actions in going out of their way to focus as they do.
6) Artificial Emotions. An odd kind of 'artificial' emotionalism and an unusually thick skin -- an ability to persevere and persist even in the face of overwhelming criticism and unacceptance. This likely stems from intelligence community training that, no matter how condemning the evidence, deny everything, and never become emotionally involved or reactive. The net result for a disinfo artist is that emotions can seem artificial.
Most people, if responding in anger, for instance, will express their animosity throughout their rebuttal. But disinfo types usually have trouble maintaining the 'image' and are hot and cold with respect to pretended emotions and their usually more calm or unemotional communications style. It's just a job, and they often seem unable to 'act their role in character' as well in a communications medium as they might be able in a real face-to-face conversation/confrontation. You might have outright rage and indignation one moment, ho-hum the next, and more anger later -- an emotional yo-yo.
With respect to being thick-skinned, no amount of criticism will deter them from doing their job, and they will generally continue their old disinfo patterns without any adjustments to criticisms of how obvious it is that they play that game -- where a more rational individual who truly cares what others think might seek to improve their communications style, substance, and so forth, or simply give up.
7) Inconsistent. There is also a tendency to make mistakes which betray their true self/motives. This may stem from not really knowing their topic, or it may be somewhat 'freudian', so to speak, in that perhaps they really root for the side of truth deep within.
I have noted that often, they will simply cite contradictory information which neutralizes itself and the author. For instance, one such player claimed to be a Navy pilot, but blamed his poor communicating skills (spelling, grammar, incoherent style) on having only a grade-school education. I'm not aware of too many Navy pilots who don't have a college degree. Another claimed no knowledge of a particular topic/situation but later claimed first-hand knowledge of it.
8) Time Constant. Recently discovered, with respect to News Groups, is the response time factor. There are three ways this can be seen to work, especially when the government or other empowered player is involved in a cover up operation:
a) ANY NG posting by a targeted proponent for truth can result in an IMMEDIATE response. The government and other empowered players can afford to pay people to sit there and watch for an opportunity to do some damage. SINCE DISINFO IN A NG ONLY WORKS IF THE READER SEES IT - FAST RESPONSE IS CALLED FOR, or the visitor may be swayed towards truth.
b) When dealing in more direct ways with a disinformationalist, such as email, DELAY IS CALLED FOR - there will usually be a minimum of a 48-72 hour delay. This allows a sit-down team discussion on response strategy for best effect, and even enough time to 'get permission' or instruction from a formal chain of command.
c) In the NG example 1) above, it will often ALSO be seen that bigger guns are drawn and fired after the same 48-72 hours delay - the team approach in play. This is especially true when the targeted truth seeker or their comments are considered more important with respect to potential to reveal truth. Thus, a serious truth sayer will be attacked twice for the same sin.
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How to Spot a Spy (Cointelpro Agent)
One way to neutralize a potential activist is to get them to be in a group that does all the wrong things. Why?
1) The message doesn't get out.
2) A lot of time is wasted
3) The activist is frustrated and discouraged
4) Nothing good is accomplished.
FBI and Police Informers and Infiltrators will infest any group and they have phoney activist organizations established.
Their purpose is to prevent any real movement for justice or eco-peace from developing in this country.
Agents come in small, medium or large. They can be of any ethnic background. They can be male or female.
The actual size of the group or movement being infiltrated is irrelevant. It is the potential the movement has for becoming large which brings on the spies and saboteurs.
This booklet lists tactics agents use to slow things down, foul things up, destroy the movement and keep tabs on activists.
It is the agent's job to keep the activist from quitting such a group, thus keeping him/her under control.
In some situations, to get control, the agent will tell the activist:

• "You're dividing the movement."

[Here, I have added the psychological reasons as to WHY this maneuver works to control people]
This invites guilty feelings. Many people can be controlled by guilt. The agents begin relationships with activists behind a well-developed mask of "dedication to the cause." Because of their often declared dedication, (and actions designed to prove this), when they criticize the activist, he or she - being truly dedicated to the movement - becomes convinced that somehow, any issues are THEIR fault. This is because a truly dedicated person tends to believe that everyone has a conscience and that nobody would dissimulate and lie like that "on purpose." It's amazing how far agents can go in manipulating an activist because the activist will constantly make excuses for the agent who regularly declares their dedication to the cause. Even if they do, occasionally, suspect the agent, they will pull the wool over their own eyes by rationalizing: "they did that unconsciously... they didn't really mean it... I can help them by being forgiving and accepting " and so on and so forth.
The agent will tell the activist:

• "You're a leader!"

This is designed to enhance the activist's self-esteem. His or her narcissistic admiration of his/her own activist/altruistic intentions increase as he or she identifies with and consciously admires the altruistic declarations of the agent which are deliberately set up to mirror those of the activist.
This is "malignant pseudoidentification." It is the process by which the agent consciously imitates or simulates a certain behavior to foster the activist's identification with him/her, thus increasing the activist's vulnerability to exploitation. The agent will simulate the more subtle self-concepts of the activist.
Activists and those who have altruistic self-concepts are most vulnerable to malignant pseudoidentification especially during work with the agent when the interaction includes matter relating to their competency, autonomy, or knowledge.
The goal of the agent is to increase the activist's general empathy for the agent through pseudo-identification with the activist's self-concepts.
The most common example of this is the agent who will compliment the activist for his competency or knowledge or value to the movement. On a more subtle level, the agent will simulate affects and mannerisms of the activist which promotes identification via mirroring and feelings of "twinship". It is not unheard of for activists, enamored by the perceived helpfulness and competence of a good agent, to find themselves considering ethical violations and perhaps, even illegal behavior, in the service of their agent/handler.
The activist's "felt quality of perfection" [self-concept] is enhanced, and a strong empathic bond is developed with the agent through his/her imitation and simulation of the victim's own narcissistic investments. [self-concepts] That is, if the activist knows, deep inside, their own dedication to the cause, they will project that onto the agent who is "mirroring" them.
The activist will be deluded into thinking that the agent shares this feeling of identification and bonding. In an activist/social movement setting, the adversarial roles that activists naturally play vis a vis the establishment/government, fosters ongoing processes of intrapsychic splitting so that "twinship alliances" between activist and agent may render whole sectors or reality testing unavailable to the activist. They literally "lose touch with reality."
Activists who deny their own narcissistic investments [do not have a good idea of their own self-concepts and that they ARE concepts] and consciously perceive themselves (accurately, as it were) to be "helpers" endowed with a special amount of altruism are exceedingly vulnerable to the affective (emotional) simulation of the accomplished agent.
Empathy is fostered in the activist through the expression of quite visible affects. The presentation of tearfulness, sadness, longing, fear, remorse, and guilt, may induce in the helper-oriented activist a strong sense of compassion, while unconsciously enhancing the activist's narcissistic investment in self as the embodiment of goodness.
The agent's expresssion of such simulated affects may be quite compelling to the observer and difficult to distinguish from deep emotion.
It can usually be identified by two events, however:
First, the activist who has analyzed his/her own narcissistic roots and is aware of his/her own potential for being "emotionally hooked," will be able to remain cool and unaffected by such emotional outpourings by the agent.
As a result of this unaffected, cool, attitude, the Second event will occur: The agent will recompensate much too quickly following such an affective expression leaving the activist with the impression that "the play has ended, the curtain has fallen," and the imposture, for the moment, has finished. The agent will then move quickly to another activist/victim.
The fact is, the movement doesn't need leaders, it needs MOVERS. "Follow the leader" is a waste of time.
A good agent will want to meet as often as possible. He or she will talk a lot and say little. One can expect an onslaught of long, unresolved discussions.
Some agents take on a pushy, arrogant, or defensive manner:
1) To disrupt the agenda
2) To side-track the discussion
3) To interrupt repeatedly
4) To feign ignorance
5) To make an unfounded accusation against a person.
Calling someone a racist, for example. This tactic is used to discredit a person in the eyes of all other group members.
Saboteurs
Some saboteurs pretend to be activists. She or he will ....
1) Write encyclopedic flyers (in the present day, websites)
2) Print flyers in English only.
3) Have demonstrations in places where no one cares.
4) Solicit funding from rich people instead of grass roots support
5) Display banners with too many words that are confusing.
6) Confuse issues.
7) Make the wrong demands.
8) Compromise the goal.
9) Have endless discussions that waste everyone's time. The agent may accompany the endless discussions with drinking, pot smoking or other amusement to slow down the activist's work.
Provocateurs
1) Want to establish "leaders" to set them up for a fall in order to stop the movement.
2) Suggest doing foolish, illegal things to get the activists in trouble.
3) Encourage militancy.
4) Want to taunt the authorities.
5) Attempt to make the activist compromise their values.
6) Attempt to instigate violence. Activisim ought to always be non-violent.
7) Attempt to provoke revolt among people who are ill-prepared to deal with the reaction of the authorities to such violence.
Informants
1) Want everyone to sign up and sing in and sign everything.
2) Ask a lot of questions (gathering data).
3) Want to know what events the activist is planning to attend.
4) Attempt to make the activist defend him or herself to identify his or her beliefs, goals, and level of committment.
Recruiting
Legitimate activists do not subject people to hours of persuasive dialog. Their actions, beliefs, and goals speak for themselves.
Groups that DO recruit are missionaries, military, and fake political parties or movements set up by agents.
Surveillance
ALWAYS assume that you are under surveillance.
At this point, if you are NOT under surveillance, you are not a very good activist!
Scare Tactics
They use them.
Such tactics include slander, defamation, threats, getting close to disaffected or minimally committed fellow activists to persuade them (via psychological tactics described above) to turn against the movement and give false testimony against their former compatriots. They will plant illegal substances on the activist and set up an arrest; they will plant false information and set up "exposure," they will send incriminating letters [emails] in the name of the activist; and more; they will do whatever society will allow.
This booklet in no way covers all the ways agents use to sabotage the lives of sincere an dedicated activists.
If an agent is "exposed," he or she will be transferred or replaced.
COINTELPRO is still in operation today under a different code name. It is no longer placed on paper where it can be discovered through the freedom of information act.
The FBI counterintelligence program's stated purpose: To expose, disrupt, misdirect, discredit, and otherwise neutralize individuals who the FBI categorize as opposed to the National Interests. "National Security" means the FBI's security from the people ever finding out the vicious things it does in violation of people's civil liberties.
_______________________________________________________________________
Seventeen Techniques for Truth Suppression
Strong, credible allegations of high-level criminal activity can bring down a government. When the government lacks an effective, fact-based defense, other techniques must be employed. The success of these techniques depends heavily upon a cooperative, compliant press and a mere token opposition party.
1. Dummy up. If it's not reported, if it's not news, it didn't happen.
2. Wax indignant. This is also known as the "How dare you?" gambit.
3. Characterize the charges as "rumors" or, better yet, "wild rumors." If, in spite of the news blackout, the public is still able to learn about the suspicious facts, it can only be through "rumors." (If they tend to believe the "rumors" it must be because they are simply "paranoid" or "hysterical.")
4. Knock down straw men. Deal only with the weakest aspects of the weakest charges. Even better, create your own straw men. Make up wild rumors (or plant false stories) and give them lead play when you appear to debunk all the charges, real and fanciful alike.
5. Call the skeptics names like "conspiracy theorist," "nutcase," "ranter," "kook," "crackpot," and, of course, "rumor monger." Be sure, too, to use heavily loaded verbs and adjectives when characterizing their charges and defending the "more reasonable" government and its defenders. You must then carefully avoid fair and open debate with any of the people you have thus maligned. For insurance, set up your own "skeptics" to shoot down.
6. Impugn motives. Attempt to marginalize the critics by suggesting strongly that they are not really interested in the truth but are simply pursuing a partisan political agenda or are out to make money (compared to over-compensated adherents to the government line who, presumably, are not).
7. Invoke authority. Here the controlled press and the sham opposition can be very useful.
8. Dismiss the charges as "old news."
9. Come half-clean. This is also known as "confession and avoidance" or "taking the limited hangout route." This way, you create the impression of candor and honesty while you admit only to relatively harmless, less-than-criminal "mistakes." This stratagem often requires the embrace of a fall-back position quite different from the one originally taken. With effective damage control, the fall-back position need only be peddled by stooge skeptics to carefully limited markets.
10. Characterize the crimes as impossibly complex and the truth as ultimately unknowable.
11. Reason backward, using the deductive method with a vengeance. With thoroughly rigorous deduction, troublesome evidence is irrelevant. E.g. We have a completely free press. If evidence exists that the Vince Foster "suicide" note was forged, they would have reported it. They haven't reported it so there is no such evidence. Another variation on this theme involves the likelihood of a conspiracy leaker and a press who would report the leak.
12. Require the skeptics to solve the crime completely. E.g. If Foster was murdered, who did it and why?
13. Change the subject. This technique includes creating and/or publicizing distractions.
14. Lightly report incriminating facts, and then make nothing of them. This is sometimes referred to as "bump and run" reporting.
15. Baldly and brazenly lie. A favorite way of doing this is to attribute the "facts" furnished the public to a plausible-sounding, but anonymous, source.
16. Expanding further on numbers 4 and 5, have your own stooges "expose" scandals and champion popular causes. Their job is to pre-empt real opponents and to play 99-yard football. A variation is to pay rich people for the job who will pretend to spend their own money.
17. Flood the Internet with agents. This is the answer to the question, "What could possibly motivate a person to spend hour upon hour on Internet news groups defending the government and/or the press and harassing genuine critics?" Don t the authorities have defenders enough in all the newspapers, magazines, radio, and television? One would think refusing to print critical letters and screening out serious callers or dumping them from radio talk shows would be control enough, but, obviously, it is not.

The way I see it, if you don’t notice that I exist, then I’m doing my job correctly.
​
My name is Ben McFarlane and I work as a municipal sewer inspector in the town of Tevam Sound, Ontario. It's not the most glamorous job, but hey, somebody's got to do it and it puts food on the table.
​
You'd probably think that working as a sewer inspector isn't that exciting… and yeah, for the most part you'd be right. Most of the time, all I'm doing is checking the pipes for damage. Unless there’s a reason for me to investigate a certain area, most of what I do is routine inspection, which helps ensure that the sewers remain in good working order. Trust me, nobody wants to see what happens when they aren’t.
​
Thankfully, a lot of what I do can be done without me needing to crawl through pipes. I can use a small camera to help me do the inspection. But with some of the larger pipes and cisterns, I need to actually go inside and take a look.
​
It’s never the best part of my day, but like I said before: somebody’s got to do it.
​
Going down into the bigger tunnels is always a little unnerving. Part of it is the claustrophobic atmosphere and part of it is the knowledge that you’re basically standing in a river of literal human waste. I can deal with it now, but back when I first started the smell alone was darn near impossible to deal with.
​
Ask most sanitation workers and I'm sure they'll have stories about what they've found in the sewers before. Heck, most of it isn't even stuff that people flush down the toilet. It's the stuff that people drop down manhole covers, or the stuff that gets washed into the sewers by the rain. Dead animals are surprisingly common, as are kids toys. I found an entire bicycle in the sewer once and I've got a buddy who found a loaded gun down there! Someone probably thought they'd get rid of it by just tossing it in the sewer.
​
Someone was wrong.
​
But of all the strange things I've experienced during my time working in the sewers… none of it compares to the stuff I see in the pipes on the southeast side of town.
​
The things down there… I don't usually like to talk about them. Heck, I might not even be legally allowed to talk about them. I guess we'll find out, won't we? I've had a few drinks tonight and I'm feeling particularly chatty. So why not spill the beans? Hey, maybe someone out there will tell me something I don’t already know.
​
I’d been on the job for about a year or so before getting sent to the southeast side of town. It’s closer to the lake and the downtown area, so there’s some deeper pipes there. I’d always figured that that was the reason they only really ever sent certain people down there. I’d heard that those tunnels were old and a little labyrinthian. Anyone who didn’t know what they were doing could easily get lost.
​
But after we got hit with a particularly nasty rain storm back in summer of 2013, they needed to send someone down to check on some sensors and I just so happened to be one of the guys who was available.
​
A bad rain storm can push a sewer system to its limit, so it wasn’t really that surprising that we’d gotten that kind of call and at the time, I didn’t think that there was anything that strange about it. My supervisor told me to head on down toward the pumphouse on the southwest side of town like it was any other priority inspection, and I went along with no questions asked. It was a few streets away from downtown. I’d seen it before but never had a reason to go inside up until then.
​
I was working with a couple of other newbies at the time, a guy by the name of Stewart Long who’d only been on the job for a round three months or so, and another guy by the name of Tomas Opunui who’d started around the same time that I had.
​
We’d arrived at the pumphouse, and when we got there we noticed another team waiting on us. This wasn’t too shocking either. Depending on the size of the job, they might’ve sent some other guys in to help us handle it.
​
The guy in charge was an older man who looked to be pushing sixty. He had sort of a ‘Santa Claus on summer vacation’ look, with white hair, a short white beard, a big beer belly and a no nonsense expression.
​
He watched us get out of his truck with a look of stern disapproval, before huffing and trudging over to us.
“Where’s the usual fellas?” He asked.
“I dunno, out. They called us,” I replied.
​
He didn’t seem to like that answer but didn’t say anything in response to it.
“You ever worked on the southeast approach channel before?” He asked.
“Yeah, we’ve been in the ones on the north side of town,” I said.
“That’s not what I asked, kid. You ever worked in this one before?”
​
Something about the way he asked this question struck me as a little odd. I’d worked in an approach channel before. I knew the drill. What did it matter which one I’d worked in?
​
For the unenlightened, an approach channel is a cistern filled with wastewater. They feed into a deep tunnel which feeds into a water treatment plant and they’re considered to be fairly dangerous, due to their depth (if you fall off the ladder on your way down, you’re in for a long drop into a biohazardous lake unless you’re properly tethered) and the harmful gasses that can accumulate in them. Standard operating procedure is to always test the air before entering one just to make sure that it’s even safe to breathe down there.
​
Being reckless while going into an approach channel is a recipe for disaster, and I would have understood if the old man was concerned about us not having dealt with one before. But the way he spoke to us implied that this one was different somehow, which didn’t make a whole heck of a lot of sense to me.
“What’s the difference?” I asked. “Same procedure, right?”
“No, not the same procedure. We need people experienced with this approach channel. These tunnels are a little different than what you’re used to.
“Look, the boss sent us here. So I’m sure we’ll manage,” Tomas said. “You can show us what we need to know.”
​
The Old Man didn’t respond to him. He just shook his head and turned away.
“I’m gonna call this in and clear it with the boss first. You three, don’t move until I get back.”
I traded a look with both Tomas and Long as the Old Man trudged away. He said something to the two guys who were with him, before getting back into his truck to make a call.
​
Part of me was obliged to try and just get to work. But looking at the other two guys that the Old Man had with him, I had a feeling that they’d try to stop me. One of them, another older guy with a receding hairline and a bushy moustache was watching us like a hawk.
​
So we waited.
​
After a few minutes, the Old Man got out of his truck again, said something to his buddy with the mustache and trudged back over to us.
“Bad news, fellas. Looks like our usual company’s retired… guess you’re the replacement.”
“So we can get to work?” I asked.
“Yeah. We can get to work,” The Old Man said. “Come on, let’s get going.”
​
With that, he turned and led us into the pumphouse.
“Suppose I might as well introduce myself. Names Troy. My colleagues here are Craig and Peter.”
He gestured to the two men who were with him, Mr. Moustache (who I assumed was Craig) and the other guy, who looked to be in his mid thirties and had sunken eyes, as if he hadn’t slept in a few days. The one who I assumed was Craig just gave us a nod, while the guy I figured was Peter gave a lazy half wave before they followed us into the pumphouse.
“So if you don’t mind my asking, what’s so special about this channel?” I asked.
“I guess you’ll be seeing for yourself soon enough,” Troy replied as he started down a set of stairs. “The guys you’re replacing… well, guy… a fella named Tom… he always had a set of rules for working down here. He passed ‘em on to me and Craig when we started. We’ve passed ‘em on to Peter. Guess it’s time we passed ‘em on to you too.”
​
“Rules?” I asked, “What kind of rules?”
“The kind you listen very, very closely to, kid.” Troy looked back at me, before his eyes shifted to Tomas and Long behind me.
“Very, very closely.”
He descended the rest of the way down the stairs, where there was a hatch in the concrete floor beneath us, along with a large locker on the far side of the room.
​
“Rule number one,” Troy began. “You don’t enter this part of the sewers alone. You stay in a group of at least three to four at all times. No more, no less. Too many and it slows you down. Too few, and you might not come back at all.”
He trailed off, watching as Craig cracked open the hatch to test the air inside.
​
“Rule number two: You do not enter this part of the sewers without a gun and a radio.”
He opened the locker on the far side of the room and I was taken aback to see a collection of several handguns inside, along with boxes of ammunition and one shotgun in amongst the usual PPE.
Troy clipped one of the guns to his belt, along with one of the radios, before handing a pair off to Peter and looking over at us.
​
“Who’s taking it?” He asked.
“Whoa, just hold up for a minute!” Long interjected, “What the hell is down there?”
“Honestly, I don’t know,” Troy replied. “Hate to say it but it ain’t our job to know. I leave that to someone else. Our job is to follow the rules. You follow them, and you’ll be fine.”
Long seemed skeptical, but I looked at the gun in Troy’s hand and took it. I wasn’t sure if he was having a laugh with us or not, but I was there to do a job and I intended to do it.
​
Troy gave me a quiet nod, before thrusting the second gun over to Long. He didn’t seem to happy to get it.
“Are we gonna have to use these?” He asked.
“Not if you do as I say, you won’t. Rule 3: If you see a pipe or a tunnel with heavy spiderwebs, don’t go down it. Doesn’t matter if that’s where the sensor is. You make a note of it, report it to your supervisor and leave it alone.”
​
Spiderwebs? What the hell was he talking about?
“Rule 4: If you find a body… and odds are, you will find a body, don’t touch it. Don’t try to move it. Hell, don’t even get close to it. And don’t waste the supervisors time reporting it. Only time the bodies get reported is when they’re human.”
“I’m sorry, you’ve been finding human bodies down there?” I asked.
“Rarely,” He replied. “But it’s been known to happen. And if we do find one… the same rules apply. Don’t approach it. Don’t touch it. Stay as far away as possible.”
​
I could see some of the color draining from Long’s face.
“Rule 5: If you see anyone else down there, you are not to interact with them. You do not follow them if they try to lead you somewhere, if they ask you for help, you do not help them. I don’t care if they’re crying and begging. You leave them alone. You report it to your supervisor.”
“There are people down there?” I asked.
“Normally, no. Far as I know, Tom only ever ran into a couple during his career. I’ve only ever seen one. Like I said, best to leave them alone.”
​
“Why?” I asked, “If there’s someone stuck down there, we have an obligation to help them!”
“That would be very ill advised,” Troy said. “You don’t want to anger the things that are down there… which leads me to rule 6: Avoid killing anything you come across down there. They’re not yours to kill. And if you have absolutely no choice, if you have to break that rule for the sake of self defense, then we leave immediately. That’s rule number 7.”
​
“Air’s safe down there,” Craig said, interrupting our conversation.
“Good. Let’s get suited up, then. Oh… and rule 8. Final rule. If anything happens to any member of our team, we leave immediately. We don’t go after them. We don’t try to help them. We leave immediately. Is that clear? I don’t care if it’s me, begging you for help. You leave me behind.”
​
Long and I remained silent, neither of us entirely sure how to react to this or even what to say. Troy had made it sound as if we were about to descend into a level of hell. I couldn’t imagine what the hell could possibly be down there to elicit a list of rules like that, and I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to find out either!
“Well? You fellas getting ready or not?” Troy asked impatiently as he put on his PPE. “The quicker we get down there, the quicker we can get out again!”
​
“If this is so dangerous, why are they sending us?” Long asked, “Shouldn’t they be sending… I dunno, the cops or something?”
“They tolerate us being down there, so long as we don’t disturb them. They wouldn’t be so forgiving toward the local police,” Troy replied. “Listen, kid. Obey the rules and you’ll be fine, got that? We’ve been doing this for years without any problems. You keep your head on your shoulders, you do what we say and you go home safe. Alright?”
​
Long still didn’t seem convinced, but I did. By this point, I was morbidly curious about exactly what was down there… and Troy’s assurance that they’d come out unscathed before did set me at ease a little bit. These rules sounded kinda scary, but what could realistically go wrong? With Troy keeping us in line, everything would probably be fine and besides, I still wasn’t convinced that this wasn’t all some sort of elaborate prank the old man was pulling. I grabbed myself a set of PPE and got ready and after a moments hesitation, Long did the same.
​
When we were ready, Craig opened up the hatch in the floor, and Tomas helped get us tethered so that we wouldn’t plummet down into the waters below if we slipped on the ladder, then we finally began our descent.
​
Troy went first, climbing down the ladder and into the darkness below. I went second, followed by Peter and followed by Long.
​
We climbed down into the approach channel in relative silence, only really speaking again once we made it to the bottom of the ladder.
​
Troy helped me get untethered, before doing the same for Peter and Long as they reached the bottom, and while he did that I got my first look at the dreaded southeast approach channel. I can’t say that there was a heck of a lot to see. The walls were boxy and flat, and the dirty wastewater trickled over my boots and into the pipe sending it even deeper through the sewer system.
​
The sensors should have been mounted on the ceiling, and I traced the black conduit line with my flashlight as I searched for the sensor they connected to. Peter and Long stayed back as Tomas and Craig lowered our tools down after us, while Troy came up behind me.
“Should be quick work…” He noted, “Rain doesn’t seem to have done much in here. Water level is still fairly low.”
​
I saw his flashlight shift upward toward the ceiling before he spotted the sensor. He trudged through the water to get closer to it, and I followed him.
“No external damage,” I noted. “Conduit lines look good too.”
“Yeah, we’ll run our tests and get out of here,” Troy said. “Approach channel is usually pretty safe… usually.”
“Usually?” I asked, and Troy pointed his flashlight up toward a set of silky spiderwebs hanging from the ceiling a few feet behind the sensor.
​
“They don’t typically come up here… but every now and then you might find some proof of some young ones, trying to get into the pumphouse.”
I looked over at him.
“They try to break into the pumphouse?” I asked, “Did they ever get in?”
“Not that I’ve ever heard of. Can’t imagine they’d stay long if they did. Nothing to eat in there.”
“What exactly are they?” I asked, “And don’t you tell me that’s not for us to know. You’ve seen them, right? What do they look like?”
​
Troy had started to answer, when suddenly I heard Long screaming and swearing up a storm. Both of us turned to look, just in time to see something large skittering up the wall beside him. I only caught a brief glimpse of it, but it seemed to be roughly the size of a dog with more legs than I could count. Long stared at it with wide, horrified eyes as he fumbled with his gun, before pulling it free.
​
I saw Troy’s eyes widen before Long fired five times. Only one or two of the bullets actually hit the target. I heard Peter cry out in pain and grab at his arm before falling and whatever it was that Long had actually been shooting at collapsed into the shallow water, its pale body twitching violently.
“What did you just do?!” Troy demanded, running over to Peter’s side.
“I-it was coming for me!” Long protested, before noticing what he’d done to Peter. I saw his eyes widen in horror.
“Oh no… no, no, no… I didn’t…”
“Rule 6! You don’t kill anything down here! You leave them alone and they leave you alone!” Troy roared, before his attention returned to Peter. “How bad is it?”
​
“J-just a scratch, boss… I think I got hit by the ricochet,” Peter said, as Troy inspected his wound. I’ve never seen a gunshot wound before, but there was a lot of blood for it to just be a scratch.
“We’ll get you topside,” Troy said. “And come back down tomorrow with someone who knows how to follow rules!”
​
He shot Long a death glare before his radio crackled to life.
“Troy, everything good down there?” Craig asked.
“No, no it isn’t. One of the newbies got jumpy, shot at a centipede.” He huffed, “Put a hole in Peter in the process. Think you can reel him back up?”
“Yeah, sure thing. Hook him up. Tomas and I will bring him topside.”
​
Troy quietly hooked Peter up to the line, before helping him onto the ladder.
“You take it easy on the way up, and we’ll get that checked out,” He promised.
“Thanks boss,” Peter said quietly.
Troy’s attention returned to Long next, as he fixed him in a death glare.
“You, up the ladder behind him. And you…” He looked at me, his expression softening just a little.
“Behind him. I’ll go up last.”
​
Peter started to meekly climb the ladder, although it seemed like Craig and Tomas were doing most of the work, hoisting him up rung by rung. Once he’d made it part of the way up, Long started to hook himself up to climb behind him. Although before he could hook himself in, I saw him pause for a moment, staring at Troy.
“What is it?” Troy asked, before pausing.
​
Long craned his neck a little, his hand moving down to his gun again… and it was then that both Troy and I realized that he hadn’t been looking at Troy. He’d been looking at what was behind him.
​
I only saw a shadow, perched on the roof of the tunnel. But that was all that Long needed to see before he started shooting again.
“DON’T!”
But by the time Troy had gotten the word out, that trigger happy idiot had already started shooting again and this time, the thing that came for him didn’t drop dead.
​
Instead, it launched itself off of the ceiling of the tunnel, crashing into the ground a few feet away from me.
“WAIT!” Troy tried to protest before the thing in front of us knocked him aside, dashing him against the wall. Long scrambled away, retreating deeper into the tunnel while Peter frantically tried to unholster his gun.
“Troy? Troy, what’s going on down there?” I heard Craig calling over the radio, “Troy? Anyone, respond!”
​
The shape in front of us turned, looking over at me and Long. Eight eyes shone in the darkness and though I could only see the shadow of the creature before us, I saw enough. It had a body like a spider, with eight long chitinous legs. Only its body was much larger than any spider I’d ever seen before.
​
Much, much larger.
​
This creature was almost the size of a small car, but it wasn’t its size that terrified me. It was the humanoid torso coming out of the front of it. The two arms that ended in razor sharp claws, the snarling mouth that made noises that almost sounded human.
​
When this impossible thing looked at us, I saw real intelligence in its eyes. It was studying us, trying to determine how much of a threat we were…
​
Long kept his gun trained on it, hands shaking violently. I knew that he was going to shoot again, and hoping not to anger this thing, grabbed his arm, trying to force his gun down. He jumped the moment that I touched him giving me a hysterical look.
“Don’t!” I snapped, “You’re just gonna piss it off!”
​
The Spider took a step toward us, hissing as it did. Long pulled away from me.
“Stu!”
I tried calling his name, but Long had already made his choice and sealed his fate. He’d opted to fight this thing. And so, like the fool he was he shot at it again.
​
The Spider lunged for us.
​
I ran. Long didn’t.
​
He only had enough time to scream before it pounced on him, and then… all I could hear were the dying screams in his throat as he was pulled apart. I didn’t see him die. But I didn’t need to. I heard everything. I kept running, not even thinking about where the approach channel was going to end. And when it did end, all I could do was plummet into the darkness.
​
See, at the end of an approach channel is what is appropriately called a drop shaft. It’s where the water flows into a larger tunnel beneath the city. That tunnel, flows into the water treatment plant, eventually and the water down there… yeah… let’s just say that you don’t want to end up in the water down there.
​
Unfortunately, that was exactly where I was going.
​
I know that every job has its struggles, but I didn’t expect to need to choose between diving into raw sewage and fighting a giant spider monster when I woke up that morning. However the choice was presented to me and I did the best that I could given the circumstances.
​
Going into the wastewater was exactly an unpleasant experience as you’d think it would be. I’m inclined not to share the details of what it was like, simply because I genuinely do not want to remember them and I’m still not entirely convinced that dealing with the giant angry spider person wasn’t the better choice.
​
A small comfort was that the pain of hitting the water, combined with the confusing sensation of being flushed through a pipe and into an even larger pipe made the whole experience slightly less disgusting, at the cost of being considerably more painful.
​
At the end of it, I was washed out into the main pipe and collapsed into the water, covered in filth and gagging from the stench that had sank into my every pore. I felt disoriented and confused. I tried to stand, only to collapse back into the wastewater, before aimlessly looking around, hoping that maybe I could figure out what direction to go in. It was too dark to see much of anything and I’d lost my flashlight during my trip through the wastewater, so I was left to just wander aimlessly, following what I thought was the flow of the water as my eyes slowly started to acclimate to the darkness.
​
I could feel shapes in the water. Some of them I almost tripped over and I could smell rotting meat on top of the stink of human waste. In the darkness, I could make out shapes in the water and hear the buzzing of bugs around me. I could even feel a few whizz past my head and mindlessly swatted at them.
​
Old bones crunched under my boots, and I quietly thanked whatever God was listening that I couldn’t see what they’d belonged to. I wanted to assume they were animal bones… but who knew, right? I couldn’t shake the mental image of myself unknowingly stepping over the mauled corpse of Stewart Long… although that was more from the trauma of having recently witnessed a man die than any guilt over what had happened to him. Long had quite literally gotten himself killed. Although I was terrified that I’d be joining him at any second.
​
I kept listening in, half expecting to hear spider legs creeping up behind me. But it was impossible to tell if I was alone or not in that darkness and with the bugs buzzing past me. If there were anything after me, I truly would not know it until after it had pounced.
​
Still, I knew I couldn’t afford to let the fear get the better of me. So I just kept walking, hoping that maybe if I did, I’d somehow find myself at the water treatment plant and maybe then I’d get some help.
​
Maybe.
​
As I pressed on, I noticed a light ahead of me and picked up the pace, hoping to God that I’d finally found my way out of this mess. But as I drew closer, I became very aware that whatever the source of that light was, it was not from the water treatment plant.
​
In fact, I wasn’t entirely sure what it was. My first thought was that it was a fatberg (which is a solid mass of waste matter formed by an unholy mixture of wet wipes, grease, oil and every other piece of garbage people tend to flush down their toilets) but the longer I looked, the less certain I was about that.
​
Fatbergs usually didn’t have lamps embedded in them.
​
Fatbergs usually didn’t have thick spiderwebs clinging to them.
​
Fatbergs didn’t usually lead into a separate tunnel into the earth large enough for me to walk through.
​
And finally, fatbergs didn’t usually have dead deer protruding from them. Let alone dead deer with other bugs living in them. God… the sight of those corpses… the way the bugs crawled through the rotting flesh and exposed bone. The empty, hollow eyes… it was almost too horrible to look at.
​
And I swore that I could see things inside the corpses! Honeycombs of some sort, and the bugs who crawled around them looked almost like bees.
​
Was… was something cultivating some kind of bee in these things?
​
I thought back to Troy’s rules.
“Rule 4: If you find a body… and odds are, you will find a body, don’t touch it. Don’t try to move it. Hell, don’t even get close to it. And don’t waste the supervisor's time reporting it. Only time the bodies get reported is when they’re human.”
​
Suddenly, they made a little more sense. If those spider things were cultivating something in these bodies… of course we shouldn’t touch them. And if they were cultivating their food in the sewer… I paused, before staring down the tunnel that the corpses sat near the entrance of.
​
Dull lamps illuminated it as it wound down into the earth, and I could see several pale centipede things that looked a lot like the creature that Long had shot to get us into this mess in the first place. These things must have belonged to the Spiders too, although whether they were some sort of guard dog or another thing they were farming was hard to say.
​
I took a step away from the tunnel, before looking back to make sure that I was well enough alone and trudging onward. And that was when I heard the slow rustle of movement.
​
I paused, feeling a chill run through me as the imminent reality of my own death dawned on me.
​
Slowly I turned, just in time to see a dark shape descending from the ceiling. A fresh set of eyes settled on me, narrowing as they studied me.
​
I put my hands up, hoping that it might understand the gesture of surrender and slowly it drew closer to me. I wasn’t sure if it was curious, or looking to murder me and at that point, I don’t think it really mattered. I wish I could say that I faced my death with dignity, but I’m going to be honest, I didn’t. I sat there, quivering and praying to whatever God would listen that it wouldn’t, kill me.
​
And then… I heard a voice.
“Leave that one! He’s with me!”
​
Troy?
​
I saw a figure emerge from the tunnel in the wall, and against all logic, somehow it was Troy! He had a hell of a goose egg on his head from where he’d been hit earlier, but he was alive! He stepped between me and the spider person, arms outstretched.
​
“With me.” He repeated firmly.
The Spider stared down at him, before huffing and turning away. I watched as they disappeared down the nearby tunnel, and Troy watched them go, before quietly turning to me.
​
“Good lord, boy… I’m shocked to see you’re still alive!”
“W-what just happened?” Was the only thing I could stammer. “You can talk to them?!”
“Some of ‘em. I’ve been down here for long enough that they know me. Know I’m not a threat. But they ain’t too happy with us right now. So what you’re gonna do here is get up, follow me, and I’m gonna get you out of here.”
“How do you know they’re even gonna let us leave?” I asked.
​
Troy’s expression soured.
“Had to pay ‘em off…” He admitted, “Let them keep what was left of your friend. They considered it a fair trade, so long as we leave. Now, let’s go.”
I didn’t ask any more questions.
​
***
​
After I made it out of the sewers that day, I ended up in the hospital alongside Peter. I had some minor cuts and bruises, a burning rash over most of my body from all the sewage I’d been crawling around in… but I was still alive, and I figured that had to count for something.
​
Nobody said a word about what happened to Stewart Long down in the sewer. He got written off as a workplace accident and they never even tried to recover his body. I suspect what’s left of him is still down in the sewers, even now… feeding whatever it is that those things down there are cultivating, although I’ve never seen the body myself.
​
Yes… I have been back down beneath the southeast side of town. The next time they needed someone to go, they sent me and Tomas along with Troy, Craig and Peter. We know what’s down there and we know how to deal with them, after all. My second visit to those sewers was a lot less eventful, and most of my subsequent visits haven’t been all that eventful either.
​
Over the years, I’ve gotten better at dealing with the Spiders… they’re not the most friendly folk and I know all too well that if you cross them, they’ll rip your guts out before you even realize that you’re dead. But so long as you follow the rules and leave them alone, they’re content to live and let live. They can even be reasonable, to an extent. We’ve had a few small incidents over the years, but nothing like the one that Long caused.
​
Odds are, when Troy and Craig retire next year, Tomas and I will be training the next group on what to do when you’re down beneath the southeast side of town. So in preparation for that, I’ve made a point to keep a copy of Tom's rules in the pumphouse. I also keep a picture of Stewart Long in there. Not as a memorial and not out of spite either. Just as a grim reminder of what can happen when you don’t follow the rules.