Paper duck clothes

Let me start off by saying ideally I would like to get full custody from my pwBPD, but that’s not always realistic, I will try, but it’s probably going to end up being 50/50 arrangement. With that said, I recently left her after discovering she’s liar and cheater, before leaving I talked to my pwBPD children about their moms behavior, they are 22,21,18, our baby is 1. They were more receptive than I thought. The 18 year old told me I should take baby and go, the 22 year old apologized for his moms behavior, it was nice to know they see it tbh. Anyways, things were good as far as baby goes, I always buy stuff like food, diapers, toys, clothes, I always make effort to see him at least twice week when his moms upset with me, rest of time I was there 24/7. Anyways, I kept my house and car so it made leaving much easier. I was good until today, I messaged her earlier in week saying I would be there Saturday to get baby. Except this time was different, when I showed up she was not there, I spoke with her kids again, they said they don’t know where she went but they know she’s making things worse and she’s not stable. They don’t want to be in middle of it and they are sorry she’s like this, I just want to see my son, I feel like she’s holding him hostage tbh.
I know I need to file for custody, I’m filling out papers right now but we never had this problem before, yes I left few weeks ago, I can’t keep letting her wreck less behavior hurt me. Before I left I began recording her episodes, she threatens to hurt herself on two different occasions on video, I’m considering calling kids to testify at custody trial.
I left because I went to beach on my day off with baby, pwBPD was working. They got all upset I went to beach, said I was stealing their memories. We starred to argue and they said I took keys to her car and called cops on me, keys were in couch entire time. So I left, I realized I cannot trust this person and they are capable of anything. The stealing memories thing scares me too. I know she’s punishing me right now for leaving, maybe she actually got back with her ex, I’m not sure. But this is not fair. We made baby, he’s ours not hers.
I know what I need to do but way I’m feeling is horrible, I miss her, I want all this to just go away and be better. Why is she making me do this? What’s wrong with me that I miss this person?

[SELL][US/US]
BPAL
•Ghost Dragon’s Mama- $20: If she ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy: dragon’s blood resin, red benzoin, Tahitian vanilla flower, pink lotus, and sugared cream.
•Sitting up with a sick friend: Tobacco smoke and leather bowled over by a powerful smack of heady, classic perfume and a whiff of rose water{FWP}
OCYL: —————————————————————- ~Queen Bee Apothecary~
•Unicorn Sparkles(label smudged): cotton candy, rock candy, sugared lemon drops {$5 or FWP}
•Bourbon Street: cashmere, jasmine, blonde wood, amber & sexy musk {$5 or FWP}
Serberbell-baby powder SN-{FWP}
•Haus of Gloi: Candy Heart-$10: candy, glue, paper[Smells a LOT like BPAL stale sugar crusted marshmallow chick]
•Alkemia Arcanum Experiments 2022 NO. 1: Marzipan frosted sugar cookies, Crème Brûlée pipe tobacco, Bourbon vanilla-{$5 or FWP}
•Blooddrop-hyacinth SN(label smudged)-{$5 or FWP}
•Bourbon French Parfumerie: Kus Kus: spices and powder
[smells INCREDIBLY similar to an upscale Johnson’s baby lotion scent! Only destashing because they gave me a free larger size!}-{$10 or FWP}
•Darling Clandestine-Cuddleduck: the smell of cuddling ducks-oily, woody, atmospheric(cedar possibly)-{$10 or FWP}

We decided to go for a drive in the countryside one Saturday morning. I’m the type of person who usually plans everything, leaving nothing to chance. I’m not spontaneous at all and it gets on my wife’s nerves. This was going to be different. It was all my idea and I assured Tammy we were just going to ‘wing it’. She rolled her eyes. She knows me. She realizes even my ‘spontaneous’ excursions are planned, somehow.
The truth is, it bothers me to not have a game plan. I’m usually the one driving on these rogue adventures and I have to decide to turn left or right if there’s no predetermined path or destination. I hate doing that with a passion but I wanted to prove to her I could drive without advance research or scouting. Inside it was going to kill me, but I had to pretend to be ok with it. You know how couples can get. I had to prove her ‘wrong’.
We loaded up the car with a couple of bottles of water and snacks before steering toward the rural part of the state. In the beginning, I’d been to parts of the area, but the longer we drove, the further I left behind my comfort zone. Tammy was loving it. I’d glance over at her occasionally and she’d have this genuine glow of contentment from the random drive. I sincerely think part of the enjoyment was relishing in my discomfort, but I wasn’t about to let on. Regardless, I wasn’t much of an actor and we both knew I was a bundle of knots inside.
Every few miles we’d see an old farmhouse or weathered barn with cows in the pasture. The scenery was lush and picturesque. The weather itself was beautiful too. All in all, for a random drive in the country being officiated by an obsessive planner, it was pretty darn enjoyable. I didn’t feel the crippling apprehension which usually came over me when I was trying to find a specific location in the dark. It was easier to be ‘lost’ in the daylight, with no set agenda. You might even say I was adjacent to enjoying myself.
The deeper Tammy and I drove into ‘Nowheresville’, the more we started noticing some odd little things. There were weird symbols painted on the side of the houses and barns visible from the old county road. They weren’t anything either of us was familiar with, but clearly they meant something to the locals. The first few didn’t register as anything to take note of, but eventually it became an obvious thing which stood out, in an otherwise idyllic country drive. I found myself anticipating them with each new home we approached. All of the symbols were somewhat different in ‘character’ formation, but they were similar enough to be related.
Neither of us spoke about them at the time but those strange markings troubled us, deeply. It was definitely on our minds when we stopped at a small country store for supplies, and to use the bathroom. As is usually the case with folks in the countryside, the store owners were very friendly. We must’ve stood out like sore thumbs, because they asked where we were from. We bought food and drinks for the road, and yukked it up with them for a couple minutes.
That is, until I summoned the courage to ask what the symbols on the buildings meant. Immediately their whole demeanor changed. It was night and day. Tammy noticed it too. She looked at me with a side-eyed glance as their mood darkened. To their credit, they didn’t try to change the subject. That would’ve been too obvious; but they did look down the aisles first to make sure there were no other customers within earshot, before answering. That definitely raised our hackles. It was creepy as hell. The truth was apparently something ‘outsiders’ like us weren’t supposed to know.
Suddenly it felt like we were about to be sucked into the middle of a rural conspiracy. They leaned over and whispered: “You folks seem real nice. Please don’t ask anyone else about them. It’s for ‘protection’, and for heaven’s sake, don’t be around here once the sun goes down. There’s a full moon tonight and they prefer the dark.”
I looked at Tammy’s mortified face. Her reaction was probably the same as my own. The suspense widened. We kept waiting for them to burst out laughing about winding up the big city folks, but the grins never came. They just handed us our receipt and told us to have a safe trip back home. There was a strong emphasis on us leaving soon. Like a couple of traumatized school kids, we thanked them for their prior hospitality and walked out. It was already dusk, and we were halfway across the state. We’d been seeing those bizarre markers for fifty miles or more.
Was it some secret sect? Tammy dared to take a photo of one of the ‘protection markers’ with her phone as we drove back toward home but the internet service in the boonies was spotty, at best. Since it was some deeply held rural secret, she hoped an image search would tell us what they meant. The country store proprietors acted like it was blood painted on the door of their homes to signal for the Biblical Angel of Death to pass them by.
Night fell quickly, with us still being in the middle of ‘Nowheresville’. We were definitely spooked and needed fuel for the car. Predictably, there were no stations around and the needle was below ‘E’. My OCD nerves were kicking way in. I was tempted to lash-out about why THIS is the reason I didn’t like to be spontaneous, but I held my tongue. It wouldn’t have helped. The image lookup netted very little helpful information. The only thing she could find was that it was somehow tied to ‘a secretive society of occult Freemasons’.
What? There were too many of them for it to be an ‘inside joke on city folks exploring the backroads’. We wouldn’t have thought there would be anything other that devout religious people living in that isolated section of the county. Not only that, but what did the shop owner’s vague statement mean? ‘They prefer the dark’? They made it sound like there were bloodthirsty werewolves roaming the woods. As laughable as it sounded, they weren’t laughing when they said it, and they didn’t appear to be kidding either.
They warned us to be completely out of the area before nightfall, and yet here we were, running on fumes and hoping to find a gas station before we were stranded like sitting ducks. The wind picked up until it blew our little car around like a sailboat in a churning sea. If there was any good from our unplanned misadventure, it was that all the dust we’d picked up from the long drive would hopefully be blown off the car.
It was barely 9pm on a Saturday night but every house we passed was as dark as could be. Not a single light shone in any of their windows. Either they went to bed early in the country, or they didn’t want to invite strangers to their doors after dark. Intellectually I knew rural folk were known to sleep early, but I couldn’t help but hear the shopkeepers conspiratorial words echo again in my ears. I couldn’t see Tammy’s face well but I know her. She was dwelling on it too. Under the circumstances it would’ve been impossible to ignore.
As growing nightmares tend to do, the car began to shudder. It was choking on its last few ounces of fuel left in the line. I wanted to shake the steering wheel in terrified frustration but it’s an inanimate object. I’m the damn fool goaded into ‘proving how unprepared I could be’. This was my ‘reward’. I was going to have to walk in the dark with a gas can until I found the next house. Then I was going to have to beat on their front door and hope they would take mercy on us. It was the perfect checkbox list of ‘NO!’ for me.
Walk alone in the dark. The FULL MOON dark.
Traverse a rural two lane blacktop where I didn’t know a single soul.
Ask for help from total strangers that could have been avoided if I’d just used my damn head in the first place.
And the ‘piece de resistance’:
Be on the lookout for ‘werewolves’ or Moses’ Angel of Death sent to kill the firstborn sons.
My own anger generated a certain level of false bravado which I needed to ‘get it done’. I cursed myself for not having gas already in the fuel can in the trunk but the truth is, I would’ve been afraid it was an explosion risk. It’s hell being an over-thinker. Tammy had the audacity to ask where I was going. I just turned toward her with a disgruntled scowl. She didn’t mean it the way it came out. It was obvious I had to go for help. She just didn’t want to be alone in the car. I think she felt bad for all of her past attempts to ‘loosen me up’ about over-planning things. Perhaps on the eve of our mutual doom, I might’ve won one. Ah, the bittersweet irony.
The two of us held hands. We’d started the journey together and we’d finish it together. Whatever that meant. Like a gentleman, I placed her away from the roadway but it was mostly a symbolic gesture. There were no other cars driving by. She was the first to notice how quiet it was as we walked. There was only the sound of our shoes clacking the pavement. In a place with all manner of wild animals living in nature, it was deathly silent. She gripped my hand tightly. It seemed like we’d walked a long way but the truth is, we were relatively lucky. The nearest farmhouse was less than a mile from our stranded vehicle.
Like the rest, it had one of those arcane symbols painted right on the front door. Also like the others, there wasn’t a single light shining in their windows but the driveway had three cars. They were definitely home but I had my doubts they would answer us. We didn’t want to be shot for startling them so we tried to make some unsubtle noises on the doorstep to announce our benevolent presence. Country folks like their twelve gauge shotguns. I hoped they would realize we were harmless and in need of help.
We both heard sounds of lamentation coming from inside. If anything, they were more frightened than we were. I’d characterize it as terrified. I spoke up in my friendliest voice to reassure them.
“Hello there. We’re terribly sorry to bother you folks so late at night. We’re just passing through from out of town and our car ran out of gas. Do you happen to have some? We’d be happy to reimburse you. I’ve got a hundred dollar bill. I can slide it under your door as compensation.”
A man on the other side spoke up. There was a noticeable tremor in his voice. He appeared to be trying very hard to balance his innate sense of politeness and hospitality, with a crumbling wall of courage. It didn’t bode well to reassure either of us.
“I’m terribly sorry for your trouble mister, but there’s something very evil lurking in these parts you don’t want to encounter. They come out at night time and for that precise reason, we don’t dare open the front door, for anyone. I’d be happy to siphon some of my own gas for you; but I won’t set foot out there until daylight. I have to protect myself and my family. I hope you understand. Now, run back to your car and lock the doors. Quickly! Cover up the windows and take this and put it on the hood of your vehicle in a conspicuous place. It’ll save your lives.”
In the unnatural quietness of the night air, I heard the electronic whirl of an inkjet printer running inside their home. A piece of letter-sized paper slid under the door jamb. It contained one of those strange symbols.
“Leave your fuel can on the porch. I’ll bring some gas, first light. I promise. If they come for you, do not look them in the eye. Go!”
We did exactly as instructed. To the letter. I gotta tell ya, the missus and I would’ve been ‘husband and wife, three-legged race’ winners if we’d entered such a competition. Both of us sprinted at a pace I hardly thought possible. I could barely keep up with her. Then I scrambled to get the keys to open the door. It might’ve been comical if we weren’t racing for our lives. Inside, we located a sun-visor and blankets to block off the windows as best we could. An old paper road map and catalogs from the glove compartment served to complete the job, in record time.
We were almost in the clear when I realized the most important part of the plan wasn’t in place. The protection sign was still in the car with us! I didn’t have any masking tape so there was no way to secure it to the window or hood. Using a rock as a paperweight would’ve blocked it from being visible. In a flash of invention I had an idea. The SUV was so dusty from the county roads that I scrawled the symbol as large as I could into the dirt of the windshield, hood and trunk with my fingers. I hoped that would suffice to spare us from the fury of whatever frightening creatures roamed the hillsides during the full moon.
I jumped back inside just in time. First the smell hit us. It was positively rank and the source of the stench was very, very large. We could feel ‘them’ walking around the car inspecting it. There were tiny voids in our hasty wallpapering of the windows but I didn’t dare look through the cracks. I was too scared I’d make eye contact. We heard them pulling on the door handles to see if they were unlocked. I have absolutely no doubt anything that huge could’ve simply ripped them open but that apparently wasn’t the point. They were checking to see if we’d taken the precaution of locking them.
Tammy had to stifle a scream as the whole vehicle shook back and forth violently. I thought the intent was to flip it upside down. She looked at me in wide-eyed terror. I’d love to suggest she drew strength from my calm masculinity but that would be a bold-faced lie. It was all I could do to keep from squealing like a toddler myself. The things on the other side of the car were definitely not natural. That much was clear to us. Then one of them spoke with a ‘voice’, not of this earth.
“You drew our sacred sigil of mercy on your vehicle, incorrectly. You have parts of the character backwards but we have decided to forgive your ignorance, this time. Leave our home and never return again. Our patience is limited.”
“Thank you!”; We both cried out in unison. Without response, they finally left us, but we dared not leave the impotent ‘safety’ of the car to confirm their departure; even to use the bathroom. Leftover drink cups temporarily served that purpose.
In the morning, the farmer came just as he’d promised. He brought us fuel and something to eat. Not that either of us had an appetite. He saw the evidence of our nocturnal visitors and remarked how fortunate we were, especially with my botched depiction of the ‘sigil’, as they had referred to them. We thanked the man again and we’re on our way. Neither of us breathed a sign of relief until we reached the suburbs.
I drove through an automated car wash to blast off the layers of dirt from our terrifying ordeal, but it didn’t do anything about the savage claw marks and unnatural dents to the sheet metal. I told my coworkers it was from a grizzly bear attack. That would’ve been horrific enough story, but the truth was infinitely worse. These so-called ‘grizzly bears’ could speak, read, and took considerable umbrage to my poorly drawn protection sigils.
My insurance agent demanded to inspect the damage first. He asked me where it occurred. I told him and he adopted the same pale demeanor change as the country store owners. He knew what we faced that night. Obviously there had been other claims like ours over the years. Without acknowledging what we both knew, he said: “You two are lucky to be alive. Don’t go back there again. Your claim will be covered in full. And one more thing, that sigil should look like this.”
He pointed to the clean area of the windshield where I had drawn it. Despite it being washed, you could still see the remnants of my ‘artwork’ on the glass. He took his finger and reversed one of the vertical marks in the middle. Now I know the correct way to draw it. More importantly, Tammy doesn’t try to stop me from planning out all the details of our trips anymore. She finally sees the benefit of NOT being spontaneous. Win-win.

We decided to go for a drive in the countryside one Saturday morning. I’m the type of person who usually plans everything, leaving nothing to chance. I’m not spontaneous at all and it gets on my wife’s nerves. This was going to be different. It was all my idea and I assured Tammy we were just going to ‘wing it’. She rolled her eyes. She knows me. She realizes even my ‘spontaneous’ excursions are planned, somehow.
The truth is, it bothers me to not have a game plan. I’m usually the one driving on these rogue adventures and I have to decide to turn left or right if there’s no predetermined path or destination. I hate doing that with a passion but I wanted to prove to her I could drive without advance research or scouting. Inside it was going to kill me, but I had to pretend to be ok with it. You know how couples can get. I had to prove her ‘wrong’.
We loaded up the car with a couple of bottles of water and snacks before steering toward the rural part of the state. In the beginning, I’d been to parts of the area, but the longer we drove, the further I left behind my comfort zone. Tammy was loving it. I’d glance over at her occasionally and she’d have this genuine glow of contentment from the random drive. I sincerely think part of the enjoyment was relishing in my discomfort, but I wasn’t about to let on. Regardless, I wasn’t much of an actor and we both knew I was a bundle of knots inside.
Every few miles we’d see an old farmhouse or weathered barn with cows in the pasture. The scenery was lush and picturesque. The weather itself was beautiful too. All in all, for a random drive in the country being officiated by an obsessive planner, it was pretty darn enjoyable. I didn’t feel the crippling apprehension which usually came over me when I was trying to find a specific location in the dark. It was easier to be ‘lost’ in the daylight, with no set agenda. You might even say I was adjacent to enjoying myself.
The deeper Tammy and I drove into ‘Nowheresville’, the more we started noticing some odd little things. There were weird symbols painted on the side of the houses and barns visible from the old county road. They weren’t anything either of us was familiar with, but clearly they meant something to the locals. The first few didn’t register as anything to take note of, but eventually it became an obvious thing which stood out, in an otherwise idyllic country drive. I found myself anticipating them with each new home we approached. All of the symbols were somewhat different in ‘character’ formation, but they were similar enough to be related.
Neither of us spoke about them at the time but those strange markings troubled us, deeply. It was definitely on our minds when we stopped at a small country store for supplies, and to use the bathroom. As is usually the case with folks in the countryside, the store owners were very friendly. We must’ve stood out like sore thumbs, because they asked where we were from. We bought food and drinks for the road, and yukked it up with them for a couple minutes.
That is, until I summoned the courage to ask what the symbols on the buildings meant. Immediately their whole demeanor changed. It was night and day. Tammy noticed it too. She looked at me with a side-eyed glance as their mood darkened. To their credit, they didn’t try to change the subject. That would’ve been too obvious; but they did look down the aisles first to make sure there were no other customers within earshot, before answering. That definitely raised our hackles. It was creepy as hell. The truth was apparently something ‘outsiders’ like us weren’t supposed to know.
Suddenly it felt like we were about to be sucked into the middle of a rural conspiracy. They leaned over and whispered: “You folks seem real nice. Please don’t ask anyone else about them. It’s for ‘protection’, and for heaven’s sake, don’t be around here once the sun goes down. There’s a full moon tonight and they prefer the dark.”
I looked at Tammy’s mortified face. Her reaction was probably the same as my own. The suspense widened. We kept waiting for them to burst out laughing about winding up the big city folks, but the grins never came. They just handed us our receipt and told us to have a safe trip back home. There was a strong emphasis on us leaving soon. Like a couple of traumatized school kids, we thanked them for their prior hospitality and walked out. It was already dusk, and we were halfway across the state. We’d been seeing those bizarre markers for fifty miles or more.
Was it some secret sect? Tammy dared to take a photo of one of the ‘protection markers’ with her phone as we drove back toward home but the internet service in the boonies was spotty, at best. Since it was some deeply held rural secret, she hoped an image search would tell us what they meant. The country store proprietors acted like it was blood painted on the door of their homes to signal for the Biblical Angel of Death to pass them by.
Night fell quickly, with us still being in the middle of ‘Nowheresville’. We were definitely spooked and needed fuel for the car. Predictably, there were no stations around and the needle was below ‘E’. My OCD nerves were kicking way in. I was tempted to lash-out about why THIS is the reason I didn’t like to be spontaneous, but I held my tongue. It wouldn’t have helped. The image lookup netted very little helpful information. The only thing she could find was that it was somehow tied to ‘a secretive society of occult Freemasons’.
What? There were too many of them for it to be an ‘inside joke on city folks exploring the backroads’. We wouldn’t have thought there would be anything other that devout religious people living in that isolated section of the county. Not only that, but what did the shop owner’s vague statement mean? ‘They prefer the dark’? They made it sound like there were bloodthirsty werewolves roaming the woods. As laughable as it sounded, they weren’t laughing when they said it, and they didn’t appear to be kidding either.
They warned us to be completely out of the area before nightfall, and yet here we were, running on fumes and hoping to find a gas station before we were stranded like sitting ducks. The wind picked up until it blew our little car around like a sailboat in a churning sea. If there was any good from our unplanned misadventure, it was that all the dust we’d picked up from the long drive would hopefully be blown off the car.
It was barely 9pm on a Saturday night but every house we passed was as dark as could be. Not a single light shone in any of their windows. Either they went to bed early in the country, or they didn’t want to invite strangers to their doors after dark. Intellectually I knew rural folk were known to sleep early, but I couldn’t help but hear the shopkeepers conspiratorial words echo again in my ears. I couldn’t see Tammy’s face well but I know her. She was dwelling on it too. Under the circumstances it would’ve been impossible to ignore.
As growing nightmares tend to do, the car began to shudder. It was choking on its last few ounces of fuel left in the line. I wanted to shake the steering wheel in terrified frustration but it’s an inanimate object. I’m the damn fool goaded into ‘proving how unprepared I could be’. This was my ‘reward’. I was going to have to walk in the dark with a gas can until I found the next house. Then I was going to have to beat on their front door and hope they would take mercy on us. It was the perfect checkbox list of ‘NO!’ for me.
Walk alone in the dark. The FULL MOON dark.
Traverse a rural two lane blacktop where I didn’t know a single soul.
Ask for help from total strangers that could have been avoided if I’d just used my damn head in the first place.
And the ‘piece de resistance’:
Be on the lookout for ‘werewolves’ or Moses’ Angel of Death sent to kill the firstborn sons.
My own anger generated a certain level of false bravado which I needed to ‘get it done’. I cursed myself for not having gas already in the fuel can in the trunk but the truth is, I would’ve been afraid it was an explosion risk. It’s hell being an over-thinker. Tammy had the audacity to ask where I was going. I just turned toward her with a disgruntled scowl. She didn’t mean it the way it came out. It was obvious I had to go for help. She just didn’t want to be alone in the car. I think she felt bad for all of her past attempts to ‘loosen me up’ about over-planning things. Perhaps on the eve of our mutual doom, I might’ve won one. Ah, the bittersweet irony.
The two of us held hands. We’d started the journey together and we’d finish it together. Whatever that meant. Like a gentleman, I placed her away from the roadway but it was mostly a symbolic gesture. There were no other cars driving by. She was the first to notice how quiet it was as we walked. There was only the sound of our shoes clacking the pavement. In a place with all manner of wild animals living in nature, it was deathly silent. She gripped my hand tightly. It seemed like we’d walked a long way but the truth is, we were relatively lucky. The nearest farmhouse was less than a mile from our stranded vehicle.
Like the rest, it had one of those arcane symbols painted right on the front door. Also like the others, there wasn’t a single light shining in their windows but the driveway had three cars. They were definitely home but I had my doubts they would answer us. We didn’t want to be shot for startling them so we tried to make some unsubtle noises on the doorstep to announce our benevolent presence. Country folks like their twelve gauge shotguns. I hoped they would realize we were harmless and in need of help.
We both heard sounds of lamentation coming from inside. If anything, they were more frightened than we were. I’d characterize it as terrified. I spoke up in my friendliest voice to reassure them.
“Hello there. We’re terribly sorry to bother you folks so late at night. We’re just passing through from out of town and our car ran out of gas. Do you happen to have some? We’d be happy to reimburse you. I’ve got a hundred dollar bill. I can slide it under your door as compensation.”
A man on the other side spoke up. There was a noticeable tremor in his voice. He appeared to be trying very hard to balance his innate sense of politeness and hospitality, with a crumbling wall of courage. It didn’t bode well to reassure either of us.
“I’m terribly sorry for your trouble mister, but there’s something very evil lurking in these parts you don’t want to encounter. They come out at night time and for that precise reason, we don’t dare open the front door, for anyone. I’d be happy to siphon some of my own gas for you; but I won’t set foot out there until daylight. I have to protect myself and my family. I hope you understand. Now, run back to your car and lock the doors. Quickly! Cover up the windows and take this and put it on the hood of your vehicle in a conspicuous place. It’ll save your lives.”
In the unnatural quietness of the night air, I heard the electronic whirl of an inkjet printer running inside their home. A piece of letter-sized paper slid under the door jamb. It contained one of those strange symbols.
“Leave your fuel can on the porch. I’ll bring some gas, first light. I promise. If they come for you, do not look them in the eye. Go!”
We did exactly as instructed. To the letter. I gotta tell ya, the missus and I would’ve been ‘husband and wife, three-legged race’ winners if we’d entered such a competition. Both of us sprinted at a pace I hardly thought possible. I could barely keep up with her. Then I scrambled to get the keys to open the door. It might’ve been comical if we weren’t racing for our lives. Inside, we located a sun-visor and blankets to block off the windows as best we could. An old paper road map and catalogs from the glove compartment served to complete the job, in record time.
We were almost in the clear when I realized the most important part of the plan wasn’t in place. The protection sign was still in the car with us! I didn’t have any masking tape so there was no way to secure it to the window or hood. Using a rock as a paperweight would’ve blocked it from being visible. In a flash of invention I had an idea. The SUV was so dusty from the county roads that I scrawled the symbol as large as I could into the dirt of the windshield, hood and trunk with my fingers. I hoped that would suffice to spare us from the fury of whatever frightening creatures roamed the hillsides during the full moon.
I jumped back inside just in time. First the smell hit us. It was positively rank and the source of the stench was very, very large. We could feel ‘them’ walking around the car inspecting it. There were tiny voids in our hasty wallpapering of the windows but I didn’t dare look through the cracks. I was too scared I’d make eye contact. We heard them pulling on the door handles to see if they were unlocked. I have absolutely no doubt anything that huge could’ve simply ripped them open but that apparently wasn’t the point. They were checking to see if we’d taken the precaution of locking them.
Tammy had to stifle a scream as the whole vehicle shook back and forth violently. I thought the intent was to flip it upside down. She looked at me in wide-eyed terror. I’d love to suggest she drew strength from my calm masculinity but that would be a bold-faced lie. It was all I could do to keep from squealing like a toddler myself. The things on the other side of the car were definitely not natural. That much was clear to us. Then one of them spoke with a ‘voice’, not of this earth.
“You drew our sacred sigil of mercy on your vehicle, incorrectly. You have parts of the character backwards but we have decided to forgive your ignorance, this time. Leave our home and never return again. Our patience is limited.”
“Thank you!”; We both cried out in unison. Without response, they finally left us, but we dared not leave the impotent ‘safety’ of the car to confirm their departure; even to use the bathroom. Leftover drink cups temporarily served that purpose.
In the morning, the farmer came just as he’d promised. He brought us fuel and something to eat. Not that either of us had an appetite. He saw the evidence of our nocturnal visitors and remarked how fortunate we were, especially with my botched depiction of the ‘sigil’, as they had referred to them. We thanked the man again and we’re on our way. Neither of us breathed a sign of relief until we reached the suburbs.
I drove through an automated car wash to blast off the layers of dirt from our terrifying ordeal, but it didn’t do anything about the savage claw marks and unnatural dents to the sheet metal. I told my coworkers it was from a grizzly bear attack. That would’ve been horrific enough story, but the truth was infinitely worse. These so-called ‘grizzly bears’ could speak, read, and took considerable umbrage to my poorly drawn protection sigils.
My insurance agent demanded to inspect the damage first. He asked me where it occurred. I told him and he adopted the same pale demeanor change as the country store owners. He knew what we faced that night. Obviously there had been other claims like ours over the years. Without acknowledging what we both knew, he said: “You two are lucky to be alive. Don’t go back there again. Your claim will be covered in full. And one more thing, that sigil should look like this.”
He pointed to the clean area of the windshield where I had drawn it. Despite it being washed, you could still see the remnants of my ‘artwork’ on the glass. He took his finger and reversed one of the vertical marks in the middle. Now I know the correct way to draw it. More importantly, Tammy doesn’t try to stop me from planning out all the details of our trips anymore. She finally sees the benefit of NOT being spontaneous. Win-win.

We decided to go for a drive in the countryside one Saturday morning. I’m the type of person who usually plans everything, leaving nothing to chance. I’m not spontaneous at all and it gets on my wife’s nerves. This was going to be different. It was all my idea and I assured Tammy we were just going to ‘wing it’. She rolled her eyes. She knows me. She realizes even my ‘spontaneous’ excursions are planned, somehow.
The truth is, it bothers me to not have a game plan. I’m usually the one driving on these rogue adventures and I have to decide to turn left or right if there’s no predetermined path or destination. I hate doing that with a passion but I wanted to prove to her I could drive without advance research or scouting. Inside it was going to kill me, but I had to pretend to be ok with it. You know how couples can get. I had to prove her ‘wrong’.
We loaded up the car with a couple of bottles of water and snacks before steering toward the rural part of the state. In the beginning, I’d been to parts of the area, but the longer we drove, the further I left behind my comfort zone. Tammy was loving it. I’d glance over at her occasionally and she’d have this genuine glow of contentment from the random drive. I sincerely think part of the enjoyment was relishing in my discomfort, but I wasn’t about to let on. Regardless, I wasn’t much of an actor and we both knew I was a bundle of knots inside.
Every few miles we’d see an old farmhouse or weathered barn with cows in the pasture. The scenery was lush and picturesque. The weather itself was beautiful too. All in all, for a random drive in the country being officiated by an obsessive planner, it was pretty darn enjoyable. I didn’t feel the crippling apprehension which usually came over me when I was trying to find a specific location in the dark. It was easier to be ‘lost’ in the daylight, with no set agenda. You might even say I was adjacent to enjoying myself.
The deeper Tammy and I drove into ‘Nowheresville’, the more we started noticing some odd little things. There were weird symbols painted on the side of the houses and barns visible from the old county road. They weren’t anything either of us was familiar with, but clearly they meant something to the locals. The first few didn’t register as anything to take note of, but eventually it became an obvious thing which stood out, in an otherwise idyllic country drive. I found myself anticipating them with each new home we approached. All of the symbols were somewhat different in ‘character’ formation, but they were similar enough to be related.
Neither of us spoke about them at the time but those strange markings troubled us, deeply. It was definitely on our minds when we stopped at a small country store for supplies, and to use the bathroom. As is usually the case with folks in the countryside, the store owners were very friendly. We must’ve stood out like sore thumbs, because they asked where we were from. We bought food and drinks for the road, and yukked it up with them for a couple minutes.
That is, until I summoned the courage to ask what the symbols on the buildings meant. Immediately their whole demeanor changed. It was night and day. Tammy noticed it too. She looked at me with a side-eyed glance as their mood darkened. To their credit, they didn’t try to change the subject. That would’ve been too obvious; but they did look down the aisles first to make sure there were no other customers within earshot, before answering. That definitely raised our hackles. It was creepy as hell. The truth was apparently something ‘outsiders’ like us weren’t supposed to know.
Suddenly it felt like we were about to be sucked into the middle of a rural conspiracy. They leaned over and whispered: “You folks seem real nice. Please don’t ask anyone else about them. It’s for ‘protection’, and for heaven’s sake, don’t be around here once the sun goes down. There’s a full moon tonight and they prefer the dark.”
I looked at Tammy’s mortified face. Her reaction was probably the same as my own. The suspense widened. We kept waiting for them to burst out laughing about winding up the big city folks, but the grins never came. They just handed us our receipt and told us to have a safe trip back home. There was a strong emphasis on us leaving soon. Like a couple of traumatized school kids, we thanked them for their prior hospitality and walked out. It was already dusk, and we were halfway across the state. We’d been seeing those bizarre markers for fifty miles or more.
Was it some secret sect? Tammy dared to take a photo of one of the ‘protection markers’ with her phone as we drove back toward home but the internet service in the boonies was spotty, at best. Since it was some deeply held rural secret, she hoped an image search would tell us what they meant. The country store proprietors acted like it was blood painted on the door of their homes to signal for the Biblical Angel of Death to pass them by.
Night fell quickly, with us still being in the middle of ‘Nowheresville’. We were definitely spooked and needed fuel for the car. Predictably, there were no stations around and the needle was below ‘E’. My OCD nerves were kicking way in. I was tempted to lash-out about why THIS is the reason I didn’t like to be spontaneous, but I held my tongue. It wouldn’t have helped. The image lookup netted very little helpful information. The only thing she could find was that it was somehow tied to ‘a secretive society of occult Freemasons’.
What? There were too many of them for it to be an ‘inside joke on city folks exploring the backroads’. We wouldn’t have thought there would be anything other that devout religious people living in that isolated section of the county. Not only that, but what did the shop owner’s vague statement mean? ‘They prefer the dark’? They made it sound like there were bloodthirsty werewolves roaming the woods. As laughable as it sounded, they weren’t laughing when they said it, and they didn’t appear to be kidding either.
They warned us to be completely out of the area before nightfall, and yet here we were, running on fumes and hoping to find a gas station before we were stranded like sitting ducks. The wind picked up until it blew our little car around like a sailboat in a churning sea. If there was any good from our unplanned misadventure, it was that all the dust we’d picked up from the long drive would hopefully be blown off the car.
It was barely 9pm on a Saturday night but every house we passed was as dark as could be. Not a single light shone in any of their windows. Either they went to bed early in the country, or they didn’t want to invite strangers to their doors after dark. Intellectually I knew rural folk were known to sleep early, but I couldn’t help but hear the shopkeepers conspiratorial words echo again in my ears. I couldn’t see Tammy’s face well but I know her. She was dwelling on it too. Under the circumstances it would’ve been impossible to ignore.
As growing nightmares tend to do, the car began to shudder. It was choking on its last few ounces of fuel left in the line. I wanted to shake the steering wheel in terrified frustration but it’s an inanimate object. I’m the damn fool goaded into ‘proving how unprepared I could be’. This was my ‘reward’. I was going to have to walk in the dark with a gas can until I found the next house. Then I was going to have to beat on their front door and hope they would take mercy on us. It was the perfect checkbox list of ‘NO!’ for me.
Walk alone in the dark. The FULL MOON dark.
Traverse a rural two lane blacktop where I didn’t know a single soul.
Ask for help from total strangers that could have been avoided if I’d just used my damn head in the first place.
And the ‘piece de resistance’:
Be on the lookout for ‘werewolves’ or Moses’ Angel of Death sent to kill the firstborn sons.
My own anger generated a certain level of false bravado which I needed to ‘get it done’. I cursed myself for not having gas already in the fuel can in the trunk but the truth is, I would’ve been afraid it was an explosion risk. It’s hell being an over-thinker. Tammy had the audacity to ask where I was going. I just turned toward her with a disgruntled scowl. She didn’t mean it the way it came out. It was obvious I had to go for help. She just didn’t want to be alone in the car. I think she felt bad for all of her past attempts to ‘loosen me up’ about over-planning things. Perhaps on the eve of our mutual doom, I might’ve won one. Ah, the bittersweet irony.
The two of us held hands. We’d started the journey together and we’d finish it together. Whatever that meant. Like a gentleman, I placed her away from the roadway but it was mostly a symbolic gesture. There were no other cars driving by. She was the first to notice how quiet it was as we walked. There was only the sound of our shoes clacking the pavement. In a place with all manner of wild animals living in nature, it was deathly silent. She gripped my hand tightly. It seemed like we’d walked a long way but the truth is, we were relatively lucky. The nearest farmhouse was less than a mile from our stranded vehicle.
Like the rest, it had one of those arcane symbols painted right on the front door. Also like the others, there wasn’t a single light shining in their windows but the driveway had three cars. They were definitely home but I had my doubts they would answer us. We didn’t want to be shot for startling them so we tried to make some unsubtle noises on the doorstep to announce our benevolent presence. Country folks like their twelve gauge shotguns. I hoped they would realize we were harmless and in need of help.
We both heard sounds of lamentation coming from inside. If anything, they were more frightened than we were. I’d characterize it as terrified. I spoke up in my friendliest voice to reassure them.
“Hello there. We’re terribly sorry to bother you folks so late at night. We’re just passing through from out of town and our car ran out of gas. Do you happen to have some? We’d be happy to reimburse you. I’ve got a hundred dollar bill. I can slide it under your door as compensation.”
A man on the other side spoke up. There was a noticeable tremor in his voice. He appeared to be trying very hard to balance his innate sense of politeness and hospitality, with a crumbling wall of courage. It didn’t bode well to reassure either of us.
“I’m terribly sorry for your trouble mister, but there’s something very evil lurking in these parts you don’t want to encounter. They come out at night time and for that precise reason, we don’t dare open the front door, for anyone. I’d be happy to siphon some of my own gas for you; but I won’t set foot out there until daylight. I have to protect myself and my family. I hope you understand. Now, run back to your car and lock the doors. Quickly! Cover up the windows and take this and put it on the hood of your vehicle in a conspicuous place. It’ll save your lives.”
In the unnatural quietness of the night air, I heard the electronic whirl of an inkjet printer running inside their home. A piece of letter-sized paper slid under the door jamb. It contained one of those strange symbols.
“Leave your fuel can on the porch. I’ll bring some gas, first light. I promise. If they come for you, do not look them in the eye. Go!”
We did exactly as instructed. To the letter. I gotta tell ya, the missus and I would’ve been ‘husband and wife, three-legged race’ winners if we’d entered such a competition. Both of us sprinted at a pace I hardly thought possible. I could barely keep up with her. Then I scrambled to get the keys to open the door. It might’ve been comical if we weren’t racing for our lives. Inside, we located a sun-visor and blankets to block off the windows as best we could. An old paper road map and catalogs from the glove compartment served to complete the job, in record time.
We were almost in the clear when I realized the most important part of the plan wasn’t in place. The protection sign was still in the car with us! I didn’t have any masking tape so there was no way to secure it to the window or hood. Using a rock as a paperweight would’ve blocked it from being visible. In a flash of invention I had an idea. The SUV was so dusty from the county roads that I scrawled the symbol as large as I could into the dirt of the windshield, hood and trunk with my fingers. I hoped that would suffice to spare us from the fury of whatever frightening creatures roamed the hillsides during the full moon.
I jumped back inside just in time. First the smell hit us. It was positively rank and the source of the stench was very, very large. We could feel ‘them’ walking around the car inspecting it. There were tiny voids in our hasty wallpapering of the windows but I didn’t dare look through the cracks. I was too scared I’d make eye contact. We heard them pulling on the door handles to see if they were unlocked. I have absolutely no doubt anything that huge could’ve simply ripped them open but that apparently wasn’t the point. They were checking to see if we’d taken the precaution of locking them.
Tammy had to stifle a scream as the whole vehicle shook back and forth violently. I thought the intent was to flip it upside down. She looked at me in wide-eyed terror. I’d love to suggest she drew strength from my calm masculinity but that would be a bold-faced lie. It was all I could do to keep from squealing like a toddler myself. The things on the other side of the car were definitely not natural. That much was clear to us. Then one of them spoke with a ‘voice’, not of this earth.
“You drew our sacred sigil of mercy on your vehicle, incorrectly. You have parts of the character backwards but we have decided to forgive your ignorance, this time. Leave our home and never return again. Our patience is limited.”
“Thank you!”; We both cried out in unison. Without response, they finally left us, but we dared not leave the impotent ‘safety’ of the car to confirm their departure; even to use the bathroom. Leftover drink cups temporarily served that purpose.
In the morning, the farmer came just as he’d promised. He brought us fuel and something to eat. Not that either of us had an appetite. He saw the evidence of our nocturnal visitors and remarked how fortunate we were, especially with my botched depiction of the ‘sigil’, as they had referred to them. We thanked the man again and we’re on our way. Neither of us breathed a sign of relief until we reached the suburbs.
I drove through an automated car wash to blast off the layers of dirt from our terrifying ordeal, but it didn’t do anything about the savage claw marks and unnatural dents to the sheet metal. I told my coworkers it was from a grizzly bear attack. That would’ve been horrific enough story, but the truth was infinitely worse. These so-called ‘grizzly bears’ could speak, read, and took considerable umbrage to my poorly drawn protection sigils.
My insurance agent demanded to inspect the damage first. He asked me where it occurred. I told him and he adopted the same pale demeanor change as the country store owners. He knew what we faced that night. Obviously there had been other claims like ours over the years. Without acknowledging what we both knew, he said: “You two are lucky to be alive. Don’t go back there again. Your claim will be covered in full. And one more thing, that sigil should look like this.”
He pointed to the clean area of the windshield where I had drawn it. Despite it being washed, you could still see the remnants of my ‘artwork’ on the glass. He took his finger and reversed one of the vertical marks in the middle. Now I know the correct way to draw it. More importantly, Tammy doesn’t try to stop me from planning out all the details of our trips anymore. She finally sees the benefit of NOT being spontaneous. Win-win.

Today I landed in Frankfurt and while making an enquiry, i forgot my luggage at one of the arrival gates near the exit of terminal 1 (Arrival gate D to be pricise) and when i realised that i had forgotten the baggage, i went about retracting my steps.
Weird part was the bag went missing within 10-15 mins of me leaving it. Tried contacting the information center, the police officials, the officers at the gates, none of them seem to have any idea of the luggage.
It has all important papers, a laptop, some cash and cloths. The laptop in particular is very valuable to me.
I have now reached the hotel, raised a request with the airport authorities. I'm not sure what else I can do to help officials. Does anyone have any suggestions?
Since I'm not a native German, i find it harder communicating with people around.

Car
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My Email:
Wed, Aug 19, 2020, 1:10 PM
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My tire has low air pressure AGAIN. The guy who is driving and working on my car is sleazy, sweaty, and wearing disgusting clothes. I'll be driving the car immediately after he worked on it. Can I get HIV from sweat and grime?
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Dr. Garrett's Reply:
Wed, Aug 19, 2020, 3:26 PM
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No you can't get HIV that way.
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My Email:
Thu, Aug 20, 2020, 6:54 PM
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Want to quell my OCD? My headphones touched the arm rest of the seat on the train, then I put them in my ear, they're still in my ear. Is that a reason to worry? I'm mostly concerned with HIV.
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My Email:
Thu, Aug 20, 2020, 7:49 PM
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I have a sharp pain inside my right pointer finger, fingerprint area. I'm worried did something stick me, like a hypodermic needle? Do I now have HIV? I must remind myself, it's OCD, and an overwhelming panic attack that my life is changed forever, and I'll have no friends.
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My Email:
Thu, Aug 20, 2020, 7:52 PM
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The more I think about why I have a pain in my fingerprint area on my right pointer finger, I was eating muscles at a French restaurant today. It's probably a result of opening them up with my hands. That's a harmless and happy reason why. I must not catastrophize the worst.
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HIV - Hot Dog Bun
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My Email:
Sun, Aug 23, 2020, 7:54 PM
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I'm actually doing much better with the HIV OCD catastrophizing. I tell myself: there I go again. It's the same OCD panic attack again, and again, and again - just different scenarios. Catch it, check it, change it. HIV is a fragile virus.
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But today I succumbed to the OCD, I've got a question:
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I just came back from a long walk around the neighborhood. Let's say hypothetically speaking I stepped on something that contained HIV. My mom gave me my dinner as I was taking my shoes off. As I lifted the shoes, the bottoms came really close to my hot dog bun. Foolishly, I still ate it because I was hungry.
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My question: say HIV was on the bottom of my shoe, say it touched the bun, then I ate it. Can I get HIV that way?
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There I go again. It's gross but it's OCD.
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Dr. Garrett's Reply:
Mon, Aug 24, 2020, 5:36 AM
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I am glad to hear you are doing better with the contamination fears. They can be a torment. Keep up the "There I go again" reframing.
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My Email:
Mon, Aug 24, 2020, 5:26 PM
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It's that time again for contamination fear of the day. It's almost comical if the thoughts weren't so tormenting.
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At Starbucks, the Barista's hands were wet as she was making my Nitro Cold Brew coffee. Some of the water got into my beverage. It was gross.
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Just moments ago, I was ripping open a cardboard Amazon delivery box and gave myself a paper cut.
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Can I get HIV either of these ways? THERE I GO AGAIN! I must recognize it's the same broken record again, and again, and again. It's unpleasant but the likelihood of getting HIV like this is slim to none. I'm trying to fight it off and let it go. Interestingly enough, once I move on to a new contaminate I forget about yesterdays (the previous ones).
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Dr. Garrett's Reply:
Mon, Aug 24, 2020, 9:27 PM
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Good observation that you forget yesterday's fear and replace it with a new carbon copy. More proof that it is a broken record. Keep up the "There I go again1"
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HIV Madness
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My Email:
Fri, Sep 11, 2020, 11:54 AM
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I went to Quest Lab to do bloodwork because I'm catastrophizing about HIV - which is ridiculous, to begin with.
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She drew blood from my arm. Then when I got home, I took off my shoes, touched the bottoms, washed my hands, dried them on a towel. The towel was wet now.
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So I took a shower. After the shower, I tried cleaning the open cut. I wiped it from the wet towel spot. How ironic would it be if I put HIV into the cut, trying to protect myself from HIV?
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I know this is madness.
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Dr. Garrett's Reply:
Fri, Sep 11, 2020, 12:59 PM
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It is madness.

I woke up in the morning to the smell of something cooking.
That was definitely off. I stretched out in my bed, “I’m finally going to be done with all that bothersome ‘work’.” I told myself with a smile on my face as I eased myself out of bed and rose to my feet.
A quick burning hot shower, and I was content, all was right with the world again.
I threw on my ‘outside clothes’ and emerged to find the cause of the odorous disturbance in my domicile…Celia was standing at an oven I’d never touched in my entire life.
“G’morning.” She said. She was still in her child sized shape, and dressed in something akin to pajamas… no, they ‘were’ pajamas. Ones covered in little animal patterns.
“Uh… yeah… it is, I guess, considering that I’m awake instead of asleep, I guess it’s fine but…” I yawned and rubbed the back of my head, “Why are you up so early, and what’s with…?” I looked her up and down.
“What’s with what?” She looked over her shoulder at me with a little smug expression on her face.
“This?!” I said and waved my other hand up and down in front of her.
“Oh.” Celia’s expression never wavered.
“Well, I did a little research on Earth after my last visit, not much, but I figured I should know how to dress at least.” She pinched the soft cloth of the yellow pajamas and gave them a little tug, “These really are comfortable, by the way, you were not wrong about humans being good at comfort.”
“And your… tiny self?” I asked, and she chuckled.
“Oh, well you are the one who said I was your niece, after all. So now I suppose I should play the part. Besides, you are a lot older than I am, by what, a few hundred years?” She asked. She spun around with spatula in hand and held it up at her side like a soldier’s sabre and struck a stiff pose. “As my senpai, I think that is the word, I must look to you for guidance and instruction, and rely on you to take care of me while I am unfamiliar with everything…”
She was not sounding like a normal swapper. Then it hit me, she was much younger than I am. Young swappers are often prone to adopting the characteristics of what they imitate, we all are, really, but the younger they are the more true this is.
Another sneaky suspicion struck me, “How long have you been awake for?” I asked.
“About six hours.” She said, “I’ve been binge watching a lot!” A giant grin came over her face. “I was watching this one thing about a boy who lived with two girls, one of whom was his sister and he didn’t know which one… all the shenanigans!”
“Oh.” I dragged my hand down over my face, “Celia, how long do you usually take on the forms of other races for?” I asked.
She tapped the tip of the spatula against her cheek, “Um, I don’t know, a few hours, just long enough to do a job, I don’t do my own scouting, I’m too new for that so… maybe a tenth of this time, why?”
“Oh my… um… can you… do something for me?” I asked.
“Like make breakfast? I’m already on it, aunt Kayobi!” She laughed and spun back around and began stirring something up in whatever pan was on the stovetop over the oven. “I saw this thing where a dragon girl kept making omletts and they were too big, so I decided to try my hand at making them. Thankfully you had some stuff I could sort of improvise… I don’t know much about taste but-” She was rambling, I had to cut her off.
“That’s fine.” I interjected, “But… hasn’t anyone ever told you that you shouldn’t ‘swap’ for this long without going back or at least going to something else?”
“Yes, but it’s no problem, this is a human body after all and humans are super easy. It’ll barely be an inconvenience to shift to anything else. After all, they’re sort of shaped like us, who knows, maybe they’ll evolve into swappers too one day, if that healing factor of theirs keeps improving at least.” Celia said, she didn’t see the concerned expression on my face.
‘This is not good. No, this is definitely not good. She took on the characteristics of a child, a human child, and those are reckless, negligent, have horrible survival instincts, and routinely dismiss danger or problems to an absurd degree. It would be exactly like a human child to neglect the obvious in favor of just doing nothing…plus she’s young so she’s even more vulnerable to these things…’ I had to suppress my groan.
If she couldn’t swap back, she couldn’t go back. Not in the ‘oh no she’ll die’ sense. Not in the ‘she’s violated a law sense and will be harshly punished’ sense either.
No… no. If word of this got back to the others, she would be absolutely disgraced and shamed beyond all reason. It’s not as embarrassing as say, waving back at someone who wasn’t waving at you. It’s a thousand times worst.
It’s more like… if a human lost control of their bowels at their job where friends and family worked. At that point you might as well quit, change your name, and start your life over in a whole new place in the world.
Celia would never be able to look at the rest of her coworkers again without a sense of disgrace… and I know Celia. She’s a nice one, sort of sensitive about even asking for help, kind of insecure, really. She wouldn’t be able to handle it, she’d have to quit.
I sat down at the table. “Celia, I want you to do something for me, and I don’t want you to panic.”
“I know, I know, you want some red peppers added on top of your omlett, don’t worry, I saw you didn’t have any, but I saved some from the pizza last night, they included a couple of packets. I didn’t throw them out, so I’ll just add those real quick to your omlet and…”
I cleared my throat. “No, no, that’s fine.” I said.
“Oh, then here you go.” She said and slid the omlet onto a paper plate and handed it to me along with one of my many plastic forks.
“I want…” I started to say, and she leaned forward, her dark hair tumbled down behind her, she was waiting for me to try her food.
I stopped. I looked down at the dish. It actually smelled really good. I usually cooked bacon in the microwave, it seemed she’d chosen to use the oven, and that paid off. I could smell the bacon inside, and my mouth began to water.
I cut into the yellow goodness and then raised a bite to my mouth, the cheese within stretched into tiny strings and I put the morsel onto my tongue.
Flavor exploded. “This is amazing!” I shouted.
She grinned ear to ear and waited for me to take a second bite. I stopped myself, I set the fork down and set my palms flat on the table. “No, no Kayobi, don’t get distracted.”
“What?” Celia asked, “You said it was good, right?” She asked.
“Yes… and it is. But I need you to do something else… something not food related.” I said, and her mouth closed before she could ask whatever was on her mind.
“Try to swap back to your natural form.” I said.
“But that’s-” She started to object.
“Just do it.” I said.
She shrugged. “Fine.” She breathed out the annoyed sigh of every teenager in the history of humanity.
I waited.
She looked down at her hand. Her feet. She looked at her reflection in the glass window on the wall. She gritted her teeth and clenched her jaw and began to grunt and groan.
“I…what…” Celia’s eyes went very wide, she kept trying.
But she also kept failing.
“I’m… stuck.” She whispered.
“Yup. Looks like.” I said, and she looked at me with an expression of horrified shame as if she’d shat herself in front of me.
I held up a hand to stop the horrified apologies or bawling or whatever.
“Relax, nobody else knows, I won’t tell anyone, and I’ll help you get back to normal.” I promised.
A few minutes later, I knew what tears of relief on a human looked like when she was asking…
“You’re really not going to tell anyone… you’re going to help me get back to normal and never say a thing, you promise?” She asked.
“Yes.” I answered.
“Thank you…” Celia whispered and began to wipe her nose, I shrugged off her thanks and took another bite of the omlet.
“Don’t worry about it but… can I have another one of these before we get to work?” I asked, and a smile slowly came back to her face as she got up to make another.
“Do you know how to fix this?” She asked.
“Nope. But I have a clue.” I said as she opened the fridge to get out more eggs, cheese, and bacon.
“How?” She asked tentatively, looking over her shoulder at me while she rummaged.
“We wing it.” I said, and for good measure, brought wings out of my back in the hopes of making her laugh.
It got a little one, and that was a start, at least.

For starters the drawing tablet is a gaomon pd1161 And the software I am using is krita, And I used to draw alot on paper up until now that I begin drawing things digitally, I have been taking careful care of my drawing tablet, And so on, Its pretty fun to draw with and I have been drawing alot and training alot recently, But I wanted I am so confused with anything really, I used to use pureref to put on my references to draw something, But now each time I Draw on krita pure ref pops out in the background not allowing me to see the references, Having me to rely on krita's built in reference featuring, Which is kind of a pain because I have to like size the images enough for me to able to see my drawing
Drawing with the drawing tablet is comfortable, Hell I can sort of sketch, Despite the lines feeling smooth, Probably that was automatic, Not sure if krita automatically smoothens your lines when you plug in a drawing tablet. I'm also bit nervous about things like layers, And coloring, And I am not even sure if krita can do line art and be it a comfortable process, I'm starting to feel like switching to CSP because I heard it can do line art well too but who knows, I have been just sketching so far as if I'm drawing on paper, And It does a good job at that, It feels close to what drawing on paper is.
I'm also taking heavy care of my drawing tablet, I'm still paranoid over using it really, Like I'm cleaning it with cloth and so on, For now, I worry something would happen to it.
Still I have got so much to ask like, How do I adjust the canvaz sizee to how I want it? What If I end up having a canvas thats too big or too small? I'm confused over brushes, Any good sketching brushes or is it ok to even use the krita ones in the first place?
Yeah please help me out

I was trying to describe this account to my friends and they think I’m crazy based on the description but couldn’t recall the account name and can’t find it.
There is a girl who makes crusty paper mache looking cosplay videos and takes videos of them fully clothed in the shower. In addition, she has a strange attic room with mannequins where she takes videos in the dark.
Please help me out here

Hi everyone.
To Kill a Predator is a work of fan fiction set in the Nature of Predators universe originally created by SpacePaladin15 whose Patreon you should subscribe to.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Depiction does not equal endorsement.
Hope you enjoy it!
[First] [Previous]
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Memory transcription subject: Martin Russo, Human Refugee
Date [standardized human time]: January 10th, 2137
​
Without the girls, life settles into a boring rut. I talk to them as much as I can on the pad, but they’re busy on Earth, hitting the ground running.
There’s been a lot of ground to cover before they’re caught up to where everyone else will be, particularly for Vilek. She’s often had to pull double-claws of studying, working her fluffy ass off to gain a baseline understanding of psychology in record time. Thiva’s classes on VP by contrast have prepared her well for humanity’s relatively simple technology.
That, and they’ve had to get used to Earth. Earth food, Earth culture, and a planet full of omnivores with forward-facing eyes. I’ve been doing what little I can to help coach and encourage them.
For my own part I’ve been restless. Given that I’m not able to look for a job yet, that physical therapy kicks my ass every other paw, and that I’ve got nothing to do other than look forward to a half-hour of chatting with my friends… I’ve started up on software again. It’s something I can do even while laying prone. Particularly since I have a way to write without using my hands.
What do I do with that, anyway? I can read minds. I can even use the raw data from a full brain scan to extract memories. There’s got to be something useful to do with this. It’s practically the only part of this entire debacle I haven’t bothered telling the UN about.
Honestly after what I’ve been through, I can’t imagine trusting them, or the Venlil government, with this. Bastards would be prosecuting thought-crime by the end of the week.
​
Jarkim’s opened his business a couple of weeks back. Without an actual office, since he plans to simply operate out of Slavik’s farm. As I understand they tolerate it as long as he also helps out in return for food and board. I hope the arrangement works out for the both of them.
I gave Jarkim some help with his online presence. He wasn’t initially sure about the black and white picture of him in a fedora and a tie, or about the business name “Jarkim Krakotl, Private Eye”. But as soon as humans heard about Venlil Prime’s only Krakotl detective they’ve ended up coming to him with their problems.
He sent me a picture of his first solved case, some runaway kid who got lost and reunited with her mother. He was still wearing the hat. No tie, though.
​
Today is my paw off from Chasa’s torments, and it coincides with the launch of another exciting new business venture. So I take the time to visit Mosun.
“Hey Martin! Hold on a minute!” I see the Yotul wrangling a bunch of foam mats around the large, empty room. And its wall-length mirror. Fittingly the place look like the midway point between a dance studio and a martial arts dojo, except for the soft and spongy floor. It’s meant to safeguard against falls.
I glance around the room while he huffs and plops the last few ones down. There’s perhaps thirty-five or forty foam mats scattered on the floor. “So are you being optimistic, or did you get a good reception?”
He looks at me, bouncing with excitement. Though his ears signal a bit of nervousness. “Five Yotul have signed up so far! That’s almost half the Yotul in the entire town! And almost twenty humans! Hanya’s bringing a couple of Gojid friends too, and we’ve got a few Venlil coming along with their humans… Oh, and an Iftali, that was a surprise. Honestly I may be a little in over my head here; I’ve never taught crowds before! I’m not even sure how much will translate across species!”
“So you’ll be learning on the job. I have complete faith in you. Are the Exterminators going to give you any trouble?”
He barks a laugh. “Hah! No, Jarkim had a talk with the magister. I got permission from Vaska’s office to teach the classes in the name of cultural preservation, so those motherfuckers can’t touch me!”
I laugh as well. “You might need to censor your language a bit as a teacher.”
“Combat Dancing is about honesty and expression, Martin. If I can’t live it, how am I supposed to teach it?”
Well, he got me there. “Anything I can do to help?”
He glances at me, his voice gets a little uncomfortable. “Um, I don’t know. Can you carry heavy stuff right now?”
I shrug. “Probably not, no.”
“Then I’ll be fine. You’re not interested in taking the class?”
​
“I think my dancing days are over, for the foreseeable future.” I wryly lift my cane and wave it as a small reminder. It’s wood, and I’m quite fond of it. Chasa found a Venlil craftsman who wanted to be the first to make one for a human, and he made it out of the wood of some kind of tree called Lampan. The color reminds me of mahogany.
His ears droop a bit. “Ah yeah. How permanent is that looking?”
I shrug. “Finger dexterity on the right hand’s likely never going to be the same, but I’ll be able to play video games. Left arm should recover enough for daily use. Leg should get a full range of motion, but I won’t be going jogging. Thankfully I look dignified with a cane.”
He wags his tail teasingly and cocks his head as he regards me. “Do you? …Must be a human thing.”
“Piss off. Mind if I sit in on the class?”
“Of course not!”
Turns out first class of Yotul Combat Dancing is a quick demonstration, and then Mosun talking to the quite large and varied crowd. He talks about the history and cultural significance of Combat Dances to the Yotul, the philosophical underpinnings of the artform, and the mentality to be cultivated in practitioners.
Everyone is listening with rapt attention, and a few of the humans are even taking notes. When he opens the floor for questions, a Venlil asks “Isn’t this an expression of Predator Disease?”
To which Mosun answers “No. Next question?”
Which is honestly as much of a response as that warrants.
I talk with Hanya briefly after the class. She says that she’s been diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and that human therapy is helping her out. She even talks excitedly about piloting shuttles again, someday soon. I’m glad for her.
​
Once I get back to the house, there’s a man in a suit waiting for me. He’s tall, bald, and has very dark skin. I don’t recognize him. He extends his hand toward me, and I shake it. He speaks English with an African accent, instead of letting the translator handle it. I’d guess western Africa, but I’m hardly an expert. “Bamidele Adeyemi.”
“Martin Russo. Can I help you?”
He indicates the door. “May I come in?”
“Sure. My Venlil hosts aren’t home right now.”
“Of course.”
Once he’s been let in, and I’ve given him something to drink, I wait patiently for him to explain his presence.
“I am the UN liason to the district magister’s office.”
I keep my tone neutral and politely curious. “What happened to Robert McGinley?”
He keeps his tone neutral too, but friendly. He smiles at me. “It was decided that he should be replaced.”
Oh no. Anyway. “Alright. But… No offense mister Adeyemi, but why are you here?”
​
He takes out a pad. “I have some documents that the UN and the District Magister would like you to sign.”
I sigh inwardly and make a quite heroic effort to not sigh outwardly. I look at the pad briefly anyway. As I expected, it’s about making myself legally liable should I speak up about what I’ve gone through. “I’m afraid you are wasting your time. McGinley told me to sign papers like this too, and I told him ‘no’.”
He nods, entirely unsurprised. “I understand you signed similar documents over a smaller… altercation with the Exterminators. Why the difference of response, if I may ask?”
“Because the first time he threatened to have me thrown out of the refugee center if I didn’t.”
Bamidele’s eyes widen briefly. “I see. That does explain why you told him to ‘fuck off’.”
“Yes.” I pause briefly. “…You’ve been polite enough that I don’t want to use the same language. But.”
He laughs briefly. “Haha, yes, I understand. Different circumstances, yes? My predecessor tried the stick. I am here to try the carrot. So tell me, mister Russo, what will it take for you to sign?”
“There’s nothing that…” I pause.
I sit down. I’m briefly quiet. I miss my friends so goddamn much. I swallow, mouth feeling dry as I tentatively reach for the proffered lifeline. “I… hear Sweden’s lovely this time of year.”
He flashes his teeth at me in a broad smile and chuckles pleasantly. “Hehe, I thought you might say that. But… You do realize it is January?”
​
​
Date [standardized human time]: January 12th, 2137
​
The thought of leaving this wretched planet and its wretched food and its wretched government and its wretched ever-present sun makes me feel like I’m already back in Earth’s lighter gravity.
I ended up paying Chasa back for all the pain and suffering she inflicted on me: The largest gift basket I could find online, filled with fruits, candies, and preserves of both Zurulian and human origin.
When I wake up at the start of the paw, my arch-nemesis has sent me two pictures. The first one is a schedule to keep for the next couple of months. In the second picture she’s put pillows and blankets in the basket and is using it as a bed, a paw raised in goodbye.
If the medi-teddies ever learn to weaponize their cuteness, humanity is in real trouble.
Packing is easy. I don’t have a lot. A band shirt from when I went to see ‘Where Angels Fear’, a few bad sketches of fruit, my dad's chess set, my pad, and a neural scanner.
​
Date [standardized human time]: January 13th, 2137
​
The space flight actually lands directly in Sweden, somewhere north of the polar circle at a place called Esrange. I immediately realize that winter’s back on the menu, as the cold makes my left leg and arm ache like hell. It’s the dead of night, too… But I’ve missed night. So has everyone else, as despite the cold people are walking straight out into the snow to just stare up into the starry sky and stare in open awe at the sky, where the stars form a backdrop for the northern lights. I join them.
A poetic whimsy falls over me, making me grin at the cheesiness. It’s like the sky itself is welcoming us back home.
From Esrange we take cars to Kiruna, Sweden’s northernmost city. From there it’s a long train ride south. I’ve gotten a sleeper cabin. With the generous stipend from the UN, I have no need to scrimp.
Even so, it takes significantly longer to travel 1400 kilometers across Sweden than it did to travel 16 light-years from Gliese 832. I’ve got almost twenty hours to appreciate the irony.
​
Date [standardized human time]: January 14th, 2137
​
I’m met at the train station in Lund by a man holding a sign with my name on it. His car takes me directly to the university. Everything feels very… ordinary, except I’m a bit dazed at having so many humans around me again.
We arrive a little before 8 in the morning. Excited students scurry to and fro, eager and hopeful for the first day of spring term. The driver is named Markus, and very kindly helps me find my way to my meeting. I’m left outside a door, standing around awkwardly.
The man I’m meeting with is Jonas Falck, and he’s the head of the department of computer science. While the UN has ‘encouraged’ the university to take me in despite it being so close to the term start, the decision remains with him.
I really wanted to see the girls first, but the meeting time was set for me. I desperately wish I had thought to shave beforehand. I’ve been using my beard to hide my weak chin, but it probably looks more unprofessional than-
“Hey, are you Martin Russo?”
Ah, I see.
Mister Falck is holding two cups of coffee and offers one of them to me with a smile. He’s got a full beard, a full belly, hair past his shoulders, and a pink hawaiian shirt to go with his khaki shorts and flip-flops. This man is clearly one of the most talented professionals working in the field today.
​
“So, do you mind if I ask…” He motions to my cane while I take a seat.
“How that happened?”
“Yes.”
“That’s classified. I’m not even joking.”
He nods once, like that was more or less what he expected to hear. He leans back in his chair, which creaks a bit, and takes a slow drink from his coffee while reading on his computer. “So you studied at Columbia University before the Bombing?”
“Yes.”
“And your family lived in New York?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” He doesn’t say it unkindly, but he does say it as rote. ‘Oh you’re from one of the places that doesn’t exist anymore? Sorry to hear that.’
I nod awkwardly. “Yes.”
“And you were focusing on studying brain-computer interfacing?”
I feel like a recording. “Yes.”
“It’s very uncommon to add a student this late. The term begins today.”
“Yes.”
“We can’t provide housing for you on such a short notice, for one.”
“I have that handled, sir.”
He scrunches his face up. “Jonas, please. Americans are so formal.”
“Alright, er, Jonas.”
“So, Martin, what I’m asking for is a reason. To take you in right now, I mean, instead of next year.”
I nod. This is thankfully something I had planned for. My hand slips into my pocket, fingering the box holding the scanner electrodes. “Well, Jonas… I think there’s something you should take a look at.”
​
Handling paperwork and basic orientation takes most of the morning. I manage to get morning-and-evening classes to share my time off with the lambchops. That only works because most people don’t want evening classes. Evenings are for partying if you’re a student, so late classes are mostly for adults with jobs.
I end up standing around nervously by the entrance to the university building, counting down the time. I watch people passing by as calmly as I can, still checking my pad every minute or so for any messages and jerking my head around like a bird at anything that’s even a bit of a shade of gray.
I can tell the alien girls are coming even before I see them, since everyone is glancing curiously their way. I straighten my back and shift my weight from foot to foot. I feel like a dog at an airport, waiting for the return of its owner.
They’re looking around as I see them, and Thiva’s the first to spot me. Her ears perk up and Vilek immediately looks to me as well. As they speed up into a sprint, I’m a bit surprised to see them both wearing clothes. Both girls are wearing custom boots made to fit their digitigrade legs.
They’re both wearing coveralls, Vilek’s in a hospital teal and Thiva’s in a bright red. It’s been explained to me that many at the university have a student culture of wearing colorful coveralls that they decorate with patches, called ‘Ovve’, and that Thiva’s red marks her as a mechanical engineering student. Vileks’s teal, presumably, mark her as studying healthcare. Or specifically therapy, perhaps. I need to look it up.
Seeing as computer science students are apparently expected to wear pink ones, I’m thinking I might sit out this grand and colorful tradition. On the other hand according to the Internet it’s an informal rule to cut a bit from the ‘Ovve’ of anyone you’ve exchanged body fluids with and patch it onto your own. So I suppose I could be convinced.
The girls collide with me, thankfully gently. Their tails are wagging like crazy out of the back of their outfits, and they’re clinging to me. I inhale deeply, take in the distinct and pleasant scent of my cute Venlil friends, and cling to them as well. My fingers stroke through their thick fur, and I hear their happy wordless bleating and whistling.
I close my eyes and enjoy the moment, not giving one whit for the passersby watching the scene.
“Oh, girls, I-” Vilek punches me in the arm unexpectedly. The right one, thankfully.
“Ow!”
Even though her ears signal joy and her tail is wagging, her voice is still stern. “We learned what ‘lambchops’ means!”
Ah.
​
The student flat isn’t very expansive, but it’s larger than the one we shared on Venlil Prime. Probably because humans are just plain larger.
It’s currently sparsely furnished. There’s a couple of desks, a couch, a table, a beanbag chair, and a bunk bed. I take my shoes off in the hallway, as the girls do. When in Lund.
They help me unpack. There’s not a lot, but they had already set aside a little corner for me. I’ve got the beanbag chair instead of a desk, which I’m perfectly fine with.
I sigh and lean against a wall briefly. “I’m… so glad to be home.”
Thiva turns her head a little, flicking an ear in question. “You missed being on Earth?”
I chuckle, and pinch her ear-tip lightly. I lean over to give Vilek one too, for fairness. It earns me a pair of bleeps from them, and I go on the offensive to rub their heads and scratch their ears and do everything I can to make the lambchops squeal happily. They thankfully oblige. “I missed being with my herd.”
My friends are safe, they’re here with me, and we all have paths forward. I’ve fought and bled for this opportunity. I’m allowed to enjoy it.
I sit down on the couch with a quiet groan of satisfaction, finally getting to put my cane aside. “So, girls… how are you feeling about Earth so far?”
They grumble immediately. “It is so freaking cold!” “Snow! We do not like the snow!”
“It’s only for another couple of… Months.” They’re undressing right in front of me. I am left briefly stunned.
Oh right they don’t normally wear clothes.
Reminding myself of that doesn’t help. The context is what it is. They’re my best friends and my two favorite girls and they’re stripping naked before me.
My brain fails me. “…Okay, so, uhh. Um. Hmmh. Huh.”
Mother of God there’s nothing different! They’re naked. They’re always naked! It hasn’t been a problem on VP, it won’t be a problem here! Man up!
I take a deep and steadying breath and resolutely refuse to think of patches of white and red on a set of pink coveralls, with pink patches on their matching ones.
“I guess we should… buy some food? And some clothes for me to use? And…”
And they turn their heads toward me, staring at me with one eye each. Side by side. Making me feel like I'm being stared down by a single creature. One with forward-facing eyes. And an orange blush.
They take slow steps closer. Thiva speaks first with an amused lilt to her voice. “Or maybe this is a good time to talk. You know, about the house rules.”
Vilek speaks as well, moving her tail sinuously in a teasing motion. “Relationship statuses.”
Thiva comes in with the finisher, practically purring. “Sleeping arrangements.”
Ah.
​
---
And that's the end! Thank you all so much for reading, and check the comments for a small request from yours truly!
[First] [Previous]

I can't find this book anywhere, tried Bing, Google, DuckDuckGo. I remember the art being really pretty and the moon looked so funny being so angry about the clothes never fitting properly, especially when it was a full moon.
I don't know the time period, I just know I was a kid in the 2000's when I read this book, so it must be at least that old.

what do you think is the funniest moment for each friend? here are my thoughts !
rachel: trifle
monica: seven
phoebe: meeting mikes parents
joey: trying on all of chandler's clothes, moo, paper snow a ghost
ross: leather pants , I'm fine
chandler: this parachute is a knapsack, or when rachel and ross breakup and he starts spiraling "look what you're doing to chandler" or him the entire geller bowl episode

Part 19 Like Angels Falling from the Heavens (Part 1) (Part 18)
​
"Dropping in 3… 2… 1. Mission initiated." A synthetic voice read the words off of Tensebwse's HUD and his vision was suddenly filled with the familiar sight of metal and polymer panels rushing past him. “Target ETA, 8 minutes.”
​
“Alright, ladies!” Tens shouted into his comms-link to the Qui’ztar warriors who were about to experience why the Hell Divers had that name. “Hold on tight! When those retro-thrusters kick, they kick hard!”
​
"Hold on to what?" The deep yet feminine that called back was equal parts excited and nervous, and even held hints of sarcasm.
​
"Consciousness." Tens chuckled as he felt himself slowly being pushed towards the planets below.
​
Despite not feeling too much pressure himself, the Nishnabe warrior was keeping a close eye on both his own acceleration gauge as well as the reads out from his trainees. With his suit and control-AI acting as the central node of the networked machines, he had immediate access to the external and internal sensors of every mech he was in formation with. And, like a good pack leader, Ten wasn't at the front of the group, charging ahead, and possibly going beyond the physical limits of the Qui’ztar warrior women. Rather, he was at the back of the formation, letting the first-time jumpers set a pace they could endure, and watching for signs of overexertion. Even though each woman was nearing the absolute peak of their athletic abilities, the strain they were about to feel would be unlike anything they had ever experienced.
​
"This isn't that bad." It was Hutloxa who made the remark while sounding a bit too confident.
​
"We're still on the insertion-burn!" Tens fully laughed into the comms. "Verify trajectory and shield integrity, ladies. It's now or never!"
​
"Drop zone marked, call out when verified!" Captain Marzima's commanding tone was that of an ardent professional as she knew her commanding officer was watching them carefully.
​
"Drop Mech 1, confirmed!" A cacophony of voices began calling out in sequence until completing at number 19.
​
"All units confirmed, Lieutenant!" Marz was doing her job with the precision of a trained expert.
​
"Excellent, Captain!" Though the praise wasn’t necessary, Tens was starting to get excited as he saw the timer for the retro-thrusters slowly counting down. It had been months since his last time falling into hell and he missed the adrenaline rush. “Remember ladies, you need to keep breathing. If you stop breathing you will pass out. The mechs can and will land on their own if they need to but I need you to stay with me for the whole drop. Do you understand me?!?”
​
“Sir, yes, sir!” All 20 voices shouted back through the comms in perfect synchronization.
​
Tens could feel as his heart rate picked up in anticipation as his mind became perfectly clear. Only a few hundred meters below him he could clearly see the highlighted outlines of each of the mechanized walkers he was following towards the ground below. Judging by the angle of their approach, the direction of the planet's rotation, and current placement of the day-night terminator line, they would be hitting their drop zone just as the sun would begin to rise. Though that wasn’t necessarily the intention when planning out this training drop onto the Kyim'ayik’s new colony world, the Nishnabe warrior was looking forward to seeing the sunrise on a new planet. As he watched his countdown time slowly inch closer and closer to the fun part, he hoped that even if some of the women got sick, they would enjoy falling into hell and then being greeted by the morning sun.
​
“Remember what I said, just keep breath-” Tens almost had his own breath knocked out of lungs as his retro-thrusters began to fire. With a glee none of the women were expecting to hear as they were all rocked by the same forces, the young Nishnabe warrior let out a call of unbridled excitement. “Eeee!”
​
"What! The! Fuck!" One if the women shouted into the comms though, through the strain, it wasn't clear who.
​
"You got this!" Tens was able to get out in a surprisingly clear tone. "We're only just over 30 m/s2. This isn't even an emergency drop!"
​
"Come ladies!" Marz's voice, despite the pressure on her body, was just as strong and confident as it was at the very beginning. "You're deathworlders! You're Qui'ztar! You will endure!"
​
"You'll build up a tolerance with more drops." Tens added, his ear to ear grin audible as he tried to keep the women going. "Sound off! I need to hear you're still with me!"
​
"Drop… ugh! Drop mech 1! Still breathing!" The first women called out through labored breaths.
​
"Drop Mech 2! This is great!" The next voice, in stark contrast to the first, sounded like she was having the time of her life.
​
In sequence, each of the women called out their number and condition, some showing intense strain and others were clearing having a grand time. It didn't matter to Tens if some of them would need more training, or may not even be cut out for these kinds of missions in the future. The only thing the man cared about at this moment was making sure that they all landed safely. Though it only took a few seconds for each woman to signal they were still conscious and aware, and one a second or two between each one speaking, they were burning through the counter down timer just as quickly as they were beginning to burn through the upper atmosphere of the planet below them. Just before Tens's view of the deep blue oceans beneath him were obscured by the building ball of fire and the blue shimmering from his active shielding, a quaint chain of islands caught his eye. When Captain Marzima finally confirmed that she too was still conscious and able to maintain her professional demeanor, the countdown showed less than six minutes until they touched down.
​
Like angels of fury falling from the heavens, the 21 mechanized combat walker suits tore their way through the building layers of atmosphere, reentry plasma building with each passing moment. The preprogrammed descent path, having been calculated long in advance, coupled with the lack of incoming fire from the ground to ensured the group of first time jumpers and their experienced instructor had no need for evasive actions. In front of them was a clean and clear route, save for a few sparse clouds, which would see them land directly at the chosen site for the new Kyim'ayik colony. Even though something in the back of the man's mind was telling him not to trust the Arnehilians on the planet below, the idea that even the gray demons who had stolen his ancestors from their home weren't all evil warmed his soul. As the formation of mechs came closer and closer to their target, continuing their dramatic descent as if they were an unstoppable force sent by the Gods, the coastal clearing they were heading towards was highlighted by their HUDs.
​
"By the Matria- oof!" One of the women called out with a mixture of giggling and exhaustion. "It doesn't let up!"
​
"Just a couple more minutes!" Tens couldn't help the fact his volume was raised. None of them could. All he could do was shout words of encouragement to spur on the few who were still having trouble acclimating to the strain. "I know you're strong! I know you’re capable! Just keep breathing and you'll be the first Qui’ztar to see a sunrise over the shores of new colony world!"
​
"Yac'tloma! Chuiom! Are you still with me?!?" Marz's slightly more intense yell caused Tens to trigger the cockpit-view of both of the pilots who got called out.
​
"Yes, Captain!" Yac responded almost instantly and with a surprising amount of strength. "I think… mmm… I'm finally getting used to it."
​
"Chuiom!" Marzima shouted again just as a hologram of the Qui’ztar in question popped up on Tens's HUD.
​
"I'll wake her up." Tens chuckled as he sent a signal to Chu's mech to give her some mild stimulation.
​
"Fucker!" The woman was instantly awake and Tens could see through the holographic display that she wasn't happy. "Did someone just shock me?"
​
"No napping till after the debrief!" Tens retorted. "Your vitals are fine and we only got a minute or so left. Keep breathing and stay with me!"
​
Various readouts across Tens’s HUD were running through numbers faster than the holographic display could refresh. From altitude to effective airspeed, the Nishnabe warrior could see that everything was going perfectly and, despite some of his trainees showing signs of serious exhaustion, he was about as happy as he could be at that moment. Though one of the women did stop breathing for just a moment too long, and needed a bit of prodding to wake back up, the health data the man was cycling through indicated everyone seemed fine, no bones had been broken, and the strain hadn’t caused any unforeseen injuries. Regardless of how strong and capable he knew all of these women to be, and the fact that inertial dampers were reducing the felt forces to about a third of what they should be, each of these Qui’ztar deserved to relax after this. With only a few thousand meters per second of relative velocity left to burn off, and the retro-thrusters maintaining a cool 80 meters per second squared of deceleration, they would all get their moment of peace very soon.
​
“Is that the Arnehilian settlement?” Hutloxa’s voice cut in through the comms. “It looks really small.”
​
“Yeup, looks like.” Tens answered while bringing the relevant data up on his HUD. “Just a couple bigger buildings that look like greenhouses, some smaller ones that look like civilian structures, and really simple solar heating and wind energy systems.”
​
“My systems are telling me there aren’t any defensive systems.” Another of the warrior women added with hints of both confusion and doubt in her voice. “I’ve never seen Grays without some kind of weapons.”
​
“Remember the brief!” Marz shouted into the brief. “These aren’t Grays, they’re Greens. They’re entirely peaceful and they only have a few personal defense weapons that would barely break our skin.”
​
“I don’t -ugh-” It sounded like Chu was still struggling with the pressure she was under but was beginning to cope. “I don’t like this. Feels like a trap.”
​
“Their Mayor said he’s tried to keep his people clear of us.” Despite having more reservation about this situation than he cared to admit, Tens almost hoped he would have the opportunity to meet one of these supposedly peaceful Arnehilians. “But we’ll find out if he actually did it. According to the Admiral, the guy is a total softy and doesn’t like telling people what to do.”
​
“The ground is coming up fast!” One of the women nervously shouted as Tens noticed his relative velocity gauge showed the mach cones surrounding the mechs were about to dissipate and they would be on the ground in the next few seconds.
​
“Congratulations, ladies!” Tens shouted in reply as he saw the first mech halt its descent less than a meter off the ground before its massive metal feet could impact the soil. One by one each of the mech stopped just before impact and gently set themselves on to the surface of the planet. “That was your first trip into hell and I hope you enjoyed it!”
​
There was a chorus of cheers, sighs of relief, and what even sounded like a few tears as 19 of the 20 warrior women began to celebrate their accomplishment. As each of the mechanized walkers shed their re-entry assistance systems, the durable and combat tested thrusters impacted the ground in a series of dull thuds, and complete physical control over the suits was given over the pilots. While a many of the over five meter tall goliaths of metal and poly ceramics jumped up and down, throwing their fist in to air in excitement, some of the others had taken up more leaned forward positions to represent the posture their pilots would be in if they were out of their suits and catching their breath. As the orange and purple sunrise crested the horizon, the Nishnabe warrior couldn’t help but take a moment to simply enjoy the scene around him. Though Tens knew the celebration could and would likely keep going until the recovery shuttle landed to pick them up, he couldn’t help but notice that one of the mech seemed to be staring at the treeline of the clearing.
​
Quickly interfacing with the sensor system networked into his own, it soon became quite obvious what Captain Marzima was staring at. Just a few dozen meters away, just at the edge of the treeline surrounding the clearing, were four beings which were quickly highlighted on Tens’s HUD and registered as Arnehilian biosignatures. With a quick zoom and directed scan, it became immediately obvious that a small group of children had stuck away from settlement to watch the mechs land. Though they looked quite clean, well fed, and properly cared for, Tens couldn’t shake the feeling that these small, dull-gray beings were somehow different from the silver-skinned bastards whom he hated. It may have been the more healthy, full-figured appearance of their more human-like frames, the simple olive-drab clothing they wore, or possibly even just the more natural appearance of their skin, but they didn’t seem evil at all. Despite the somewhat suspicious nature of beings trying to keep themselves hidden, a smile formed on the Nishnabe warrior’s face as he walked his mech over towards them.
​
“Hey kids! I can see you!” Tens shouted through his suit’s external speaker system which prompted the children to try to duck behind cover. “The sensors already have you tagged as innocent. You don’t have to hide.”
​
“Report.” Admiral Atxika’s commanding voice cut into the comms link even though she already knew exactly what was going on.
​
“Ah, just some kids.” Tens quickly replied with an unbothered tone. “Probably got told to stay away and then did what kids do.”
​
"I'll contact Mayor Harideth and have him come collect these wayward youth." Atxika replied a bit softer. "Make sure they're safe and uninjured. This planet does have its share of predators."
​
"You got it." There was real excitement from the warrior as he closed the distance to where the children were still cowering behind cover. "Hey kids, are you alright over there?"
​
The only reply Tens received as he stopped just a few of his mechs long paces away from the treeline was silence. Despite their attire blending surprisingly well with the lush green forest that surrounded them, the children's attempt to hide behind a large bush was weak at worst and endearing at best. Seeing as they were obviously still afraid of the giant metal machine that was standing just a few meters away, Tens took the initiative, lowered his mech down to a kneeling position, and triggered the cockpit opening procedure.
​
"Don't be scared." Tens shouted with a caring voice from his now open cockpit. "I've got some snacks for you if you come out."
​
"But… you're an angel…" One of the children was slowly lifting their head above the bush as they spoke.
​
"And angels only fall on tyrants and oppressors!" Another child added with an absolutely adorable, squeaky voice while joining the first with their head poking above the bush.
​
Tens shifted his eyes between the two, unsure of how to respond, but very glad that both children seemed perfectly fine beyond their fear and apprehension. As the other two slowly rose, the Nishnabe warrior opened a small compartment in his cockpit and moved to pull out the promised snacks.
​
"We… we aren't oppressors…" The child who spoke first was clearly still very concerned about why these angels had fallen so close to her settlement. "Are we?…"
​
"No, no, no!" Tens quickly answered in the sweetest voice he could muster. "You are innocent children, little ones! You have done nothing wrong. Now, you can eat candied fruit, right?"
​
"Yes!" The two youngest children shouted in perfect, ecstatic unison.
​
"But…" The first child, though she was now eying the small packets of treats that Tens had in his hand, obviously still had her reservations. "If we aren't oppressors… Why did you fall so close to our village? Are there oppressors nearby?"
​
"Ooohhh!" The realization of what was scaring the young girl hit the man like a falling brick. "No, no, no, don't worry, sweetheart. We're just training. Angels have to practice falling so we can do our jobs perfectly when we are called to."
​
"Huh…" The gray, scaly skinned little girl only looked concerned for a second longer before a huge smile formed across her face and her large blue eyes began to sparkle. "I guess that makes sense. And you all were so beautiful as you fell! Like a wing of fire falling to the ground with the fury of the loving Old Gods!"
​
"The Old Gods?" Tens half asked while motioning for the children to approach and collect their snacks. "But, more importantly, what are your names, little ones?"
​
"I'm Valerovum." The first child, who was obviously the leader of this group, announced as she guided the rest from behind the bush and towards Tens and his mech. "And this is Teliuva, Carmoni, and Jokiat."
​
"It is a pleasure to meet you all." The man bowed slightly before handing the snack packets to Val who then distributed them to her posse. "Do your parents know you're out here? I'm sure they're worried about you."
​
"Umm…." Val and her gang's eyes grew wide as they realized they might get in trouble for wandering so far away from the safety of their village. However, as if on cue, a new voice called out from the forest behind them.
​
"Valerovum! Teliuva! Carm-" It sounded like a man was desperately crying out for the young children.
​
"Over here!" Tens shouted back as loud as he could. "They're safe!"
​
In the few moments it took for rustling of branches and leaves to close the distance to where Tens and the children were waiting, the kids had already opened their snacks and begun savoring the sweet treats as if it were the very first time they had ever eaten something so sweet. When the olive-drap clad Arnehilian Mayor burst through the bramble, he quickly came to a frozen stop as he saw the four children eating their snacks in front of the Nishnabe warrior and his mechanized walker.
​
"Mayor Harideth!" Jokiat, the smallest of the four children, ran over the older being, wrapped one of his legs in a tight hug, and then offered the packet of candied fruit up towards him. "This angel has the best snacks I've ever had!"
​
"They aren't-" The Mayor began before quickly cutting himself off. "Oh, is that right, Jokiat?"
​
"Yes, yes! You have to try one!" The small child raised the packet of snacks even further towards the Mayor’s dull-gray face.
​
"They're just candied fruits." Tens clarified after seeing the hints of apprehension on Harideth's face. "They're high in vitamins and sugar content."
​
“Tha- Thank you!” Harideth took one of the slices of dried, semi-hardened fruit from the package then gave Tens a polite bow before patting Jok on the head lovingly. As he took a delicate bit of the sweet treat, his eyes suddenly grew just as wide as the children’s and he looked like he was eating the most delicious thing he had ever tried.
​
“Good, right?” The Nishnabe warrior was doing his best to be friendly towards these members of a species that, in any other circumstance, he would have already killed. “I always keep a few packets in my mech just in case I get hungry on a mission.”
​
“This is wonderful!” The mayor confirmed before bowing again and then redirecting his attention towards the group of children. “Now children, we were worried sick about you! There are predators in this forest. Think about how your mothers would cry if something bad were to happen to you. Let’s get you back to the village before one of those predators finds us.”
​
“I can escort y’all, if yah want.” Tens chimed in with a genuinely pleasant tone and smile on his face. “I wouldn’t want anything happening to these adorable little ones. If there are predators in this forest, they wouldn’t dare try to attack y’all if me and Loud Bark are with you.”
​
“Oh, that-” Harideth was about to respectfully decline when Jok interrupted him.
​
“The angels protect the innocent!” The small child’s shout was quickly followed up by the rest of the children repeating the phrase in near perfect unison. “The angels protect the innocent!”
​
“That…” The Mayor looked down into Jok’s eyes and saw a sense of hope and serenity that touched his soul before he turned back towards Tens. “That would be quite kind and generous of you. I would truly appreciate it.”
​
“Tsss! Don’t worry about it!” Tens was all smiles at the prospect of being able to witness a truly peaceful Arnehilian settlement. “It’s gonna be another 30 to 40 minutes before the recovery shuttle gets here, another 20 to 30 minutes to load up all my trainees, and then they can just come pick me up from your village. Besides, angels protect the innocent, right?”

What up swappers! Cash is king, but a good trade is gold. Looking for these: BHQ LE Benchmade Bugout (jade and black), Spyderco Sage 5 LW, Massdrop Mordax all black plain handle, and Yojimbo 2 (S90V or 20CV).
DON'T USE CHAT, I'm on mobile and won't see it. PP F&F, NO NOTES. I'll entertain reasonable offers. If buying multiple blades knock $10 off per addition. Will ship anywhere in CONUS. If I'm missing anything you'd like to see just ask. Thanks for looking.
Proof of life/album: https://imgur.com/a/qxOd215 https://imgur.com/a/Mw9dfDi
‐ Pena X series trapper BHQ exclusive. A cool front flipper with a good action. I'm not the original owner. Comes with box, which is where it has been since I bought it. SV: $260/TV: $280
‐ St. Nick's Para 3. Original owner, great action although I haven't opened it much. This thing is straight out of the factory. Only 500 of these made, far fewer in this condition. Comes with box, pouch, and papers. SV $333/TV $350

• St. Nick's PM2. 2nd owner. Great action, I haven't cut or carried it. Comes with box, pouch, and pamphlet. SV $275/TV $300

‐ St. Nick's Native 5 in G10. Original owner, never cut or carried. Another straight out of the factory. Comes with box, pouch, and papers. SOLD $210 SOLD

• St. Nick's Native 5 in FRN. Original owner, never used or carried. Basically brand new. Comes with box and papers. SV $175/TV $190
  
• Para 3 in K390. Original owner, never cut or carried with a smooth action. Comes with box and papers. SOLD $225 SOLD
  
• Para 3 in 52100. Original owner, good action. Classy scales like the S90V but with black screws. Comes with box and papers. SV $180/TV $190
  
• Para 3 in CPM-S110V. Love the blurple scales, great action. Original owner. Comes with box and papers. SV $170/TV $180
  
• Spyderco Qball. Original owner, used it a couple times. Still sharp, lock is stiff. Picked one up right before they stopped making them. Comes with box and pamphlet. SOLD $160 SOLD
  
• Massdrop X Tashi Bharucha Prism. I'm at least the 2nd owner. Guiotin like action, flicks out with authority. I never had it's box but it'll ship in a random knife box. SV $200/TV $210
  
• Kershaw Launch 1 7100DW with the same color scheme as REC exclusives, pretty sure this color is discontinued. This is an auto, know your laws. Original owner, never cut or carried. Had ambitions to collect all the launch colors but gave up after 2 lol. I'm keeping my first one because as unusual as the handle design is, it works so well. SV $130/TV $140
  
• Brous Blades Bionics, black and blue bundle. Black one (#622) is an auto so know your laws. Blue one (#480) is a flipper. I believe they made 1000 of these. I only have the tube/authentication card for the black auto. SV $180/TV $190
  
• Kizer T1 titanium. 2nd owner, never cut or carried. Comes with box, papers, cloth, and pouch. SV $105/TV $110
  
• Two Sun TS111. At least 2nd owner, comes with box. Black carbon fibeblack titanium. SV $60/TV $70
  
• Bundle, CJRB Mangrove and Civivi Anthropos. Original owner and never cut or carried for either. Have box for both. SV $70/TV $80
  

When you're rich enough, you get perks you can only dream of. Literally. But somehow, my paradise turned into hell.
Have you ever had a dream so amazing, you wished you could relive it? Explore it? Relish it? Well, when you're rich enough, you don't have to wish. It's a reality thanks to dream banks. You may have heard of them and their pricy services, which include recording, saving, and projecting dreams.
For example, if you'd like a dream recorded, you can book one of their luxurious suites for the night, where the dream techs will fit you with a special helmet and leave you to rest. The next morning, they'll replay the recorded dream for you via the helmet and ask if you want to shell out the extra bucks to save it. If you don't, they'll delete it and you can pay to book for another time to try again.
If you do decide to save it, you must select an item within the dream that will act as the exit key. (This will come in handy during projections.) While still wearing the helmet, you must touch the item, and the dream techs will label those electric signals as the key.
Afterwards, everything is saved under your name, and you can now relive your dream at any time by booking a suite for three, five, or eight hours. Unlike recordings, during projections, you don't have to wait for sleep to come. After you enjoy a snack of your choice, the helmet is fitted and you're immediately transported to your dream, where you have free will and can enjoy it at your leisure. And if you ever need to leave early, this is when you touch the key, which will shut down the helmet right away.
In my case, the key is the stegosaurus leather rug I have hanging on the wall of my throne room. I never have a reason to touch it otherwise, making it a perfect key. I've also never had to touch it. Experiencing life as an all-powerful, worshipped being who lives on my own planet and hunts dinosaurs in my spare time, I relished my dream to the last second.
Yes, the fees are exorbitant, but at the time, I felt it was worth it. The techs were skilled, the system was sleek, and the dreams were private. Each could only be unlocked by the unique brainwaves of the dreamer.
Or so I thought.
My literal nightmare began when I booked a five-hour projection on a rainy Friday afternoon. After taking a sip of champagne to wash down the cranberry brie bites, I settled into the cool silk sheets with a smile. My usual dream tech smiled back as she fastened my helmet, and the last thing I heard was her wishing me pleasant dreams before I was plunged into darkness.
I waited for the split-second adjustment from reality to the dream world, and my confusion grew when I didn't find myself on my throne surrounded by fawning gods and goddesses.
Instead, I found myself in the middle of an endless street. Alone. There were no cars, no life, not even wind. Towering street lamps lined the sidewalk as far as I could see, arcing over the road and tinting everything an eerie red. Behind them, identical buildings stood side by side, silent, their dark, narrow windows hollow.
My pulse spiking, I whipped around. The other direction was just as endless. Uneasy confusion prickled beneath my skin. This had to be someone else's dream. The techs must have made a mistake. I didn't know how it was possible, but there was no other explanation.
My unease piqued as my situation sank in. I was in a stranger's dream and I didn't know the key. I was stuck here until my five hours ran out. Or until the techs realized their mistake. I was ready to rip them a new one once I was out, but until then, I had no choice but to wait.
I studied my surroundings with a frown before I walked over to the curb and sat down, and that was when I noticed I couldn't feel anything. I also noticed I was naked. It didn't matter. There was no one here, and none of this was real anyway.
Time passed, and I tried to distract myself from my nettled offense by humming, but no sound came out. Sitting up, I took a deep breath and screamed. Not even a squeak was heard. I slapped my hand against the ground. Nothing. This place was like a black hole of the senses.
Sighing, I lay down on my back and stared at the red light above me, wondering if I could fall asleep in a dream. I tried, but the more I wished to escape this silent, crimson prison, the more it seemed to come into focus. Soon, the utter lack of noise and movement grew from slightly unnerving to completely intolerable.
There was no way I could wait. I'd go insane. I had to get out of here. I had to find the key.
Jumping up, I ran to the nearest building and wrenched open the door, and a pitch black void greeted me. I gasped, and gasped again as it felt like my very breath was being suctioned out of my lungs. Panicking, silent wheezes rattled in my chest as I struggled to yank myself out of the vacuum, jerking my limbs and bucking my body until I toppled over backwards on the sidewalk.
Gulping in fitful breaths, I scrambled to my feet and ran down the road without looking back, my wide eyes scanning the horizon for salvation. I just wanted out of here, but the hellish path stretched on forever, making me feel like I was running in place as every identical building and street lamp mocked me. Even my silent stomping and mute panting served to draw insanity closer.
And then, a person showed up.
There, in the distance.
With my hope spurred, I raced towards them, desperate. I didn't care who they were. I needed to break this monotony.
As I got closer, hope morphed to confusion, and then to despair. The person was me. It was a mirror, propped up across the entire street.
Sweat-soaked, I slowed down to a jog before I stopped right in front of my reflection. It was me alright, naked, exhausted, and frustrated. But the eyes, something was off about the eyes. With an anxious frown, I stepped closer, staring into them, and they stared back …
… until they glanced behind me.
I gasped and jumped away, and so did my reflection … before it glanced over my shoulder again.
A chill trickled down my spine. My reflection had nothing behind it but the empty street, so I gulped and turned around, and my mouth fell open in a silent scream as a lovecraftian behemoth barrelled its way towards me. With its slick shell gleaming red beneath the lights, it slammed down one spiny tentacle after the other as its five mouths bared their dripping, concentric fangs.
Drenched in undiluted horror, tremors gripped my body as I stumbled away until my back was against the mirror. I knew death was a foolproof key in a dream, but I didn't know if this creature would kill me right away or leave me to suffer in agony until my five hours were up.
With it only inches away, I squeezed my eyes shut and pressed myself into the mirror, and my stomach flipped as I fell backwards. I opened my mouth to gasp, but there was nothing for me to draw in. Floating in an airless void, I flailed and thrashed, my wild eyes scanning the darkness for answers as I began to spin around.
Although death would free me, one of my greatest fears was suffocating. On one of my weightless rotations, a red, glass cube passed me by, and I grabbed it, hoping it was a breathing device. I brought it close to my face, and I gawked at what it held within.
Me.
Surrounded by identical buildings and red street lamps while a lovecraftian behemoth tore me apart.
Horrified, I threw the cube as far as I could and increased my efforts to escape this void. Yet all the flailing and thrashing was for naught as the darkness revealed no end. My eyesight began to go red as my lungs spasmed, and I clawed at my throat as my pulse stuttered in my chest.
The red kept growing and growing until it engulfed my entire vision, and I gave up. There was nothing to do but face my fears and die. With my straining heart lumbering, I let myself go limp as I stared at the red and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
I wasn't dying.
In fact, I could breathe just fine.
Frowning, I opened my eyes, and intense unease spread through my core. Above me, a red moon had taken up the entire sky, each one of its craters crystal clear, like eyes watching me. I turned my head away, and I realized I was in a park, laying down on the grass. Sitting up, I blinked in surprise at the pond right beside me, its opaque water reflecting the moon's red light. Ducks were swimming in a circle across its surface, their movements smooth with nary a splash.
Trees surrounded us, so dense I couldn't tell when one began and the other ended. It was mind-numbingly quiet here as well, and I still couldn't feel anything or make any noise, but at least the ducks were moving. This place seemed more tolerable than the last, and I was willing to wait out my five hours here. I hoped at least an hour had passed already, but with dreams, one never knew. All I knew was that I was too exhausted to search for the key. And too scared. I didn't know whose dream this was, but they had to be masochistic if they saved this nightmare.
Curling up beside the pond, I worked on calming myself down as I watched the ducks swim in their systematic circle over and over and over. I tried counting the rotations the way one would count sheep, but that still didn't lull me to sleep. I wished I'd chosen the three-hour projection, but at least I hadn't chosen the eight-hour one.
Distorted circus music crackled around me and I jolted up, my heart ricocheting in my chest. There was finally sound, but the last thing I wanted to hear was a cliche horror movie soundtrack. Gulping, I looked around. The music was coming from the trees, and my stomach dropped when I spied a shadow behind one of them. Then another. And another. They emerged into the crimson moonlight, and my blood turned to ice.
Clowns.
I whipped around, trembling to the rhythm of my frantic pulse. They were surrounding me. Dozens of them. As classic as any clown could be. Colorful clothes, big shoes, silly hair, exaggerated makeup. I wasn't scared of clowns, as long as they were where they belonged. And they didn't belong here, staring at me with big, empty eyes and yellow, toothy grins.
I tried to convince myself that they weren't dangerous since they didn't have weapons and didn't seem monstrous, but when they took a step closer in unison, I jumped back, nearly falling into the pond. The ducks remained oblivious, still swimming in their circle. The distorted circus music got louder, and my hair stood on end when I saw the grass ripple in front of each clown. They were sending something my way through the ground.
Panicking, I jumped into the pond, and I screamed as I sank right in. There was no bottom. There was no water either. The pond was filled with red, translucent spheres, each the size of a tennis ball. Still able to breathe, I began swimming through the spheres with clumsy breast strokes, just hoping I could end up as far away from the clowns as possible.
After swimming for what felt like enough time, I tried to swim up, until I realized I had no idea which direction I was facing. Remember a trick for those stuck in avalanches, I spat, but my glob of saliva just hovered in front of me. Before panic could set in, I noticed what looked like an office desk floating amidst the spheres in the distance. After blinking a few times to make sure it was really there, I swam towards it, desperate for any change in my situation.
It was an office desk, a wooden one with carved borders and locked drawers. Tucked beneath it was a stool, and the moment I pulled it out and set it under my ass, an office replaced the red spheres.
I grunted as gravity returned, and I looked around in bewilderment at the cluttered bookshelves and grimy floors. Dust was floating everywhere, highlighted by the red light filtering in through the blinds behind me. I jumped as a clock hanging on the wall chimed. Its glass was too dirty for me to tell the time, but I was glad I could hear. I coughed at the dust. And I could make noise. I dusted my hands. And I could feel. I could even smell, which I now wished I couldn't as I wrinkled my nose at the faint stench of rot.
After failing to read the spines of some of the books on the shelves, I studied the shadowy corners of the room. A slack-jawed skeleton hung in the far end, and a faded poster with anatomical diagrams curled off a cupboard. This had to be a doctor's office. Was the creator of this dream a doctor?
A silhouette slid in front of the frosted glass door, and I gulped as the knob began to turn. A hand reached in, gripping the edge one finger at a time, and my heart dropped as I knew this horror cliche was only going to be followed by another. Having no time to think, I slid off the stool and crouched beneath the desk, my hand over my mouth as cobwebs clung to me.
Praying spiders wouldn't swarm me, I peeked through a small slit in the wood, and I froze when an emaciated nurse walked in the room. Layers upon layers of blood coated her scrubs, so much so that I couldn't even tell what color they originally were. She had no shoes. No feet either. Just ankle stubs, and my stomach turned as I heard bone clunk against the tiles.
A surgical mask covered her face, as bloodstained as her scrubs, and grimy lab goggles obscured her eyes. I was grateful, because judging by the pus leaking out of her scabbed, balding scalp, I didn't want to know what her face looked like. The closer she got, the stronger the stench of rot became, and I struggled to keep myself from retching.
She stopped halfway into the room, and I gawked at her hands. They were transforming. Her fingers elongating into razor-edged blades. She then began to hunch over, and I cringed as her spine cracked and popped until she was as bent as a candy cane, her face staring at her pelvis.
As if that wasn't unsettling enough, her head creaked as it spun around 180 degrees, now facing the front, upside down. Right after, her arms shot to the ground, and I watched with increasing dread as she bent them at the elbows and wrists so they flanked her head like distorted T-Rex arms.
She spread her fingers out and took a few more steps towards me, and I held my breath, hoping she couldn't hear my rabid heart or smell my fear. Her ankle bones clicked and clacked against the tiles as she made her way around the desk, and I cowered as my frantic eyes searched for a weapon. I found none, but I did spy a brass button beside my head.
With her legs now an arms distance away, I had nothing to lose as I jammed my thumb into the button. The back of the desk flung open, and I scrambled to my feet and dashed out from my hiding place, screaming in response to the nurse screeching behind me. Bursting through the door, I held up my fists and began punching like a maniac in fearful anticipation of a horde of nurses swarming me.
Except I was no longer in a hospital. I was in an outdoor parking lot. Alone. And judging by the roiling red clouds, a storm was brewing. After a second to collect my bearings, I dove into the closest car, thankful it was unlocked. The moment I slammed the door shut, lightning blinded me as thunder cracked and the downpour began. Sighing in relief, I tried to shake away my adrenaline, but the bloodshot eyes in my rearview mirror reignited my panic.
Before I could react, a belt snapped over my neck, pinning my head back against the headrest. With a frightened wheeze, I clawed at the leather, and I flinched as hot, heavy breath wafted across my ear. Gagging at the putrid smell, I reached over, desperate to scratch my strangler's face or poke their eyes out.
I felt their greasy hair and tried to pull it, but my fingers refused to hold on. I tried again and again, using my nails for purchase, but the strands just kept slipping out of my weak grip. Shifting focus, I tried to claw at their eyes, but it felt as though I was moving through molasses as my hand slid down their face. Once I felt a wet, bulbous eye, I tried to scratch it, but I didn't have enough strength to do anything damage.
My frustration clashed with my terror and I tried to punch them, but my arm swung back in slow motion and merely prodded a stubbly cheek. Tears welled in my eyes as I writhed and gasped, my strangler's laugh adding insult to injury. Despite knowing death will set me free, fear and self-preservation rummaged through my mind, searching for a solution. And they found one.
Hoping I had enough grip and energy, I reached down and found the reclining lever. Wrapping my fingers around it tight, I jerked it up and heaved my body back, and I gulped in a deep breath as I fell backwards, the belt now slack. Not at all prepared to face my attacker, I slipped out from beneath the belt, flung open the door, and zoomed out into the storm.
Sheets of rain obscured my vision, but not enough for me to see that the keys were left inside a red convertible. After making sure no one was hiding in the back, I jumped in, started the engine, and took off, the wheels squealing through the puddles. A sole street curled down a hill, and I took it, adrenaline pumping in waves through my quivering body.
This rush was a confusing mixture of exhilaration and apprehension. I wanted out, but I wasn't giving up. I made it this far, and I was going to survive every cliche this masochist dreamed up. Sharks? Snakes? Zombies? Bring it on. And afterwards, I was going to detail every single trial and tribulation I went through as I sued the dream bank for all the trauma they caused me.
Up ahead, the road curved, and I gasped as it ended in a cliff. I slammed the breaks, but they didn't do anything. Breaking out in a cold sweat, I slammed them again and again as I yanked the hand break as far as it would go. The car refused to slow down, and I cursed myself for not anticipating this cliche. In a move of desperation, I swerved, but it wasn't enough as the car careened over the edge and took me with it.
My heart hung in my throat as I hung on to the steering wheel, my knuckles white, my screams frozen in my lungs, the raindrops like needles. An endless body of water spread below me, and I knew sharks were my next challenge. I screwed my eyes shut as I awaited the inevitable plunge …
… and I gasped as the car crashed against the surface.
I lurched forward, and I cried out as I bashed my forehead against the wheel. Groaning, I leaned back, my ears ringing as I looked around, disoriented. I was still in the convertible, but we were right side up, having crashed into the concrete wall of an indoor garage. Blood trickled down my face and I reached up, only to feel around my head in shock.
I was wearing the helmet.
Why was it in the dream?
Or had I made it out?
I looked down. I wasn't naked. My pyjamas were plastered to my sweat-soaked skin. I was out. I looked around at the broken glass and mangled metal in confusion. But if I was finally out, why was I in a car and not between silk sheets?
I removed the helmet, and a yell from behind made me jump. I turned to see one of the dream techs running towards me. Was she always that skinny? And why were her scrubs red instead of the usual blue?
She made it to me, panting as she took the helmet out of my hands, and I wrinkled my nose at her unpleasant breath. She said I'd had a nightmare and began sleepwalking, and I'd left the dream bank and stole a car from their underground parking before she triggered a wake-up signal in the helmet, which made me crash.
I stared at her, not believing what I was hearing. I told her I'd booked a projection, not a recording, and she gave me a concerned frown and claimed the opposite. Anger replaced my confusion, and I called her a liar and accused them of misconduct, and she reminded me that dreams can only be unlocked by the dreamer.
Furious, I cursed at her as I tried to get out of the car, demanding to see my file. She was quick to tell me not to move in case I made my injuries worse as she pulled out her phone and said she was going to call an ambulance.
While I sat there and waited, fuming, I glimpsed my reflection in the dangling rearview mirror. Unease rippled beneath my skin and I sat up, grabbing the mirror and angling it to show my neck.
There was an angry red mark across it.
As though I was recently strangled.
Trembling, I tilted the mirror up.
Cobwebs. Stuck in my hair.
Dumbstruck in utter stupefaction, I scanned the rest of my body. My pyjamas were dirty and there was black under my fingernails, but the rest of my examination was cut short by tinny circus music. A chill jolted down my spine and I whipped my head to face the dream tech. That was her ringtone. She smiled as she answered the call, and I drew back at her yellow, toothy grin.
What was going on? I was out of the dream, I knew I was. Had everything been real? What had the dream bank done with me? Done to me?
Ambulance sirens wailed as they entered the underground parking, and the flashing red lights reflecting off the walls triggered my recent traumas. With terror-fueled adrenaline flooding my veins, I jerked my legs free of the wreck, jumped out of the car, and booked it, the dream tech's yells merging with the screeching sirens behind me.
SR

I was on vacation I’m Vegas, walking through the hotels casino trying to get to my room where I was meeting my bf. A dude who seemed familiar walked up to me and puts both of his hands on my shoulder forcing me to walk backwards as he talks to me about how he thinks he knows me and all that, he backed me into a elevator where another dude was. He backs off and they just stand by the door doesn’t seem like they know each other. We reach a level and the door opens to almost pitch darkness. I go to press my levels button but one had already grabbed me by the neck and arm and forced me out of the elevator and down the hall to a door. He opens it and throws me inside. It’s a VERy big room, almost like an empty speciality parking lot. There was a group of people standing in a semi circle around this desk that had nothing on it but a woman standing behind it. They toss me in the middle of the circle and they all start point things out about me that are good or bad like “her hair is nice and curly” “yeah but that snake tattoo on her ankle isn’t ideal” “yeah but her eyes color would be a nice change for the clients”
TW: SA I was frozen in fear, when they started talking about what to do with me I started to panic a little so one of the guys grabbed me from behind while the other started to take all my clothes but my panties off. I start kicking and crying out no, please, and stop but then the guy in front sticks both of his fingers inside of me over the underwear. He gives me such a nasty smile while he pushes his fingers as far up at he can. I scream out in pain and start flailing around and then the guy behind throws me on the ground. I quickly get dressed and then the woman asks me how much toilet paper I can get. Toilet paper? I ask and she says yes sternly I’m like “I can get as many as you like, I can get it all, I promise” and she says “how do I know you won’t bail, how badly do you want this” and I say “I would do anything not to miss my flight” they all give each other looks and then she nods okay. They all start walking away to a different door I came in from and before she goes in she looks at me and says “we’re always watching” I sit there and cry for a minute before going back up the way I came. I’m walking through the crowded hotel casino still trying to figure how to get to my room. I call my bf crying to him saying how I need to talk to him, something bad happened, I’m in danger and I need to speak to him and he basically tells me he can’t bc he’s hanging out with his friends and then he hangs up. I start bawling my eyes out trying to figure out what to do. The traffickers are all around in the crowd it’s just hard to point them out from the others and I’m trying to find a place to hide, then I slowly start to wake up

"Calls with balls" was gonna be my title. Only because i though that rhymed and was ever so slightly funny. I will be videochatting. I have a cat and a pollen allergy so ignore the voice, sneezing and the snot! I am 19 from Norway. I'd like to be a support in Overwatch for today when i'm done with chores and was looking for a willing participant to be tortured in unranked by me. The catch is i'll be mercy/ana/zen. So anything from great heals to no heals at all. I only have a few chores like laundry and cleaning livingroom which can be done in an hour, for that hour we can chat and get to know people. Obviously if theres enough people who want to play overwatch unranked then i might consider playing a 5stack ranked(i got no rank but my mmr is paper). I do wish to find more people who are chill and down to earth that are willing to hang in a small group. My activity all depends on how busy i am from week to week. I am active on reddit in the mornings alot.
My music taste rn has been on Ren and very tragic and dark songs. I am a metal head generally.
I work at a redesign store where i redesign clothing articles and sell them. I did not finish my education and find an average job to be demotivating and depressing. I have radical views on society and hope the people around me are open minded and wont judge.
I am obviously liberal/communistic. I believe in living from the land that mother nature gave us.
I love board games, video games and music. I also cook and do some reading on irish literature from the 1600-1800 hundreds. It would be cool if the person who hops into my chats happened to speak gaelic and could teach me. I am hoping for someone who can sit and chat this whole night untill like 2-3 am. Rn its quarter past six. I live in Norway so i go by this time obviously!

"You seem surprised, Doctor. Please be assured that the change of equipment will not affect the completion of my mission. If you are really concerned, I can change back into my previous attire before entering Rhodes Island. No need? Good."
Basic Information

【 Codename 】	Executor
【 Gender 】	Male
【 Experience 】	7 years
【 Place of Birth 】	Laterano
【 Date of Birth 】	July 7th
【 Race 】	Sankta
【 Height 】	181 cm
【 Infection Status 】	Medical tests have confirmed that no infection is present.

Physical Examination

【 Strength 】	Excellent
【 Mobility 】	Standard
【 Endurance 】	Standard
【 Tactical acumen 】	Excellent
【 Combat skill 】	Excellent
【 Arts adaptability 】	Standard

Profile

Executor, the Laterano Notarial Hall's legal and professional executor, is in charge of enforcing the rights of the Laterano Citizen numbered one through thirteen.
He now has the title "Saint" bestowed upon him by the present Pope of Laterano, Yvangelista XI. Laterano has not barred this "Saint" from contacting us; the collaboration between the Laterano Notarial Hall and Rhodes Island is growing stronger by the day. Operator Executor is still under contract to serve Rhodes Island and carry out activities pertaining to the rights of Laterano citizens.

Clinical Analysis

Imaging tests reveal clear, normal outlines of internal organs, and no abnormal shadows have been detected. Originium granules have not been detected in the circulatory system and there are no other signs of infection. At this time, this operator can be confirmed to be uninfected.
[Cell-Originium Assimilation] 0% Operator Executor shows no signs of Oripathy infection.
[Blood Originium-Crystal Density] 0.13u/L A slight increase in blood Originium-Crystal density. It's not particularly dangerous, but it deserves more attention. So, what's the word, has his interpersonal relationship been trending upwards lately? Has anyone looked into it?--Medic Operator T.O.

Archive File 1

Despite the title "Saint", Operator Executor is still associated with the Laterano Notarial Hall. As an executor, the Notarial Hall retains the authority to send assignments to him, and the added special title does not appear to have had a significant impact on his work.
Executor, who has returned to Rhodes Island, has changed, at least in appearance, from what they were previously.
According to Executor, as well as the explanations and additions of several enthusiastic operators, we have learned that the clothing currently worn by Executor is provided entirely by the Lateran Church, and that the choice of materials for this carefully cut special clothing is very different from that of ordinary clothing, with emphasis not only on aesthetic comfort but also on its practicality——with Executor's permission, we have carried out a series of tests on his coat, which have shown that the uniforms provided by the Lateran church for Executor offers protection against impact and puncture, and even a degree of protection against explosives.
In addition to this, the two firearms carried by Executor also caught the attention of some of Sankta operators. When fighting with the two firearms, Executor's combat style becomes more aggressive and varied in his attacks than before.
"During the last mission, Federico used his gun to directly knock out any enemy that came near him." Operator Spuria commented, "I can see this guy finishing the mission even if he was given a stick or left empty-handed, his combat style isn't even related to his guns."
"Huh? Then why the special look, you ask?"
"Because everyone thinks it's more imposing, of course!"
[Engineering Department permission log]
Regarding the mechanical flying object that follows Executor around, I initially thought it was just some kind of unique looking drone. However, I've seen it in action in Executor's battle logs, and it was probably more than a mere support drone, it had more functions......
But even Executor himself didn't know much about it; according to him, it had been handed to him directly by his Holiness, their Pope.
What secrets are in this little thing? It's tickling, if only I could try to dismantle it sometime to see ......

Archive File 2

"Operator Executor has been asking more questions."
This is a sentiment shared by various operators within Rhodes recently.
Yes, certain changes with Executor have been visible in recent times - it's not that Executor has suddenly become emotionally outgoing and easy to read. That is by no means the case. Simply put, people don't react too strongly when a person who consistently receives 90 points receives an extra mark, but they do so when a person who consistently submits blank papers suddenly begins writing seriously. Of course, everyone would notice this immediately.
Such is the case of Executor. Many operators who had encountered Executor similarly mentioned in casual conversations - that Executor had started asking them questions.
"He asked me why I didn't just kidnap the client." "Haha, you're already lucky, he asked me why I didn't just blow up the building to prevent the mission target from escaping ......" "...... How did you respond?" "What else could I have replied with, I just decided to tell him the truth; it saves more of the hassle. Blowing up the building for a mission seems good and all, but it's the follow-up that makes it rather difficult to do!" "He listened?" "Yes. What about your side?" "Er, more or less, it's quick to kidnap people right away, but that would be too much trouble." "Executor he...... He said that although he couldn't understand, after taking everything else into consideration, he admitted that our method was more reasonable and efficient......
Executor's abnormal behavior has caused some concern, and combined with recent feedback from some operators, we can speculate that Executor is trying to incorporate more factors into his thinking about the reasonableness of his actions, and that he seems to be incorporating practice and constantly trying to accomplish tasks in a better and more reasonable way.
"I feel like he's just recently added some new algorithm. It's a bit better than before, but there are still times when he derives some strange results." "You mean the time he tackled a group of bandits, covered in blood and was still ready to pacify his target like you suggested, but ended up scaring people half to death because of his expressionless face?"
[Medical Department Work Record]
I have had feedback from my officers that Executor seems to be suspecting that he is suffering from some sort of illness, as evidenced by occasional actions that take precedence, some of which seem puzzling to Executor himself. As a result, he is visiting the medical department for regular medical check-ups rather unnecessarily frequently.
"It's right to focus on regular health checks, and that's a good thing." The medical officer who complained to us had a tone of helplessness: "But he really doesn't have anything wrong with him at all except his head. Really."
Off-topic:
Some of our department's officers were also pleased with the performance of Executor and are discussing to make him into a typical textbook example, to be used as a reminder to patients who really need to be checked but refuse to do so.

Archive File 3

[Transcript of internal conversation in Hall 5, 1]
Federico is an excellent executor. Yes, I can vouch for that. It is not clear why His Holiness would confer the title of "saint" on him at such a sensitive point, but if he is a good young man, I think he is capable of undertaking and meeting His Holiness's expectations.
About Federico's background? There are no problems with his background, I remember that his parents were also attached to the Fifth Office and the file should be at...... Just a moment, let me look for the records. Ah, here they are, the Giallo's, both legal executors attached to the Notarial Hall, very good and capable, but unfortunately both were killed in the line of duty during a mission fifteen years ago. Federico would have been about ten years old at the time? Poor kid.
So what made you suddenly look into Federico's affairs? Just because of the "saints"?
...... Arturia Giallo, you ask?
...... First of all, I must make one thing clear:
Federico's file was rigorously vetted at the time of his induction and there was no problem with the process.
Remember that. This is the premise on which we will move on.
Arturia Giallo, whose father and Federico's father were cousins, is very clearly documented in the file and there is nothing to hide. After the Giallo's were killed in the line of duty, Federico stayed in the home of this cousin for a period of time, about...... two to three years, I think, after which he entered secondary school and began to live there.
By the way, it was Federico, who was a newcomer at the time, to first find out about Arturia's crimes seven years earlier, which forced her to leave Laterano. As a result, Arturia's wanted mission has been in his hands all these years. The young man's first case always has a special significance, I think.
No, I don't think there's anything wrong with that. We did a detailed investigation during the time when Arturia first became wanted, and as far as I know, Federico and Arturia were never close to each other, and that doesn't affect his work; Federico's performance has always said it all. [Transcript of internal conversation in Hall 5, 2]
Arturia had a week's stay at the Ambrosius Abbey, after which we judged that she would go to Leithanien, the report of which I have submitted to the Notarial Hall.
I cannot reveal in advance the follow-up and related matters that His Holiness the Pope has arranged.
Sister?
In terms of kinship, Arturia is only a distant relative to whom I do not need to use such titles, questions like these are meaningless.

Archive File 4

The name "Saint" may remind us of the saints of the Iberian Inquisition, which, although originally a term of respect taken from the Laterano religion, has now been digested by Iberia and is known to the Iberian people as a unique cultural expression of its own.
For the Laterans, the term "Saint" is not simply a casual term.
In all the texts relating to Laterano history, there are accounts of the first generation of saints who built stone towers and founded sacred cities. This first group of Sanktas led the people to build the foundations of Laterano, and generations of people have continued to make peace for a thousand years, creating the peaceful Laterano that exists today, far from the fires of war.
Apart from the first sages who founded the city-state, it is only the Pope who is given the title of "Saint" at the time of his appointment, which is not only an honour but also an important responsibility to lead all Sanktas and guide the city. For thousands of years, the title of "Saint" has been passed down from one pope to the next without exception - and this millennium-old tradition was broken by the decision of Yvangelista XI.
Federico Giallo became the first Saint to be elected outside the millennium.
Why such a surprising election? Executor was, undoubtly, an excellent executor, but it's not as if there were no more valiant combatants in Laterano, no lack of more devout believers, no shortage of prestigious figures, and everyone had the same question - why Federico? Why would he be worthy of the title?
Despite Executor's remarkable performance, his seemingly unaffected attitude and the unique atmosphere of the Laterano made the event somewhat less shocking, there was no denying that His Holiness' decision was completely unorthodox and alarming.
For what reason did this wise and current Pope take this decision and what signal is he sending by doing so? Executor told us that the Pope had mentioned a disaster coming to this land, but what kind of disaster would make the holy city of Laterano, which has been at peace for a thousand years, take such urgent measures?
Federico Giallo was his first choice, what comes after that? Will we see a second or third unconventional saintly eminence elected in Laterano?
Dr Kal'tsit seems to be quite concerned about Executor and the news about Laterano, I think...... Perhaps we should prepare for this in advance as well.
[Excerpt from Kal'tsit's private journal]
There is no doubt that this is a warning from the machine in Laterano, that a disaster is coming, and we all know full well that Laterano cannot be left alone in it, or even ...... The disaster will be the first to destroy Laterano.
And the so-called "saints" were undoubtedly the solution chosen by Evangelista XI to deal with it.
"The Saints" ...... The one who guides all the Sanktas on their journey?
Well, there will never be just one guide, and perhaps soon we will see more of these exceptions, more of the unconventional Laterano "saints".
They will be the cornerstone of Laterano, the hope visible in the midst of calamity, the choice when all is naught.
As for the disaster......
I still cannot give a definite answer, although that answer is becoming clearer in my mind.
Too many precursors, too many traces.
It'll be coming soon, fast.

Promotion Record

Executor has noticed that he occasionally lapses into thought.
After the mission at the Ambrosius Abbey, his thoughts often lagged, and Executor decided that he had stumbled upon his most difficult situation to date.
Letting emotions get in the way of action was something Executor could not understand. The rationality of action, that was the dilemma that plagued him.
He had not yet reached a clear conclusion. But Executor knows exactly how to act - all he has to do is still do his job, no different from before.
If there is a problem, try to solve it.
If you have doubts, find someone to solve them.
[Transcript]
"I saw Executor the other day ...... Yes, that Executor."
"Ah, I know, it's the one all of you from the dorms were head over heels for, right?"
"We gave up a long time ago! But I saw, I saw him actually pondering over a flower ......"
"......Did one of you sneak off again?"
"No! That's not what happened! He had a weird serious look on his face, like he was thinking about some mega dilemma, and I didn't even dare to say hello to him."
"...... Hmmm ...... I get it then."
"What do you understand?"
"Calm down and think about it, it mustn't be a normal situation to have that Executor pondering so much."
"Oh, oh?"
"Can you really be sure that it's flowers he's holding? Not some kind of bomb or auxiliary prop? It's just in the form of a flower, so maybe it's some new kind of mine?"
"...... When you say it like that, it feels like it really could be that, sigh......"
"That's right, it shouldn't be some simple flower, it's very difficult to make sense of."
"That makes sense...... I saw him hand it to the Doctor afterwards, do you think it could have something to do with a classified mission?"

In my world the sun is called easel and it's made of an unknown substance, the panet called canvas made of paint, while the moon called pallet was made of resin binders. On the moon there are people called brushes who go to the planet the and find a "fountain" from where pigment forms, and bind to it creating magical pigment of a specified "concept" unique to the brush. From there a brush paints the life of the area in their own unqiue media/pop art style and produces supplies to be shipped off to pallet. When this life dies the resin binder degrades into the earth for new life to seed from, while the pigment gets returned to the fountain. Not all brushes form areas like this in fact a vast majority spend their lives on pallet living lives similar to humans, I imagine it being made of vast spires like flipside from super paper Mario, while the pigment fountains are inspired by deltarune's dark fountains. When a brush dies their fountain remains and typically the life they created forms civilizations of their own, no new types of life can form unless a brush uses that pigment to do so however old types of life can reproduce. The paint that makes up a lifeform has its own "humors" that has a ratio that dictates the typical temperament of that species as such all painted life of an area typically has similar temperaments. Painted objects and life can be turned back into paint and retain the memory of what they were before which can be carried over to what they're next painted into, so a painted diamond can be turned into cloth carrying the same optical properties and such. Brushes have "familiars" which are the manifestation of their imaginations which with the appropriate paint can instantly transform into anything the brush has painted personally in the past and back to their base form. This is for basic spells like a "fireball" or just to get utility objects and tools. Early in their life a brush will learn to paint complex devices similar to our worlds equivalent of a smartphone for their familiar to transform into when needed.

Help me with my college list (asian female in cs)
demographics: rising senior, asian international (indian) female from CBSE board
Major: CS / Data Science / EECS
Approx EFC: 50-70k
Stats:
SAT-1430 TOEFL- 111/120 9th grade- 96.4% 10th- 94% 11th- 82% (school has a horrible grade deflation. even though they don’t do class ranks i know im still in the top 10-15% this year)
school doesn’t offer APs but i self studied and gave AP english lang this may.
ECs: Internship at a widely known software company (Worked in their AI and Innovations teams)
Internship at a small exporting business that exports machine parts. helped form their invoices through data processing and visualisation.
Currently working on 2 research papers based on Machine Learning and CV, and consequently getting them patented.
Got admitted into Brown pre-college this year and enrolled in their AI and Machine Learning Course.
Core member of the organising committee of schools official TedX event.
Been playing drums for 4 years. Part of the school band.
Captain for the schools basketball team for 2 years
Standing for Head Girl this year (fingers crossed)
Volunteering: Worked at a small NGO for 4 months- contributed in running a clothing drive where the money raised went to animal shelters
Went to my native place over the summers and took English and Coding courses in their local school.
led a clothing drive in school where 100+ students participated.
Awards and Achievements:
World Scholars Cup Global Round Qualifier (couldn’t go due to covid)
Academic Distinction award in 10th
Academic Excellence Award in 11th
Preferences- i do want to aim for t25 schools but i’m not sure if my academics are up to the mark for it. right now im looking at applying to unis like Purdue, Umich, the UCs, UIUC, BU etc etc. i’d prefer staying on the either of the coasts and avoid the middle states.
please help me create a college list im so lost💀