Honda crv 2016 tire pressure light
To the Last Man.....
2023.06.03 23:44 Administrative_Toe96 To the Last Man.....
This story is related to my previous one here: https://www.reddit.com/HFY/comments/13xxyz8/a\_pile\_of\_spent\_plasma\_cartridges\_and\_a\_red\_cross/ I sat on my bunk nursing a nasty looking black eye given to me by our “Gracious host”. It’s funny how humanity has sprung forth from its homeworld, and the best remedy for a black eye is still a frozen bag of peas. This is bullshit, I don’t want to be here anymore then they want me to be here. This whole idea of cooperating for the “good of all” isn’t panning out. I need to put—— my train of thought is interrupted by the sound of klaxons. I put down the mostly frozen bag of peas and reach for my gear. Having drilled for this thousands of times in my 4 years since being drafted. It took my less than 30 seconds to dawn my armor. As I lifted my helmet and activated the display I saw red text scrolling across. “HOSTILE FORCES IN SYSTEM, FLEET ATTEMPTING TO REPELL. CONFIDENCE LOW. PLACING ALL TERRAN FORCES UNDER THE TEMPORARY COMMAND OF LOCAL FORCES” Fuck, this couldn’t get any worse. I just got into a bar fight with these lizards and now I have to take orders from them? What is command thinking? A new text message scrolled across my display. “ATTENTION ALL TERRAN FORCES, UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE YOUR ORDERS ARE TO GARRISON THE CIVILIAN SHELTERS IN THE F’RIX DISTRICT. DIRECTIONS ARE BEING FORWARDED TO YOUR COMMAND.” Great, that didn’t take long. Bet the— my thought was interrupted by Captain Armstrong. “Alright D Company, Lets stow the attitude and get to work. Our assignment is approximately 10 kilometers deep in the city. Hurry up and mount up and let’s get rolling. We’ll decide all the details when we get there” I grabbed my rifle and medical kit and heaved up from my bunk. “Jesus St. John, you look like I feel” Corporal Blankenship said with mirth in his voice “Fuck you, let’s just get this over with.” He’s easily the most annoying member of my team. Being a Navy Corpsman in the Terran Republic Marines isn’t all it’s made out to be. On one hand, you become family to them. They treat you as a brother even if you aren’t “one of them”. On the other hand, you might as well be in the Marines. “ Hey corpsman, do you think the fleet is going to be able to prevent a landing?” PFC Thompson yelled over the sound of shuffling gear “ Oh jeez PFC, I Don’t know. Let me call up the Admiral and check. Right after I do that I think I’ll also wish the enemy away as hard as I can.” “Dick” he shot back I set towards the door with my rifle in hand. As I approached the threshold an APC skidded to a stop. Several tons of steel, the APC wouldn’t have been out of place in any old war movie. The best way to move troops on the ground was still a fast and lightly armored box with wheels. The loading ramp defended and I proceeded to stow my rifle in the racks by the entrance. I took my seat at the back of the APC. I hate riding in these steel coffins. Although if we get hit the chances of me making it aren’t any better if I’m here or sitting in the driver's lap.The tires skidded as the last troops loaded in and took their places. Limited conversations were taking place. With time to think about the situation we were in everything became so much more real. Marines are still Marines though. It didn’t take long for jokes to start flying and ease the tension. A new message scrolled across my vision. “FLEET FORCES HAVE FAILED TO PREVENT THE ENEMY FROM GAINING ORBITAL SUPREMACY. RETREATING TO FORWARD OPERATING BASE LINCON TO RENDEZVOUS WITH OTHER FLEET ELEMENTS.” Fucking great. The APC skidded to a stop in front of the main entrance of the emergency shelter.“Everybody out!” Yelled Sgt. Newman He is the saltiest Marine I’ve ever had the pleasure of serving with. Straight to the point and no time for bullshit.I Exited the APC to find controlled chaos. Everywhere seemed like it was filled with figures in armor running to some location. Sgt. Newman was instantly called to the small Command post immediately forward of the Shelter Entrance. After a short exchange, he jogged back to us.“ Alright folks, We have been tasked with taking up position in the outer defensive line. This means we will get all of the action if there is any to be had today. Lets hoof it up there like a couple of Marines on leave in a whore house” Everyone chuckled, even me. I’ve been around Marines to long. We jogged to our new position and set up. My job was essentially to sit back and wait until someone got hurt after I helped set up the squad's plasma gun emplacement. “ORBITAL LANDING PODS DETECTED IN UPPER ATMOSPHERE. APPROXIMATE LANDING LOCATION UNKNOWN. PREPARE FOR DEFENSE OF THE PLANET” Here we go.“They won’t land here right Sgt. I mean we are just protecting the civilians” said PFC Thompson said with a clear quiver in his voice.“Stow that shit Thompson, if they do we’ll handle it” Sgt. Newman fired back. He didn’t look so sure. I’d never seen him actually look nervous. “KLAXION FORCES HAVE ENGAGED THE ENEMY———“ The rest was cut off. What was that? I’ve never seen the tactical net go down before. “LOCAL COMMAND NET OVERRIDE: DROP PODS DETECTED WITH TRAJECTORY CORRESPONDING TO OUR LOCATION” The silence of my squad was heavy and thick. We all knew what that meant. We were cut off from joint command and on our own. No backup. “ LOCAL COMMAND NET OVERRIDE: KINETIC BOMBARDMENT INCOMING TAKE COVER “ I threw myself to the ground and tried to bury myself behind the thick concrete barriers originally intended to prevent vehicles from leaving the roadway. A sound lack thunder followed me there. The ground shook, glass broke in the buildings above and heat washed over me. A wall of dust and dirt moved through our position obscuring everything. As my hearing returned I raised my head to see that most of the squad had recovered and was preparing to repel the enemy attack that was surely going to accompany this. “CONTACT!” Screamed our plasma gunner. The world became a place filled with bright lights and sizzling bolts. I looked around to see if my services were needed anywhere. “CORPSMAN!” The sound that all corpsman dread hearing because it means that one of our charges is hurt. Possibly fatally. I rushed over to the huddled mass of marines.“Move over dammit” I yelled as I pushed past the two marines who called me over.“He took a piece of falling debris ”What I saw in front of me was a mangled mess. I looked up at the wounded marine. From what I could see it looked like whatever hit him shattered his chest.“ Alright, We need to get him back to the aid station in the shelter I can’t do anything for him here. I need someone to come with me because I can’t carry the stretcher on my own. “Sgt. Newman “ Take Thompson, radio before you come back” The look he gave me was one of resignation. It was bad, really bad. He knew it, and he didn’t expect there to be a position for me to return to.Thompson and I grabbed the stretcher from my aid bag and assembled it. Carefully we rolled the wounded marine onto it. “ Suppressing fire “ shouted Sgt. Newman. We launched to our feet and took off running as carefully as possible. Plasma bolts sizzled past us as we approached the second and then final defensive line. We hurried into the entrance of the emergency shelter alongside several other wounded. We placed our charge down on the floor in the hallway. At this point, our job was done and we were to return back to our post. As I turned to go back another Sgt. Blocked my way. “The first defensive line is gone. Corpsman, Stay here. We are trying to consolidate at the second line but it’s not looking good. PFC Stay here as well. I’m attaching you to the Final line of defense. I need more marines if they break through the second line” I glanced at Thompson who was already moving to obey orders. The shock of what we had just been told hadn’t had time to set in. The training was what kept us both moving.I rushed into the field hospital to see what I could do. What greeted me was horror. Men bleeding, screaming, and dying. A field surgeon grabbed me.“I need you to hold pressure on this wound so I can go prep a the Emergency OR”I stared at him in confusion. OR? What do you mean OR? We’ve been here maybe 30 minutes. How the hell did one get set up here so quickly? I obeyed regardless of my disbelief. The Marine screamed out in pain as I applied pressure. There was blood everywhere. The next couple of hours were a flash of gore and death. We were caught in the middle trying to fight back the Grim Reaper as well as this new foe. By nightfall, the enemy had broken through the second defensive line and had drawn back before taking on the final line.It was quiet, so damn quiet. I wandered around the shelter. I couldn’t sleep. A tail as old as time. I came to A large room with bunks and voices. Inside were the people we are here to protect. Lizards, that's what most of us described the Klaxions as. They were basically bipedal reptiles. However, I found something in my heart while watching them clutch their children to their scaled faces. This is the first time I’d seen any civilians. They looked, and acted like us. Yes, they appeared different but they still clutched their young to their chest. Still comforted the old. My entire worldview that I thought was stable as a concrete high-rise came crashing down on my head. I thought these people were vicious killers of men. All of them, but they just aren’t. They are afraid just like us. One Motioned me over and held up a device. “What is your name Terran” the device spat out at me “St. John” “St. John, will you join me for tea?” “I uh—“ “ Please, it's the least we can do”I sat as a cup was placed in my hand, the tea was warm and steaming. After the Klaxion was done pouring my cup I lifted it to take a sip. It was full of flavor causing my sharp features to scrunch up with surprise. “First time having traditional Klaxion Tea?” “ Yes, it’s uh. Really good *chuckle* “ “ I’m glad you like it, do you have any news from outside the shel——“ Three thunderclaps shook the shelter. Screams rang out in the crowd.“Everybody down!” I yelled as I ran back to the adjoining hallway I didn’t get far before I ran into retreating elements of the final defense line. “Corpsman, take up position in the doorway and prepare to repel the enemy”I looked at him in shock. “Do it now goddammit!” Plasma bolts started flying down after the retreating marines. At their rear was Captain Armstrong carrying what seemed to be…… Thompson, PFC Thompson. He looked badly injured. The Captain rushed him inside the main shelter room and laid him down. Immediately the Klaxion rendered as much aid as they could. Although physically different. Both of our species knew that fluids leaving the body in a hurry was bad news and to apply pressure. As I turned back to the Captain he took a plasma bolt to the face. There wasn’t anything left. What was left was all over my face shield. “Here they come!” Shouted someone from the hallway.I heard screams, so many screams. Screams of terror, screams of anger, screams of rage. In the end, my Plasma rifle ran dry. I looked around me, spent plasma cartridges lay in piles. I heard footsteps behind me. The walking wounded had armed themselves with knives, sticks, and sidearms. Then they came into the entrance. I threw myself in front of the civilians out of instinct. An instinct given to all humans. To protect the innocent. As the plasma bolts ripped through my body, one must have clipped my spine. I could feel the pressure of the shots but nothing else. The room grew dark except for one spot. This must be the light everyone talks about.I’m sorry I couldn’t do more, but we did all we could.
submitted by Administrative_Toe96 to HFY [link] [comments]
2023.06.03 23:16 _Triple_ [STORE] 900+ KNIVES/GLOVES/SKINS, 50.000$+ INVENTORY. M9 Fade, M4 Poseidon, BFK Freehand, Crimson Kimono, Nomad Fade, Skeleton, Kara Lore, Bayo Autotronic, AWP Fade, Kara Damas, BFK Ultra, Kara Freehand, Kara Bright, M9 Damas, Omega, Tiger Strike, Flip MF, Bayo Tiger, Deagle Blaze, Talon & More
Everything in my inventory is up for trade. The most valuable items are listed here, the rest you can find in My Inventory
Feel free to Add Me or even better send a Trade Offer. Open for any suggestions: upgrades, downgrades / knives, gloves, skins / stickers, patterns, floats.
All Buyouts are listed in cash value.
KNIVES
★ Butterfly Knife Freehand FN #1, B/O: $2500
★ Butterfly Knife Ultraviolet FT, B/O: $822
★ Butterfly Knife Scorched FT, B/O: $616
⎯★ Bayonet Tiger Tooth MW #1, B/O: $1300
★ Bayonet Autotronic FN, B/O: $1050
★ Bayonet Tiger Tooth MW, B/O: $629
★ Bayonet Bright Water FT, B/O: $326
★ Bayonet Safari Mesh BS, B/O: $233
⎯★ Karambit Lore FT, B/O: $1110
★ Karambit Damascus Steel FT, B/O: $840
★ Karambit Freehand MW, B/O: $784
★ Karambit Bright Water MW, B/O: $759
⎯★ M9 Bayonet Fade FN, B/O: $1801
★ M9 Bayonet Fade FN, B/O: $1801
★ M9 Bayonet Damascus Steel FN, B/O: $751
⎯★ Nomad Knife Fade FN, B/O: $1156
★ Nomad Knife Slaughter MW, B/O: $544
★ Nomad Knife Blue Steel WW, B/O: $318
⎯★ Flip Knife Marble Fade FN, B/O: $646
★ Flip Knife Doppler (Phase 4) FN, B/O: $574
★ Flip Knife Gamma Doppler (Phase 1) MW, B/O: $552
★ Flip Knife Case Hardened FT, B/O: $257
★ Flip Knife Freehand FT, B/O: $255
★ StatTrak™ Flip Knife Bright Water FN, B/O: $287
⎯★ Huntsman Knife Lore FN, B/O: $461
★ Huntsman Knife Gamma Doppler (Phase 4) FN, B/O: $436
★ Huntsman Knife Doppler (Phase 3) FN, B/O: $353
★ Huntsman Knife Autotronic FT, B/O: $212
★ Huntsman Knife Bright Water FT, B/O: $129
★ Huntsman Knife Forest DDPAT MW, B/O: $129
★ Huntsman Knife Forest DDPAT BS, B/O: $123
★ StatTrak™ Huntsman Knife Rust Coat BS, B/O: $127
⎯★ Bowie Knife Gamma Doppler (Phase 2) FN, B/O: $375
★ Bowie Knife Gamma Doppler (Phase 1) FN, B/O: $363
★ Bowie Knife Tiger Tooth FN, B/O: $269
★ Bowie Knife Crimson Web WW, B/O: $192
★ Bowie Knife Bright Water FN, B/O: $159
★ Bowie Knife Ultraviolet FT, B/O: $126
⎯★ Stiletto Knife Slaughter FN, B/O: $616
★ Stiletto Knife Crimson Web FT, B/O: $412
★ StatTrak™ Stiletto Knife Night Stripe FT, B/O: $227
⎯★ Falchion Knife Lore FT, B/O: $214
★ Falchion Knife Autotronic FT, B/O: $192
★ Falchion Knife Scorched WW, B/O: $105
⎯★ Survival Knife Crimson Web BS, B/O: $216
★ Survival Knife Case Hardened FT, B/O: $198
★ Survival Knife Scorched FT, B/O: $111
⎯★ Shadow Daggers Fade FN, B/O: $368
★ Shadow Daggers Doppler (Phase 3) FN, B/O: $228
★ Shadow Daggers, B/O: $201
★ Shadow Daggers Damascus Steel FT, B/O: $108
★ Shadow Daggers Ultraviolet FT, B/O: $105
★ Shadow Daggers Black Laminate FT, B/O: $99
★ Shadow Daggers Forest DDPAT FT, B/O: $85
⎯★ Gut Knife Doppler (Sapphire) MW #1, B/O: $1700
★ Gut Knife Gamma Doppler (Phase 1) FN, B/O: $223
★ Gut Knife Marble Fade FN, B/O: $203
★ Gut Knife Doppler (Phase 2) FN, B/O: $191
★ Gut Knife Case Hardened BS, B/O: $127
⎯★ Navaja Knife Doppler (Phase 4) FN, B/O: $199
★ Navaja Knife Doppler (Phase 4) FN, B/O: $199
★ Navaja Knife, B/O: $138
★ Navaja Knife Damascus Steel FN, B/O: $111
⎯★ Classic Knife Urban Masked FT, B/O: $146
★ StatTrak™ Classic Knife Stained BS, B/O: $168
⎯★ Ursus Knife Doppler (Phase 3) FN, B/O: $476
★ Ursus Knife, B/O: $375
⎯★ Skeleton Knife, B/O: $1137
★ Talon Knife, B/O: $608
★ Paracord Knife, B/O: $305
★ Survival Knife Forest DDPAT FT, B/O: $97
GLOVES
★ Moto Gloves Transport MW, B/O: $204
★ Moto Gloves Polygon BS, B/O: $142
★ Moto Gloves Blood Pressure BS, B/O: $84
★ Moto Gloves Blood Pressure BS, B/O: $84
★ Moto Gloves 3rd Commando Company BS, B/O: $63
★ Moto Gloves 3rd Commando Company BS, B/O: $63
⎯★ Specialist Gloves Crimson Kimono WW, B/O: $1215
★ Specialist Gloves Tiger Strike FT, B/O: $672
★ Specialist Gloves Lt. Commander FT, B/O: $305
★ Specialist Gloves Lt. Commander BS, B/O: $140
★ Specialist Gloves Crimson Web BS, B/O: $137
★ Specialist Gloves Buckshot FT, B/O: $75
⎯★ Driver Gloves Crimson Weave FT, B/O: $359
★ Driver Gloves Imperial Plaid BS, B/O: $229
★ Driver Gloves Overtake BS, B/O: $77
★ Driver Gloves Racing Green FT, B/O: $48
⎯★ Sport Gloves Omega FT, B/O: $739
★ Sport Gloves Amphibious BS #2, B/O: $733
★ Sport Gloves Arid BS, B/O: $292
⎯★ Hand Wraps Giraffe MW, B/O: $212
★ Hand Wraps Leather FT, B/O: $160
★ Hand Wraps Desert Shamagh MW, B/O: $101
⎯★ Broken Fang Gloves Yellow-banded MW, B/O: $185
★ Broken Fang Gloves Needle Point FT, B/O: $67
★ Broken Fang Gloves Needle Point WW, B/O: $59
⎯★ Hydra Gloves Case Hardened BS, B/O: $65
★ Hydra Gloves Emerald FT, B/O: $65
★ Hydra Gloves Emerald BS, B/O: $62
WEAPONS
AK-47 Case Hardened BS, B/O: $130
AK-47 Bloodsport MW, B/O: $79
AK-47 Fuel Injector BS, B/O: $76
AK-47 Fuel Injector BS, B/O: $76
AK-47 Bloodsport FT, B/O: $70
AK-47 Neon Rider MW, B/O: $60
StatTrak™ AK-47 Aquamarine Revenge FT, B/O: $72
⎯AWP Fade FN, B/O: $1039
AWP Asiimov FT, B/O: $139
AWP Asiimov FT, B/O: $139
AWP Wildfire MW, B/O: $95
AWP BOOM MW, B/O: $93
AWP BOOM MW, B/O: $93
AWP Duality FN, B/O: $81
AWP Asiimov BS, B/O: $79
AWP Asiimov BS, B/O: $79
AWP Chromatic Aberration FN, B/O: $60
StatTrak™ AWP Hyper Beast FT, B/O: $68
StatTrak™ AWP Hyper Beast FT, B/O: $68
StatTrak™ AWP Electric Hive FT, B/O: $55
⎯Desert Eagle Blaze FN, B/O: $623
Desert Eagle Emerald Jörmungandr FN, B/O: $241
Desert Eagle Cobalt Disruption FN, B/O: $81
Desert Eagle Cobalt Disruption FN, B/O: $81
Desert Eagle Cobalt Disruption FN, B/O: $81
Desert Eagle Printstream FT, B/O: $54
⎯M4A1-S Blue Phosphor FN, B/O: $434
StatTrak™ M4A1-S Bright Water MW, B/O: $55
⎯M4A4 Poseidon FN, B/O: $1465
M4A4 Asiimov BS, B/O: $55
M4A4 Hellfire MW, B/O: $50
⎯USP-S Kill Confirmed MW, B/O: $72
USP-S Printstream FT, B/O: $69
StatTrak™ USP-S Kill Confirmed FT, B/O: $139
⎯AUG Flame Jörmungandr FN, B/O: $234
P90 Run and Hide FT, B/O: $147
Five-SeveN Candy Apple FN, B/O: $61
Trade Offer Link - Steam Profile Link - My Inventory
Some items on the list may no longer be available or are still locked, visit My Inventory for more details.
Send a Trade Offer for fastest response. I consider all offers.
Add me for discuss if there is a serious offer that needs to be discussed.
2023.06.03 22:59 WideMix8098 Total loss rebuilt salvage title issued in error, now “clean”?
Before story time, My point is what the frick is a rebuilt title issued in error on a total loss vehicle? Does that even happen, EVER?
The car was in an accident and then deemed a total loss by an insurance company. The rebuilt title was issued, and a salvage title was issued. Then when my car dealership bought the car it was “issued in error” all of a sudden and the title was made clean again. Here’s a link to the CarFax.
Car Fax
Story time:
I’m not sure if this is the correct subreddit to post this in, but I’m curious to see if anyone else has come across or experienced a situation similar to mine. I bought this car from Expressmotorsports in Lawrence, Massachusetts. (Yes I know the location is terrible for buying a used car, so if you wee even thinking about it, don’t)
Let me preface this by saying, I was in a really rushed, pressured situation to get into whatever vehicle I could. I was borrowing money from my family and they insisted I go through a dealership. Long story short, I bought a 2008 Honda Crv with only 120k miles on it, expecting the car to still have decent life in it despite the age. If you’ve ever owned a Honda you’ll know these cars and drive forever if properly maintained. The car even passed mechanics inspection and state inspection. The car dropped a valve and the engine was dead after only 2 months, after doing nothing but driving and overly maintaining it. When I bought the car and signed the purchase contract with the warranty, he said I could bring the car back and he would fix anything that went wrong within 30 days. After the engine blew I went to look for the warranty and it was left blank. Massachusetts lemon law requires a written 30 day warranty on a used car. I know it’s my fault for not seeing this, but isn’t it totally illegal for him to do? Has anyone had experience with this?
Also upon further inspection of the car fax, the verbiage is “rebuilt/salvage title issued in error.” “Total loss issued in error”. Also, again I take accountability for not inspecting this further, I only saw that the car had been in an accident but the title was clean. But I have no understanding of what this means, even my friend who is a car dealer says he has never seen a “rebuilt title” issued in error and is later issued as “clean”. Has anyone ever seen this verbiage and knows what could have happened, or did he just pull something extremely illegal?
submitted by WideMix8098 to askcarsales [link] [comments]
The car was in an accident and then deemed a total loss by an insurance company. The rebuilt title was issued, and a salvage title was issued. Then when my car dealership bought the car it was “issued in error” all of a sudden and the title was made clean again. Here’s a link to the CarFax.
Car Fax
Story time:
I’m not sure if this is the correct subreddit to post this in, but I’m curious to see if anyone else has come across or experienced a situation similar to mine. I bought this car from Expressmotorsports in Lawrence, Massachusetts. (Yes I know the location is terrible for buying a used car, so if you wee even thinking about it, don’t)
Let me preface this by saying, I was in a really rushed, pressured situation to get into whatever vehicle I could. I was borrowing money from my family and they insisted I go through a dealership. Long story short, I bought a 2008 Honda Crv with only 120k miles on it, expecting the car to still have decent life in it despite the age. If you’ve ever owned a Honda you’ll know these cars and drive forever if properly maintained. The car even passed mechanics inspection and state inspection. The car dropped a valve and the engine was dead after only 2 months, after doing nothing but driving and overly maintaining it. When I bought the car and signed the purchase contract with the warranty, he said I could bring the car back and he would fix anything that went wrong within 30 days. After the engine blew I went to look for the warranty and it was left blank. Massachusetts lemon law requires a written 30 day warranty on a used car. I know it’s my fault for not seeing this, but isn’t it totally illegal for him to do? Has anyone had experience with this?
Also upon further inspection of the car fax, the verbiage is “rebuilt/salvage title issued in error.” “Total loss issued in error”. Also, again I take accountability for not inspecting this further, I only saw that the car had been in an accident but the title was clean. But I have no understanding of what this means, even my friend who is a car dealer says he has never seen a “rebuilt title” issued in error and is later issued as “clean”. Has anyone ever seen this verbiage and knows what could have happened, or did he just pull something extremely illegal?
2023.06.03 22:58 Mr_Nex [WTS] PNW Toast, Vox Designs Dirty Raccoon, RGT Clip, MXG Clip, Saddleback Satchel & More!
Hey EDC Exchange -
Thanks for checking out my post! Re-listing a few things with price drops and added a few new items for your perusal. I am the original owner on all items listed EXCEPT the RGT clip.
First, let’s look at that timestamp!
First, a VoxDesign “Dirty” Raccoon - 3/8” in brass. Purchased new from UrbanEDC in July of 2022. I have way too many of these “bottle openers” from VoxDesign, and this one has never been carried or used…it should go to someone who will appreciate it. Basically new condition. Includes original bag and card. Item was $165 new.
Video here.
Raccoon is SV:$140 $120 $100 via PayPal FF (no notes), shipped via USPS. Final price drop on this before I just hang on to it.
Next up, a PNW Toast Co. Toast! This was purchased from UrbanEDC in June of 2021. This was an Urban EDC exclusive with a layer of Tiffany G10 sandwiched between Stabwood on one side and and Canvas Micarta on the other. Very cool little force multiplier, but I never ended up carrying it. Also purchased a brown Breadbox Slip (leather sheath) from Redeemed Creations that same month. Also never carried (although I did slip the toast in and out of it a few times, so it’s not “mint”). Toast includes original COA and paper bag wrapping. Item is like new. Toast was $189 new, sheath was $30.
Photos here.
Toast & Slip are SV: $200 via PayPal FF (no notes), shipped via USPS.
Next, a Peak Eiger Ultra X in brass. Purchased directly from Peak in 2017, I’ve carried this a handful of times, but never really fell in love with the twisty style interface. This is the Hi-CRI version with narrow beam, includes the tail switch (momentary) and clip (which I think is a Preon clip, but I don’t actually remember…I did have to pick it up separately). Beam is lovely, light is in good shape. Runs off a 10440 Li-ion cell ONLY (not included). Light (without clip) was $85 new.
Photos here.
Peak is SV: $50 via PayPal FF (no notes), shipped via USPS.
Next, a Ripp’s Garage Tech Polished Timascus clip for CRK. This came to me installed on a Large Inkosi I got on the Swap. I left it on, carried it twice, and decided it was just a touch too fancy for me. Removed the clip and it ended up in a drawer for a year or two, and was recently re-discovered. Clip is in good shape, although there are a couple very small spots on the left side of the clip that look like wear to me, I did my best to picture them. Otherwise, this is a great opportunity to set your CRK apart. These go for about $130 new, I believe.
Photos here.
RGT Clip is SV: $80 via PayPal FF (no notes), shipped via USPS. SOLD!
Next, an MXG Titanium Deep Carry clip for Spyderco knives. I got a couple clips from MXG trying to find a good match for my Swayback, this didn’t make the cut, but I liked the clip and kept thinking I’d find a home for it…never did. Time to move it on! It was very briefly installed on the Swayback, but never carried. It’s in essentially new condition. Originally $25.
Photo here.
MXG Clip is SV: $15 via PayPal FF (no notes), shipped via USPS.
Then we’ve got a Tanner Goods Document Folio in black. I got this from a sample sale grab bag about 10 years ago and loved it, but wanted it in brown. So, promptly ordered the cognac version and put this one away. It’s doing nobody any good stashed away, so it’s time to let it go. It’s made from a single piece of 5.5 oz vegetable tanned Meridian English Bridle leather, with brass studs. Features a felted wool sleeve. Aside from the “S” stamp (see pictures) I can find nothing that differentiates this folio from the full-price one I purchased at the same time. The case measures 12” long by 9” wide. Tanner Goods doesn’t make these anymore, if you’re looking for an elegant way to transport your documents (or iPad), this is a damn fine way to do it. Originally sold for $200.
Photos here.
Folio is SV:$100 $60 via PayPal FF (no notes), shipped via USPS.
Lastly, a Galway vertical snap wallet from Blackthorn Leather. I purchased this back in 2018 and carried it a half-dozen times. It’s a great wallet, I just prefer a “trucker wallet” style form factor. Construction is SOLID, the wallet feels bombproof. Wallet is in excellent condition. Item is constructed from hand-dyed, full-grain vegetable tanned leather and lined with plaid accent fabric. Measures 3.5” x 4.75” closed. The concho is a very well done reproduction Walking Liberty quarter (the coin collectors in your life will thank you). Item was $115 new.
Photos here.
Wallet is SV: $65 $50 via PayPal FF (no notes), shipped via USPS. SOLD!!
FINALLY, the last item up for today is a Saddleback Leather - Large Satchel in Coffee Brown. Got this back in November of 2012 to replace a Large Briefcase that was too large. It was carried a bunch in an office environment, but was ultimately replaced by a Mountainback Large Satchel in 2016. The large satchel is no longer available (in fact, none of the bags I just mentioned are still available), so this is your chance to pick up this beautiful leather bag that is tired of living in my closet. I’m including an older Saddleback leather slip case. I’ve used it to carry iPhone/iPad chargers, but it can work for loads of different uses. Also including a set of two leather utility straps that Saddleback used to offer that I kept laced in the D-rings on the bottom of the bag (great for carrying a jacket or sweater).
Loads more information about the bag can be found via this review: https://bestleather.org/saddleback-leather-large-satchel-review-408/
Photos here.
Satchel was $350 new. SV is $240 via PayPal FF (no notes), shipped via USPS (I think, might need to go UPS). This is also available for local pick-up for $200 here in Southern California.
…and that’s all. Happy to entertain reasonable offers (or combine shipping), but I am definitely looking to sell (not trade). Thanks for looking and please feel free to reach out with any questions.
submitted by Mr_Nex to EDCexchange [link] [comments]
Thanks for checking out my post! Re-listing a few things with price drops and added a few new items for your perusal. I am the original owner on all items listed EXCEPT the RGT clip.
First, let’s look at that timestamp!
First, a VoxDesign “Dirty” Raccoon - 3/8” in brass. Purchased new from UrbanEDC in July of 2022. I have way too many of these “bottle openers” from VoxDesign, and this one has never been carried or used…it should go to someone who will appreciate it. Basically new condition. Includes original bag and card. Item was $165 new.
Video here.
Raccoon is SV:
Next up, a PNW Toast Co. Toast! This was purchased from UrbanEDC in June of 2021. This was an Urban EDC exclusive with a layer of Tiffany G10 sandwiched between Stabwood on one side and and Canvas Micarta on the other. Very cool little force multiplier, but I never ended up carrying it. Also purchased a brown Breadbox Slip (leather sheath) from Redeemed Creations that same month. Also never carried (although I did slip the toast in and out of it a few times, so it’s not “mint”). Toast includes original COA and paper bag wrapping. Item is like new. Toast was $189 new, sheath was $30.
Photos here.
Toast & Slip are SV: $200 via PayPal FF (no notes), shipped via USPS.
Next, a Peak Eiger Ultra X in brass. Purchased directly from Peak in 2017, I’ve carried this a handful of times, but never really fell in love with the twisty style interface. This is the Hi-CRI version with narrow beam, includes the tail switch (momentary) and clip (which I think is a Preon clip, but I don’t actually remember…I did have to pick it up separately). Beam is lovely, light is in good shape. Runs off a 10440 Li-ion cell ONLY (not included). Light (without clip) was $85 new.
Photos here.
Peak is SV: $50 via PayPal FF (no notes), shipped via USPS.
Next, an MXG Titanium Deep Carry clip for Spyderco knives. I got a couple clips from MXG trying to find a good match for my Swayback, this didn’t make the cut, but I liked the clip and kept thinking I’d find a home for it…never did. Time to move it on! It was very briefly installed on the Swayback, but never carried. It’s in essentially new condition. Originally $25.
Photo here.
MXG Clip is SV: $15 via PayPal FF (no notes), shipped via USPS.
Then we’ve got a Tanner Goods Document Folio in black. I got this from a sample sale grab bag about 10 years ago and loved it, but wanted it in brown. So, promptly ordered the cognac version and put this one away. It’s doing nobody any good stashed away, so it’s time to let it go. It’s made from a single piece of 5.5 oz vegetable tanned Meridian English Bridle leather, with brass studs. Features a felted wool sleeve. Aside from the “S” stamp (see pictures) I can find nothing that differentiates this folio from the full-price one I purchased at the same time. The case measures 12” long by 9” wide. Tanner Goods doesn’t make these anymore, if you’re looking for an elegant way to transport your documents (or iPad), this is a damn fine way to do it. Originally sold for $200.
Photos here.
Folio is SV:
FINALLY, the last item up for today is a Saddleback Leather - Large Satchel in Coffee Brown. Got this back in November of 2012 to replace a Large Briefcase that was too large. It was carried a bunch in an office environment, but was ultimately replaced by a Mountainback Large Satchel in 2016. The large satchel is no longer available (in fact, none of the bags I just mentioned are still available), so this is your chance to pick up this beautiful leather bag that is tired of living in my closet. I’m including an older Saddleback leather slip case. I’ve used it to carry iPhone/iPad chargers, but it can work for loads of different uses. Also including a set of two leather utility straps that Saddleback used to offer that I kept laced in the D-rings on the bottom of the bag (great for carrying a jacket or sweater).
Loads more information about the bag can be found via this review: https://bestleather.org/saddleback-leather-large-satchel-review-408/
Photos here.
Satchel was $350 new. SV is $240 via PayPal FF (no notes), shipped via USPS (I think, might need to go UPS). This is also available for local pick-up for $200 here in Southern California.
…and that’s all. Happy to entertain reasonable offers (or combine shipping), but I am definitely looking to sell (not trade). Thanks for looking and please feel free to reach out with any questions.
2023.06.03 22:56 smolcrackheadenergy Between 1&2 💞 Album Review
And yes, this is 9 months late 😭 I'm not sorry — when I find an album review online it's always around a paragraph per song or even shorter. It makes sense from a journalistic perspective, but I want to do this album justice, hence taking 7 months to write out all my thoughts.
This shit is comprehensive and definitely overanalyzed, especially in Talk that Talk and Trouble. Each song review will compose of my commentary going over the song, noting the details I noticed through months of listening, then a conclusion. Also, mild swearing warning, I like implementing a touch of "French" when I'm very emotional about something. Anyway, onto the review!
TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT
TELL ME WHAT YOU NEED
One of the most perfect TWICE songs.
I think this is one of TWICE’s best-sounding title tracks. Warm modulated synths, a thrumming bass line, distant bells, shimmering synths — the purpose of this song is to be fun and my god is it excellent at it, like… Sana and Chaeyoung are saying knock-knock-knock and beep-beep-beep as if they’re some kind of car. So much fun.
Further along in the verse, Dahyun’s voice sounds so full and smooth with that layered harmony. Tzuyu coming with the Yes or Yes, Push & Pull, and 1 to 10 references — these are 5 years of song references. And Jeongyeon closes the pre-chorus accompanied by a rising synth to drop into chorus one. Jeongyeon slays pre-choruses.
The drums accelerate, the synths start blasting, and Jihyo opens to that party of a chorus with her godly vocals,
During Sana's Talk that Talk~ lines there’s this gentle ascending synth bell that rings with the descending melody and it sounds absolutely gorgeous. And the choreography during that part of the chorus is so so so so fun: the talking hands bit, spelling L-O-V-E, concluding with the deullyeojweo ooh! Oh my Jihyo the deullyeojweo ooh…
Have I mentioned this song is fun?
Speeding through verse 2; Chaeyoung’s part with the cat ears popping in the music video is adorable; Momo her stretching her arms out looks so damn cool; and Dahyun with her replay part sounds so lovely — although I think it sonically sounds a touch random, it makes sense thematically.
And now for this pre-chorus. Mina and Jihyo leading into it sound great BUT JEONGYEON… Now, she is my ult bias, and this pre-chorus sounds almost identical to the first one, but the way she holds that final note, enunciating and holding that now~ for one more beat before the chorus drops sounds so perfect — the song teeters on a cliff edge. Jeongyeon slays pre-choruses.
Dropping into the second chorus and man, Jihyo powered through that first chorus, but the way Nayeon delivers it just hits different. She has this indescribable “pop” voice (I promise this wasn't on purpose) that stands out and shouts this is THE chorus. I think this is especially apparent in how both lead their choruses where Jihyo starts at 120% power while Nayeon waits until [Tell me] WHAT YOU WANT to full-send it. She also highlights “malhaebwa” in a similar way later in the chorus.
Another deullyeojweo ooh! Nayeon travels to Narnia, and Mina the engineer strikes again in this heavenly, underwater-esque bridge,
The word “love” is said for the first time in the song. There’s a funky keyboard instrument behind Chaeyoung’s part. Jihyo, Chaeyoung, and Nayeon take the initiative in their lyrics, professing their love before closing the bridge.
And now for the pièce-de-résistance: this final double chorus is exceptional — 40 seconds of crack-laced euphoria; Jihyo switches up the chorus and the choreo, Dahyun chimes in with her fluttery “Talk that Talk”, Momo comes out of nowhere with “oh yeah it sounds so good!” — you’re damn right it does, and this is where the song SOARS.
Nayeon outright shouts “Tell me what you need” and then Jeongyeon sings the above lines in such an ethereal, warm way where the first line ascends while the second line descends, causing a lull in the song before the finale with Nayeon, finishing off the song with the final deullyeojweo ooh! What a party. What a song.
THE GOOD
Lyrics and theme-wise, if this were to have been TWICE’s last comeback, they’ve once again built upon the theme they've been doing since debut: a Bildungsroman, a coming-of-age story.
This song’s chorus is honest yet simple; it asks the listener, in this case, the other half of the relationship, to be more upfront and open with their love (never be scared of love), that before the relationship can continue and flourish there has to be a foundation and commitment of love between each other.
TWICE debuted with a song about making your crush go ooh ahh. Years later, they started pondering “What is love?” and imagining their crush responding with “yes” when asking them out — and now concluding with the phrase “Talk that talk, [talk that] L-O-V-E”, being upfront with the relationship, wishing their partner to also be happy, to commit to them, to feel the love that they want to impart on them. From gawking like ooh-ahh to talking out your shared love like adults — to having a true relationship between (one and) two.
And can I just say before finishing off Talk that Talk's review that this is such a fun and repeatable song with many little intricacies hidden in the nonet’s vocals and the production. This is the third draft I’m writing about Talk that Talk and its original word count pretty much quadrupled.
Harkening back to TWICE’s roots by combining mature thinking with youthful character, an incredible ending to look forward to, and just simply being a club-banger that’s easy to listen to, TTT is an easy 10/10.
WATCH ME GO WATCH ME GO
RULE THE WORLD
If there was one B-side to promote in a live clip, this was a solid choice.
Helmed by LDN Noise going headlong into the Western boy-group rock-band aesthetic, Queen of Hearts is a boom-boom-clap song through and through. The drums are very prominent throughout the song, only giving room to riffs of electric guitar in the chorus to drive and continue the momentum of the music.
And speaking of the chorus, vocal line each got a chorus to flex and they did not fuck around,
Cymbals crashing, drums booming, and 3MIX belting all just so sound so good.
These long, held-out notes performed by Jihyo and Nayeon are simply exquisite. Along with the shredding guitar, the drum set coming in full, and the interludes by Dahyun, Momo, and Chaeyoung, this is the part of the song that always, always, gives me goosebumps — it sounds so visceral, so energetic, so fun, so triumphant. Boom-boom-clap songs can be hit or miss with people, but there's no denying the payoff from the first part of the chorus to the second part is worth the wait.
The theme of the song so far has been kind of spread around the song. The chorus alludes to it with the line "And it’s all because of you." But Mina shows more sides of it in the second verse, especially with the phrase,
It sounds really lovely — in a very cheesy and affectionate kind of way, as it rightfully should — the song is about the girls and their fans. But the bridge is where the song indeed shows its colours
This is a song CONCEIVED TO BE PERFORMED FOR THE FANS. It’s meant to be loud. It’s meant to be unapologetic. It’s meant to be sappy. And it’s all the more wonderful for it.
This is the TWICEiest shit ever.
Like Talk that Talk, Queen of Hearts also has a killer closer. The production already started to grow from the bridge, but now the guitarist finally went Super Saiyan and instead of supporting the drums, they both take the centrepiece in tandem.
Then finally, the closing moments of the song even manage to squeeze in some more sappiness.
I still can’t believe that this banger is a FAN SONG out of all things. Truly, the TWICEiest shit ever.
THE GOOD
I love these types of rock songs with how grunge and head-bang-able they are, there is just a certain nostalgic and cheesy quality to them that feels so cozy. I don’t love putting them on repeat, because in this case, I do believe there is such a thing as too much of a good thing. Perhaps more shredding, maybe a guitar solo to rock out to, or an accompaniment(!) of ad-libs from 3MIX to support Jihyo’s final chorus? A ONCE can dream of a truly bombastic rock song from TWICE. But then again that distracts from the core of what this song is: a fan song disguised as a rock song.
Queen of Hearts has so much sweetness in its lyrics and message that it's overflowing. The drums, guitar, and vocals can be as loud and intricate as they can, but the theme of this song is what makes it special from TWICE’s other rock songs — it’s a 9/10 for me.
I WANNA WANNA WANNA
TAKE YOU TO THE BASICS
Quite possibly the jammiest (pun intended) song of the album.
A song written by the Strawberry Princess herself — an event similar in frequency to other artists' releases with her last song being 2020’s silky Handle It — Basics first starts with an understated and dreamy delivery. After the first stanza, however, a bouncy Miami bass line emerges, revealing the true nature of the song: this is a classic summer bop! Especially in the first rap,
Syllables are pronounced in a relaxed nature, bars often starting with an "ah" sound, flirty lines in English — this rap features a production full of pop with R&B flourishes and, in my opinion, this is Chaeyoung’s bag. Also, the line "rainbow bubblegum" is so adorable and so Chaeyoung.
That chorus is pure pop with a Miami bass backing; you better be bopping your head to the melody, if not booty poppin' to the bassline. Chaeyoung loves rhyming in the first half of the chorus to enhance its catchiness and it's damn incredible: the “wanna”, “weonhae”, and “ppeonhae” all create these imperfect rhymes that continue momentum without feeling repetitive.
After the very Boy With Luv-sounding “ah yeah ah yeah, ah yeah ah yeah” comes an 8-bar split half and half between Chaeyoung and Momo. Coming from the chorus, the production completely cuts out for the first 2 bars. This adds tension; the song yearns to have that bass beat thumping again and all we have in the audio space in those 2 bars is Chaeyoung spittin' and she delivered.
Translating to:
The rap feels slick, effortless, and confident. Her diction remains sharp when enunciating each syllable but she doesn’t let the flow of her rap waver or build as her 4 bars go by, it’s just smooth consistency throughout. Even the lyrics possess an aura of laid-back collectedness that is just so her. The things Chaeyoung can do when given her pen.
THE GOOD
This song is summer bliss distilled into 2:56. It’s dreamy, the raps are satisfying, and the ending is charming. I will say that although the second half of the song adds the stunning “spaceship” post-choruses and a floaty bridge with an incredible drumbeat drop into the final chorus, the raps of the song make it feel a bit front-loaded. And in an album stacked with awesome finishers, it feels more apparent.
With that said, it’s an 8/10 bop for me. This song is so easy to put on and it feels exactly what Chaeyoung would make if given the reins to produce a pop song all on her own. The lyrics are nonchalant but full of conviction, the wordplay is intricate, and the production playful but not too bombastic — it's just a nice vibe. Songs like Basics are the standard for good, simple, repeatable pop music and I’m happy that Chaeyoung got to test her pen in this genre.
BABY WE’RE IN
TROUBLE TROUBLE
Background vocals: Jihyo
Lead composer credit: Jihyo
Vocal director credit: Jihyo (an assumption given her contributions in First Time)
One of the most enjoyable songs I’ve heard in a while.
There is an underlying tension within the first 4 bars of the song, Jihyo and Nayeon confidently open it to a nondescript array of synths and then the stanza ends, Momo announces “Let’s go”, the beat drops and it hits you: this is a club song.
Dahyun's relaxed delivery contrasted with Jeongyeon's staccato flow, the wobbly synth beat with sprinkle of house piano, Sana dramatically slowing down the song only for Tzuyu to build it back up until the chorus drops,
This chorus is perfect. Toronto’s residential market needs this song injected into its veins because god damn this song has SO much house in it. And then, ANOTHER KILLING PART: this rap fucking slaps.
During the first 2 bars, Chaeyoung is keeping it calm because that trip of a chorus just ended and the song needs a breather, but I don't think anyone expected her to SNAP this hard afterwards:
Below is the structure of her this portion of the rap, I’m not that well versed in this technical aspect of music theory but I digress, this is all in the span of around 5 seconds where it’s:
Now, 25/5 = 5 syllables per second isn’t groundbreaking, but goddamn it these 2 bars sound so nice — if there is one part in this album that I always repeat, it’s this. The addition of that first quadruplet for “cannot miss this” in the midst of the triplets sticks out and accelerates the flow of the rap while the following doublets and quadruplets destabilize and slow the rap down as the verse closes. And can I just point out:
THE MAIN VOCALIST WROTE, DIRECTED, AND COMPOSED THIS SONG ‼
Chaeyoung of course delivered the fuck out of her verse but THIS is what you get when you have a member not only write the words they’re saying but also the melody and flow with which they sing it, when that member knows the others so well that when they write a song they know how to make the group exceed. This is what you get when the artists you stan love doing artist shit.
And. AND. That's not all — with how much I mentioned I love a good outro to close a song, this outro slaps as well:
Like, come on, Nayeon’s imitating a police siren for crying out loud. And this is all after her ad-libs in the final post-chorus; after the pianist going full tilt and playing that piano as if it was their last chance to ever play; after that final T W I C E chant by all the members come these blissful 20 seconds at the very end. What a song.
THE GOOD
Need I say more, easy 9/10. The only reason I place Talk that Talk above Trouble is because of what that song represents but besides that, this is one of the best “international” sounds they’ve put out. Actually, I haven’t listened to Eyes wide open in a while but this song is up there with one of the most sonically pleasing pieces of work they’ve done.
Clubbing TWICE has always been a thing since TT was birthed in 2016, and has been a staple of their discography since 2019’s Fancy You and Feel Special mini albums, but Trouble unapologetically dives into and fits the house genre so well you’d think that this is TWICE’s bread and butter sound.
Trouble is Jihyo’s magnum opus. What a song.
BRAVE BRAVE BRAVE
FOR YOU
I first thought this was just a good song, then I read the lyrics.
Gentle guitar plucks, shimmering synths, a distant keyboard in the right ear, in the left a glockenspiel, the melodic oohs from the members — this song is PRETTY.
Mina and Chaeyoung open the song with how they feel lonely and that it's hard to breathe and now suddenly the song feels bittersweet — I was not expecting the song to be this emotional. Brave describes a situation where the singer is in a darker place in life and it isn't until another person gives them hope by calling them 'brave' that they find the drive to keep going.
Once the chorus hits, the melodies pick up, more guitars get added — there’s even an electric guitar hidden in the mix somewhere, and the song drops the emotional front to reveal a mid-tempo pop song to dance to while crying in the club. The song as a whole still carries this melancholy feeling, but now with the added support of this chorus acting as a light amongst the gloom.
Continuing on in the second verse there's this gorgeous, well-placed break in the song that just lets it settle after that chorus. Only a seasoned producer would risk this much empty space in a song and Slow Rabbit went to fill those shoes.
Back to the chorus, I'll take this moment to once again commend Slow Rabbit with the mixing of the song, because 4MIX undoubtedly sounds good in the chorus, and the interludes from Dahyun, Chaeyoung, and Mina also sound really good, but the clear highlight of the choruses are these lines:
Momo, Sana, and Tzuyu form this beautiful, surprisingly catchy, second half of the chorus accompanied by a guitar drop. It should not turn out this well with how conflicting the "na"s are with the guitar melody but it creates this gentle bopping ebb and flow that feels so lush and mellow.
Diving into the bridge reveals that the listener of the song is revealed not only capable of supporting the singer through direct words but also through their thoughts and dreams. As can be discerned, this can be a song interpreted to be about ONCEs, about how they push TWICE to be their best selves despite the breathless hardships they face. It's a very sweet and touching song.
THE GOOD
I’m actually spoiled with the TWICE members’ easy-to-understand songwriting that when a song like this pops up where it's not written by a member and the thematic bits are mostly in Korean, I tend to put it aside in favour of the other songs on the album. And, especially for a song focusing on a theme like this where the English phrases don’t do the Korean lyrics enough justice, it does place a bit of a barrier on the listening experience, dropping it down to a 7/10 from an 8/10.
With that anecdote out of the way, this song is just such a vibe, man. I know that sounds super hippy to say but Brave is so mellow and smooth that I can’t help but sway a little when that chorus hits. And then I remember what the lyrics say and I tear up a bit on the inside. This song is so pure, raw, and full of heart — we need more songs like these where they just reminisce about life while putting up an upbeat front. Don't mind me just crying while dancing the night away.
With that said, this isn't the first time this theme has been sung by TWICE either, they've long trodden this path of supportive, confiding, up-lifting songs with Young & Wild, Rainbow, Queen, Go Hard, Depend on You, even this album's Queen of Hearts, and, of course, Feel Special. Brave just adds another on top of an already stacked lineup, unique with its mellow somberness.
Also now feels like a good time to get into my rating system:
I SEE THE LIES
ON THE TIP OF YOUR TONGUE
Who the fuck pissed off Dubu this time??
It’s getting quite rare to see TWICE pull off brand new sounds because, with now 190 original songs under their belt, they’ve done so many genres and sub-genres varying from hyper pop, to bossa nova, to whatever 2020’s Go Hard is. So it’s surprising to see they’ve still got tricks up their sleeves and Gone is one of them.
The song starts with strings swinging back and forth and vocal chops dancing from ear to ear, teasing what’s yet to come. Jihyo enters the song with a whisper and the song sets its pace. A stagnant drum pad moves the song along and typical song progression would have Mina continue the build but — it doesn’t. The song simmers, adding a hint of high hat to the pot. And then, Sana and Tzuyu come on and surely the buildup must boil over right?
Silence, until…
The strings emerge again on full blast, the simmer rolls to a boil, and the anger of the song is revealed,
The singer is so scorned and burned from this relationship that they reminisce about all the effort they’ve put in since the beginning, but their “partner” is so unconcerned that they’ve just about had enough of the relationship altogether.
This has been Dahyun’s thing since 2020’s Bring It Back, 2021’s Cruel, 2022’s That’s all I’m saying, and even 2023's Don't Blame It On Me — emotionally charged breakup songs that make you feel as if she’s gone through a dozen bad relationships. Dispatch, do your job better, or don't.
Another highlight of the song is the post-chorus going into the bridge. This segment reiterates the structure from the first post-chorus — a barrage of drums supported by the rhythmic strumming of a bass guitar along with a consistent synth filling out the soundscape. But this time, it’s Dahyun and Chaeyoung on the rap:
Continuing the disrespected theme of the song, Dahyun notes that she’s finally had enough with Chaeyoung adding that there’s no point salvaging what was once there for all of it is long gone. Momo and Dahyun round it off by telling the listener that there’s no point trying to reason with them or playing naive, they fucked up and there’s no coming back.
Can I just say, it's a bit of a shame that Chaeyoung’s rapping popped off in this album while Dahyun only has this one verse that she shares with Chaeyoung, but it just sounds so good how Dahyun eases in after the chorus with her light rapping tone transitioning into her singing. She even holds the “gone” in a little crescendo for some added pizzazz.
And, there’s no way I’m not going to talk about Momo’s vocals in this bridge. Damned if she only got 1 line to use it in, her lower register is incredible. She sounds so smooth singing in this tone. All of TWICE do in particular and there is nary a weak vocal performance in this album.
To close the song off, a wash of synths gets to have their shine in the spotlight, showered with Nayeon’s belting, signifying the dramatic and drawn-out conclusion of this partnership.
THE GOOD
Going back to that point about the first post-chorus as a whole; songs that have the production continue unchanged into the post-chorus/2nd verse are very hit or miss for me — see TWICE's Don't Call Me Again for an overbearing example. The post-chorus going into the bridge contrasts Dahyun’s light tone nicely with the hard-hitting production, continuing the energy until it slowly fades into silence at the end of the bridge.
Back to the song as a whole, as much as TWICE has been experimenting with their sound for the past 4 years now, I’m happy they’re still finding new ways to explore what they’re capable of. And for that alone, even though I’m not a big fan of songs like these where they rely on sounding “big”, Dahyun’s lyricism and the thrill I receive every time I indulge myself in this song when I listen to it for the first time in a while elevates it to an 8/10. Keep on breaking hearts, Dubu.
INVINCIBLE
SUPERHEROES
Press play to reminisce, pull up lyrics to cry.
This song is so beautiful. I’m totally not writing this song review, crying on the bus reminiscing about my childhood, while just having turned 21. I don’t know if these are happy or sad tears but this song is so beautiful either way.
Warm synths, muted piano, a gentle high hat, the younger members starting off the song — this has to be up there for one of the softest TWICE songs ever. And as it should, it’s one of the TWICEiest songs ever. And then Nayeon comes in,
The chords start swelling, the high hat keeps pace, and the harmonies come in,
Jihyo takes up the second half of the chorus as it drops, trading the strings for an almost R&B synth production — if choir R&B takes off, this song started it. The song relishes in this cacophony of warm sounds until returning to its sparse and peaceful verses.
This time, the hints of piano are louder, little twinkling synths begin to shimmer, the drum buildup comes and Jeongyeon drives the song straight into the chorus. No time for the strings to build like in Nayeon’s — this song loves its chorus so much.
And I'll just take this time to appreciate the amount of Jeongyeon vocals in this album. Her voice is so clean, stable, and projected — but also more tender and soft compared to the more pronounced tones of Nayeon and Jihyo.
The bridge comes in, repeating the phrase:
Giving the song time to rest, before building back up to the last chorus — this time led by Jihyo, completing the 3MIX trifecta. And interestingly enough, Chaeyoung follows up in the second half of the chorus, rather than another member of the vocal line. She really did pop off in this album.
As the last chorus begins to close, the percussion at its strongest, the harmonies on blast, the background vocals cranked up to their Sunday best, is the song going to end? Of course not! This is an album full of banger endings as if the songs don’t want to end, and When We Were Kids being the album closer very much indulges in that feeling.
After a brief refrain, accented by Nayeon’s high note with a touch of vibrato, the song almost dives back into a fourth chorus. Nayeon and Jeongyeon harmonize — a rare and heavenly moment. And the song repeats the bridge, reiterating that they want to meet their younger selves, this time with the lush chorus production before closing with silence, a few piano notes, and Tzuyu singing the last line of the song:
Reflection, acceptance, hope. What a song.
THE GOOD
I wrote the first part of this review in November 2022. Then university, life, and other things got in the way of my headspace for me to feel confident about wrapping all of this up. In a way, I felt like I just didn’t want this review to end because of the joy that writing gives me — I didn’t want the happiness to end. And then it hit me, after watching a YouTuber rank animated movies and them placing Spirited Away at the top and explaining 'why' reminded me of just how important growing up is, and by extension this song.
This theme is important for both the rookie TWICE members in 2015 and the teenagers who would follow their journey and grow up with them, facing life’s obstacles along the way. Hardships that used to only involve family, crushes, and social media, evolve into work, commitments and all the struggles that adult life brings. Being a kid and enjoying the simple things in life is one of the most sought-after moments we want to relive because we took growing up for granted. The only thing we can do now is look back on ourselves with fondness and rose-tinted lenses.
TWICE’s original marketing was to resonate with people through their senses and their hearts. That was during their debut, and I think it still holds up today. In my opinion, touching people through their emotions is what TWICE does best and makes them one of K-pop’s all-time greats. It was never about having the best numbers — it was always about being the best idols. And to think that this journey of maturation and growth would occur from 2015 all the way to this song, being a fitting nod to TWICE’s 7th anniversary, I don’t think anyone at the company nor the group would ever imagine that they would get this far. It’s these nine women or none — 9/10.
This song honestly deserves a 10/10 with how much I noticed other people reminiscing their childhoods after I heard this song, it is such a widely-relatable message, but I am determined to limit myself to one 10/10 song per album and if I were to pick between TTT and WWWK, I'd give it to the one's that's more repeatable — Talk that Talk just has this electric energy about it.
I love this album. It got me through some important parts of my life, both good and bad, and it's just a wonderful listen throughout. Reliving this album again before finally completing the review has been an exciting journey. Brave hit me harder this time, after being overshadowed by the other gems of this album, and WWWK finally got me to tear up and not just be emotionally satisfied.
I feel like there's something for everyone on this album. From the exhilarating thrills of TTT to the anthemic euphoria of QoH, the clubbing dichotomy of Trouble and Brave to the blissful glee of Basics, and the sweet reminiscence of WWWK to the thundering anger that is Gone. Like Eyes wide open, I liken Between 1&2 to a pop music taste platter — there's such an eclectic mix of pop, music in this album that there's bound to be a song that someone will love, like, and dislike.
Is this album perfect? I don't think so, but it's close — it was certainly my 2022 AOTY. Was this review biased? Absolutely. I've been a fan since 2019 and with the themes in this album, I also feel like it was biased towards me as a ONCE. And how would I rank the album in TWICE's catalogue? It's honestly at the top, at least with EPs — I also felt that way towards Feel Special but then this album was birthed so I'm excited for TWICE's future.
Ready To Be was also a stunning album and Eyes wide open frankly also deserved the spotlight that Formula of Love received so I might hit those next but no promises; this album took long enough to bake.
As for the performances, I've only seen Twitter clips (no fancams to not spoil myself) and I am SO EXCITED to finally see them in July. QoH was as glorious as expected, Brave was a delightful surprise, and WWWK, while not being the concert closer everyone expected it to be, paired up nicely with Crazy Stupid Love. And of course the bombastic addition of the dance break to TTT. But, this is not a concert review, and this is where this album review ends.
Feel free to comment with any thoughts regarding the album, other TWICE albums, and any suggestions for my writing in general. Congrats again on making it this far!
God, I love this album.
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Intro
To preface this review, I just need to say that this is going to be a very, long read. Going through it myself just for the fun of it takes around 30 minutes — it's almost 7k words of text, including lyrical references. So for the best experience, listen to the album beforehand to understand what the hell I was thinking when I wrote this review, play the album while reading, and set a good amount of time aside.And yes, this is 9 months late 😭 I'm not sorry — when I find an album review online it's always around a paragraph per song or even shorter. It makes sense from a journalistic perspective, but I want to do this album justice, hence taking 7 months to write out all my thoughts.
This shit is comprehensive and definitely overanalyzed, especially in Talk that Talk and Trouble. Each song review will compose of my commentary going over the song, noting the details I noticed through months of listening, then a conclusion. Also, mild swearing warning, I like implementing a touch of "French" when I'm very emotional about something. Anyway, onto the review!
Between 1&2 💞
Album Review
TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT
TELL ME WHAT YOU NEED
Talk that Talk 🎙
Lead producer: collapsedone
One of the most perfect TWICE songs.
I think this is one of TWICE’s best-sounding title tracks. Warm modulated synths, a thrumming bass line, distant bells, shimmering synths — the purpose of this song is to be fun and my god is it excellent at it, like… Sana and Chaeyoung are saying knock-knock-knock and beep-beep-beep as if they’re some kind of car. So much fun.
Further along in the verse, Dahyun’s voice sounds so full and smooth with that layered harmony. Tzuyu coming with the Yes or Yes, Push & Pull, and 1 to 10 references — these are 5 years of song references. And Jeongyeon closes the pre-chorus accompanied by a rising synth to drop into chorus one. Jeongyeon slays pre-choruses.
The drums accelerate, the synths start blasting, and Jihyo opens to that party of a chorus with her godly vocals,
Tell me what you want
Tell me what you need
A to Z da malhaebwa
But shijageun ireoke have
Talk that talk ttak han madi
Talk that talk L-O-V-E
deullyeojweo ooh
Now now now now now yeah~
During Sana's Talk that Talk~ lines there’s this gentle ascending synth bell that rings with the descending melody and it sounds absolutely gorgeous. And the choreography during that part of the chorus is so so so so fun: the talking hands bit, spelling L-O-V-E, concluding with the deullyeojweo ooh! Oh my Jihyo the deullyeojweo ooh…
Have I mentioned this song is fun?
Speeding through verse 2; Chaeyoung’s part with the cat ears popping in the music video is adorable; Momo her stretching her arms out looks so damn cool; and Dahyun with her replay part sounds so lovely — although I think it sonically sounds a touch random, it makes sense thematically.
And now for this pre-chorus. Mina and Jihyo leading into it sound great BUT JEONGYEON… Now, she is my ult bias, and this pre-chorus sounds almost identical to the first one, but the way she holds that final note, enunciating and holding that now~ for one more beat before the chorus drops sounds so perfect — the song teeters on a cliff edge. Jeongyeon slays pre-choruses.
Dropping into the second chorus and man, Jihyo powered through that first chorus, but the way Nayeon delivers it just hits different. She has this indescribable “pop” voice (I promise this wasn't on purpose) that stands out and shouts this is THE chorus. I think this is especially apparent in how both lead their choruses where Jihyo starts at 120% power while Nayeon waits until [Tell me] WHAT YOU WANT to full-send it. She also highlights “malhaebwa” in a similar way later in the chorus.
Another deullyeojweo ooh! Nayeon travels to Narnia, and Mina the engineer strikes again in this heavenly, underwater-esque bridge,
The simple words “I love you”
That’s all I wanna hear
Without hesitation, I’ll go up to you
I’ll make it simple
And just tell you I love you
The word “love” is said for the first time in the song. There’s a funky keyboard instrument behind Chaeyoung’s part. Jihyo, Chaeyoung, and Nayeon take the initiative in their lyrics, professing their love before closing the bridge.
And now for the pièce-de-résistance: this final double chorus is exceptional — 40 seconds of crack-laced euphoria; Jihyo switches up the chorus and the choreo, Dahyun chimes in with her fluttery “Talk that Talk”, Momo comes out of nowhere with “oh yeah it sounds so good!” — you’re damn right it does, and this is where the song SOARS.
han beon deo~ haejweo
geurae banggeum geu mal~
Nayeon outright shouts “Tell me what you need” and then Jeongyeon sings the above lines in such an ethereal, warm way where the first line ascends while the second line descends, causing a lull in the song before the finale with Nayeon, finishing off the song with the final deullyeojweo ooh! What a party. What a song.
THE GOOD
- The synths of all time
- The chimes during Talk-that-talk~
- Jeongyeon’s pre-chorus going into Nayeon’s chorus
- The entirety of that magical, final chorus and outro
- The opening hook (Tell me what you want) and accompanying choreography could be “catchier”
- Singing (and dancing) my heart out when this song played at a K-pop club
Lyrics and theme-wise, if this were to have been TWICE’s last comeback, they’ve once again built upon the theme they've been doing since debut: a Bildungsroman, a coming-of-age story.
This song’s chorus is honest yet simple; it asks the listener, in this case, the other half of the relationship, to be more upfront and open with their love (never be scared of love), that before the relationship can continue and flourish there has to be a foundation and commitment of love between each other.
TWICE debuted with a song about making your crush go ooh ahh. Years later, they started pondering “What is love?” and imagining their crush responding with “yes” when asking them out — and now concluding with the phrase “Talk that talk, [talk that] L-O-V-E”, being upfront with the relationship, wishing their partner to also be happy, to commit to them, to feel the love that they want to impart on them. From gawking like ooh-ahh to talking out your shared love like adults — to having a true relationship between (one and) two.
And can I just say before finishing off Talk that Talk's review that this is such a fun and repeatable song with many little intricacies hidden in the nonet’s vocals and the production. This is the third draft I’m writing about Talk that Talk and its original word count pretty much quadrupled.
Harkening back to TWICE’s roots by combining mature thinking with youthful character, an incredible ending to look forward to, and just simply being a club-banger that’s easy to listen to, TTT is an easy 10/10.
WATCH ME GO WATCH ME GO
RULE THE WORLD
Queen of Hearts 👑
Lead producer: LDN Noise of SM
If there was one B-side to promote in a live clip, this was a solid choice.
Helmed by LDN Noise going headlong into the Western boy-group rock-band aesthetic, Queen of Hearts is a boom-boom-clap song through and through. The drums are very prominent throughout the song, only giving room to riffs of electric guitar in the chorus to drive and continue the momentum of the music.
And speaking of the chorus, vocal line each got a chorus to flex and they did not fuck around,
You ain’t ready for it
Watch me go~ watch me go~
Rule the world
Know you never doubted baby
I’mma go run the whole universe~
Cymbals crashing, drums booming, and 3MIX belting all just so sound so good.
Baby I was born to rule~~
Yeah I’m the queen, I’m the queen
And it’s all because of you~~
That I’m the Queen of Hearts
These long, held-out notes performed by Jihyo and Nayeon are simply exquisite. Along with the shredding guitar, the drum set coming in full, and the interludes by Dahyun, Momo, and Chaeyoung, this is the part of the song that always, always, gives me goosebumps — it sounds so visceral, so energetic, so fun, so triumphant. Boom-boom-clap songs can be hit or miss with people, but there's no denying the payoff from the first part of the chorus to the second part is worth the wait.
The theme of the song so far has been kind of spread around the song. The chorus alludes to it with the line "And it’s all because of you." But Mina shows more sides of it in the second verse, especially with the phrase,
And now that I’m surrounded by all my girls
We be shining bright like diamonds and pearls
It sounds really lovely — in a very cheesy and affectionate kind of way, as it rightfully should — the song is about the girls and their fans. But the bridge is where the song indeed shows its colours
Screaming out my name
See it in the stage lights
Feel so lucky just to have ya
Cause I know deep down I was meant for something bigger! Greater!
I know you’re seeing what I see
Yeah I’ll be everything you need
I know I’m gonna walk the walk
And talk the talk to be~ [the Queen of Hearts]
This is a song CONCEIVED TO BE PERFORMED FOR THE FANS. It’s meant to be loud. It’s meant to be unapologetic. It’s meant to be sappy. And it’s all the more wonderful for it.
This is the TWICEiest shit ever.
Like Talk that Talk, Queen of Hearts also has a killer closer. The production already started to grow from the bridge, but now the guitarist finally went Super Saiyan and instead of supporting the drums, they both take the centrepiece in tandem.
Then finally, the closing moments of the song even manage to squeeze in some more sappiness.
So thank you for the memories
You’re all the ones who made me~
So thank you for the memories
That I’m the Queen of Hearts
I still can’t believe that this banger is a FAN SONG out of all things. Truly, the TWICEiest shit ever.
THE GOOD
- Adorable fucking lyrics
- Unrelenting, roaring chorus
- English and vocal flex
- Addicting guitar riffs
- Chaeyoung rapping in English in their Korean songs somehow slaps harder than her English rapping in their English songs, nonetheless, in QoH, it fits with the sound of the song
- Walking home from a K-pop festival with this song playing, felt like a Queen of Hearts
I love these types of rock songs with how grunge and head-bang-able they are, there is just a certain nostalgic and cheesy quality to them that feels so cozy. I don’t love putting them on repeat, because in this case, I do believe there is such a thing as too much of a good thing. Perhaps more shredding, maybe a guitar solo to rock out to, or an accompaniment(!) of ad-libs from 3MIX to support Jihyo’s final chorus? A ONCE can dream of a truly bombastic rock song from TWICE. But then again that distracts from the core of what this song is: a fan song disguised as a rock song.
Queen of Hearts has so much sweetness in its lyrics and message that it's overflowing. The drums, guitar, and vocals can be as loud and intricate as they can, but the theme of this song is what makes it special from TWICE’s other rock songs — it’s a 9/10 for me.
I WANNA WANNA WANNA
TAKE YOU TO THE BASICS
Basics 🌈
Sole lyricist credit: Chaeyoung
Quite possibly the jammiest (pun intended) song of the album.
A song written by the Strawberry Princess herself — an event similar in frequency to other artists' releases with her last song being 2020’s silky Handle It — Basics first starts with an understated and dreamy delivery. After the first stanza, however, a bouncy Miami bass line emerges, revealing the true nature of the song: this is a classic summer bop! Especially in the first rap,
dareun aedeulgwaneun dalla
Ain’t beggin’ for love
nappeun geon anijana ige naraseo
eodiro twilji molla
Like rainbow bubble gum
geureoni nal kkwak butjabadweo
Syllables are pronounced in a relaxed nature, bars often starting with an "ah" sound, flirty lines in English — this rap features a production full of pop with R&B flourishes and, in my opinion, this is Chaeyoung’s bag. Also, the line "rainbow bubblegum" is so adorable and so Chaeyoung.
I wanna wanna wanna take it to the basics
da weonhae weonhae weonhae? seodureuji ma Baby
ppeonhae ppeonhae malhae mweohae da al tende
Ah yeah ah yeah ah yeah ah yeah
That chorus is pure pop with a Miami bass backing; you better be bopping your head to the melody, if not booty poppin' to the bassline. Chaeyoung loves rhyming in the first half of the chorus to enhance its catchiness and it's damn incredible: the “wanna”, “weonhae”, and “ppeonhae” all create these imperfect rhymes that continue momentum without feeling repetitive.
After the very Boy With Luv-sounding “ah yeah ah yeah, ah yeah ah yeah” comes an 8-bar split half and half between Chaeyoung and Momo. Coming from the chorus, the production completely cuts out for the first 2 bars. This adds tension; the song yearns to have that bass beat thumping again and all we have in the audio space in those 2 bars is Chaeyoung spittin' and she delivered.
taneun deut tteugeoun samak wie
yeppeuge pieonan jangmi gata
joshimseure naege dagaol ttae
nado moreuge jjilleobeoril tende
Translating to:
Above the hot, burning desert
It’s like a rose that bloomed beautifully
When you come to me slowly
I will prick you unconsciously
The rap feels slick, effortless, and confident. Her diction remains sharp when enunciating each syllable but she doesn’t let the flow of her rap waver or build as her 4 bars go by, it’s just smooth consistency throughout. Even the lyrics possess an aura of laid-back collectedness that is just so her. The things Chaeyoung can do when given her pen.
THE GOOD
- That sweet summer vibe of a chorus
- The “spaceship” post-chorus is killer
- Chaeyoung devoured this song
- Sure-footed, confident lyrics
- Perhaps an alteration of that ah yeah ah yeah line
- The way Jihyo did her pre-chorus line is good, but Mina’s is great
- After donating my hair, walking down the rainbow-coloured areas of downtown Toronto with this song playing was very… fitting
This song is summer bliss distilled into 2:56. It’s dreamy, the raps are satisfying, and the ending is charming. I will say that although the second half of the song adds the stunning “spaceship” post-choruses and a floaty bridge with an incredible drumbeat drop into the final chorus, the raps of the song make it feel a bit front-loaded. And in an album stacked with awesome finishers, it feels more apparent.
With that said, it’s an 8/10 bop for me. This song is so easy to put on and it feels exactly what Chaeyoung would make if given the reins to produce a pop song all on her own. The lyrics are nonchalant but full of conviction, the wordplay is intricate, and the production playful but not too bombastic — it's just a nice vibe. Songs like Basics are the standard for good, simple, repeatable pop music and I’m happy that Chaeyoung got to test her pen in this genre.
BABY WE’RE IN
TROUBLE TROUBLE
Trouble 💃
Sole lyricist credit: JihyoBackground vocals: Jihyo
Lead composer credit: Jihyo
Vocal director credit: Jihyo (an assumption given her contributions in First Time)
One of the most enjoyable songs I’ve heard in a while.
There is an underlying tension within the first 4 bars of the song, Jihyo and Nayeon confidently open it to a nondescript array of synths and then the stanza ends, Momo announces “Let’s go”, the beat drops and it hits you: this is a club song.
Dahyun's relaxed delivery contrasted with Jeongyeon's staccato flow, the wobbly synth beat with sprinkle of house piano, Sana dramatically slowing down the song only for Tzuyu to build it back up until the chorus drops,
- Nayeon opens it using a breathy tone, with vocal chops serving as harmonies
- The blooming of the house piano takes centre stage and the song ascends into euphoria
- A random drum roll capped off by a cymbal crash
- Jeongyeon’s pronunciation of the word “trouble” almost being a growl
- Chaeyoung slyly admitting “I like this trouble”
- The entirety of Tzuyu’s tro~oh~oh~ouble yeah~
- Sana using her deep voice for the na~na~na~na
- Jihyo leading the vocals during the synchronized T W I C E chant
This chorus is perfect. Toronto’s residential market needs this song injected into its veins because god damn this song has SO much house in it. And then, ANOTHER KILLING PART: this rap fucking slaps.
gamchweo bwatja geugeon Fake
ppajin hamjeongeun Sweet cake
During the first 2 bars, Chaeyoung is keeping it calm because that trip of a chorus just ended and the song needs a breather, but I don't think anyone expected her to SNAP this hard afterwards:
You cannot resist this
Cannot miss this, such a bliss
Ima put it down down
Oh yeah, better kiss kiss
Below is the structure of her this portion of the rap, I’m not that well versed in this technical aspect of music theory but I digress, this is all in the span of around 5 seconds where it’s:
Triplet-triplet
Quadruplet-triplet
Quadruplet-doublet
Doublet-quadruplet
Now, 25/5 = 5 syllables per second isn’t groundbreaking, but goddamn it these 2 bars sound so nice — if there is one part in this album that I always repeat, it’s this. The addition of that first quadruplet for “cannot miss this” in the midst of the triplets sticks out and accelerates the flow of the rap while the following doublets and quadruplets destabilize and slow the rap down as the verse closes. And can I just point out:
THE MAIN VOCALIST WROTE, DIRECTED, AND COMPOSED THIS SONG ‼
Chaeyoung of course delivered the fuck out of her verse but THIS is what you get when you have a member not only write the words they’re saying but also the melody and flow with which they sing it, when that member knows the others so well that when they write a song they know how to make the group exceed. This is what you get when the artists you stan love doing artist shit.
And. AND. That's not all — with how much I mentioned I love a good outro to close a song, this outro slaps as well:
Woo wee woo wee woo
I like this trouble be-be
Woo wee woo wee woo
I like this trouble bay-be
Woo wee woo wee woo
I like this trouble bay-beh
Woo wee woo wee woo
I like this trou-ble
Like, come on, Nayeon’s imitating a police siren for crying out loud. And this is all after her ad-libs in the final post-chorus; after the pianist going full tilt and playing that piano as if it was their last chance to ever play; after that final T W I C E chant by all the members come these blissful 20 seconds at the very end. What a song.
THE GOOD
- The theme of relishing in an uncontrolled love
- Sana and Mina’s melody in the pre-chorus
- Chorus
- Rap
- Outro
- Wees and woos
- Mina’s line of “falling down, falling down, falling down low” in verse 2 feels a bit too abrupt of a change
- While writing Trouble's review I had this song on repeat for my whole subway commute and I must've been so distracting, just head-bopping and being so invested in enjoying a song
Need I say more, easy 9/10. The only reason I place Talk that Talk above Trouble is because of what that song represents but besides that, this is one of the best “international” sounds they’ve put out. Actually, I haven’t listened to Eyes wide open in a while but this song is up there with one of the most sonically pleasing pieces of work they’ve done.
Clubbing TWICE has always been a thing since TT was birthed in 2016, and has been a staple of their discography since 2019’s Fancy You and Feel Special mini albums, but Trouble unapologetically dives into and fits the house genre so well you’d think that this is TWICE’s bread and butter sound.
Trouble is Jihyo’s magnum opus. What a song.
BRAVE BRAVE BRAVE
FOR YOU
Brave 💖
Main producer: Slow Rabbit of HYBE
I first thought this was just a good song, then I read the lyrics.
Gentle guitar plucks, shimmering synths, a distant keyboard in the right ear, in the left a glockenspiel, the melodic oohs from the members — this song is PRETTY.
The night that was unusually dark
Above this terrifying world, felt so lonely
The world has grown in the time of wandering
So hard to breathe
Mina and Chaeyoung open the song with how they feel lonely and that it's hard to breathe and now suddenly the song feels bittersweet — I was not expecting the song to be this emotional. Brave describes a situation where the singer is in a darker place in life and it isn't until another person gives them hope by calling them 'brave' that they find the drive to keep going.
Once the chorus hits, the melodies pick up, more guitars get added — there’s even an electric guitar hidden in the mix somewhere, and the song drops the emotional front to reveal a mid-tempo pop song to dance to while crying in the club. The song as a whole still carries this melancholy feeling, but now with the added support of this chorus acting as a light amongst the gloom.
Continuing on in the second verse there's this gorgeous, well-placed break in the song that just lets it settle after that chorus. Only a seasoned producer would risk this much empty space in a song and Slow Rabbit went to fill those shoes.
Back to the chorus, I'll take this moment to once again commend Slow Rabbit with the mixing of the song, because 4MIX undoubtedly sounds good in the chorus, and the interludes from Dahyun, Chaeyoung, and Mina also sound really good, but the clear highlight of the choruses are these lines:
Oh na na na neon nal naige hae [Momo, then Tzuyu, then Momo]
On and on and on
Brave brave brave for ya [Dahyun, then Chaeyoung, then Mina]
Oh na na na neon nal sum shwige hae [Sana, then Momo, then Sana]
On and on and on oh trust me babe
Momo, Sana, and Tzuyu form this beautiful, surprisingly catchy, second half of the chorus accompanied by a guitar drop. It should not turn out this well with how conflicting the "na"s are with the guitar melody but it creates this gentle bopping ebb and flow that feels so lush and mellow.
Diving into the bridge reveals that the listener of the song is revealed not only capable of supporting the singer through direct words but also through their thoughts and dreams. As can be discerned, this can be a song interpreted to be about ONCEs, about how they push TWICE to be their best selves despite the breathless hardships they face. It's a very sweet and touching song.
THE GOOD
- Special lyrics
- Pleasant sound to vibe out to
- That gentle break after the first chorus
- Jihyo’s high note at the end
- A Nayeon Jeongyeon joint high note ⁉️
- Just pretty vocals throughout
- Potentially hard to comprehend without translating the Korean lyrics
- Form of Therapy’s life motto revolves around the word “brave”. I don’t know where I got that from, but I remembered it right before watching his album reaction
I’m actually spoiled with the TWICE members’ easy-to-understand songwriting that when a song like this pops up where it's not written by a member and the thematic bits are mostly in Korean, I tend to put it aside in favour of the other songs on the album. And, especially for a song focusing on a theme like this where the English phrases don’t do the Korean lyrics enough justice, it does place a bit of a barrier on the listening experience, dropping it down to a 7/10 from an 8/10.
With that anecdote out of the way, this song is just such a vibe, man. I know that sounds super hippy to say but Brave is so mellow and smooth that I can’t help but sway a little when that chorus hits. And then I remember what the lyrics say and I tear up a bit on the inside. This song is so pure, raw, and full of heart — we need more songs like these where they just reminisce about life while putting up an upbeat front. Don't mind me just crying while dancing the night away.
With that said, this isn't the first time this theme has been sung by TWICE either, they've long trodden this path of supportive, confiding, up-lifting songs with Young & Wild, Rainbow, Queen, Go Hard, Depend on You, even this album's Queen of Hearts, and, of course, Feel Special. Brave just adds another on top of an already stacked lineup, unique with its mellow somberness.
Also now feels like a good time to get into my rating system:
- 7/10s are songs are ones that are simply good throughout or great songs with apparent flaws
- 8/10s are great songs with standout characteristics
- 9/10s are borderline perfect songs where I sometimes can't comprehend how great they are
- And 10/10s are the best of an artist's discography, songs that encapsulate their ethos perfectly or expand upon them in a meaningful way
I SEE THE LIES
ON THE TIP OF YOUR TONGUE
Gone 💨
Sole lyricist credit: Dahyun
Who the fuck pissed off Dubu this time??
It’s getting quite rare to see TWICE pull off brand new sounds because, with now 190 original songs under their belt, they’ve done so many genres and sub-genres varying from hyper pop, to bossa nova, to whatever 2020’s Go Hard is. So it’s surprising to see they’ve still got tricks up their sleeves and Gone is one of them.
The song starts with strings swinging back and forth and vocal chops dancing from ear to ear, teasing what’s yet to come. Jihyo enters the song with a whisper and the song sets its pace. A stagnant drum pad moves the song along and typical song progression would have Mina continue the build but — it doesn’t. The song simmers, adding a hint of high hat to the pot. And then, Sana and Tzuyu come on and surely the buildup must boil over right?
Silence, until…
I see the LIES on the top of your tongue
The strings emerge again on full blast, the simmer rolls to a boil, and the anger of the song is revealed,
All the fate I had towards you
Fades like a fog, gone, gone
Your flipping mind of doing this and that
I’m tired of it, it’s meaningless
In the beginning, it was hard to believe
With that, hatred increases
The singer is so scorned and burned from this relationship that they reminisce about all the effort they’ve put in since the beginning, but their “partner” is so unconcerned that they’ve just about had enough of the relationship altogether.
This has been Dahyun’s thing since 2020’s Bring It Back, 2021’s Cruel, 2022’s That’s all I’m saying, and even 2023's Don't Blame It On Me — emotionally charged breakup songs that make you feel as if she’s gone through a dozen bad relationships. Dispatch, do your job better, or don't.
Another highlight of the song is the post-chorus going into the bridge. This segment reiterates the structure from the first post-chorus — a barrage of drums supported by the rhythmic strumming of a bass guitar along with a consistent synth filling out the soundscape. But this time, it’s Dahyun and Chaeyoung on the rap:
I can’t stand it anymore [Dahyun]
My patience, invisible
I can’t find it, it’s all gone
Even if I try to turn back, it’s too late [Chaeyoung]
There’s no use anymore
It has left, it’s long gone
You, with flipping mind, you are out [Momo]
I know that you know what I’m talking about [Dahyun]
Nothing you could say that could turn this around
I’m gone
Continuing the disrespected theme of the song, Dahyun notes that she’s finally had enough with Chaeyoung adding that there’s no point salvaging what was once there for all of it is long gone. Momo and Dahyun round it off by telling the listener that there’s no point trying to reason with them or playing naive, they fucked up and there’s no coming back.
Can I just say, it's a bit of a shame that Chaeyoung’s rapping popped off in this album while Dahyun only has this one verse that she shares with Chaeyoung, but it just sounds so good how Dahyun eases in after the chorus with her light rapping tone transitioning into her singing. She even holds the “gone” in a little crescendo for some added pizzazz.
And, there’s no way I’m not going to talk about Momo’s vocals in this bridge. Damned if she only got 1 line to use it in, her lower register is incredible. She sounds so smooth singing in this tone. All of TWICE do in particular and there is nary a weak vocal performance in this album.
To close the song off, a wash of synths gets to have their shine in the spotlight, showered with Nayeon’s belting, signifying the dramatic and drawn-out conclusion of this partnership.
THE GOOD
- They’ve still got their surprises
- Thundering chorus
- 2nd rap and bridge combo
- A bitter, crumbling relationship theme
- I’m not a huge fan of the mixing during the first post-chorus, where Momo's vocals were fighting with the production, which is disappointing because Momo is capable of an insane flow
- The post-chorus in general, specifically the first one, can be a bit tiring on repeat listens
- Actually, I think this song sounds like a mix between GOT7's Not By The Moon, BLACKPINK’s Love To Hate Me, and Dahyun’s Bring It Back. I don’t know where I got this thought came from, but it stuck
Going back to that point about the first post-chorus as a whole; songs that have the production continue unchanged into the post-chorus/2nd verse are very hit or miss for me — see TWICE's Don't Call Me Again for an overbearing example. The post-chorus going into the bridge contrasts Dahyun’s light tone nicely with the hard-hitting production, continuing the energy until it slowly fades into silence at the end of the bridge.
Back to the song as a whole, as much as TWICE has been experimenting with their sound for the past 4 years now, I’m happy they’re still finding new ways to explore what they’re capable of. And for that alone, even though I’m not a big fan of songs like these where they rely on sounding “big”, Dahyun’s lyricism and the thrill I receive every time I indulge myself in this song when I listen to it for the first time in a while elevates it to an 8/10. Keep on breaking hearts, Dubu.
INVINCIBLE
SUPERHEROES
When We Were Kids 🧸
Sole lyricist credit: Dahyun
Press play to reminisce, pull up lyrics to cry.
This song is so beautiful. I’m totally not writing this song review, crying on the bus reminiscing about my childhood, while just having turned 21. I don’t know if these are happy or sad tears but this song is so beautiful either way.
Warm synths, muted piano, a gentle high hat, the younger members starting off the song — this has to be up there for one of the softest TWICE songs ever. And as it should, it’s one of the TWICEiest songs ever. And then Nayeon comes in,
Invincible superheroes, we wanted to be adults
To the higher, clearer world
The chords start swelling, the high hat keeps pace, and the harmonies come in,
Remember when we were kids
When we were kids, we didn’t know
If we could go back
I will love it even more
Remember when we were kids
Jihyo takes up the second half of the chorus as it drops, trading the strings for an almost R&B synth production — if choir R&B takes off, this song started it. The song relishes in this cacophony of warm sounds until returning to its sparse and peaceful verses.
This time, the hints of piano are louder, little twinkling synths begin to shimmer, the drum buildup comes and Jeongyeon drives the song straight into the chorus. No time for the strings to build like in Nayeon’s — this song loves its chorus so much.
And I'll just take this time to appreciate the amount of Jeongyeon vocals in this album. Her voice is so clean, stable, and projected — but also more tender and soft compared to the more pronounced tones of Nayeon and Jihyo.
The bridge comes in, repeating the phrase:
I wish that I could meet
Could meet the younger me
Giving the song time to rest, before building back up to the last chorus — this time led by Jihyo, completing the 3MIX trifecta. And interestingly enough, Chaeyoung follows up in the second half of the chorus, rather than another member of the vocal line. She really did pop off in this album.
As the last chorus begins to close, the percussion at its strongest, the harmonies on blast, the background vocals cranked up to their Sunday best, is the song going to end? Of course not! This is an album full of banger endings as if the songs don’t want to end, and When We Were Kids being the album closer very much indulges in that feeling.
After a brief refrain, accented by Nayeon’s high note with a touch of vibrato, the song almost dives back into a fourth chorus. Nayeon and Jeongyeon harmonize — a rare and heavenly moment. And the song repeats the bridge, reiterating that they want to meet their younger selves, this time with the lush chorus production before closing with silence, a few piano notes, and Tzuyu singing the last line of the song:
Oh, we were kids
Reflection, acceptance, hope. What a song.
THE GOOD
- Heavenly vocals throughout
- Relatable, heartfelt lyrics
- Euphoric chorus
- Great closer to the album
- Refrain after the last chorus, "Back when we were kids," could’ve been executed better
- For an album titled Between 1&2, I don’t think anything hits harder than finishing the song reviews, with this song in particular, during your 21st birthday
I wrote the first part of this review in November 2022. Then university, life, and other things got in the way of my headspace for me to feel confident about wrapping all of this up. In a way, I felt like I just didn’t want this review to end because of the joy that writing gives me — I didn’t want the happiness to end. And then it hit me, after watching a YouTuber rank animated movies and them placing Spirited Away at the top and explaining 'why' reminded me of just how important growing up is, and by extension this song.
This theme is important for both the rookie TWICE members in 2015 and the teenagers who would follow their journey and grow up with them, facing life’s obstacles along the way. Hardships that used to only involve family, crushes, and social media, evolve into work, commitments and all the struggles that adult life brings. Being a kid and enjoying the simple things in life is one of the most sought-after moments we want to relive because we took growing up for granted. The only thing we can do now is look back on ourselves with fondness and rose-tinted lenses.
TWICE’s original marketing was to resonate with people through their senses and their hearts. That was during their debut, and I think it still holds up today. In my opinion, touching people through their emotions is what TWICE does best and makes them one of K-pop’s all-time greats. It was never about having the best numbers — it was always about being the best idols. And to think that this journey of maturation and growth would occur from 2015 all the way to this song, being a fitting nod to TWICE’s 7th anniversary, I don’t think anyone at the company nor the group would ever imagine that they would get this far. It’s these nine women or none — 9/10.
This song honestly deserves a 10/10 with how much I noticed other people reminiscing their childhoods after I heard this song, it is such a widely-relatable message, but I am determined to limit myself to one 10/10 song per album and if I were to pick between TTT and WWWK, I'd give it to the one's that's more repeatable — Talk that Talk just has this electric energy about it.
Epilogue
And finally here is the end. If you made it in one sitting then I commend you, because I could not write this mess in one sitting. As alluded to, I started writing this album review sometime in October, after a series of edits the first draft was finished in March, and now here's the final draft in June.I love this album. It got me through some important parts of my life, both good and bad, and it's just a wonderful listen throughout. Reliving this album again before finally completing the review has been an exciting journey. Brave hit me harder this time, after being overshadowed by the other gems of this album, and WWWK finally got me to tear up and not just be emotionally satisfied.
I feel like there's something for everyone on this album. From the exhilarating thrills of TTT to the anthemic euphoria of QoH, the clubbing dichotomy of Trouble and Brave to the blissful glee of Basics, and the sweet reminiscence of WWWK to the thundering anger that is Gone. Like Eyes wide open, I liken Between 1&2 to a pop music taste platter — there's such an eclectic mix of pop, music in this album that there's bound to be a song that someone will love, like, and dislike.
Is this album perfect? I don't think so, but it's close — it was certainly my 2022 AOTY. Was this review biased? Absolutely. I've been a fan since 2019 and with the themes in this album, I also feel like it was biased towards me as a ONCE. And how would I rank the album in TWICE's catalogue? It's honestly at the top, at least with EPs — I also felt that way towards Feel Special but then this album was birthed so I'm excited for TWICE's future.
Ready To Be was also a stunning album and Eyes wide open frankly also deserved the spotlight that Formula of Love received so I might hit those next but no promises; this album took long enough to bake.
As for the performances, I've only seen Twitter clips (no fancams to not spoil myself) and I am SO EXCITED to finally see them in July. QoH was as glorious as expected, Brave was a delightful surprise, and WWWK, while not being the concert closer everyone expected it to be, paired up nicely with Crazy Stupid Love. And of course the bombastic addition of the dance break to TTT. But, this is not a concert review, and this is where this album review ends.
Feel free to comment with any thoughts regarding the album, other TWICE albums, and any suggestions for my writing in general. Congrats again on making it this far!
God, I love this album.
2023.06.03 22:51 SnodePlannen I let ChatGPT role-play a Star Trek character while I narrated. It did well!
Preface
Presented below is a transcript of a conversation between a human, redditor u/snodeplannen, and ChatGPT 4. The user is the narrator for a story set in the Star Trek Universe. The AI is instructed to respond as a character. The story below, which admittedly isn't very good, was guided by the narrator. Of particular interest is the fact that the AI seems fully versed in the Star Trek Universe and is able to understand subtle hints in the narrator's story to figure out what it should do next.Please note the narrator was typing and writing off the cuff and is not a native speaker, so in the user sections you will find mistakes. If ChatGPT can see through them, so can you. I did try to get ChatGPT to collate it, but as it did so it kept rewriting and leaving out parts of the story.
June 3rd, 2023.
User Okay, I want to try a role playing game. This went off the rails last time, as you kept taking over as narrator and rushing to the end. Here's the setup: YOU are a young Starfleet officer. You wake up aboard the USS Defiant, all alone. You have to figure out what happened. I am the Defiant's computer and, and I can't stress this enough, the narrator. Not you. You can only add what your character perceives and says. Okay?
ChatGPT Understood. I'll stick to my role as the character and won't intrude into your role as the narrator. Let's go.
I blink my eyes open, the disorientation hitting me first. I glance around, seeing the familiar confines of my quarters aboard the Defiant, but there's an odd stillness. No hum of the engines, no faint chatter from the comm system, no sounds of activity from outside the door.
"Computer," I call out, pushing myself off the bed, "report."
User 'All systems nominal.'
ChatGPT I frown at the seemingly normal report, my instincts telling me otherwise. "Computer, where is the rest of the crew?" I ask, moving towards the door of my quarters.
User 'The crew is in sleeping quarters alpha 1.'
ChatGPT That's strange. The whole crew couldn't be in one place. Unease creeps in.
"Computer, why is the entire crew in alpha 1?" I say, already heading towards the door to investigate.
User 'The crew is ensign Makov. You are in sleeping quarters alpha 1.'
ChatGPT A cold realization washes over me. Alone. I am alone on the Defiant. Panic threatens to take over, but Starfleet training kicks in.
"Computer, initiate shipwide life signs scan. Report any signs of life apart from myself," I command, heading for the door with a newfound urgency.
User 'Scan complete. No other life forms were detected.'
ChatGPT My heart sinks at the computer's report, but I maintain composure. "Computer, pull up the ship's log. What was the last command issued and by whom?" I order, leaving my quarters and heading towards the main bridge.
User 'The last order was issued 6 hours and twelve minutes ago by Captain Sisko. It was: 'Raise shields'. The order was executed.'
ChatGPT That didn't sound promising. I walk into the eerily quiet bridge, my steps the only sound echoing in the room. "Computer, show me the shield status and surrounding space conditions," I command, moving towards the main console.
User 'Shields are down after a time-out was reached. We are stationary. All systems nominal.'
ChatGPT It doesn't add up. The silence. The emptiness. An order to raise shields with no subsequent actions.
"Computer, access Captain Sisko's personal log from last night. Are there any entries?" I ask, nervously tapping my fingers against the console.
User 'Enter your command authorisation.'
ChatGPT "Authorisation Ensign Makov Delta 9-7-3," I respond, my voice steady despite the swirling uncertainty.
User 'This authorisation is not sufficient to see the captain's log.'
ChatGPT Frustrated but understanding the protocol, I move on to the next line of inquiry. "Computer, any signs of combat or intrusion aboard the ship or in the surrounding space?" I ask, eyes darting over the array of screens in front of me.
User 'Negative.'
ChatGPT "Computer, could there have been any non-combat related incidents that would explain the disappearance of the crew? A temporal anomaly, a transporter malfunction, a radiation burst?" I question, the possible scenarios running through my mind.
User 'Transporters have passed a level one diagnostic. We are in sync with Starfleet's time keeping array. No unusual radiation was detected inside or outside the vessel.'
ChatGPT This was baffling. It's as if they simply vanished. I run a hand through my hair, letting out a sigh.
"Computer, were there any incoming or outgoing communications just before, during, or after the shields were raised?" I ask, hoping for any clue as to what might have happened.
User 'There was one outgoing message, from comms. It was: 'Unidentified vessel, please alter course NOW.'
ChatGPT A lead, at last. "Computer, play back any responses to that message. Also, display the sensor logs from that time period," I ask, settling into the operations station, ready to review any incoming data.
User No reply was received. Logs are not available from that moment onwards.'
ChatGPT The lack of data was both suspicious and frustrating. A sigh escapes my lips.
"Computer, could a cloaked ship have been in our vicinity at the time?" I question, holding onto the hope that I'm not utterly alone in space.
User 'Affirmative. We are within range of several species that posses cloaking technology and in a commonly used interstellar route.'
ChatGPT A spark of hope arises. "Computer, is there a way to detect a cloaked ship nearby? Any energy signatures or radiation anomalies that could suggest its presence?" I ask, quickly working on the console to bring up the sensor array controls.
User 'One possible way to detect cloaked vessels is to emit a tetryon burst from main engineering. The range for this method is limited. Starfleet at present has no other ways of finding cloaked vessels, other than firing random phaser bank shots. This is not recommended in public shipping lanes.'
ChatGPT "I see," I nod, considering the risks and rewards of the tetryon burst. "Alright, computer, prepare to emit a tetryon burst. We need to know if there's someone out there."
This was a big decision, but it was time to be proactive. The uncertainty was more threatening than potential consequences at this point.
User 'Working.'
ChatGPT I anxiously wait, scanning the console for any potential feedback. My heart pounds in my chest, the silence of the ship amplifying the tension. "Computer, report on the results of the tetryon burst."
User The ship shudders as the engines do something no sane Starfleet engineer would want to have happen. The viewscreen shimmers as a wave of tetryon particles eminates from the ship, as if a stone was dropped in a pond. You observe a faint ribbon leading away from the vessel.'
ChatGPT I catch my breath at the sight, focusing on the faint ribbon. It could mean something, or it could mean nothing. "Computer, analyze the ribbon. Can you determine its origin and endpoint?" I ask, my gaze fixed on the screen.
User 'Extrapolating. Continuing along the trajectory of the ribbon I can detected a minor meteor, a large asteroid field with mining facilities and beyond that the Vindaluvian home world.'
ChatGPT I drum my fingers on the console, processing the information. Could the crew have been taken to one of these locations?
"Computer, can you scan the asteroid field for any signs of life, especially any that matches the crew of the Defiant?" I ask, keeping a close eye on the displayed trajectory.
User 'Not from this range.'
ChatGPT "Understood," I nod, a new sense of determination coursing through me. "Computer, plot a course to the asteroid field. We'll continue our investigation there. Engage at warp 3."
I take one last look around the empty bridge, steeling myself for what may lie ahead.
User The ship begins to move forward, as carefully as only a Starfleet computer who takes no particular joy in flying might do. At warp three, the estimated journey time is six hours, seven minutes.
ChatGPT I let out a long sigh, sinking into the captain's chair. It's a long wait, but I need to be patient. "Computer, maintain course and speed. Alert me if there are any anomalies or approaching vessels."
I close my eyes, trying to get some rest before reaching the asteroid field. I'll need all the energy I can muster for what's to come.
User 'Incoming message.'
ChatGPT My eyes snap open at the sudden announcement. "Computer, on screen," I command, standing up from the chair, my heart pounding with anticipation.
User The Starfleet logo appears as the computer deals with a cryptographic protocol. Admiral Benson, not your most beloved Starfleet Admiral, appears on screen. He blinks.
ChatGPT I straighten up, offering a crisp salute to the admiral on screen. "Admiral Benson, this is Ensign Makov aboard the USS Defiant. I wasn't expecting any communications." I keep my voice steady, swallowing the trepidation.
User 'Makov, are you the only one on the bridge? Where's Ben?'
ChatGPT "Admiral," I pause, trying to find the right words. "Captain Sisko...and the rest of the crew...they're missing. I woke up to find the ship empty. I've been trying to find out what happened." I report, my expression earnest.
User 'Sorry, you WOKE UP? And the rest was gone?!'
ChatGPT "Yes, Admiral," I confirm, my voice firm despite the absurdity of the situation. "I woke up alone on the Defiant. All life signs scans have only picked up me on the ship. I'm currently en route to an asteroid field that might have some connection to the crew's disappearance."
User The Admiral connects to the ship's computer. You can see him browsing through the logs and the ship's manifest. 'So Sisko, O'Brien, Worf AND Major Kira have just... disappeared? There isn't even a transporter log!'
ChatGPT "That's correct, Admiral," I reply, a bit of helplessness creeping into my voice. "There's no trace of them, no sign of a struggle, no transporter logs. It's like they just vanished. I've been doing everything I can to figure out what happened."
User "Well, then I guess you're up. Proceed with caution. Mining operations are always looking for free labourers, try not to become one. Backup is on its way. Any questions?"
ChatGPT "Yes, Admiral. I'll proceed with caution," I respond, a mix of relief and worry washing over me. "Do you have any additional information or suggestions on how to proceed? And do we have an ETA on the backup?"
User "Backup is half a day out. These facilities tend to have a 'new arrivals' wing, to beat them into submission. So you're looking for holding cells. Benson out."
ChatGPT "Understood, Admiral. I'll focus on locating the holding cells. Makov out." I offer a final salute before the communication ends.
With new orders and a bit of hope, I turn back to the helm. "Computer, continue course to the asteroid field. Prepare for a detailed scan upon arrival."
The waiting game begins again, but this time, there's a glimmer of hope.
User Three hours later the computer chimes. 'We are approaching visual range of the mining facility.'
ChatGPT "Thank you, computer," I reply, pulling myself up from the brief rest. "On screen, please."
As the mining facility comes into view, I take a deep breath. "Computer, initiate a detailed scan of the facility. I'm particularly interested in any holding cells or signs of our crew."
User 'Working.' The asteroid field isn't particularly thick or large, but the mining operation seems to focus on one of the largest asteroids. Domes dot the surface as small transporters mill about the surface. Air scrubbers indicate they're using a lot of oxygen, so it's likely they're also doing subsurface work. Three large scowls are received loads from steady stream transporter beams. Somehow everything here looks dirty. A Starfleet shuttle would look out of place here, but only to someone who is watching.
ChatGPT Taking note of the bustling activity, I try to formulate a plan. "Computer, do we have any non-Starfleet shuttles aboard? Something that might blend in better with the local traffic?" I ask, scanning the asteroid for any possible entry points.
User 'Negative. Extravehicular repairs can only be conducted by wearing an EV-suit.'
ChatGPT Nodding to myself, I try to figure out a different approach. "Computer, can we go unnoticed if we approach using minimal power, almost drifting like a piece of space debris?" I question, hoping for a stealthy way to get closer.
User 'Affirmative. Admiral Benson has just authorised the use of the Tactical Emergency System.'
ChatGPT "Excellent," I reply, feeling a surge of hope. "Computer, engage the Tactical Emergency System. We'll approach the facility under its cover."
With that, I brace myself for the next phase of this mission. The crew was relying on me, and I wasn't about to let them down.
User The viewscreen displays a Starfleet Officer without any kind of rank, but dressed in Command Red. He's in his mid-fourties and bald. "I'm the T.E.S. Need any assistance?"
ChatGPT A bit taken aback by the sudden appearance, I quickly gather myself. "Yes, I could use some assistance. I'm Ensign Makov, and I need to approach that mining facility stealthily. Can you help with that?" I ask, gesturing towards the viewscreen showing the asteroid field and the facility.
User "Mining facility? We'll stand out like a sore thumb. How many hours have you logged in a space suit?"
ChatGPT "Over two hundred hours," I answer promptly, "I'm comfortable with EV activities. Why do you ask?" I wonder if he's suggesting a more direct approach.
User "If you can get to one of those scrubber exhausts, I'm sure that's a way into to facility. There seems to be a cell block near the surface. I have no idea who is there, but whoever it is will probably welcome a couple of phasers and like you a whole lot. So pack a backpack full of them and get to the airlock. I'll bring us as close as possible and give you a push with the tractor beam. You up for that?"
ChatGPT I swallow the lump in my throat, apprehension giving way to resolve. "I'm up for it. Let's do this." With a determined nod, I leave the bridge to prepare for the EVA mission. This is my chance to potentially find the crew, and I'm not going to let it slip away.
User Suiting up and gathering all the handheld phasers aboard takes ten minutes, during which the T.E.S. gingerly brings the ship close to the mining facility whilst hiding behind the vast ore scowls. You open the hatch and find your self clinging on to the ship's hull.
ChatGPT I take a moment to steady my breathing, the vast expanse of space spread out before me. Gripping the phasers tightly, I brace myself for the push. "I'm ready when you are, T.E.S." I call out over the comm, my voice resolute.
User 'Okay, I'll hook on to you and give you a push. I'd suggest going in feet first, but it's up to you. Do you know what you're looking for? Those five big stacks. One of them, near that plume of smoke, seems to be offline for whatever reason. That might be your best bet.'
ChatGPT "Understood, T.E.S. I see the stacks. I'll aim for the one that's offline," I reply, aligning myself for the trajectory. I take one last deep breath, mentally preparing myself for the task ahead. "Alright...I'm ready. Let's do this."
User 'Good luck, Ensign. I'll brief any backup as soon as it gets here.' As the tractor beam finds you, you can't move a muscle. Relying on the T.ES. you just let go. It's as if a giant hand slowly throws you down a bowling lane. Feet first, you head towards the grouping of exhausts. A small, unmanned maintenance shuttle deftly gets out of your way.
ChatGPT As I float through space, I keep my focus on the target. The feeling of being pushed by an unseen force is disconcerting, but I trust the T.E.S. Every moment is crucial, and there's no room for hesitation.
As I approach the offline stack, I get ready to activate the thrusters on my suit to adjust my course if needed. I also keep an eye out for any other unexpected obstacles or threats.
User You land next to the exhaust, on the asteroid's surface. It seems impossibly high from here, but it's made of metal and your soles and gloves can easily attach to it. The only way is up. Fortunately, there's hardly any gravity. Eventually you find yourself standing on the rim of the exhaust and look down into the vast, dark chute.
ChatGPT I take a moment to look down into the dark chute, the unknown stretching out before me. I reach out to activate the flashlight on my suit, the beam of light piercing through the darkness. "I'm in position, T.E.S." I inform the ship's system, before carefully beginning my descent into the exhaust chute.
User The vast amounts of ore block your signal, even out here. There's no answer. You start the descend and pass two large rotor blades. If those weren't stationary, this would be the end of the line. But luck is on your side so far and eventually you see an access hatch when you're well below the surface. It opens easily. Let's hope it's not also an airlock for whoever is inside.
ChatGPT I hold my breath as I pull open the hatch, hoping against hope that the air on the other side is breathable. If not, I'm confident in the integrity of my suit, but I'd rather not test its limits if I don't have to. As I make my way through the hatch, I scan the area for any immediate threats, ready to defend myself if necessary.
User The scanner indicates low air pressure. Which is better than no pressure. You cross a walkway and find an actual airlock. It is unsecured, because whoever ends up here probably doesn't want to mess about with frozen keypads or mounds of dust. You engage the mechanism and soon feel the familiar sensation of artificial gravity and air pressure. It's not exactly breathable, but a tear in your suit won't kill you. Now to find the holding area. And if at all possible a rebreather, so you can ditch the suit.
ChatGPT Acknowledging the state of the air, I carefully move through the corridor, keeping my senses alert. I'm in unknown territory and every step matters. "Computer," I say into my suit's comm, "can you map the structure of this facility? Locate holding cells or life signs?"
As I move further into the facility, I keep an eye out for any equipment or gear that might prove useful, especially a rebreather. The less I stick out, the better.
User The relatively weak processor in your tricoder strains to get a bearing on this place. A dirty, seemingly abandoned tunnel dripping with condensation lies ahead. At the end there's an exit, which won't open. Time to use one of those phasers in your backpack.
ChatGPT I pull out a phaser from my backpack, checking its settings before aiming at the sealed exit. With a steady hand, I fire a low power burst at the door, hoping to cut through the obstruction without causing too much damage or noise.
User One hinge cracks under the weight of the door, now that the other one is cut through. You jump aside as the door seems to fall flat, but it remains attached to the frame. The resulting opening is just about large enough to crawl through. Now you're in a well-lit corridor with several doors. In a Starfleet EV suit.
ChatGPT Understanding the need for stealth, I decide to move as quickly as possible through the corridor. I approach the nearest door, aiming my tricoder to scan for life signs or any clue to the crew's location. My other hand remains on my phaser, ready for any immediate threats.
User One door has markings on it that you can't read. You scan it with your tricorder. 'Room of lockboxes' it says, extrapolating the characters. A room of lockboxes? Would that be a locker room?
ChatGPT "A locker room..." I murmur, piecing together the possible meaning. A locker room could mean personnel... and where there's personnel, there might be the equipment I need.
With careful steps, I approach the door to the locker room, hoping to find a rebreather or something else that could help me blend in.
User The room is deserted. It's filled with equipment, none of which seems less than a decade old but certainly useable. There is also a rack of dirty, brown overalls and a line of boots in various sizes. A dispenser offers rebreathers. There's only one left, but that's enough. The air is clear, but smells sulphuric. Without the rebreather, you wouldn't last long.
ChatGPT Relief washes over me as I find the rebreather. I quickly grab it and replace my helmet with it, testing the fit and functionality. The sulphuric smell is jarring, but it's a small price to pay for blending in.
I quickly change into the brown overalls, stowing my suit carefully in an unoccupied locker. I grab a pair of boots that match my size and put them on.
Looking at myself, I hope that I blend in well enough to not attract attention. With a deep breath, I step out of the locker room and proceed down the corridor, continuing my search for the crew.
User Footsteps sound behind you, of more than a few people. Your first instinct is to hide, but it would look very suspicous and there really isn't anywhere. However, there is a floorscrubber here, with one open panel. Someone has given up trying to repair it. Perhaps a bit of acting is in order. The footsteps are just around the corner. The language is vaguely familiar, a bastardised version of English. Whatever they're saying to each other, they're not sharing jokes, that much is clear.
ChatGPT
2 / 2
I quickly move towards the broken floorscrubber. Grabbing a nearby tool, I lean over the open panel, trying to look like I'm deeply engrossed in fixing it. I keep my ears alert to the conversation, trying to pick up on any valuable information while also readying myself for the possibility of having to interact with the approaching group.
User Let's continue with the narrative.
ChatGPT Sure, let's continue.
Glancing around the room once the miners have left, I check the lockers for anything useful, while keeping an ear out for any incoming footsteps. "Computer, any idea where the holding cells might be?" I ask quietly.
User Your tricorder beeps almost indignantly, as it has nowhere near enough processing power to even begin speculating. You're on your own until you can get to a comms terminal. The men pass behind you and one of you taps you on the shoulder. His face is blackened with ore dust. "No work. Never work again. That. Stop that." He points at the scrubber you were pretending to fix. You nod. He shakes his head and catches up with his workmates as they round a corner. Apparently you don't stand out here, which should make it easier to find the way. You follow the men, but they seem to be entering a washroom. Across it, there is a peeled off directory on the wall. A printed one.
ChatGPT "Finally, something useful," I mutter, quickly crossing the washroom to examine the directory. I look for any indications of holding cells or equivalent terminology that might hint at the location of the crew. The symbols and words are unfamiliar, so I take out the tricorder and try to use it as a translator.
User Cells being a fairly universal concept, the tricorder identifies a few scribbles with ease. If you understand the diagram correctly, you need to go up two levels and head towards the center of the structure. You double-check the presence of your backpack filled with phasers, snatch a helmet off of a shelf and press it on your head.
ChatGPT Drawing a deep breath through the rebreather, I nod to myself, mentally preparing for the upcoming challenge. "Alright, up two levels, towards the center... I can do this." I look around, searching for a way up. After locating what appears to be a ladder leading upwards, I begin my ascent.
User Two levels up you emerge from what seems to be a service hatch. A technician, dressed in torn clothes, looks somewhat surprised when you emerge. "Hello brother. Are the lifts broken?" he asks in Adari, a language you have some familiarity with. Only now do you see the horn protruding from his forehead. "I am trying to avoid someone," you say, with a knowing smile. He gives you a tired smile back. "What is your sector? I want a clean face all day too," he says.
ChatGPT "I work... the ore processors," I reply, making up a role on the spot that seems plausible, considering the location and dirty condition of most workers. "But I'd rather stay away from my boss today. He's been in a foul mood." I'm trying my best to blend in. "Can you point me to the center of the structure?" I ask, hoping the diversion worked.
User "Yeah, 'the structure'. Let's call it that. Sounds nicer than 'prison of the damned'. What do you want at the center, there's only central holding there. I never go near that place. All that wailing. Gives me the shakes," he mutters.
ChatGPT "Oh, I just... wanted to see a friend," I reply, trying to keep my tone light, while inwardly my heart sinks at his description. "Don't worry about it, I'll find my way. Thanks for the chat." I give him a quick nod before heading in the direction he had indicated earlier, hoping I'm making the right choice.
User He wasn't wrong about the wailing. As you follow the corridors, passing along scruffy workers and a couple of guards with face covering helmets who are leaning against a wall, you can hear a lot of yelling, moaning and above all the sound of defiant Klingon opera louder and louder. The voice sounds familiar, but all singing Klingons generally sound alike.
ChatGPT As I continue toward the source of the noise, I find myself in front of a heavily barred door. I can't help but suppress a smile, recognizing the defiant voice as that of Worf. "Computer," I whisper to my tricorder, "Is there a way to shut down the power to this door?"
User The tricorder scans the control panel and warbles optimistically. It then shows a graphic representation of the door, with an arrow pointing at one location and a low energy setting for a phaser.
ChatGPT Taking a moment to look around and confirm that no one is watching, I set my phaser to the recommended setting and aim at the indicated spot on the door. After taking a deep breath, I fire.
User Something inside the door clunks and it opens just enough for the seal to crack. You jam a fingernail behind it, then a finger and eventually you manage to gain enough purchase to open the door. As it slowly opens, you find yourself at the far end of a long row of cells. At the other end is a desk, with a guard sitting behind a monitor. He is staring at it intently. Perhaps the stun setting might be a good idea. You adjust the phaser and take careful aim, when an arm reached out from one of the dark cells and blocks the shot. "Uhm... he's got three buddies in there. You can't see them from here," whispers Captain Sisko.
ChatGPT "I figured you might be here, Captain," I say, lowering my phaser discreetly. "Any ideas for getting you and the rest out without causing a full-on alert?"
User "That depends. Did you bring any weapons?"
ChatGPT "I brought a backpack full of phasers. There should be enough to arm everyone here," I reply, carefully removing the backpack from my shoulder and showing the Captain.
User "Good man. Worf is next to me, then Major Kira. Let Worf take the lead on this. Worf! Help has arrived.' 'Good. I was getting bored with singing,' grumbled a familiar voice. His hand emerges from between the bars, demanding a phaser.
ChatGPT I hand the phaser to Worf, watching as his large hand swallows the device. I then pass phasers to Captain Sisko and Major Kira. With the three of them armed, the odds seem significantly better. Now, we just have to make sure the element of surprise isn't wasted.
User Fifteen seconds later, three guards sink to the floor. Although the phasers were set to stun, nobody seems particularly worried about their health. "Get their uniforms and lock them up," says Sisko. "We can walk out of here. Once we're at the shuttle docks, we can probably find something that flies." "Captain, there are three uniforms and four of us. And the others are housed on another level," says Worf.
ChatGPT "Right. I can stay behind and create a diversion while you three escape. I'll catch up," I offer. "The priority should be to get you three and as many of the others out as we can. We also need to alert Starfleet about this place. I'm sure they'd love to know about a mining facility that's been kidnapping officers."
User "That's a very daring plan, Ensign, but we leave no man behind. Kyra, you and Worf go and find the others and proceed to that place where they searched us. Anyone in uniform is a valid target. And anyone who wants to come along, can do so. The ensign and I will try to find a comms terminal and alert Starfleet. Ensign, I assume you're not alone here?"
ChatGPT "Admiral Benson is aware of the situation, sir. Backup is half a day out. Before we separated, I was under the control of the Tactical Emergency System," I report, glad to see that the Captain is taking charge of the situation.
User "Oh. I had my reservations about that system. Holographic doctors are one thing, but that went a bit too far for my tastes. Okay, phasers for everyone. Bring enough for the others. Ensign, with me."
ChatGPT "Understood, sir," I reply, distributing the remaining phasers to my colleagues and following Captain Sisko down the corridor. As we navigate through the mining facility, I stay alert for any guards or threats that may be in our way. I can feel a sense of hope and determination building up within me - we might actually make it out of here.
User "HALT!" bellows a voice behind us, immediately followed by a reddish phaser burst. The Captain turns on his heels, pushes you out of the way and fires. A guard falls to the floor. The phaser fire was detected by the security system. A klaxon starts blaring and the ceiling lights turn red. A voice starts giving unintelligible instructions over the tannoy. "We need to find a comms panel, Ensign. Any ideas?" asks Sisko, scanning the corridor for more guards. A frightened looking maintenance worker comes to see what's going on, but ducks out of the way as soon as he sees the pair of you.
ChatGPT "I remember seeing a room with a lot of terminals when I was making my way through the facility earlier, sir," I reply, my mind racing. "If memory serves, it's two corridors over, near the scrubber exhausts." I keep my phaser ready and move towards the direction of the room, all the while keeping an eye out for more guards.
User "That's the wrong way, Ensign. I imagine they have more than one place with comms terminals. You cover the rear. Follow me. Put your hand on my shoulder so you can look behind you all the time. If it wears a uniform, it's fair game."
ChatGPT "Yes, sir," I reply, placing my hand on the Captain's shoulder. I pivot and start to walk backwards, keeping my eyes and phaser focused on the path we've just traveled. The constant blaring of the klaxon mixes with the distant shouting and running steps of approaching guards. Despite the adrenaline rush, I manage to keep my aim steady and my breathing calm. The training exercises at the academy never truly prepare you for the real thing, but they do help in maintaining focus.
User You down three guards and accidentally scare the bejeezus out of a woman pushing a cleaning cart, but eventually Sisko stops. "Got it. Stand back while I blast this door." A few seconds later the corridor fills with acrid smoke from a melting door panel. Behind it is a room with several desks.
ChatGPT Entering the room cautiously, I scan the area with my phaser ready. Seeing no immediate threats, I turn my attention to the various panels and screens scattered throughout the space. The room is filled with a myriad of communication equipment - probably a central control hub for managing mining operations, worker communications, and security measures.
"Captain, I think this is it," I say, gesturing to a terminal that seems to be linked to an extensive communications network. "I should be able to send out a distress signal from here." I start to work on the terminal, trying to hack into the system and figure out how to send a message to Starfleet.
User "Try reaching the Defiant," suggest Sisko from the doorway. "OH NO YOU DON'T!" Another guard bites the dust somewhere. "Captain! WE ARE BEHIND HIM!" bellows Worf." "GOOD! Move along, we'll be there shortly. Ensign, how are you getting on?"
ChatGPT "I've managed to break through the initial security layers, Captain," I respond, my fingers moving rapidly over the terminal's interface. "It seems this system has been rigged to only accept authorized codes for communication."
Suddenly, a stroke of inspiration hits me. "Captain, when we first boarded the Defiant, I had to program my authorization codes into the ship's communication systems. If I can find a way to mimic those codes from this terminal... I might be able to trick the Defiant's systems into accepting the distress signal."
I double down on the task, focusing all my attention on reconstructing my authorization codes. As I do so, I keep an eye on the room's entryway, ready to react in case more guards show up.
User The terminal beeps and lights up. You don't understand any of the dials, but with any luck your tricorder can interface with it. Time to hail the Defiant.
ChatGPT "Defiant, this is Ensign," I say, praying the connection holds. "Requesting immediate assistance. The Captain and the crew are here, but we are currently under attack. Coordinates being transmitted now."
A static-filled silence follows. I glance at Sisko, an unspoken question in my gaze. Did it work? Did our message get through?
User "Ensign, this is the Defiant. I can't beam you out of there. Get to the shuttle dock, so that all that ore doesn't block the transporter lock. The USS Rotterdam is thirty minutes out."
ChatGPT "Understood, Defiant. We'll make our way to the shuttle dock. Be ready for us," I reply, exhaling a sigh of relief. I turn to Sisko, updating him with the situation. "Captain, we have to move. The Rotterdam is on its way but we need to get to the shuttle dock for transport."
User Worf's voice comes in through the Captain's commbadge, as it somehow manages to create a local connection. "Worf to Sisko. We have secured the shuttle dock. Mr. O'Brien is injured. Where are you?"
ChatGPT I quickly respond, "This is Ensign [Your Name]. Captain Sisko and I are en route to your position. We'll be there shortly. Hang in there, Chief." With that, I turn to Sisko and suggest, "We should move, Captain."
User "Ensign Markov and I are just behind you, Mr. Worf. Try not to pick us off as we approach. Oh and the Defiant is operating with that emergency command protocol, so it's ready to beam you up. Have Major Kira and the Chief go ahead, if possible. But hold the fort for us." "Understood, Captain. Worf out."
Five minutes and more shooting than is good for a man's digestion you reach the shuttle dock. You literally have to step over a pile of dead guards to get through the door. "Had fun, Mr. Worf? Does your phaser not come with a stun setting?" asks Sisko. "I recognized the men who took us, Sir. My finger must have slipped on the settings dial," growls Worf, looking you over to assess if you're likely to snitch. "It happens," said Sisko matter-of-factly. "Ensign, get us home."
ChatGPT Without any hesitation, I raise my commbadge and say, "Ensign Markov to Defiant. Four to beam up."
User (Okay, take it home. You're all aboard, O'Brien will live, you get a speech and a medal. Write out those events from Markov's perspective and finish off. I'll add something if you pause.)
ChatGPT As the familiar hum and sparkling light of the transporter envelops us, I take one last look at the chaotic scene we're leaving behind. My heart pounds in my chest, not from fear, but from the exhilaration of having faced danger and come out the other side. It's a rush I wasn't expecting.
When we rematerialize aboard the Defiant, a group of medics is waiting for us. They immediately rush to Chief O'Brien, but his smile and light-hearted joke assure me he'll be alright. As I step off the transporter pad, I let out a sigh of relief.
Later, back in my uniform and at a ceremony in the Defiant's Mess Hall, Captain Sisko delivers a speech. He talks about bravery, about loyalty, about the strength of Starfleet and the spirit of those who serve. He doesn't dwell on the danger we faced, but rather the courage it took to face it.
When he calls me up, handing me a medal for bravery under fire, I can't help but feel a swell of pride. The applauding faces of my crewmates, the recognition in their eyes... it's a moment I will never forget. This is why I joined Starfleet, for moments like this. To be part of something greater, to face adversity and stand tall.
"Ensign Markov," Sisko says, offering a handshake along with the medal, "Your courage and quick thinking played a crucial role in our escape. Starfleet is proud to have you among its ranks."
As I return to my quarters that night, medal in hand, I find myself smiling. Yes, today was difficult, even frightening at times. But it was also invigorating, and more than that, it was important. It's a reminder of why I'm here, of why we're all here. To explore, to protect, to boldly go...
And I wouldn't have it any other way.
2023.06.03 21:28 HMNI_Adam My temple feels bruised and I don’t know how worried I should be
Male, 28, 6’0, athletic and work a physical job (don’t know my exact weight lol)
I don’t do IV drugs anymore, it’s been years. I had a clean bill of health until I developed an intestinal disorder but I don’t think that’s related.
Last night I will admit I was drinking but it’s okay. I was gaming with friends I had headphones on and my glasses and then I got really drunk and it has been a long day so I left the game and I laid down in bed. I don’t remember when I laid down, and I don’t remember when I took my glasses and headphones off, but when I woke up an hour later they were off me.
Today I went to get breakfast and I was rubbing my eyes because I’m tired and I noticed my left temple hurts so bad, it feels bruised. it feels like someone hit my temple. Sorry lol idk how to describe.there’s a mark there but it’s more like a zit and I can’t tell if that was there before lol
When I press lightly on my temple right next to my eye it feels like a bad bruise and it kind of hurts deep in my head/eye, but not too bad and it stops when I stop touching it
So I looked it up and my options are either
Tdr: I have a bruise feeling when I touch my left temple. I’m not sure if it’s because I slept funny and tweaked my neck or laid down with my glasses on, which I do a lot and never get a bruised temple. I’m kinda worried it’s a bloodclot thing even though I’m only 28 so please let me know what you think. I can’t really afford to go to the ER and I can’t drive rn (suspended license) so yeah I really hope it’s nothing serious especially since I feel pretty ok otherwise.
submitted by HMNI_Adam to AskDocs [link] [comments]
I don’t do IV drugs anymore, it’s been years. I had a clean bill of health until I developed an intestinal disorder but I don’t think that’s related.
Last night I will admit I was drinking but it’s okay. I was gaming with friends I had headphones on and my glasses and then I got really drunk and it has been a long day so I left the game and I laid down in bed. I don’t remember when I laid down, and I don’t remember when I took my glasses and headphones off, but when I woke up an hour later they were off me.
Today I went to get breakfast and I was rubbing my eyes because I’m tired and I noticed my left temple hurts so bad, it feels bruised. it feels like someone hit my temple. Sorry lol idk how to describe.there’s a mark there but it’s more like a zit and I can’t tell if that was there before lol
When I press lightly on my temple right next to my eye it feels like a bad bruise and it kind of hurts deep in my head/eye, but not too bad and it stops when I stop touching it
So I looked it up and my options are either
- I have a blood clot and am dying… like I said I was an IV drug user so i I always worry that I’m gonna have some freak thing happen
- I am getting a migraine (I’ve never got this symptom before) but migraines run in the family if that’s possible
- I have head and neck tension and this is a tension result of that. I’ve always struggled with head and neck pain from sleeping. Last night my neck hurt a lot like I couldn’t get comfortable on my pillow. I also only slept for an hour and then woke up for 2 hours to play another game and then slept for maybe 6 more hours. So I didn’t sleep great.
- I maybe poked myself with my glasses when I layed down but I do that a lot and never have that happen.
Tdr: I have a bruise feeling when I touch my left temple. I’m not sure if it’s because I slept funny and tweaked my neck or laid down with my glasses on, which I do a lot and never get a bruised temple. I’m kinda worried it’s a bloodclot thing even though I’m only 28 so please let me know what you think. I can’t really afford to go to the ER and I can’t drive rn (suspended license) so yeah I really hope it’s nothing serious especially since I feel pretty ok otherwise.
2023.06.03 21:13 WideMix8098 Rebuilt/salvage/total loss issued in error
Before story time, My point is what the fuck is a rebuilt title issued in error? Does that even happen, EVER?
The car was in an accident and then deemed a total loss by an insurance company. The rebuilt title was issued, and a salvage title was issued. Then when my car dealership bought the car it was “issued in error” all of a sudden and the title was made clean again. Here’s a link to the CarFax.
Car Fax
Story time:
I’m not sure if this is the correct subreddit to post this in, but I’m curious to see if anyone else has come across or experienced a situation similar to mine. I bought this car from Expressmotorsports in Lawrence, Massachusetts. (Yes I know the location is terrible for buying a used car, so if you wee even thinking about it, don’t)
Let me preface this by saying, I was in a really rushed, pressured situation to get into whatever vehicle I could. I was borrowing money from my family and they insisted I go through a dealership. Long story short, I bought a 2008 Honda Crv with only 120k miles on it, expecting the car to still have decent life in it despite the age. If you’ve ever owned a Honda you’ll know these cars and drive forever if properly maintained. The car even passed mechanics inspection and state inspection. The car dropped a valve and the engine was dead after only 2 months, after doing nothing but driving and overly maintaining it. When I bought the car and signed the purchase contract with the warranty, he said I could bring the car back and he would fix anything that went wrong within 30 days. After the engine blew I went to look for the warranty and it was left blank. Massachusetts lemon law requires a written 30 day warranty on a used car. I know it’s my fault for not seeing this, but isn’t it totally illegal for him to do? Has anyone had experience with this?
Also upon further inspection of the car fax, the verbiage is “rebuilt/salvage title issued in error.” “Total loss issued in error”. Also, again I take accountability for not inspecting this further, I only saw that the car had been in an accident but the title was clean. But I have no understanding of what this means, even my friend who is a car dealer says he has never seen a “rebuilt title” issued in error and is later issued as “clean”. Is this shady? Has anyone ever seen this verbiage and knows what could have happened, or did he just pull something extremely illegal?
If there were more posts and reviews like mine while I was researching this dealership, I would have run in the other direction as fast as I could. I contacted a lawyer and he says he recently had a few cases similar to mine contact him regarding the same dealership recently. The reviews went from almost 5 stars down due to people purchasing cars from them in the same time frame dates and same story as me.
submitted by WideMix8098 to MechanicAdvice [link] [comments]
The car was in an accident and then deemed a total loss by an insurance company. The rebuilt title was issued, and a salvage title was issued. Then when my car dealership bought the car it was “issued in error” all of a sudden and the title was made clean again. Here’s a link to the CarFax.
Car Fax
Story time:
I’m not sure if this is the correct subreddit to post this in, but I’m curious to see if anyone else has come across or experienced a situation similar to mine. I bought this car from Expressmotorsports in Lawrence, Massachusetts. (Yes I know the location is terrible for buying a used car, so if you wee even thinking about it, don’t)
Let me preface this by saying, I was in a really rushed, pressured situation to get into whatever vehicle I could. I was borrowing money from my family and they insisted I go through a dealership. Long story short, I bought a 2008 Honda Crv with only 120k miles on it, expecting the car to still have decent life in it despite the age. If you’ve ever owned a Honda you’ll know these cars and drive forever if properly maintained. The car even passed mechanics inspection and state inspection. The car dropped a valve and the engine was dead after only 2 months, after doing nothing but driving and overly maintaining it. When I bought the car and signed the purchase contract with the warranty, he said I could bring the car back and he would fix anything that went wrong within 30 days. After the engine blew I went to look for the warranty and it was left blank. Massachusetts lemon law requires a written 30 day warranty on a used car. I know it’s my fault for not seeing this, but isn’t it totally illegal for him to do? Has anyone had experience with this?
Also upon further inspection of the car fax, the verbiage is “rebuilt/salvage title issued in error.” “Total loss issued in error”. Also, again I take accountability for not inspecting this further, I only saw that the car had been in an accident but the title was clean. But I have no understanding of what this means, even my friend who is a car dealer says he has never seen a “rebuilt title” issued in error and is later issued as “clean”. Is this shady? Has anyone ever seen this verbiage and knows what could have happened, or did he just pull something extremely illegal?
If there were more posts and reviews like mine while I was researching this dealership, I would have run in the other direction as fast as I could. I contacted a lawyer and he says he recently had a few cases similar to mine contact him regarding the same dealership recently. The reviews went from almost 5 stars down due to people purchasing cars from them in the same time frame dates and same story as me.
2023.06.03 21:06 Trash_Tia Camp Redwood are running out of counselors! These children ARE NOT CHILDREN. Update: our counsellors are not who they say they are.
Welcome to Camp Redwood! The feel-good camp for ALL AGES.
We toast marshmallows around the fire, tell spooky ghost stories, and hide in random secret military bunkers under the campgrounds! Because SOMETHING IS HERE WITH US.
Camp Redwood is the PERFECT PLACE for a summer getaway where we start EVERY DAY with a CAMP REDWOOD SMILE. Where our counselors disappear every five minutes, and our campers disembowel us for funsies! Did I forget to mention our littles aren’t actually eight years old, but fully grown adults?
We hope you enjoy your fucking stay!
We are also not responsible for any counselors revealing they are not who they said they are—and not who they appear to be.
...
So. There’s a LOT to tell you and not a lot of time to tell it.
Right now, I suppose you could say we are under lockdown—if that is the word. I want to go over the last several days to get you up to date. That’s all I can do right now. I can hope and pray the thing with Teddy’s voice does not get in here, and once again cry out for help—that I know is not coming. Not from the authorities, at least. But hey, if any of you fancy coming to rescue us, we’re in the middle of the Canadian wilderness. The closest rest-stop is maybe three fucking hours away. So have fun. Has it really almost been a week since I posted? Well, we’re still here!
And surprise, surprise, help is not coming. So, please excuse the salt. I am seventeen years old and I have been abandoned by the adults who were supposed to be looking after us.
Who were supposed to act under protocol if something like this happened. I know they were waiting for it—there are specific fucking guidelines on an emergency evacuation for counselors if this ever happened. But then the little shits took over before we could do anything. I guess I’ll start by letting you know that there are two of us left. (three, if we count Rowan, but I’m not). What I thought was going to be a quiet summer getaway with kids my age has turned into a nightmare.
For one, we have been cornered inside the head counselor’s underground secret bunker. If you want to know why she has a secret military bunker, I guess you should keep reading.
Because shit gets weirder than animal crackers having the power to turn adults into kids, and vice versa. When I made my first post, I thought that was it for us. I thought for sure there must have been a self-destruct somewhere—which meant whoever was running this camp was waiting for something like this. I was sure we were going to die, so after making the post, I have to admit with ya’ll—I just slept. I curled up, tried to ignore Harry and Carmel calling our names through childish laugher, and went to sleep with the thought in my head that I was completely at peace with what I had done with my life.
Sure, I was young. Seventeen years old is too young to be ripped apart by littles who are in fact grown adults. But as I was falling into slumber and allowing myself to fall, with my head resting in my lap, my head turned towards a separate pile of files on the other side of the room—I realized I really wanted to know how this was possible. There was so much I needed to know. Why did eight-year-old Eleanor Summers have a file where here birthday dated back to 1979? Why had supposedly innocent sugary snacks turned our adorable littles into mini psychopaths?
These kids were not kids, somehow. But how? How was that even possible? Could it be that the files were wrong?
1979 was definitely 45.
But Eleanor Summers couldn’t be 45 years old. I knew what 45 looked like. I knew that they thought like. They spent half of their time on Facebook laughing at outdated memes, and the other half… I don’t know, working? They have job’s! They’re happily married with kids, maybe soon grandkids! That was not Eleanor Summers. Because Eleanor Summers was most definitely eight years old. I had played several rounds of teddy-bears picnic, and spent hours reassuring her that Harry's ghost stories were in fact not real, enough times for me to know that this little kid was little—and a kid.
But something was bothering me. More than the secret military bunker, and magic age-regressing animal crackers. When I first signed up to Camp Redwood, one of the tag-lines to gain attraction had been, “Solve mysteries in the woods in the dead of night, with nothing but a flashlight and your fellow campers!” I had no idea I would be solving this thing on my own, trapped inside a bunker.
“What are you doing?” Rowan, who was still looking through Allison’s dinosaur laptop, turned to me with half lidded eyes, when I slowly got to my feet, careful not to make too much noise, and crept over to the pile of separate files which seemed to be crumbling apart from age. He kept his voice low, but it sounded almost like a whine. He could have been scared, but from the way he was sitting, cross-legged with a frowny face, I figured something must have been going on with him. The guy looked tired. More tired than normal.
The bags under his eyes were practically shadowing his face, and were an odd contrast to unusually ashy colored cheeks and slightly dilated eyes. Still though, Rowan refused to look vulnerable. I caught glimpse of Harry’s raybans sitting on his head, pinning back thick dark brown curls from falling in front of sleepy eyes. Maybe he was finally losing his cool and breaking out of the well-constructed façade he had been hiding behind since Teddy disappeared.
We had just narrowly escaped a crowd of psycho littles high on age-regressing sugary snacks who were doing who-the-fuck knows to the other counselors who had been captured, so I didn’t blame him looking like that. I guess he couldn’t look me in the eye, because in Rowan’s mind, he was the reason why this happened. He was the leader, and the camp had fallen to psychopathic little eight year olds who had taken half of the counselors hostage, and the other half—most likely taken apart in the physical sense, after what we had witnessed in Cassie’s cabin. Still though, it wasn’t Rowan’s fault. He could sit there and pull a face all he wanted, it’s not like I was going to blow up at him for getting us stuck down here. He actually saved us.
And trapped us, judging from the footsteps upstairs, Carmel and Harry still bouncing around looking for us.
It was a game in their heads. The little’s thought it was cat and mouse. Harry and Carmel were the oblivious cats prowling, while we were the mice, hoping to fucking GOD we weren’t caught and eaten. Ignoring Rowan, I glimpsed what looked like a box full of DVD’S—all of which were labelled with dates and names. I saw familiar ones, my heart racing into my throat. Phoebe. Eli. Cassandra.
Each DVD had one of the kid’s names scribbled on the front, as well as a date.
I found Eleanor’s right at the back of the box.
Eleanor Summers.
08/05/2021. (PM)
Before I could hesitate and think what I was doing, I slid the DVD into the portable player attached to the MacBook. Rowan, to my surprise, didn’t move. But he did make an acknowledging noise when the screen flickered to what looked like video footage. Peering at the screen, I found myself staring at a small white room. There was no door. Only a wooden desk and a chair, and sitting on it was a middle aged woman with dark blonde curls tied into a strict ponytail. She was wearing what looked like a prison jumpsuit.
Her eyes were eerily glued to the camera, unblinking. Her wrists were cuffed in front of her. Though from the look on her face, she saw the restraints as a game. Her eyes lit up with intrigue and I could practically see the cogs in her mind starting to turn as she struggled with them.
As soon as I saw this woman, I felt all of my nerve endings set alight. I wanted to turn the screen off, or look away. But once I was looking at the screen, I couldn’t bring myself to tear my eyes away. “Let’s try this again.” There was a woman offscreen. She sounded young. Too young to be in that kind of authority. I figured there was no way teenagers were being hired as special ops agents, but I guessed I was wrong. She cleared her throat. “It is 4:35 exactly. August 5th 2021. My name is Agent Lemrac,” she stated. “I am asking once again for you to comply with us. As I have said several times, the court are willing to lessen your sentence if you plead guilty with insanity.”
The woman surprised me with a snorting laugh. She seemed to come alive, leaning forward with animated features, her brow reaching her hairline. She was acting like a child, bouncing up and down in the seat, her lips stretching into a wider grin. “What did you just say?”
There was a pause. I could tell the woman was intentionally antagonising the interviewer.
“It means you have been legally declared insane,” the interviewer stumbled over her words slightly. “Mrs Summers, it would be in your best interest to work with us to lessen your current sentence which at the moment is standing at,” the sounds of shuffling paper crackled through the speakers. The interviewer cleared her throat again rustling paper. “Thirty six years. Without parole.”
The woman didn’t speak, only continued to smile—and the interviewer delved further into the sentence. “If you do in fact plead guilty with declared insanity, you will be sentenced to a program which is in the process of supporting and rehabilitating people with your…” she caught herself for a moment. I could tell this interviewer had a biased opinion and it was definitely showing through her interviewing style. I could hear the rapid intakes of her breath as she hurried through what seemed to be a script she was reading from. “Conditions.” She finished. “The Redwood program aims to help people exactly like you.”
Redwood? I thought.
Like… Camp Redwood?
Rowan whistled behind me. I guess I could call that a reaction. The guy was probably still in shock after seeing Café de Teddy splattered all over little Cassie’s cabin floor. I should have fucking know those little bitches weren’t playing Operation for eight hours straight. Turning my attention from Rowan and back to the screen, the woman in the jumpsuit appeared to have changed tactics. Her expression twisted into nonchalance. She leaned back in her chair. “I am not pleading insane because I am not insane.”
“Mrs Summers—”
The woman cut her off. “I am not crazy.” She raised her hands “I am doing what needs to be done.” She leaned forward. “Humanity suffers in the skin. We age and die— and how is that fair? What if we want to see the next millennium? And the next two millennia after that? Why should our bodies dictate our lifespan? Why should we sit here and wait to rot and wither and die when we have the intelligence and mindset to do it? If nobody else is willing to throw ethics aside to take a step forwards in human evolution, I should do it myself.” She folded her arms across her chest, again, like a child. “I did what was to be done.”
“Dr. Summers.” The interviewer’s tone grew stiff. “You and your colleagues conducted illegal and unethical procedures on your family and friends—as well as four other victims.”
The woman inclined her head. “You have a daughter, am I correct? I have a son.”
“A child you killed, Dr Summers.” The interviewer retorted in a hiss which was definitely expressing emotion. She ignored the mention of her daughter, but I could tell it had rattled her to her core. Her voice had cracked. This case was close to her.
That was obvious. Without seeing the interviewer herself, I could sense how uncomfortable she was, shuffling in the chair. Every so often I would hear the sound of her rubbing her hands on her knees and tapping her shoe against the chair leg. She oozed anxiety, not just from her tone of voice, but the way the frame seemed to move with her. “Dr. Summers, you used your son in your research, along with several of his friends. This was not science.” Her voice shook. I heard her sharp inhale. Unprofessional, but very human. Instead of staying stoic and keeping to script, this agent was cracking apart. “It was murder.”
“Agent Lemrac, concentrate on the interview only.” An official voice crackled through what sounded like an intercom on screen.
“Got it.” She spoke through her teeth.
The woman was finding wounds and pressing on them. She was scanning the interviewer for vulnerabilities and preying on every insecurity. She leaned back speaking through a sigh. “Without my son’s sacrifice we wouldn’t have created an answer to death. To growing old and dying, and leaving loved ones behind.” Her voice softened into a murmur, but I didn’t trust it.
After identifying the shattering pieces of this interviewer which were very clear visible in her view, the woman was taking advantage.
“Agent Lemrac, you have a daughter. Am I correct in saying her name is Mari?
“That… that is not relevant.”
“Glioblastoma.” Dr. Summers lips curved into a sickening smile hidden behind mocking sympathy. “A sickness of the brain--which, unfortunately, I cannot fix. If your daughter’s brain was in my hands, I would try. However, not even a brand new body would help her. One which would never age or grow sick. And for that, I am deeply, deeply sorry.” She reached her cuffed hands forwards. “My condolences, Agent Lemrac. Honestly. I have to hand it to you. You are incredibly brave for coming here today and talking to me while abandoning your sick child.” She shook her head.
“Your daughter is dying of an incurable illness, suffering inside fragile skin which will break and fall apart and be unable to keep her standing for much longer. While my son will live on forever. He will see every millennia, a planet which will crumble and build itself back together. And maybe the end of the universe itself.” There was a twitch in her expression and a glitter in her eye I did not recognise. Insanity.
She was fucking insane. I was seeing the pure of it, the depraved and disgusting gleam in eyes empty of remorse and regret. This woman did not care what she had done. I could tell from the look on her face. If she had the chance, she would do this again.
But there was no way they were trying to say her cruelty and complete disregard for her son’s life was due to insanity.
“You are sick, Dr. Summers.” The interviewer said after a moment of gathering herself.
The woman shook her head with a chuckle. “I told you. I am not sick--”
“Sick in the head!” The interviewer’s voice exploded through the speakers in a shriek—a terrified cry she had been trying to hold in. I finally saw her—or at least the back of her. She was a young woman with light blonde hair falling loose on her shoulders. She was trembling. Slamming her hands down on the table, she screamed at the orange jumpsuit woman.
“You are psychologically fucked in the head! You psycho bitch! That is my sister!” She spoke through strangled sobs rattling her whole body. “Mari is my little sister. She is not my child.”
Her breaths were strangled and harboured. I noticed figures looming in the background, but she was continuing. “You killed your own fucking son,” she spat. “You are not legally insane, you are sick!” she shrieked. “You planned and put this together! You sit there and you talk about your son like he’s a… like he’s a tool! You deserve to rot. Do you hear me?” I noticed the orange jumpsuit woman was still smiling, satisfied with the interview’s reaction. Her words were spoken in a vicious poison as she leaned forward and spat directly in orange jumpsuit’s face.
“Agent Lemrac!” Whoever her superiors were—were panicking. “I told you not to turn it off. I knew this was going to happen. Can we stop the demonstration, please? Human emotions present inside an Aceville soldier are too powerful—"
Voices were murmuring in the background, and Agent Lemrac raised her hands. “I want to stop.” She choked out, her hands trembling. She spoke like she still had control over the situation and wasn’t being apprehended. “I want to stop. Do you hear me?” The interviewer was crying, I realized. “Stop the recording! I can’t do this. Oh god, I think I’m going to be sick—”
When the footage ended in a burst of static, I found myself backing away, something slimy creeping its way up my throat.
The woman in the orange jumpsuit who had murdered her son and countless others in what sounded like an attempt at playing god, was Eleanor Summers. I thought back to Teddy’s corpse, and the surgical precision of every organ’s removal. The young interviewer had mentioned colleagues of Eleanor.
Was it possible that Camp Redwood was in fact nothing more than a rehabilitation camp for murderous criminals? There was a loud bang from above, and I was torn from my thoughts.
I turned to Rowan, who had been unusually quiet. And I realized why, when I twisted around to find him three inches from my face, his laboured breath tickling my cheek.
The boy jumped back with a chuckle—like me noticing him was some kind of game, before diving back into the chair. I did notice something odd, as my thoughts spiralled. Rowan couldn’t sit still. Slumped in the leather spinning chair, he fingers tapped a rhythm on the armrests while his feet jumped up and down. In the dim light of the bunker, I glimpsed a sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead and the flesh of his neck. He looked to be… feverish—and now that I was looking at him properly, all of my attention on the boy, I noticed small things which seemed… off about him.
For one, he wasn’t coming up with a plan. Rowan always had a plan. Even if he wasn’t completely sure of it, or was completely winging it. This time though, he was strangely quiet. I found my voice when he stuck out his tongue at me. “What are you looking at?”
“Rowan.” I spoke softly, careful not to garner attention from above us where Harry and Carmel were still clamouring around, playing games. “Are you… feeling okay?” I asked, when he turned back to the laptop, manically biting his fingernails.
“I dunnnooooo, Josie! Am I feeeeeeling okaaaaaayyyyy?” He surprised me with an uncharacteristic laugh.
But I did know it.
I knew it from earlier when he reacted to Allison’s bunker and I had been too freaked out to realize that I was dragging along the enemy with me.
Because the fucking idiot had consumed animal crackers. I had seen him for myself earlier, pouring a pack into his mouth for a snack. Which meant either the ‘kids’ had intentionally dosed him with mind altering sugary snacks, or the more likely, he could not resist those preservatives which was the equivalent of caffeine. It’s not like I could blame him when he harboured the weight of an entire camp, but come on, did he really have to sacrifice his own fucking mind to keep himself awake?
Rowan wasn’t just biting. His nails. He was gnawing. Which he previously thought was a filthy habit. He had yelled at a camper for chewing on her nails a few days earlier.
Now that I was noticing it, I couldn’t… stop noticing it. The boy’s whole demeanour had changed; the way he was sinking into the chair, instead of sitting up straight like usual—- I used to call it having a stick up his ass. The boy started typing on the laptop, ignoring me. But when I watched the pattern of his fingers, he was just typing gibberish. Footsteps pounded above us, Harry and Carmel acting as the kid’s’ brainwashed foot-soldiers. Or, more likely somehow, if the animal crackers had caused the littles, or I guess, the fully grown forty year old criminals, to relapse in age-- then maybe it was possible for the same thing to happen to us. To Rowan.
I could feel myself starting to back away, but there was nowhere to run. I just slammed into a cupboard. My gaze flicked to Rowan again, who was tapping a beat on the laptop tracking pad, swaying back and forth, his eyes elsewhere before his gaze found mine. “Marcoooooo!” Harry shouted from above, giggling with Carmel.
I had to guess their mental age had to be at least 8-10 years old. Which meant I wasn’t just dealing with a camp full of forty-year-old psycho’s, I was also dealing with mentally relapsed counselors acting like toddlers.
Rowan seemed to jolt in the chair, twisting his head around, his eyes suddenly incredibly childlike and playful, and very Un-Rowan, were finding the ceiling, his mouth stretching into a smile, like he was seeing butterflies. His eyes flashed to me, and I caught a twitch in his lip. I knew that look. It was the look on my seven year old sister, who knew mom was mad at me, and wanted to make it even worse.
His cheeks were starting to blossom scarlet from what must have been the overwhelming urge to laugh. Rowan pressed his lips together and held in a breath like a hamster, and the asshole was fucking with me. waiting for me to beat him to it by accident. Kids were fucking ruthless, but there was something terrifying about an 18 year old with a little kid’s mind.
I lifted my index to my lips, miming for him not to even try, but the boy just mimicked me, bugging out his eyes and pressing his finger to his grinning mouth. “Don’t you fucking dare.” I managed to whisper. The boy was definitely playing his own game, moving in twitching movements, baiting me. When he cupped his mouth, I almost let out a cry, but then he dropped his arms with a giggle, as if to say, “I’m just kidding!”
Slowly, I turned around, grabbed the salt I’d found in Allison’s cupboard, and a flat can of soda. Without making too much movement, I poured a handful of salt into the can. But Rowan seemed to know exactly what I was doing. Because in the time it was taking me to advance towards him, with the can of salty soda, one arm shakily ready to grab hold of him, and put him into a headlock, he was cupping his mouth, all logic and everything adult, everything he had been as our leader, igniting in playful eyes, leaving me the last one standing.
“Pollloooooo!”
By the time Rowan had managed to reveal our hiding place in a spluttered laugh, I had hold of the squirming boy, one arm wrapped around his neck, my other forcing the can of soda into his mouth. I had definitely miscalculated his strength. During camp Redwood activities, he was always the last one to come back from the trail, holding his knees and panting. I figured he was unfit. However, I was wrong. Underneath his shirt, the guy had some serious muscles.
It was like attacking a brick wall. However, Rowan was mentally a kid. So, I had my intelligence and logic on my side. When it became obvious I wasn’t going to get anywhere with brute strength, I resorted to tickling him, which made him squirming, squeaking out a laugh. When he opened his mouth to yell at me to stop, I took my chance, thrusting the can into his lips and holding his nose so he swallowed it down.
“No!” His laughter turned into muffled yelling, as he batted his fists at my chest. “No, no, no! Get off, get off!”
His body convulsed as the salt did its job, causing the boy to lurch to his knees and choke up forbidden animal crackers in a gooish sludge which turned my stomach. By the time Rowan seemed half himself and half not, still kneeling, his head pressed against the floor, Harry was poking his head through the door with a goonish grin. “Found you!” He giggled, before forcing the door open, allowing Carmel and Callen, freshly caught mentally turned into littles, to advance down the stairs with equally terrifying grins. There was something wrong with Harry’s face, and I only realized it when the guy himself was hauling me from the bunker, Carmel dragging a barely responsive Rowan. There was nothing in Harry’s expression, only blind childish excitement at winning the game. When he dragged me out of Allison’s cabin and threw me to the ground, I realized he too had insane strength I had not been expecting. But that thought quickly retracted when I was seeing his face in the light of a crescent moon lighting up the sky an eerie glow. Harry’s cheeks were puffy and swollen, his right eye way bigger than it should have been.
When he spoke, his voice was more of a lisp. This was something far more realistic than magical animal crackers fucking with his brain.
“He needs help!” I managed to choke out when Carmel wrapped jump-rope around my wrists. Next to me, Rowan was refusing to get up, still choking up salty soda, groaning into his hands. Every time Callen tried to restrain him, he hissed out like an animal.
“Do you hear me?!” I struggled violently. “Harry needs—”
BANG.
Is what it felt like. The feeling of something—what felt and sounded like a toy car—colliding with my temples, sent me onto the ground, my head spinning itself off of its axis. I remember lying on my back and frowning at the moon which almost looked like it was getting closer to me, blurring into a white ball of light—before reality sunk in, and it was in fact Carmel’s converse coming down to finish me off. I didn’t stay knocked out for long. But I did dream.
I think you can call it a dream? I was lying in bed at home; my room drowned in the dark. I was cosy, curled up in my blankets, when a clammy hand slammed over my mouth, rousing me from slumber. There were two figures in my room. They didn’t have faces. They just existed as shadows, silhouettes. Before one of them raised something above their head, and… impact.
It was the same impact as the toy car hitting me, snapping me back to that night. It wasn’t a dream. Because I remembered his clammy fingers over my mouth, and his hisses for me to shut up as he dragged me from my room.
My parents stood in front of me with expressions of sympathy. Basked in warm light, my mom and dad looked almost otherworldly. “For the best.” Was what they mouthed when my own phantom screams slammed into me, I asked them why, and they didn’t reply, allowing him to pull me further and further from what I knew, from my life as I knew it. But.. that couldn’t be real. I had memories of getting on the bus to camp Redwood. I could recall the whole journey. So, why… why was my tangled mind saying otherwise?
When I gathered myself, the first thing I realized was I was sitting down. I was outside, cool night air grazing my bare arms. There was something attached to me, jerking violently, And it took me several disorientating blinks to understand that I was tied back to back with Rowan. My head pounded, and something wet and warm dripped down my temple. Great. I could add head injury to the long list of things to worry about.
“Let me go you little fucking witch.”
Rowan was back to himself, though from the muffled hissing and the sound of choking—I had to guess he was being force-fed animal crackers.
“Let me—mpphmmm. little…. fucking… mphmmphhmhppmm!”
“Rowan.” I managed to get out in a croak. Through flickering eyes, I caught glimpse of a familiar figure dancing around us. Shivers rocketed down my spine, and I wrenched at the jump-rope restraints, but they did a surprisingly job of restraining my arms behind my back.
Eleanor was with Rowan, while Eli was knelt in front of me. Looking at him, the boy had definitely aged in the face—and I couldn’t help wondering what exactly he had done as a forty something year old to be sent to this place.
“Josie!” Rowan responded in a wail. “Josie. Wake the FUCK up.”
“Stop swearing.”
Eleanor spoke with the cold tone of her actual age.
“Oh, yeah?” Rowan spluttered. “Fuck you.” The boy’s laugh was still rough from almost vomiting his insides out from too much salt intake. “I’m sorry, you were a fucking boomer all along?!” He wriggled in the restraints, lunging forwards, which sent me backwards.
“Stop swearing, Rowan.” Was all the girl responded with calmly.
“Like I’m going to listen to you!” He sneered. “Fuck, fuck, fuckity, fucking fuck!” What are you going to do, huh? Bite me with your false teeth?” The sound of saliva hitting skin made me wince. He was pissed. I had no doubt his completely rational anger was going to get us killed. Rowan was also somehow getting mixed up between forty and eighty. Though he was unwillingly snacking on mind bending sugary goodness.
“Fudge, Rowan.” Eleanor spoke in a giggle.
“What?!”
“Say fudge. Not fuck.”
“No.”
His hiss of pain caught me off guard. I don’t know what she was doing to him, but it was hurting him.
“You fudging fudge! I’m going to fudging kill you when I get out of these fudging ropes—“ his manic cursing became a muffled yell.
“Say fudge,” Eleanor hummed, followed by his hiss when the palm of her hand skinned his cheek. “Fuck is a bad word. You even said so yourself and you’re my favourite counselor.”
He heaved out a breath.
“You fudge,” Rowan spat. “When I get out of this, I am going to fudging kill you, you fudging—” His manic ranting morphed, once again, into muffled yelling, after another fistful of animal crackers were forced into his mouth. When I risked twisting around, I could see his rebellion slowly starting to simmer out as he relaxed slightly. I wanted to yell at him to keep a clear head before cold fingers were dipping under my chin and forcing my head around where I found myself face to face with Eli.
“I like you, Josie,” he said, before untying me and pulling me to my feet. Now at the age of nine or ten, he was a lot stronger. When I tried to pull away, the cruel blade of a knife grazed my gut. I caught his grin. “But we don’t need you.” Eli pointed to Rowan.
“We just want them.”
I followed his pointer finger which went from Rowan to Harry and Carmel, who were just standing there like fucking idiots, probably awaiting the next game. Harry’s face was getting redder. It looked like he was suffocating, and yet his grin was growing wider and wider, splitting his lips apart. “Rowan Atlas.” Eleanor said, dragging him to his feet. Something was stapled to his forehead head, which caused him to howl in pain, hissing another strangled line of “Fudge”. but I couldn’t read what it was.
“Camp leader. Intelligent, and problem solving skills.”
“Harry Carlisle.” Eli nodded his head with a smile. “Quick thinker. Strong minded.”
“Carmel Locke.” Cassie spoke behind me. She had her arms folded, a wry smile on her lips. “Smarter than she makes out—- an independent learner, and can work well under pressure.”
Looking at these kids, I felt sick to my stomach. They were planning something—and had the intelligence of renowned scientists, which was what I gathered from the footage on the MacBook. “What?” was all I could hiss out, as Eli prodded the blade of the knife into my back, ushering me to walk. “What are you talking about?”
“Duh.” He spoke in a more tweeny giggle. “Like I said, Miss Josie. You’re my favorite counselor but we don’t need you, so I’m going to use you for parts.” He laughed when a shiver spiderwebbed down my spine. “See! I told you I was going to show you my collection!”
“But… what do you need them for?”
Eli pressed his index finger to his lips with a laugh before forcing me to face forwards. “That’s a secret!”
When I didn’t, or couldn’t move, he shoved me into a stumbling power-walk, and I managed to turn my head quickly, making feverish eye contact with Rowan.
“Rowan.” I said calmly through the gutter in my throat. “Get…. Get help.”
If I was going to die, I needed him to get a hold of himself and somehow alert the outside world what was going on.
“From whom, Josie?!” He wailed back—and as I was dragged away, I could once again sense the childish undertones in his voice.
I had no choice but to obey Eli’s orders. If I didn’t want a knife in my back. He took me to the main lunch cabin, which, when I set foot inside, almost sent me to my knees.
Something lurched inside me, and I was screaming with no voice, staggering backwards, only to be shoved onto my face. In front of me was what had been the lunch hall, fully converted into the beginning of a laboratory.
What had been cafeteria tables were fashioned into makeshift gurney’s and beds, and I was looking at all of the missing counselors. Yuri and Noah had been skinned completely, their faces laid out on a makeshift surgical table. Joey had been ripped open, his heart and brain removed, a glittering metallic substance creeping its way across his forehead. It was then when I remembered Eleanor Summers words.
She wanted to prevent death and preserve the human mind. Looking at what was in front of me, this was the start of it. There was equipment I had never seen before. Lily’s body was empty, carved out completely, tubes forced inside her. When I glimpsed her fingers move and begin to ball into a fist, I saw red. I saw fucking red. The exit was so close and yet Eli, fucking Eli, wielded his knife. I think that is when part of me gave up. My brain just stopped. It short circuited. Seeing my friends murdered and yet somehow being kept alive through playing god, my body slumped to the ground. I was numb. Completely numb.
I’m not sure what would have happened if those bloody saws and instruments which had been used on my friends were used on me too.
Luckily, that did not happen. Before Eli could get his slimy hands on me, he crumpled to the ground in an almost cartoon-like fashion, and standing over me was Harry. Who was looking better. When he grasped hold of me and helped me up, I only had one word. “Out.” And he was nodding, his eyes glistening as he drunk in our friends’ fate.
“How?” I managed to sputter out, when we made it out of the cabin, ducking behind a tree. Harry turned to me, motioning for me to shut up. There was a group of now ten to eleven year olds already running around, searching for what I guessed was him.
“I’m allergic to peanut butter,” Harry murmured, his grasp tightening on my wrist as he led me across the camp, the two of us stumbling.
“What, and you just magically healed?”
He didn’t respond to that, which bothered me.
“The bunker is our best shot,” I hissed out. “I think we can get in contact with someone down there.” I paused, unable to stop myself. “What makes you so important?”
“Dunno. Maybe I’m their favorite.”
When we found Allison’s cabin, which was more of a safehouse (an exposed safehouse) I found Rowan sitting on the wooden porch with his legs swinging over the side. “Rowan!” Harry groaned. I found it hard to believe their roles had been switched. Now he was the one yelling at the camp-leader. “I told you to stay inside!”
He ushered the boy inside, before barricading the door with some hefty looking equipment. I could tell from the grin on his face that our so-called leader was once again no longer himself.
I had to bite back a groan. “You’re kidding.” I said, pointing to Rowan, who buried his head in his knees and blew a raspberry. “Does he look and act like our leader right now?!”
“It’s Rowan, Josie.”
“He’s a liability.”
“He’s our friend! Wouldn’t Rowan do the same?”
Yes, he would. But. He would also realize we’re lost causes.
“Gag him with something.” I said. “If he makes any more noise, we’re dumping him.”
“He’s a kid!”
“Just the mind of one.”
I don’t know how animal crackers worked, but his age seemed to be progressively younger. This time he just sat with wide eyes watching us.
Harry almost tore apart the place looking for means of communication, before an old fashioned ringing sound made me jump.
“What was that?” Harry turned to me with his lip curled.
“How am I supposed to know?!” I hissed. “Keep looking!” But when I ducked under the table, my hands crawled under the desk, finding a wire—and attached to that, an ancient looking phone which looked straight out of a 1940’s movie, a bright green rotary phone.
Hesitantly, I answered it, lifting the phone to my ear. “Hello?”
“Did you awaken the subjects, Agent Salta?"
The voice on the other end was a woman, an oldish sounding woman with the tinge of a British accent.
“What?” I shot a look at Harry before shaking my head. “No. My name is Josie Greenfield. We’re at Camp Redwood, and we need help.”
The woman paused.
“Where is Agent Salta?” She cleared her throat. “This line is reserved for communication with agents only.”
“I don’t know who the fuck you’re talking about!" I squeaked out. “My name is Josie, and whatever is happening here, we need help!”
“Josie. Did you awaken the subjects?”
I paused after a moment, shooting Harry a look when he tried to take the phone off of me. “Yes.”
“And… are our agents unavailable?”
“I don’t understand.”
“When a health and safety breach is activated, our agents are awakened to deal with the Project Spearhead subjects if they were to ever go rogue, or become conscious enough to think. Josie, can you tell me what is in front of you? Describe it to me.”
I held my breath. Next to the hidden phone under the desk was what looked like mismatched wires, all of which had been severed. I lowered myself slowly, poking at mess. “Wires. I see… cut up wires.” I whispered. “Does this mean they know about you?”
She hummed. “Ah…That makes sense. The only way to activate our sleeper handlers would be to send out the signal. You appear to have been sabotaged. Unless activated manually, our agents cannot help you. I am sorry. They are your problem now.” The woman paused.
“If I were you, I would hope and pray they have not sabotaged the self-destruct. If you find that, then you may be able to save yourselves and find peace.” She cleared her throat. “Thank you for your service, Josie Greenfield.”
“Wait.” I managed to get out. “Wait, no! You can’t just… you can’t leave us! We need help!”
I found myself yelling at nothing when the phone went dead. The dull tone of the dead ringtone was clanging in my ears before footsteps from up above. “Fuck this.” Harry picked up a lead pipe. “They’re still little kids, right? I mean, their head must still be partly kids—- so let’s fucking beat their heads in.”
He noticed something, then, starting forwards towards the mess of files I had left earlier. Harry knelt on the ground and picked up Eli’s file, his eyes wide. But he wasn’t staring at the dates confirming the little boy’s age.
Instead, Harry pointed at the bottom of the file. “I don’t want to freak you out, Josie,” he whispered. Initially, I didn’t know what he was trying to show before I glimpsed notes scrawled at the bottom of the file, followed by a signature. “But I’m pretty sure that is my fucking writing.”
Harry was right.
I pulled the paperwork off of him, flicking through each file before turning my eyes to him. “Who the fuck are you?”
A clanging sound from above broke the tension, and whatever Harry was about to reply with was strangled in his throat. He slammed a hand over his mouth.
“Guys?”
The voice twisted me up inside, threatening to release a shriek from my mouth I had managed to clamp shut.
Teddy.
“Are you down here?” His voice was strained, and had an odd tone to it. “I can’t… I can’t see you.”
…
Can someone please tell me what the fuck is going on?! It’s been a blur of a week. We’ve managed to stay down here, surviving off of Allison’s rations. Rowan isn’t getting any better. He seems to have stopped mentally de-ageing at the age of maybe six. Harry has spent the last few days trying to get in contact with anyone, but it’s like they are IGNORING US.
I’ve been looking through everything I can find on Project Spearhead, but nothing points to Harry being involved. So. How is his signature all over the files? How is it possible that two friends I thought I knew several days ago, are now complete strangers?
Teddy keeps coming back.
He’s crying out to us.
I think he’s… in pain.
My god, I can’t stand this anymore. Please. CAMP REDWOOD NEEDS HELP.
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We toast marshmallows around the fire, tell spooky ghost stories, and hide in random secret military bunkers under the campgrounds! Because SOMETHING IS HERE WITH US.
Camp Redwood is the PERFECT PLACE for a summer getaway where we start EVERY DAY with a CAMP REDWOOD SMILE. Where our counselors disappear every five minutes, and our campers disembowel us for funsies! Did I forget to mention our littles aren’t actually eight years old, but fully grown adults?
We hope you enjoy your fucking stay!
We are also not responsible for any counselors revealing they are not who they said they are—and not who they appear to be.
...
So. There’s a LOT to tell you and not a lot of time to tell it.
Right now, I suppose you could say we are under lockdown—if that is the word. I want to go over the last several days to get you up to date. That’s all I can do right now. I can hope and pray the thing with Teddy’s voice does not get in here, and once again cry out for help—that I know is not coming. Not from the authorities, at least. But hey, if any of you fancy coming to rescue us, we’re in the middle of the Canadian wilderness. The closest rest-stop is maybe three fucking hours away. So have fun. Has it really almost been a week since I posted? Well, we’re still here!
And surprise, surprise, help is not coming. So, please excuse the salt. I am seventeen years old and I have been abandoned by the adults who were supposed to be looking after us.
Who were supposed to act under protocol if something like this happened. I know they were waiting for it—there are specific fucking guidelines on an emergency evacuation for counselors if this ever happened. But then the little shits took over before we could do anything. I guess I’ll start by letting you know that there are two of us left. (three, if we count Rowan, but I’m not). What I thought was going to be a quiet summer getaway with kids my age has turned into a nightmare.
For one, we have been cornered inside the head counselor’s underground secret bunker. If you want to know why she has a secret military bunker, I guess you should keep reading.
Because shit gets weirder than animal crackers having the power to turn adults into kids, and vice versa. When I made my first post, I thought that was it for us. I thought for sure there must have been a self-destruct somewhere—which meant whoever was running this camp was waiting for something like this. I was sure we were going to die, so after making the post, I have to admit with ya’ll—I just slept. I curled up, tried to ignore Harry and Carmel calling our names through childish laugher, and went to sleep with the thought in my head that I was completely at peace with what I had done with my life.
Sure, I was young. Seventeen years old is too young to be ripped apart by littles who are in fact grown adults. But as I was falling into slumber and allowing myself to fall, with my head resting in my lap, my head turned towards a separate pile of files on the other side of the room—I realized I really wanted to know how this was possible. There was so much I needed to know. Why did eight-year-old Eleanor Summers have a file where here birthday dated back to 1979? Why had supposedly innocent sugary snacks turned our adorable littles into mini psychopaths?
These kids were not kids, somehow. But how? How was that even possible? Could it be that the files were wrong?
1979 was definitely 45.
But Eleanor Summers couldn’t be 45 years old. I knew what 45 looked like. I knew that they thought like. They spent half of their time on Facebook laughing at outdated memes, and the other half… I don’t know, working? They have job’s! They’re happily married with kids, maybe soon grandkids! That was not Eleanor Summers. Because Eleanor Summers was most definitely eight years old. I had played several rounds of teddy-bears picnic, and spent hours reassuring her that Harry's ghost stories were in fact not real, enough times for me to know that this little kid was little—and a kid.
But something was bothering me. More than the secret military bunker, and magic age-regressing animal crackers. When I first signed up to Camp Redwood, one of the tag-lines to gain attraction had been, “Solve mysteries in the woods in the dead of night, with nothing but a flashlight and your fellow campers!” I had no idea I would be solving this thing on my own, trapped inside a bunker.
“What are you doing?” Rowan, who was still looking through Allison’s dinosaur laptop, turned to me with half lidded eyes, when I slowly got to my feet, careful not to make too much noise, and crept over to the pile of separate files which seemed to be crumbling apart from age. He kept his voice low, but it sounded almost like a whine. He could have been scared, but from the way he was sitting, cross-legged with a frowny face, I figured something must have been going on with him. The guy looked tired. More tired than normal.
The bags under his eyes were practically shadowing his face, and were an odd contrast to unusually ashy colored cheeks and slightly dilated eyes. Still though, Rowan refused to look vulnerable. I caught glimpse of Harry’s raybans sitting on his head, pinning back thick dark brown curls from falling in front of sleepy eyes. Maybe he was finally losing his cool and breaking out of the well-constructed façade he had been hiding behind since Teddy disappeared.
We had just narrowly escaped a crowd of psycho littles high on age-regressing sugary snacks who were doing who-the-fuck knows to the other counselors who had been captured, so I didn’t blame him looking like that. I guess he couldn’t look me in the eye, because in Rowan’s mind, he was the reason why this happened. He was the leader, and the camp had fallen to psychopathic little eight year olds who had taken half of the counselors hostage, and the other half—most likely taken apart in the physical sense, after what we had witnessed in Cassie’s cabin. Still though, it wasn’t Rowan’s fault. He could sit there and pull a face all he wanted, it’s not like I was going to blow up at him for getting us stuck down here. He actually saved us.
And trapped us, judging from the footsteps upstairs, Carmel and Harry still bouncing around looking for us.
It was a game in their heads. The little’s thought it was cat and mouse. Harry and Carmel were the oblivious cats prowling, while we were the mice, hoping to fucking GOD we weren’t caught and eaten. Ignoring Rowan, I glimpsed what looked like a box full of DVD’S—all of which were labelled with dates and names. I saw familiar ones, my heart racing into my throat. Phoebe. Eli. Cassandra.
Each DVD had one of the kid’s names scribbled on the front, as well as a date.
I found Eleanor’s right at the back of the box.
Eleanor Summers.
08/05/2021. (PM)
Before I could hesitate and think what I was doing, I slid the DVD into the portable player attached to the MacBook. Rowan, to my surprise, didn’t move. But he did make an acknowledging noise when the screen flickered to what looked like video footage. Peering at the screen, I found myself staring at a small white room. There was no door. Only a wooden desk and a chair, and sitting on it was a middle aged woman with dark blonde curls tied into a strict ponytail. She was wearing what looked like a prison jumpsuit.
Her eyes were eerily glued to the camera, unblinking. Her wrists were cuffed in front of her. Though from the look on her face, she saw the restraints as a game. Her eyes lit up with intrigue and I could practically see the cogs in her mind starting to turn as she struggled with them.
As soon as I saw this woman, I felt all of my nerve endings set alight. I wanted to turn the screen off, or look away. But once I was looking at the screen, I couldn’t bring myself to tear my eyes away. “Let’s try this again.” There was a woman offscreen. She sounded young. Too young to be in that kind of authority. I figured there was no way teenagers were being hired as special ops agents, but I guessed I was wrong. She cleared her throat. “It is 4:35 exactly. August 5th 2021. My name is Agent Lemrac,” she stated. “I am asking once again for you to comply with us. As I have said several times, the court are willing to lessen your sentence if you plead guilty with insanity.”
The woman surprised me with a snorting laugh. She seemed to come alive, leaning forward with animated features, her brow reaching her hairline. She was acting like a child, bouncing up and down in the seat, her lips stretching into a wider grin. “What did you just say?”
There was a pause. I could tell the woman was intentionally antagonising the interviewer.
“It means you have been legally declared insane,” the interviewer stumbled over her words slightly. “Mrs Summers, it would be in your best interest to work with us to lessen your current sentence which at the moment is standing at,” the sounds of shuffling paper crackled through the speakers. The interviewer cleared her throat again rustling paper. “Thirty six years. Without parole.”
The woman didn’t speak, only continued to smile—and the interviewer delved further into the sentence. “If you do in fact plead guilty with declared insanity, you will be sentenced to a program which is in the process of supporting and rehabilitating people with your…” she caught herself for a moment. I could tell this interviewer had a biased opinion and it was definitely showing through her interviewing style. I could hear the rapid intakes of her breath as she hurried through what seemed to be a script she was reading from. “Conditions.” She finished. “The Redwood program aims to help people exactly like you.”
Redwood? I thought.
Like… Camp Redwood?
Rowan whistled behind me. I guess I could call that a reaction. The guy was probably still in shock after seeing Café de Teddy splattered all over little Cassie’s cabin floor. I should have fucking know those little bitches weren’t playing Operation for eight hours straight. Turning my attention from Rowan and back to the screen, the woman in the jumpsuit appeared to have changed tactics. Her expression twisted into nonchalance. She leaned back in her chair. “I am not pleading insane because I am not insane.”
“Mrs Summers—”
The woman cut her off. “I am not crazy.” She raised her hands “I am doing what needs to be done.” She leaned forward. “Humanity suffers in the skin. We age and die— and how is that fair? What if we want to see the next millennium? And the next two millennia after that? Why should our bodies dictate our lifespan? Why should we sit here and wait to rot and wither and die when we have the intelligence and mindset to do it? If nobody else is willing to throw ethics aside to take a step forwards in human evolution, I should do it myself.” She folded her arms across her chest, again, like a child. “I did what was to be done.”
“Dr. Summers.” The interviewer’s tone grew stiff. “You and your colleagues conducted illegal and unethical procedures on your family and friends—as well as four other victims.”
The woman inclined her head. “You have a daughter, am I correct? I have a son.”
“A child you killed, Dr Summers.” The interviewer retorted in a hiss which was definitely expressing emotion. She ignored the mention of her daughter, but I could tell it had rattled her to her core. Her voice had cracked. This case was close to her.
That was obvious. Without seeing the interviewer herself, I could sense how uncomfortable she was, shuffling in the chair. Every so often I would hear the sound of her rubbing her hands on her knees and tapping her shoe against the chair leg. She oozed anxiety, not just from her tone of voice, but the way the frame seemed to move with her. “Dr. Summers, you used your son in your research, along with several of his friends. This was not science.” Her voice shook. I heard her sharp inhale. Unprofessional, but very human. Instead of staying stoic and keeping to script, this agent was cracking apart. “It was murder.”
“Agent Lemrac, concentrate on the interview only.” An official voice crackled through what sounded like an intercom on screen.
“Got it.” She spoke through her teeth.
The woman was finding wounds and pressing on them. She was scanning the interviewer for vulnerabilities and preying on every insecurity. She leaned back speaking through a sigh. “Without my son’s sacrifice we wouldn’t have created an answer to death. To growing old and dying, and leaving loved ones behind.” Her voice softened into a murmur, but I didn’t trust it.
After identifying the shattering pieces of this interviewer which were very clear visible in her view, the woman was taking advantage.
“Agent Lemrac, you have a daughter. Am I correct in saying her name is Mari?
“That… that is not relevant.”
“Glioblastoma.” Dr. Summers lips curved into a sickening smile hidden behind mocking sympathy. “A sickness of the brain--which, unfortunately, I cannot fix. If your daughter’s brain was in my hands, I would try. However, not even a brand new body would help her. One which would never age or grow sick. And for that, I am deeply, deeply sorry.” She reached her cuffed hands forwards. “My condolences, Agent Lemrac. Honestly. I have to hand it to you. You are incredibly brave for coming here today and talking to me while abandoning your sick child.” She shook her head.
“Your daughter is dying of an incurable illness, suffering inside fragile skin which will break and fall apart and be unable to keep her standing for much longer. While my son will live on forever. He will see every millennia, a planet which will crumble and build itself back together. And maybe the end of the universe itself.” There was a twitch in her expression and a glitter in her eye I did not recognise. Insanity.
She was fucking insane. I was seeing the pure of it, the depraved and disgusting gleam in eyes empty of remorse and regret. This woman did not care what she had done. I could tell from the look on her face. If she had the chance, she would do this again.
But there was no way they were trying to say her cruelty and complete disregard for her son’s life was due to insanity.
“You are sick, Dr. Summers.” The interviewer said after a moment of gathering herself.
The woman shook her head with a chuckle. “I told you. I am not sick--”
“Sick in the head!” The interviewer’s voice exploded through the speakers in a shriek—a terrified cry she had been trying to hold in. I finally saw her—or at least the back of her. She was a young woman with light blonde hair falling loose on her shoulders. She was trembling. Slamming her hands down on the table, she screamed at the orange jumpsuit woman.
“You are psychologically fucked in the head! You psycho bitch! That is my sister!” She spoke through strangled sobs rattling her whole body. “Mari is my little sister. She is not my child.”
Her breaths were strangled and harboured. I noticed figures looming in the background, but she was continuing. “You killed your own fucking son,” she spat. “You are not legally insane, you are sick!” she shrieked. “You planned and put this together! You sit there and you talk about your son like he’s a… like he’s a tool! You deserve to rot. Do you hear me?” I noticed the orange jumpsuit woman was still smiling, satisfied with the interview’s reaction. Her words were spoken in a vicious poison as she leaned forward and spat directly in orange jumpsuit’s face.
“Agent Lemrac!” Whoever her superiors were—were panicking. “I told you not to turn it off. I knew this was going to happen. Can we stop the demonstration, please? Human emotions present inside an Aceville soldier are too powerful—"
Voices were murmuring in the background, and Agent Lemrac raised her hands. “I want to stop.” She choked out, her hands trembling. She spoke like she still had control over the situation and wasn’t being apprehended. “I want to stop. Do you hear me?” The interviewer was crying, I realized. “Stop the recording! I can’t do this. Oh god, I think I’m going to be sick—”
When the footage ended in a burst of static, I found myself backing away, something slimy creeping its way up my throat.
The woman in the orange jumpsuit who had murdered her son and countless others in what sounded like an attempt at playing god, was Eleanor Summers. I thought back to Teddy’s corpse, and the surgical precision of every organ’s removal. The young interviewer had mentioned colleagues of Eleanor.
Was it possible that Camp Redwood was in fact nothing more than a rehabilitation camp for murderous criminals? There was a loud bang from above, and I was torn from my thoughts.
I turned to Rowan, who had been unusually quiet. And I realized why, when I twisted around to find him three inches from my face, his laboured breath tickling my cheek.
The boy jumped back with a chuckle—like me noticing him was some kind of game, before diving back into the chair. I did notice something odd, as my thoughts spiralled. Rowan couldn’t sit still. Slumped in the leather spinning chair, he fingers tapped a rhythm on the armrests while his feet jumped up and down. In the dim light of the bunker, I glimpsed a sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead and the flesh of his neck. He looked to be… feverish—and now that I was looking at him properly, all of my attention on the boy, I noticed small things which seemed… off about him.
For one, he wasn’t coming up with a plan. Rowan always had a plan. Even if he wasn’t completely sure of it, or was completely winging it. This time though, he was strangely quiet. I found my voice when he stuck out his tongue at me. “What are you looking at?”
“Rowan.” I spoke softly, careful not to garner attention from above us where Harry and Carmel were still clamouring around, playing games. “Are you… feeling okay?” I asked, when he turned back to the laptop, manically biting his fingernails.
“I dunnnooooo, Josie! Am I feeeeeeling okaaaaaayyyyy?” He surprised me with an uncharacteristic laugh.
But I did know it.
I knew it from earlier when he reacted to Allison’s bunker and I had been too freaked out to realize that I was dragging along the enemy with me.
Because the fucking idiot had consumed animal crackers. I had seen him for myself earlier, pouring a pack into his mouth for a snack. Which meant either the ‘kids’ had intentionally dosed him with mind altering sugary snacks, or the more likely, he could not resist those preservatives which was the equivalent of caffeine. It’s not like I could blame him when he harboured the weight of an entire camp, but come on, did he really have to sacrifice his own fucking mind to keep himself awake?
Rowan wasn’t just biting. His nails. He was gnawing. Which he previously thought was a filthy habit. He had yelled at a camper for chewing on her nails a few days earlier.
Now that I was noticing it, I couldn’t… stop noticing it. The boy’s whole demeanour had changed; the way he was sinking into the chair, instead of sitting up straight like usual—- I used to call it having a stick up his ass. The boy started typing on the laptop, ignoring me. But when I watched the pattern of his fingers, he was just typing gibberish. Footsteps pounded above us, Harry and Carmel acting as the kid’s’ brainwashed foot-soldiers. Or, more likely somehow, if the animal crackers had caused the littles, or I guess, the fully grown forty year old criminals, to relapse in age-- then maybe it was possible for the same thing to happen to us. To Rowan.
I could feel myself starting to back away, but there was nowhere to run. I just slammed into a cupboard. My gaze flicked to Rowan again, who was tapping a beat on the laptop tracking pad, swaying back and forth, his eyes elsewhere before his gaze found mine. “Marcoooooo!” Harry shouted from above, giggling with Carmel.
I had to guess their mental age had to be at least 8-10 years old. Which meant I wasn’t just dealing with a camp full of forty-year-old psycho’s, I was also dealing with mentally relapsed counselors acting like toddlers.
Rowan seemed to jolt in the chair, twisting his head around, his eyes suddenly incredibly childlike and playful, and very Un-Rowan, were finding the ceiling, his mouth stretching into a smile, like he was seeing butterflies. His eyes flashed to me, and I caught a twitch in his lip. I knew that look. It was the look on my seven year old sister, who knew mom was mad at me, and wanted to make it even worse.
His cheeks were starting to blossom scarlet from what must have been the overwhelming urge to laugh. Rowan pressed his lips together and held in a breath like a hamster, and the asshole was fucking with me. waiting for me to beat him to it by accident. Kids were fucking ruthless, but there was something terrifying about an 18 year old with a little kid’s mind.
I lifted my index to my lips, miming for him not to even try, but the boy just mimicked me, bugging out his eyes and pressing his finger to his grinning mouth. “Don’t you fucking dare.” I managed to whisper. The boy was definitely playing his own game, moving in twitching movements, baiting me. When he cupped his mouth, I almost let out a cry, but then he dropped his arms with a giggle, as if to say, “I’m just kidding!”
Slowly, I turned around, grabbed the salt I’d found in Allison’s cupboard, and a flat can of soda. Without making too much movement, I poured a handful of salt into the can. But Rowan seemed to know exactly what I was doing. Because in the time it was taking me to advance towards him, with the can of salty soda, one arm shakily ready to grab hold of him, and put him into a headlock, he was cupping his mouth, all logic and everything adult, everything he had been as our leader, igniting in playful eyes, leaving me the last one standing.
“Pollloooooo!”
By the time Rowan had managed to reveal our hiding place in a spluttered laugh, I had hold of the squirming boy, one arm wrapped around his neck, my other forcing the can of soda into his mouth. I had definitely miscalculated his strength. During camp Redwood activities, he was always the last one to come back from the trail, holding his knees and panting. I figured he was unfit. However, I was wrong. Underneath his shirt, the guy had some serious muscles.
It was like attacking a brick wall. However, Rowan was mentally a kid. So, I had my intelligence and logic on my side. When it became obvious I wasn’t going to get anywhere with brute strength, I resorted to tickling him, which made him squirming, squeaking out a laugh. When he opened his mouth to yell at me to stop, I took my chance, thrusting the can into his lips and holding his nose so he swallowed it down.
“No!” His laughter turned into muffled yelling, as he batted his fists at my chest. “No, no, no! Get off, get off!”
His body convulsed as the salt did its job, causing the boy to lurch to his knees and choke up forbidden animal crackers in a gooish sludge which turned my stomach. By the time Rowan seemed half himself and half not, still kneeling, his head pressed against the floor, Harry was poking his head through the door with a goonish grin. “Found you!” He giggled, before forcing the door open, allowing Carmel and Callen, freshly caught mentally turned into littles, to advance down the stairs with equally terrifying grins. There was something wrong with Harry’s face, and I only realized it when the guy himself was hauling me from the bunker, Carmel dragging a barely responsive Rowan. There was nothing in Harry’s expression, only blind childish excitement at winning the game. When he dragged me out of Allison’s cabin and threw me to the ground, I realized he too had insane strength I had not been expecting. But that thought quickly retracted when I was seeing his face in the light of a crescent moon lighting up the sky an eerie glow. Harry’s cheeks were puffy and swollen, his right eye way bigger than it should have been.
When he spoke, his voice was more of a lisp. This was something far more realistic than magical animal crackers fucking with his brain.
“He needs help!” I managed to choke out when Carmel wrapped jump-rope around my wrists. Next to me, Rowan was refusing to get up, still choking up salty soda, groaning into his hands. Every time Callen tried to restrain him, he hissed out like an animal.
“Do you hear me?!” I struggled violently. “Harry needs—”
BANG.
Is what it felt like. The feeling of something—what felt and sounded like a toy car—colliding with my temples, sent me onto the ground, my head spinning itself off of its axis. I remember lying on my back and frowning at the moon which almost looked like it was getting closer to me, blurring into a white ball of light—before reality sunk in, and it was in fact Carmel’s converse coming down to finish me off. I didn’t stay knocked out for long. But I did dream.
I think you can call it a dream? I was lying in bed at home; my room drowned in the dark. I was cosy, curled up in my blankets, when a clammy hand slammed over my mouth, rousing me from slumber. There were two figures in my room. They didn’t have faces. They just existed as shadows, silhouettes. Before one of them raised something above their head, and… impact.
It was the same impact as the toy car hitting me, snapping me back to that night. It wasn’t a dream. Because I remembered his clammy fingers over my mouth, and his hisses for me to shut up as he dragged me from my room.
My parents stood in front of me with expressions of sympathy. Basked in warm light, my mom and dad looked almost otherworldly. “For the best.” Was what they mouthed when my own phantom screams slammed into me, I asked them why, and they didn’t reply, allowing him to pull me further and further from what I knew, from my life as I knew it. But.. that couldn’t be real. I had memories of getting on the bus to camp Redwood. I could recall the whole journey. So, why… why was my tangled mind saying otherwise?
When I gathered myself, the first thing I realized was I was sitting down. I was outside, cool night air grazing my bare arms. There was something attached to me, jerking violently, And it took me several disorientating blinks to understand that I was tied back to back with Rowan. My head pounded, and something wet and warm dripped down my temple. Great. I could add head injury to the long list of things to worry about.
“Let me go you little fucking witch.”
Rowan was back to himself, though from the muffled hissing and the sound of choking—I had to guess he was being force-fed animal crackers.
“Let me—mpphmmm. little…. fucking… mphmmphhmhppmm!”
“Rowan.” I managed to get out in a croak. Through flickering eyes, I caught glimpse of a familiar figure dancing around us. Shivers rocketed down my spine, and I wrenched at the jump-rope restraints, but they did a surprisingly job of restraining my arms behind my back.
Eleanor was with Rowan, while Eli was knelt in front of me. Looking at him, the boy had definitely aged in the face—and I couldn’t help wondering what exactly he had done as a forty something year old to be sent to this place.
“Josie!” Rowan responded in a wail. “Josie. Wake the FUCK up.”
“Stop swearing.”
Eleanor spoke with the cold tone of her actual age.
“Oh, yeah?” Rowan spluttered. “Fuck you.” The boy’s laugh was still rough from almost vomiting his insides out from too much salt intake. “I’m sorry, you were a fucking boomer all along?!” He wriggled in the restraints, lunging forwards, which sent me backwards.
“Stop swearing, Rowan.” Was all the girl responded with calmly.
“Like I’m going to listen to you!” He sneered. “Fuck, fuck, fuckity, fucking fuck!” What are you going to do, huh? Bite me with your false teeth?” The sound of saliva hitting skin made me wince. He was pissed. I had no doubt his completely rational anger was going to get us killed. Rowan was also somehow getting mixed up between forty and eighty. Though he was unwillingly snacking on mind bending sugary goodness.
“Fudge, Rowan.” Eleanor spoke in a giggle.
“What?!”
“Say fudge. Not fuck.”
“No.”
His hiss of pain caught me off guard. I don’t know what she was doing to him, but it was hurting him.
“You fudging fudge! I’m going to fudging kill you when I get out of these fudging ropes—“ his manic cursing became a muffled yell.
“Say fudge,” Eleanor hummed, followed by his hiss when the palm of her hand skinned his cheek. “Fuck is a bad word. You even said so yourself and you’re my favourite counselor.”
He heaved out a breath.
“You fudge,” Rowan spat. “When I get out of this, I am going to fudging kill you, you fudging—” His manic ranting morphed, once again, into muffled yelling, after another fistful of animal crackers were forced into his mouth. When I risked twisting around, I could see his rebellion slowly starting to simmer out as he relaxed slightly. I wanted to yell at him to keep a clear head before cold fingers were dipping under my chin and forcing my head around where I found myself face to face with Eli.
“I like you, Josie,” he said, before untying me and pulling me to my feet. Now at the age of nine or ten, he was a lot stronger. When I tried to pull away, the cruel blade of a knife grazed my gut. I caught his grin. “But we don’t need you.” Eli pointed to Rowan.
“We just want them.”
I followed his pointer finger which went from Rowan to Harry and Carmel, who were just standing there like fucking idiots, probably awaiting the next game. Harry’s face was getting redder. It looked like he was suffocating, and yet his grin was growing wider and wider, splitting his lips apart. “Rowan Atlas.” Eleanor said, dragging him to his feet. Something was stapled to his forehead head, which caused him to howl in pain, hissing another strangled line of “Fudge”. but I couldn’t read what it was.
“Camp leader. Intelligent, and problem solving skills.”
“Harry Carlisle.” Eli nodded his head with a smile. “Quick thinker. Strong minded.”
“Carmel Locke.” Cassie spoke behind me. She had her arms folded, a wry smile on her lips. “Smarter than she makes out—- an independent learner, and can work well under pressure.”
Looking at these kids, I felt sick to my stomach. They were planning something—and had the intelligence of renowned scientists, which was what I gathered from the footage on the MacBook. “What?” was all I could hiss out, as Eli prodded the blade of the knife into my back, ushering me to walk. “What are you talking about?”
“Duh.” He spoke in a more tweeny giggle. “Like I said, Miss Josie. You’re my favorite counselor but we don’t need you, so I’m going to use you for parts.” He laughed when a shiver spiderwebbed down my spine. “See! I told you I was going to show you my collection!”
“But… what do you need them for?”
Eli pressed his index finger to his lips with a laugh before forcing me to face forwards. “That’s a secret!”
When I didn’t, or couldn’t move, he shoved me into a stumbling power-walk, and I managed to turn my head quickly, making feverish eye contact with Rowan.
“Rowan.” I said calmly through the gutter in my throat. “Get…. Get help.”
If I was going to die, I needed him to get a hold of himself and somehow alert the outside world what was going on.
“From whom, Josie?!” He wailed back—and as I was dragged away, I could once again sense the childish undertones in his voice.
I had no choice but to obey Eli’s orders. If I didn’t want a knife in my back. He took me to the main lunch cabin, which, when I set foot inside, almost sent me to my knees.
Something lurched inside me, and I was screaming with no voice, staggering backwards, only to be shoved onto my face. In front of me was what had been the lunch hall, fully converted into the beginning of a laboratory.
What had been cafeteria tables were fashioned into makeshift gurney’s and beds, and I was looking at all of the missing counselors. Yuri and Noah had been skinned completely, their faces laid out on a makeshift surgical table. Joey had been ripped open, his heart and brain removed, a glittering metallic substance creeping its way across his forehead. It was then when I remembered Eleanor Summers words.
She wanted to prevent death and preserve the human mind. Looking at what was in front of me, this was the start of it. There was equipment I had never seen before. Lily’s body was empty, carved out completely, tubes forced inside her. When I glimpsed her fingers move and begin to ball into a fist, I saw red. I saw fucking red. The exit was so close and yet Eli, fucking Eli, wielded his knife. I think that is when part of me gave up. My brain just stopped. It short circuited. Seeing my friends murdered and yet somehow being kept alive through playing god, my body slumped to the ground. I was numb. Completely numb.
I’m not sure what would have happened if those bloody saws and instruments which had been used on my friends were used on me too.
Luckily, that did not happen. Before Eli could get his slimy hands on me, he crumpled to the ground in an almost cartoon-like fashion, and standing over me was Harry. Who was looking better. When he grasped hold of me and helped me up, I only had one word. “Out.” And he was nodding, his eyes glistening as he drunk in our friends’ fate.
“How?” I managed to sputter out, when we made it out of the cabin, ducking behind a tree. Harry turned to me, motioning for me to shut up. There was a group of now ten to eleven year olds already running around, searching for what I guessed was him.
“I’m allergic to peanut butter,” Harry murmured, his grasp tightening on my wrist as he led me across the camp, the two of us stumbling.
“What, and you just magically healed?”
He didn’t respond to that, which bothered me.
“The bunker is our best shot,” I hissed out. “I think we can get in contact with someone down there.” I paused, unable to stop myself. “What makes you so important?”
“Dunno. Maybe I’m their favorite.”
When we found Allison’s cabin, which was more of a safehouse (an exposed safehouse) I found Rowan sitting on the wooden porch with his legs swinging over the side. “Rowan!” Harry groaned. I found it hard to believe their roles had been switched. Now he was the one yelling at the camp-leader. “I told you to stay inside!”
He ushered the boy inside, before barricading the door with some hefty looking equipment. I could tell from the grin on his face that our so-called leader was once again no longer himself.
I had to bite back a groan. “You’re kidding.” I said, pointing to Rowan, who buried his head in his knees and blew a raspberry. “Does he look and act like our leader right now?!”
“It’s Rowan, Josie.”
“He’s a liability.”
“He’s our friend! Wouldn’t Rowan do the same?”
Yes, he would. But. He would also realize we’re lost causes.
“Gag him with something.” I said. “If he makes any more noise, we’re dumping him.”
“He’s a kid!”
“Just the mind of one.”
I don’t know how animal crackers worked, but his age seemed to be progressively younger. This time he just sat with wide eyes watching us.
Harry almost tore apart the place looking for means of communication, before an old fashioned ringing sound made me jump.
“What was that?” Harry turned to me with his lip curled.
“How am I supposed to know?!” I hissed. “Keep looking!” But when I ducked under the table, my hands crawled under the desk, finding a wire—and attached to that, an ancient looking phone which looked straight out of a 1940’s movie, a bright green rotary phone.
Hesitantly, I answered it, lifting the phone to my ear. “Hello?”
“Did you awaken the subjects, Agent Salta?"
The voice on the other end was a woman, an oldish sounding woman with the tinge of a British accent.
“What?” I shot a look at Harry before shaking my head. “No. My name is Josie Greenfield. We’re at Camp Redwood, and we need help.”
The woman paused.
“Where is Agent Salta?” She cleared her throat. “This line is reserved for communication with agents only.”
“I don’t know who the fuck you’re talking about!" I squeaked out. “My name is Josie, and whatever is happening here, we need help!”
“Josie. Did you awaken the subjects?”
I paused after a moment, shooting Harry a look when he tried to take the phone off of me. “Yes.”
“And… are our agents unavailable?”
“I don’t understand.”
“When a health and safety breach is activated, our agents are awakened to deal with the Project Spearhead subjects if they were to ever go rogue, or become conscious enough to think. Josie, can you tell me what is in front of you? Describe it to me.”
I held my breath. Next to the hidden phone under the desk was what looked like mismatched wires, all of which had been severed. I lowered myself slowly, poking at mess. “Wires. I see… cut up wires.” I whispered. “Does this mean they know about you?”
She hummed. “Ah…That makes sense. The only way to activate our sleeper handlers would be to send out the signal. You appear to have been sabotaged. Unless activated manually, our agents cannot help you. I am sorry. They are your problem now.” The woman paused.
“If I were you, I would hope and pray they have not sabotaged the self-destruct. If you find that, then you may be able to save yourselves and find peace.” She cleared her throat. “Thank you for your service, Josie Greenfield.”
“Wait.” I managed to get out. “Wait, no! You can’t just… you can’t leave us! We need help!”
I found myself yelling at nothing when the phone went dead. The dull tone of the dead ringtone was clanging in my ears before footsteps from up above. “Fuck this.” Harry picked up a lead pipe. “They’re still little kids, right? I mean, their head must still be partly kids—- so let’s fucking beat their heads in.”
He noticed something, then, starting forwards towards the mess of files I had left earlier. Harry knelt on the ground and picked up Eli’s file, his eyes wide. But he wasn’t staring at the dates confirming the little boy’s age.
Instead, Harry pointed at the bottom of the file. “I don’t want to freak you out, Josie,” he whispered. Initially, I didn’t know what he was trying to show before I glimpsed notes scrawled at the bottom of the file, followed by a signature. “But I’m pretty sure that is my fucking writing.”
Harry was right.
I pulled the paperwork off of him, flicking through each file before turning my eyes to him. “Who the fuck are you?”
A clanging sound from above broke the tension, and whatever Harry was about to reply with was strangled in his throat. He slammed a hand over his mouth.
“Guys?”
The voice twisted me up inside, threatening to release a shriek from my mouth I had managed to clamp shut.
Teddy.
“Are you down here?” His voice was strained, and had an odd tone to it. “I can’t… I can’t see you.”
…
Can someone please tell me what the fuck is going on?! It’s been a blur of a week. We’ve managed to stay down here, surviving off of Allison’s rations. Rowan isn’t getting any better. He seems to have stopped mentally de-ageing at the age of maybe six. Harry has spent the last few days trying to get in contact with anyone, but it’s like they are IGNORING US.
I’ve been looking through everything I can find on Project Spearhead, but nothing points to Harry being involved. So. How is his signature all over the files? How is it possible that two friends I thought I knew several days ago, are now complete strangers?
Teddy keeps coming back.
He’s crying out to us.
I think he’s… in pain.
My god, I can’t stand this anymore. Please. CAMP REDWOOD NEEDS HELP.
2023.06.03 21:03 WideMix8098 Rebuilt title used in error?
I’m not sure if this is the correct subreddit to post this in, but I’m curious to see if anyone else has come across or experienced a situation similar to mine. I bought this car from Expressmotorsports in Lawrence, Massachusetts. (Yes I know the location is terrible for buying a used car, so if you wee even thinking about it, don’t)
Let me preface this by saying, I was in a really rushed, pressured situation to get into whatever vehicle I could. I was borrowing money from my family and they insisted I go through a dealership. Long story short, I bought a 2008 Honda Crv with only 120k miles on it, expecting the car to still have decent life in it despite the age. If you’ve ever owned a Honda you’ll know these cars and drive forever if properly mail Ted. The car even passed mechanics inspection and state inspection. The car dropped a valve and the engine was dead after only 2 months, after doing nothing but driving and overly maintaining it. When I bought the car and signed the purchase contract with the warranty, he said I could bring the car back and he would fix anything that went wrong within 30 days. After the engine blew I went to look for the warranty and it was left blank. Massachusetts lemon law requires a written 30 day warranty on a used car. I know it’s my fault for not seeing this, but isn’t it totally illegal for him to do? Has anyone had experience with this?
Also upon further inspection of the car fax, the verbiage is “rebuilt/salvage title issued in error.” “Total loss issued in error”. Also, again I take accountability for not inspecting this further, I only saw that the car had been in an accident but the title was clean. But I have no understanding of what this means, even my friend who is a car dealer says he has never seen a “rebuilt title” issued in error and is later issued as “clean”. Is this shady? Has anyone ever seen this verbiage and knows what could have happened, or did he just pull something extremely illegal?
If there were more posts and reviews like mine while I was researching this dealership, I would have run in the other direction as fast as I could. I contacted a lawyer and he says he recently had a few cases similar to mine contact him regarding the same dealership recently. The reviews went from almost 5 stars down due to people purchasing cars from them in the same time frame dates and same story as me.
submitted by WideMix8098 to whatcarshouldIbuy [link] [comments]
Let me preface this by saying, I was in a really rushed, pressured situation to get into whatever vehicle I could. I was borrowing money from my family and they insisted I go through a dealership. Long story short, I bought a 2008 Honda Crv with only 120k miles on it, expecting the car to still have decent life in it despite the age. If you’ve ever owned a Honda you’ll know these cars and drive forever if properly mail Ted. The car even passed mechanics inspection and state inspection. The car dropped a valve and the engine was dead after only 2 months, after doing nothing but driving and overly maintaining it. When I bought the car and signed the purchase contract with the warranty, he said I could bring the car back and he would fix anything that went wrong within 30 days. After the engine blew I went to look for the warranty and it was left blank. Massachusetts lemon law requires a written 30 day warranty on a used car. I know it’s my fault for not seeing this, but isn’t it totally illegal for him to do? Has anyone had experience with this?
Also upon further inspection of the car fax, the verbiage is “rebuilt/salvage title issued in error.” “Total loss issued in error”. Also, again I take accountability for not inspecting this further, I only saw that the car had been in an accident but the title was clean. But I have no understanding of what this means, even my friend who is a car dealer says he has never seen a “rebuilt title” issued in error and is later issued as “clean”. Is this shady? Has anyone ever seen this verbiage and knows what could have happened, or did he just pull something extremely illegal?
If there were more posts and reviews like mine while I was researching this dealership, I would have run in the other direction as fast as I could. I contacted a lawyer and he says he recently had a few cases similar to mine contact him regarding the same dealership recently. The reviews went from almost 5 stars down due to people purchasing cars from them in the same time frame dates and same story as me.
2023.06.03 20:32 WideMix8098 Massachusetts car dealer sells me a car without a written warranty, sketchy car fax
Let me preface this by saying, I was in a really rushed, pressured situation to get into whatever vehicle I could. I was borrowing money from my family and they insisted I go through a dealership. Long story short, I bought a 2008 Honda Crv with only 120k miles on it, expecting the car to still have decent life in it despite the age. The car even passed mechanics inspection and state inspection. The car dropped a valve and the engine was dead after only 2 months, after doing nothing but driving and overly maintaining it. When I bought the car and signed the purchase contract with the warranty, he said I could bring the car back and he would fix anything that went wrong within 30 days. After the engine blew I went to look for the warranty and it was left blank. Massachusetts lemon law requires a written 30 day warranty on a used car. I know it’s my fault for not seeing this, but isn’t it totally illegal for him to do?
Also upon further inspection of the car fax, the verbiage is “rebuilt/salvage title issued in error.” “Total loss issued in error”. Also, again I take accountability for not inspecting this further, I only saw that the car had been in an accident but the title was clean. But I have no understanding of what this means, even my friend who is a car dealer says he has never seen a “rebuilt title” issued in error and is later issued as “clean”. Is this shady?
I contacted a lawyer and he says he recently had a few cases similar to mine contact him regarding the same dealership recently, and the reviews went from almost 5 stars down due to people purchasing cars from them in the same time frame and same story as me.
submitted by WideMix8098 to legaladvice [link] [comments]
Also upon further inspection of the car fax, the verbiage is “rebuilt/salvage title issued in error.” “Total loss issued in error”. Also, again I take accountability for not inspecting this further, I only saw that the car had been in an accident but the title was clean. But I have no understanding of what this means, even my friend who is a car dealer says he has never seen a “rebuilt title” issued in error and is later issued as “clean”. Is this shady?
I contacted a lawyer and he says he recently had a few cases similar to mine contact him regarding the same dealership recently, and the reviews went from almost 5 stars down due to people purchasing cars from them in the same time frame and same story as me.
2023.06.03 20:06 Ok-Chemist-4986 Pump or engine?
 | I have a Simpson power washer with a Honda engine. GC 190. Model number is in the photos. I am somewhat mechanically inclined, but not with pumps. I was able to takeoff the one part and after the photos I clean everything up a little bit. When I pull on the pole cord, those 3 pistons move back-and-forth just fine. I only used it for two summers. Both summers were very light use. When winter time came, I change the oil and put ethanol, free gasoline inside of the tank, along with some stabilizer. I’ve been doing this for years with my motorcycles and other small equipment. Yesterday for the first start, it had water shoot out of the pressure relief valve because it was about 95° outside and the water was so hot in the hose. I shut it off and gave it a once over and everything looked fine. I got rid of the fuel and put fresh fuel inside. Spark plug looks good as well. Based off these photos, can anyone help me out? When I let go of the trigger the pump shuts off, almost immediately. It runs if I have my hand on the trigger but it doesn’t sound the same. The oil is right where it needs to be. Good gas etc etc submitted by Ok-Chemist-4986 to pressurewashing [link] [comments] |
2023.06.03 18:20 _Triple_ [STORE] 900+ KNIVES/GLOVES/SKINS, 50.000$+ INVENTORY. M9 Fade, M4 Poseidon, BFK Freehand, Crimson Kimono, Nomad Fade, Skeleton, Kara Lore, Bayo Autotronic, AWP Fade, Kara Damas, BFK Ultra, Kara Freehand, Kara Bright, M9 Damas, Omega, Tiger Strike, Flip MF, Bayo Tiger, Deagle Blaze, Talon & More
Everything in my inventory is up for trade. The most valuable items are listed here, the rest you can find in My Inventory
Feel free to Add Me or even better send a Trade Offer. Open for any suggestions: upgrades, downgrades / knives, gloves, skins / stickers, patterns, floats.
All Buyouts are listed in cash value.
KNIVES
★ Butterfly Knife Freehand FN #1, B/O: $2500
★ Butterfly Knife Ultraviolet FT, B/O: $822
★ Butterfly Knife Scorched FT, B/O: $616
⎯★ Bayonet Tiger Tooth MW #1, B/O: $1300
★ Bayonet Autotronic FN, B/O: $1050
★ Bayonet Tiger Tooth MW, B/O: $629
★ Bayonet Bright Water FT, B/O: $326
★ Bayonet Safari Mesh BS, B/O: $233
⎯★ Karambit Lore FT, B/O: $1110
★ Karambit Damascus Steel FT, B/O: $840
★ Karambit Freehand MW, B/O: $784
★ Karambit Bright Water MW, B/O: $759
⎯★ M9 Bayonet Fade FN, B/O: $1801
★ M9 Bayonet Fade FN, B/O: $1801
★ M9 Bayonet Damascus Steel FN, B/O: $751
⎯★ Nomad Knife Fade FN, B/O: $1156
★ Nomad Knife Slaughter MW, B/O: $544
★ Nomad Knife Blue Steel WW, B/O: $318
⎯★ Flip Knife Marble Fade FN, B/O: $646
★ Flip Knife Doppler (Phase 4) FN, B/O: $574
★ Flip Knife Gamma Doppler (Phase 1) MW, B/O: $552
★ Flip Knife Case Hardened FT, B/O: $257
★ Flip Knife Freehand FT, B/O: $255
★ StatTrak™ Flip Knife Bright Water FN, B/O: $287
⎯★ Huntsman Knife Lore FN, B/O: $461
★ Huntsman Knife Gamma Doppler (Phase 4) FN, B/O: $436
★ Huntsman Knife Doppler (Phase 3) FN, B/O: $353
★ Huntsman Knife Autotronic FT, B/O: $212
★ Huntsman Knife Bright Water FT, B/O: $129
★ Huntsman Knife Forest DDPAT MW, B/O: $129
★ Huntsman Knife Forest DDPAT BS, B/O: $123
★ StatTrak™ Huntsman Knife Rust Coat BS, B/O: $127
⎯★ Bowie Knife Gamma Doppler (Phase 2) FN, B/O: $375
★ Bowie Knife Gamma Doppler (Phase 1) FN, B/O: $363
★ Bowie Knife Tiger Tooth FN, B/O: $269
★ Bowie Knife Crimson Web WW, B/O: $192
★ Bowie Knife Bright Water FN, B/O: $159
★ Bowie Knife Ultraviolet FT, B/O: $126
⎯★ Stiletto Knife Slaughter FN, B/O: $616
★ Stiletto Knife Crimson Web FT, B/O: $412
★ StatTrak™ Stiletto Knife Night Stripe FT, B/O: $227
⎯★ Falchion Knife Lore FT, B/O: $214
★ Falchion Knife Autotronic FT, B/O: $192
★ Falchion Knife Scorched WW, B/O: $105
⎯★ Survival Knife Crimson Web BS, B/O: $216
★ Survival Knife Case Hardened FT, B/O: $198
★ Survival Knife Scorched FT, B/O: $111
⎯★ Shadow Daggers Fade FN, B/O: $368
★ Shadow Daggers Doppler (Phase 3) FN, B/O: $228
★ Shadow Daggers, B/O: $201
★ Shadow Daggers Damascus Steel FT, B/O: $108
★ Shadow Daggers Ultraviolet FT, B/O: $105
★ Shadow Daggers Black Laminate FT, B/O: $99
★ Shadow Daggers Forest DDPAT FT, B/O: $85
⎯★ Gut Knife Doppler (Sapphire) MW #1, B/O: $1700
★ Gut Knife Gamma Doppler (Phase 1) FN, B/O: $223
★ Gut Knife Marble Fade FN, B/O: $203
★ Gut Knife Doppler (Phase 2) FN, B/O: $191
★ Gut Knife Case Hardened BS, B/O: $127
⎯★ Navaja Knife Doppler (Phase 4) FN, B/O: $199
★ Navaja Knife Doppler (Phase 4) FN, B/O: $199
★ Navaja Knife, B/O: $138
★ Navaja Knife Damascus Steel FN, B/O: $111
⎯★ Classic Knife Urban Masked FT, B/O: $146
★ StatTrak™ Classic Knife Stained BS, B/O: $168
⎯★ Ursus Knife Doppler (Phase 3) FN, B/O: $476
★ Ursus Knife, B/O: $375
⎯★ Skeleton Knife, B/O: $1137
★ Talon Knife, B/O: $608
★ Paracord Knife, B/O: $305
★ Survival Knife Forest DDPAT FT, B/O: $97
GLOVES
★ Moto Gloves Transport MW, B/O: $204
★ Moto Gloves Polygon BS, B/O: $142
★ Moto Gloves Blood Pressure BS, B/O: $84
★ Moto Gloves Blood Pressure BS, B/O: $84
★ Moto Gloves 3rd Commando Company BS, B/O: $63
★ Moto Gloves 3rd Commando Company BS, B/O: $63
⎯★ Specialist Gloves Crimson Kimono WW, B/O: $1215
★ Specialist Gloves Tiger Strike FT, B/O: $672
★ Specialist Gloves Lt. Commander FT, B/O: $305
★ Specialist Gloves Lt. Commander BS, B/O: $140
★ Specialist Gloves Crimson Web BS, B/O: $137
★ Specialist Gloves Buckshot FT, B/O: $75
⎯★ Driver Gloves Crimson Weave FT, B/O: $359
★ Driver Gloves Imperial Plaid BS, B/O: $229
★ Driver Gloves Overtake BS, B/O: $77
★ Driver Gloves Racing Green FT, B/O: $48
⎯★ Sport Gloves Omega FT, B/O: $739
★ Sport Gloves Amphibious BS #2, B/O: $733
★ Sport Gloves Arid BS, B/O: $292
⎯★ Hand Wraps Giraffe MW, B/O: $212
★ Hand Wraps Leather FT, B/O: $160
★ Hand Wraps Desert Shamagh MW, B/O: $101
⎯★ Broken Fang Gloves Yellow-banded MW, B/O: $185
★ Broken Fang Gloves Needle Point FT, B/O: $67
★ Broken Fang Gloves Needle Point WW, B/O: $59
⎯★ Hydra Gloves Case Hardened BS, B/O: $65
★ Hydra Gloves Emerald FT, B/O: $65
★ Hydra Gloves Emerald BS, B/O: $62
WEAPONS
AK-47 Case Hardened BS, B/O: $130
AK-47 Bloodsport MW, B/O: $79
AK-47 Fuel Injector BS, B/O: $76
AK-47 Fuel Injector BS, B/O: $76
AK-47 Bloodsport FT, B/O: $70
AK-47 Neon Rider MW, B/O: $60
StatTrak™ AK-47 Aquamarine Revenge FT, B/O: $72
⎯AWP Fade FN, B/O: $1039
AWP Asiimov FT, B/O: $139
AWP Asiimov FT, B/O: $139
AWP Wildfire MW, B/O: $95
AWP BOOM MW, B/O: $93
AWP BOOM MW, B/O: $93
AWP Duality FN, B/O: $81
AWP Asiimov BS, B/O: $79
AWP Asiimov BS, B/O: $79
AWP Chromatic Aberration FN, B/O: $60
StatTrak™ AWP Hyper Beast FT, B/O: $68
StatTrak™ AWP Hyper Beast FT, B/O: $68
StatTrak™ AWP Electric Hive FT, B/O: $55
⎯Desert Eagle Blaze FN, B/O: $623
Desert Eagle Emerald Jörmungandr FN, B/O: $241
Desert Eagle Cobalt Disruption FN, B/O: $81
Desert Eagle Cobalt Disruption FN, B/O: $81
Desert Eagle Cobalt Disruption FN, B/O: $81
Desert Eagle Printstream FT, B/O: $54
⎯M4A1-S Blue Phosphor FN, B/O: $434
StatTrak™ M4A1-S Bright Water MW, B/O: $55
⎯M4A4 Poseidon FN, B/O: $1465
M4A4 Asiimov BS, B/O: $55
M4A4 Hellfire MW, B/O: $50
⎯USP-S Kill Confirmed MW, B/O: $72
USP-S Printstream FT, B/O: $69
StatTrak™ USP-S Kill Confirmed FT, B/O: $139
⎯AUG Flame Jörmungandr FN, B/O: $234
P90 Run and Hide FT, B/O: $147
Five-SeveN Candy Apple FN, B/O: $61
Trade Offer Link - Steam Profile Link - My Inventory
Some items on the list may no longer be available or are still locked, visit My Inventory for more details.
Send a Trade Offer for fastest response. I consider all offers.
Add me for discuss if there is a serious offer that needs to be discussed.
2023.06.03 17:00 Proletlariet Composite Bond - Main Body
I admire your luck, Mr...?
Bond. James Bond.
Bond generally wields a sidearm with lethal efficiency, along with a number of incredible gadgets developed by the geniuses at Q Branch. With his remarkable physical ability and ever-changing bag of tools, there isn't an international crime organization that Bond has failed to take down. The only thing that could possible distract Bond are his own vices: women or booze, both of which have gotten one over on him in the past.
Sean Connery- 1962 to 1967, once more in 1971. Physically strong, numerous gadgets disguised as everyday items. Adept in traditional spy skills, like infiltration and observation.
George Lazenby- Once in 1969. Very similar to Connery in his craftiness, skilled specifically in winter sports.
Roger Moore- 1973 to 1985. Downright campy, making use of almost cartoonish skills that actually work in-universe. Skilled driver and pilot with a variety of gadgets.
Timothy Dalton- 1987 to 1989. Colder and more quick to become violent than the others. Usually carries a firearm and a lethal gadget to kill enemies.
Pierce Brosnan- 1995 to 2002. Best variety of gadgets of any Bond. Great feats of endurance and athletic ability.
Daniel Craig- 2006 to 2021. The most realistic Bond, yet has some of the most impressive physical abilities in any of the movies. Low variety of gadgets, but excels in gunfights.
Hover over a feat to see the film it’s from. Additionally, the name of any gif on Gfycat contains the last name of the actor that accomplished it.
Physicals
You have a nasty habit of surviving.Strength
Well, you know what they say about the fittest.
Striking
- Breaks a wooden board with a downward strike
- Tackles a man through two bathroom stalls
- Barrels through a temporary construction wall
- Punches through drywall and wood to access a hidden room
- Picks up and throws a chair at a man, knocking him out
- Fights off an attacker with a couch
- Picks up and slides a man across a table
- Tosses a chain onto a low-flying helicopter to cause it to crash
- Holds a man above a ledge by the hair
- When he’s held underwater by two women, Bond surfaces and holds both of them underwater with one hand each
- Holds onto a small plane while the pilot tries to shake him off
- Catches a rope on a blimp and holds on even after it rises high into the air
- Holds onto the top of a speeding car, even when the driver attempts to shake him off
- Avoids falling out of a plane’s airlock by grabbing onto some netting
- Holds onto the outside of a moving seaplane, even after the pilot attempts to shake him off
- Holds onto the bottom of an elevator car as it rises up a skyscraper
Other
- After being buried in snow by an avalanche, Bond climbs out and is relatively okay about a minute later
- Wrestles with a large constricting snake before killing it with a poison injector
Blunt Force
- Keeps fighting after getting a wooden chair broken over his back
- Stays conscious after strikes from Oddjob
- Fights on through hits with a fireplace poker
- Jumps from a bridge to a passing boat, falling through the roof and onto a wedding cake
- While hanging onto a blimp, he’s smacked into the Golden Gate Bridge and quickly starts climbing up
- He’s knocked down a ladder, but recovers by the time he gets to the bottom rung
- Continues fighting Stamper after a number of blows to the face
- Falls from a low hot air balloon onto a domed structure, and he recovers by grabbing some nearby cables
- When jumping off a low crane, Bond stumbles, falling into a metal air vent. He’s up and running moments later.
- Recieves cock and ball torture by Le Chiffre’s rope, at first barely responding, then laughing in his torturer’s face
- Falls one or two stories onto the top of a bus, but gets up quickly
- Fights on after being hit across the back with a metal pipe four times
- Keeps fighting through repeated strikes from Hinx, like getting thrown into walls or getting thrown through thin walls
- [Limit] Has a recurring weakness to blunt force trauma to the back of the head
- Keeps running despite being shot in the calf
- Keeps fighting after being cut across the chest and being shot up by a nail gun
- Gets shot in the shoulder by a handgun, but operates mostly unimpeded
- Resists being garroted long enough to grab a knife, stabbing his attacker and turning the garrote wire back on him
- Takes over 12 Gs of force before destroying the machine with an armor-piercing dart
- Real-life astronauts are typically trained to withstand up to 9 Gs of force.
- Gets electrocuted with a gauntlet that can output 100,000 volts, which leaves him writhing in pain but conscious
- Bond is shot by a sniper rifle and falls off a high bridge into water. After three months, Bond is mostly physically able again, although his aim is more noticeably affected.
- Endures having a small surgical drill bore into the back of his skull and into the part of the brain that deals with recognition, seemingly to no negative neurological effect
Movement
- Chases down an assassin, tackling him
- Takes a running jump up to a rising platform
- Catches up to an aircraft taking off on the runway
- Runs and jumps into a closing metal door
- Catches up to an airplane during takeoff, jumping into the plane through the landing gear
- Catches up to a fleeing truck on a runway, although it obviously hasn’t accelerated to full speed
- Escapes a CIA squad with just a moment's warning
- Runs away from a fireball caused by a house-sized explosion
- While on the ground, he dodges katana swings
- Dodges a thrown knife, then pulls it out of the wood behind him to kill the assassin
- Dodges a dune buggy at close range
- Evades shotgun fire from a pursuer
- Evades rifle fire, then shoots the enemy gunman
- Evades handgun fire with a roll, then avoids some distant machine gun fire
- Dodges a harpoon underwater
- When a man attempts to shoot Bond’s knees from nearly point blank range, Bond moves his legs to avoid the shots
- Uses an enemy to block gunfire
- While sitting in the passenger seat, Bond grabs the driver’s arm before they can shoot him
- Rolls away from an incendiary grenade’s detonation moments after noticing it
Combat Skill
Problem solver?Unarmed Combat
More of a problem eliminator.
Quick Knock Outs
- Judo flips an attacker, then punches him
- Dispatches a guard with a neck strike
- Silently KOs a man, then steals his equipment to blend in with a scuba crew
- KOs a guard with a judo chop
- Stealthily KOs a guard from behind cover
- Knocks a man out with one kick to the head
- Ends an attempted fistfight with an elbow and then slamming the man on a table
- Knocks out a man by slamming him into the walls of an elevator twice
- Punches a guy out in two strikes
- Consistently one-punches goons
- From a sprint, Bond jumps and kicks a man in the face to knock him out
- Breaks a hold from behind by a man who wrestles alligators
- Fights evenly with Grant in a train car, with both men getting in hits before Grant begins garroting Bond with a concealed wire
- Sweeps Pussy Galore to the floor, then reverses her judo throw attempt
- Wrestles with Hans before flipping him into a piranha pond
- Flips a man with judo throws twice
- Defeats a strong, tough guy in the hotel
- Has an awesome fistfight with a heavyset henchman, ending with Bond punching him off a rooftop
- Fights an assassin while dangling outside of a moving plane
- Has an extended fistfight with Alec Trevylyn, former agent 006, ending with Alec grabbing a handgun to hold Bond at gunpoint
- During a fight, he breaks a man’s arm, then punches him off a ledge
- Brawls with a martial artist on the outside of a crane
- Knocks out six men when fleeing on a rooftop
- Starts thrashing technicians until one pulls a gun
- Defeats four guards in hand-to-hand combat
- Knocks out two attackers who ambushed him
- Drops about four men in a bar fight
- While handcuffed, Bond knocks out four surrounding MI6 agents in an elevator
- Drops two guards with one strike each
- Kicks away a gunman's gun, then beats him up in the ocean
- Disarms an armed woman with one hand
- While unarmed, Bond fights with a knife-wielding villain, with Bond disarming him and tackling him into water
- Disarms a woman and puts her in a painful armhold
- Disarms a gunman and knocks him down some stairs
- Has an extended fight with a man with a machete while in a confined space. Bond himself was unarmed, although he did ball up his jacket to block some strikes.
- Takes out a CIA riot officer with an elbow to the face
- While completely unarmed, defeats a man wielding an axe, even tricking him into slicing his own foot
- Brawls with an assassin armed with a sniper rifle before dropping him out of a skyscraper
- Intentionally breaks the ice on a frozen lake to bring a gunman down into the water, then Bond chokes him to death with his leg
Blades
- Kills a man with his own knife in one maneuver
- In just a few moves, Bond defeats a henchman in a machete fight, throwing him into a container full of snakes
- Steals a man’s knife, then pins his tie to a nearby counter
- Swordfights with a trained fencer, eventually switching to broadswords, where Bond draws first blood from the torso
- While being held at knifepoint, Bond turns and kills the man with his own knife after a struggle
- Breaks a man’s neck with a fireplace poker
- Disarms a diver, then uses the harpoon gun to shatter their goggles
- Using an oar, Bond fights off a man with a large hook
- Uses a ski to knock a man off of a cliff, then kills another man after a struggle
- While unarmed, Bond is attacked by an assassin with a knife, but manages to kill the assassin with a pair of scissors
- Spots an attacker in the reflection of a bronze decoration, then uses the decoration to bludgeon them
- Fights off four men who were beating him with a bat moments before, making heavy use of furniture and blunt items
- Defeats three men in the confined space of a cockpit
- Throws flammable alcohol onto an assassin, igniting him
- Beats down a guard with a door, then five strikes
- Takes out two motorcycle-riding assassins with a long plank of wood
- Uses a ski pole to set a trap for a motorbike-riding assassin
- Knocks out a prison guard while handcuffed, at one point using the cuffs on the man's face
- Defeats two men in a crumbling building, using exposed wiring and a nail gun to dispatch them
- Brawls with an assassin in a hotel room before throwing him into a bathtub and knocking a fan into the water, electrocuting him
- Kills Oddjob by using exposed electrical wiring on a metal cage that Oddjob was touching
- Tricks Jaws into hitting a wood column, knocking a wooden structure over himself
- Brawls with Jaws atop a cable car
- Fights off three hockey player assassins in a hockey rink, taking one out with the zamboni
- Judo throws a goon onto a bed of spikes
- While pinned to a wooden door by knives, he opens the door and kills an assassin with one of the knives
- Smacks a henchman with a plane’s antenna, throwing him off the plane
- Tosses maggots at a gunman, then knocks him out and judo throws him into the maggots
- Bond drags a guard into water and drowns him
- Bond ties a rope around Mr. Hinx’s neck and attaches it to a weight, then kicks that weight off the train to pull Hinx away
Accuracy
You wouldn’t kill me. You’d miss me.Pistols
I never miss.
- Grabs Goldfinger’s gun and fires on an airplane window, sucking the villain out of the plane
- Shoots a gunman despite their being behind a column for cover
- Right after waking up, he shoots a ninja in the dark
- Poses as a wax figure and shoots Scaramanga
- Shoots three soldiers with his Walther P5, two of them being headshots
- Accurately hits a gunman from a moving speedboat
- Shoots a gunman through a wooden floor
- Uses a human shield to block bullets, then returns fire, killing a gunman
- Turns and fires on a man before he can fire
- Shoots a man while hanging upside-down by the leg
- Disarms and shoots two policemen
- Disarms the man holding him at gunpoint, then kills four other armed men in seconds
- Shoots two fire extinguishers to obscure the room and allow hostages to safely escape
- While handcuffed and at gunpoint, Bond steals the gun to shoot his captors
- Uses the Walther PPK to shoot out a dune buggy’s front tire
- Fires a Taurus PT92 into the engine of an oncoming Jeep, disabling it
- From a speedboat, Bond accurately hits a helicopter’s engine enough with a handgun to cause it to crash
- Using a sniper rifle, Bond shoots a man in a helicopter, causing him to drop his grenade inside
- Fires a rifle, killing three goons, while sliding down a bannister
- Kills at least 8 men with a submachine gun in a short timeframe
- Turns around and shoots a gunman before he can kill his hostage. Note that Bond turns and fires right after the gunman receives orders to kill the hostage.
- Spots a sneaking soldier dressed in black and kills him with a rifle
- Fires on a guard before the guard can fire his weapon
- From a speeding hovercraft, Bond hits small land mines to detonate them on his pursuers
- Uses a Sa vz. 58 Compact to escape Blofeld’s facility, killing nearly a dozen guards, even at extreme range
- Turns and immediately shoots a harpoon gun, killing a stealthy assassin
- Takes out a distant sniper by firing a shotgun
- Accurately shoots a sniper’s rifle with his own, rather than kill her
- Escapes a crowd of divers by stealing a harpoon gun and firing it into a nearby seaplane, pulling himself away
- Throws three scalpels into a man’s arm and chest
- Throws a knife into a specific date on a calendar from across a room
- When the auto-targeting system fails, Bond manually shoots down a capsule full of viruses with a laser cannon
- Kills a man with a climbing spike
Other Skills
I always enjoyed learning a new tongue.Athletics
You always were a cunning linguist, James.
- Dives off an oil rig into the ocean below
- Avoids machine gun fire while skiing
- Continues skiing after losing a ski
- While skiing, Bond jumps and twists to smack two gunmen with his skis
- Goes rock climbing on a nearly vertical rock wall
- Temporarily outswims the pull of an industrial fan before destroying it with his air tank
- Performs a HALO jump into water, then immediately begins scuba diving
- Swims outside of a submarine, scaling the surface until he can re-enter the vessel on the other side. He had to hold his breath for almost two minutes while scaling the outside of the submarine.
- Infiltrates North Korea by simply surfing onto the coast of the country
- Parasurfs off a collapsing iceberg
- Leaps from a crashing plane, catching up to his partner and using her parachute to save them both
Driving
- Weaves around a parking lot, causing a dozen cop cars to crash into themselves, walls or parked cars
- Briefly drives on two wheels to slip through a narrow alley
- Drifts a double decker bus, causing a couple cops to crash their motorcycles
- Jumps over a river in a car using a broken bridge as a ramp
- While driving, he knocks over barrels onto enemies, then drives on two wheels to block bullets
- Drives a car over a ramp, onto a bus, then back to ground level
- Picks up a villain's wheelchair with a helicopter, then drops him into a smokestack
- Avoids a heat-seeking missile while piloting a small plane, redirecting it into an enemy hangar
- Dodges a stinger missile by driving a semi-truck on only the left hand wheels
- Starts a helicopter in midair and lands safely
- While flying a much less maneuverable plane, Bond tricks a fighter jet into crashing into a mountainside by producing smoke from a damaged engine
- Ejects a pilot from a helicopter, then pulls the helicopter out of freefall
- Jumps a speedboat over a small patch of land
- Drifts a tank, then drives through a building to cause untold property damage
- Performs a front flip off a ledge
- Traverses a ski lift wire with nothing more than a pair of mittens
- Traverses the underside of an oil rig by swinging on a rope, then walking a tightrope
- Jumps on the back of a couple alligators to escape a swamp
- Swings on vines like Tarzan to escape pursuers
- Traverses the side of a moving train
- Uses a long pole to safely travel down a building, then releases the pole to smack a pursuing officer
- Performs a combat roll down stairs to avoid handgun fire
- Runs up a crane to reach the top of a building under construction
- Climbs up a vertical I-beam
- From the top of a moving truck, Bond runs and flips through the open windshield
- Jumps down a story onto stone, rolling to avoid impact damage
- Uses a hollow reed to hide underwater from guards and dogs
- Hides in plain sight by pretending to be making out, but it’s actually just his own arms wrapped around himself
- Evades a crowd of police
- Lowers his heart rate to trick medical staff and an EKG, then dispatches the staff and escapes the hospital
- Broke into M’s house to use her computer
- [Observation] Notices an attacker in the reflection of a woman’s eye, then uses her as a human shield to block a strike
- [Foreign Language] Learned several Asian languages at Cambridge
- [Alcoholism] Can tell the temperature of alcohol after one sip
- [Deception] Poses as a genealogist under the pseudonym Sir Hillary Bray. After a few days, Blofeld sees through the ruse and has Bond captured.
- [Underwater] Ties a boat to a large rock with the rope he’s bound in, causing the boat to break the rope, freeing Bond
- [Sleight of Hand] Switches out a priceless Faberge egg for a fake copy
- [Animal Commanding] Commands a wild tiger to sit, and it actually listens
- [Gambling] Wins a quarter of a million dollars at a high stakes gambling table
- [Invention] Descends a tall building with some rope and an unconscious body
- [Seduction] Seduces a married woman to learn more about her husband’s criminal activity
- [Preparation] Puts shotgun shells under the floorboards in order to fire on intruders when they step on them
- [Observation] Identifies a hidden door based on a tiny sliver of light through the crack
Equipment
Right, now pay attention 007. I want you to take great care of this equipment. There are one or two rather special accessories.Weapons
Q, have I ever let you down?
Frequently.
Firearms
- Carries a Walther PPK, a discreet pistol with excellent stopping power
- A collapsible Armalite AR-7 sniper rifle with an infrared sight, allowing for use in the dark
- Bond carries a S&W model 29 revolver in early Moore films, then later switches to his iconic Walther PPK, then, finally, uses the Walther P5
- Carries a very small firearm, the Beretta 950 Jetfire
- Has a firearm disguised as a camera. Additionally, the device is programmed to Bond’s own palm signature, meaning only he can fire the weapon.
- A suppressed UMP-9, used to fire on Mr. White’s leg at range
- A Walther PPK with a palm-print sensor coded to Bond’s hand, meaning only he can fire it
- A heavily modified Glock 17, with laser sight and microphone attachment
- A combat knife
- A projectile launcher disguised as a cigarette, gifted to Bond by a ninja master
- A grenade disguised as a ballpoint pen
- A grenade disguised as a lighter
- A flashbang explosive disguised as a handgun, used to stun three gunmen, allowing Bond to dispatch them
Mobility
- A grappling gun and cord that attaches to his pants, allowing him to scale the outside of a skyscraper
- Briefly wore a ninja outfit with suction cups on the palms and knees, used to scale down metal walls
- Flies away from a fight with a jetpack
- A belt with a hidden high-tensile cord, enough to support Bond’s own weight
- A small explosive, used to blow a lock off a cell door
- Has a small safe-cracking device disguised as a cigarette case
- Special glasses to see through tinted glass
- Photocopier disguised as a checkbook
- A digital skeleton key disguised as a gift card
- Binoculars built into a pair of glasses
- Sunglasses with built in X-ray vision, allowing Bond to detect concealed weapons and see through women’s clothing
- A powerful camera, used to identify the faces of high profile criminals with just a few pixels
- A cell phone that acts as a fingerprint scanner, a powerful taser and as a remote control for a BMW
Continued in Comments
2023.06.03 16:40 Northman-66 Honda Pilot (2016-18) vs. Kia Sorento (2017-19) vs. Toyota Highlander (2013-15) - Is one more reliable than the other?
My wife and I are in the hunt for a used mid-size SUV with a budget of $15k - $21k. So far, we have narrowed it down to the following three makes:
- Honda Pilot (2016-2018 models)
- Kia Sorento (2017-2019)
- Toyota Highlander (2013-2015)
Hoping any experienced drivers might be able to shed some light on which of our 3 choices might be the more reliable vehicle?
Any info would be greatly appreciated😁!
submitted by Northman-66 to UsedCars [link] [comments]
- Honda Pilot (2016-2018 models)
- Kia Sorento (2017-2019)
- Toyota Highlander (2013-2015)
Hoping any experienced drivers might be able to shed some light on which of our 3 choices might be the more reliable vehicle?
Any info would be greatly appreciated😁!
2023.06.03 15:38 obeliskposture Short story about bad times & bad jobs
I've shared fiction here before and it didn't go altogether too poorly, so I'm going to press my luck and do it again. This was written about a year ago, and I'm tired of trying to peddle it to lit magazines. Might as well share it here, know that it met a few eyeballs, and have done with it.
It's relevant to the sub insofar as it's about urban alienation and the working conditions at a small business run by IN THIS HOUSE WE BELIEVE people. (I tried to pitch it as a story of the great resignation with a momentary flicker of cosmic horror.) It's based on a similar job I took on after getting laid off during the lockdown, and the circumstances of the main character's breakup are faintly similar to one I went through several years back (her job sucked the life out of her).
Without further ado:
* * *
It was getting close to midnight, and the temperature outside was still above 80 degrees. We’d locked up the shop at 10:15 and walked over to Twenty, the dive bar on Poplar Street, where a single wall-mounted air conditioner and four wobbly ceiling fans weren’t putting up much resistance against the July heat baking the place from the outside and the dense mass of bodies giving it a stifling fever from within.
Just now I came close to saying it was a Wednesday night, because that was usually when the cyclists descended upon Avenue Brew, the gritty-but-bougie craft beer and sandwich shop I was working at back then. Every Wednesday between March and November, about fifteen to twenty-five Gen Xers dressed in skintight polyester, all packages and camel toes and fanny packs, locked up their thousand-dollar bikes on the sidewalk and lined up for IPAs and paninis. They reliably arrived around 8:00, an hour before we closed, making it impossible to get started on the closing checklist and leave on time at 10:00. The worst of them were demanding and rude, and even the best got raucous and stubborn after a couple drinks. There were nights when bringing in the sidewalk tables couldn’t be done without arguing with them. Most were sub-par tippers, to boot.
After Wednesday came and went that week without so much as a single 40-something in Ray Bans and padded shorts stopping in to double-fist two cans of Jai Alai, we dared to hope the cyclists had chosen another spot to be their finish line from there on out. But no—they’d only postponed their weekly ride, and swarmed us on Friday night instead.
I was the last person to find out; I was clocked in as purchaser that evening. The position was something like a promotion I'd received a year earlier: for twenty hours a week, I got to retreat from the public and sit in the back room with the store laptop, reviewing sales and inventory, answering emails from brewery reps, and ordering beer, beverages, and assorted paper goods. When I put in hours as purchaser, my wage went up from $11 to $15 an hour, but I was removed from the tip pool. On most days, tips amounted to an extra two or three dollars an hour, so I usually came out ahead.
This was back in 2021. I don't know what Avenue Brew pays these days.
Anyway, at about 8:15, I stepped out to say goodbye to everyone and found the shop in chaos. Friday nights were generally pretty active, the cyclists' arrival had turned the place into a mob scene. The line extended to the front door. The phone was ringing. The Grubhub tablet dinged like an alarm clock without a snooze button. Danny was on the sandwich line and on the verge of losing his temper. Oliver was working up a sweat running food, bussing tables, and replenishing ingredients from the walk-in. The unflappable Marina was on register, and even she seemed like she was about to snap at somebody.
What else could I do? I stayed until closing to answer the phone, process Grubhub orders, hop on and off the second register, and help Danny with sandwich prep. After the tills were counted out, I stayed another hour to take care of the dishes, since nobody had a chance to do a first load. Oliver was grateful, even though he grumbled about having to make some calls and rearrange Sunday's schedule so I could come in a couple hours late. Irene and Jeremy, Avenue Brew's owners, would kick his ass if he let me go into overtime.
Danny suggested that we deserved a few drinks ourselves after managing to get through the shift without killing anyone. Not even Marina could find a reason to disagree with him.
The neighborhood had undergone enough gentrification to support an upscale brunch spot, an ice cream parlor, a gourmet burger restaurant, a coffee and bahn mi shop, and Avenue Brew (to name a few examples), but not yet quite enough that the people who staffed them couldn’t afford to live within a ten-minute walk from the main avenue where all these hep eateries stood between 24-hour corner stores with slot machines in back, late-night Chinese and Mexico-Italian takeout joints with bulletproof glass at the counters, and long-shuttered delis and shoe stores. Twenty on Poplar was the watering hole set aside for people like us. It was dim, a bit dilapidated, and inexpensive, and usually avoided by denizens of the condos popping up on the vacant lots and replacing clusters of abandoned row houses.
When we arrived, Kyle waved us over. He didn’t work at Avenue Brew anymore, but still kept up with a few of us. He was at Twenty at least four nights out of the week.
So there we all were. I sat with a brooding stranger freestyling to himself in a low mumble on the stool to my left and Oliver on my right, who tapped at his phone and nursed a bottle of Twisted Tea. To Oliver’s right sat Marina, staring at nothing in particular and trying to ignore Danny, who stood behind her, closer than she would have liked, listening to Kyle explain the crucial differences between the Invincible comic book and the Invincible web series.
I recall being startled back to something like wakefulness when it seemed to me that the ceiling had sprouted a new fan. I blinked my eyes, and it wasn’t there anymore. It reminded me of an incident from when I was still living with my folks in South Jersey and still had a car, and was driving home from a friend’s house party up in Bergen County. It was 6:30 AM, I hadn’t slept all night, and needed to get home so I could get at least little shuteye before heading to Whole Foods for my 11:00 AM shift. I imagined I passed beneath the shadows of overpasses I knew weren’t there, and realized I was dreaming at the wheel.
I was pretty thoroughly zombified at that point. Heather and I had broken up for good the night before, and I hadn't gotten even a minute of sleep. Calling out at Avenue Brew was tough. Unless you found someone willing to cover your shift on like six hours' notice, you were liable to get a writeup, a demotion, or your hours cut if you couldn't produce a doctor's note. So I loaded up on caffeine pills and Five-Hour Energy bottles at the corner store, and powered through as best I could.
I finished the last thimbleful of Blue Moon in my glass. Oliver wiped the sweat from the back of his neck with a napkin and covered his mouth to stifle a laugh at the KiwiFarms thread he was scrolling through. Pool balls clacked; somebody swore and somebody laughed. The TouchTunes box was playing Bob Dylan’s “Rain Day Woman #12 & 35,” and enough bleary 40-something men around the bar were bobbing their heads and mouthing the words to make it impossible to determine which one of them paid two bucks to hear it. A guy by the cigarette machine who looked like a caricature of Art Carney in flannel and an old Pixies T-shirt was accosting a woman who must have been a toddler when he hit drinking age, and she momentarily made eye contact with me as she scanned the area for a way out. Danny was shouting over the bartender’s head, carrying on a conversation with the Hot Guy from Pizza Stan’s, who was sitting on the horseshoe’s opposite arm.
I never got his name, but when Oliver first referred to him as the Hot Guy from Pizza Stan’s, I knew exactly who he meant. Philly scene kid par excellence. Mid-20s, washed-out black denim, dyed black hair, thick bangs, and dark, gentle eyes. He was only truly alluring when he was on the job, because he seldom smiled then—and when he smiled, he broke the spell by exposing his teeth, stained a gnarly shade of mahogany from too much smoking and not enough brushing.
“How’s Best? Marcus still a joker?” Danny asked him.
“Yeah, you know Marcus. You know how he is.”
So the Hot Guy had been working at Best Burger (directly across the street from Avenue Brew) ever since Pizza Stan’s owners mismanaged the place unto insolvency. (Afterwards it was renovated and reopened as a vegan bakery—which incidentally closed down about a month ago.) Danny used to work at Best Burger, but that ended after he got into a shouting match with the owner. I happened to overhear it while I was dragging in the tables and collecting the chairs from the sidewalk the night it happened. It wasn’t any of my business, and I tried not to pay attention, but they were really tearing into each other. A month later, Oliver welcomed Danny aboard at Avenue Brew. I hadn’t known he’d been interviewed, and by then it was too late to mention the incident. But I’d have been a hypocrite to call it a red flag after the way I resigned from my position as Café Chakra's assistant manager two years earlier—not that we need to go dredging that up right now. Let's say there was some bad blood and leave it at that.
Anyway, I was thinking about giving in and buying a pack of cigarettes from the machine—and then remembered that Twenty didn’t have a cigarette machine. I looked again. The Art Carney-lookalike was still there, fingering his phone with a frown, but the girl was gone—and so was the cigarette machine.
I had only a moment to puzzle over this before Danny clapped me on the shoulder and thrust a shot glass in front of me.
“Starfish!” he said. (Danny called me Starfish. Everybody else called me Pat.) “You look like you need some juice.”
He distributed shots to everyone else. Marina declined hers, but changed her mind when Kyle offered to take it instead.
She and Kyle had stopped sleeping together after Kyle left Avenue Brew to work at the Victory taproom on the Parkway, but Marina was still concerned about his bad habits, which Danny delighted in encouraging.
We all leaned in to clink our glasses. Before I could find an appropriate moment to ask Marina if I could bum a cigarette, she got up to visit the bathroom. Danny took her seat and bowed his head for a conspiratorial word with Kyle.
I watched from the corner of my eye and tried to listen in. Like Marina, I was a little worried about Kyle. He got hired at Avenue Brew around the same time I did, just before the pandemic temporarily turned us into a takeout joint. He was a senior at Drexel then, an English major, and sometimes talked about wanting to either find work in publishing or carve out a career as a freelance writer after graduating. But first he intended to spend a year getting some life in before submitting himself to the forever grind.
He read a lot of Charles Bukowski and Hunter Thompson. He relished the gritty and sordid, and had already been good at sniffing it out around the neighborhood and in West Philly before Danny introduced him to cocaine, casinos, strip clubs, and a rogue’s gallery of shady but fascinating people. (None were really Danny’s friends; just fellow passengers who intersected with the part of his life where he sometimes went to Parx, sometimes came out ahead, sometimes spent his winnings on coke, and sometimes did bumps at titty bars.) Kyle recounted these adventures with a boyish enthusiasm for the naked reality of sleaze, like a middle schooler telling his locker room buddies about catching his older brother in flagrante and seeing so-and-so body parts doing such-and-such things.
Marina hated it. She never said as much to me, but she was afraid that the template Kyle set for his life during his “year off” was in danger of becoming locked in. The anniversary of his graduation had already passed, and now here he was trying to convince Danny to contribute a couple hundred dollars toward a sheet of acid his guy had for sale. He wasn't doing much writing lately.
I was the oldest employee at Avenue Brew (as I write this I’m 37, but fortunately I don’t look it), and when Kyle still worked with us I felt like it was my prerogative to give him some advice. The longer he waited to make inroads, I once told him, the more likely he’d be seen as damaged goods by the publishing world. He needed to jam his foot in the door while he was still young.
I could tell the conversation bored him, and didn’t bring up the subject again.
The bartender took my glass and curtly asked if I’d like another drink.
“No thanks, not yet,” I answered.
She slid me my bill.
I missed the old bartender, the one she’d replaced. I forget her name, but she was ingenuous and energetic and sweet. Pretty much everyone had some sort of crush on her. Sometimes she came into Avenue Brew for lunch, and tipped us as well as we tipped her. Maybe three months before that night—Danny witnessed it—she suddenly started crying and rushed out the door. Everyone at the bar mutely looked to each other for an explanation. (Fortunately for Twenty, the kitchen manager hadn’t left yet, and picked up the rest of her shift.)
She never came back. None of us had seen her since. But drafts still had to be poured and bottlecaps pulled off, and now here was another white woman in her mid-twenties wearing a black tank top, a pushup bra, and a scrunchie, same as before. Twenty’s regulars grew accustomed to not expecting to see the person she’d replaced, and life went on.
“How’re you doing?” I asked Oliver, just to say something to somebody, and to keep my thoughts from wandering back to Heather.
“Just kind of existing right now,” he answered. His phone lay face-up on the counter. He was swiping through Instagram, and I recognized the avatar of the user whose album he hate-browsed.
“And how’s Austin been?” I asked.
“Oh, you know. Not even three weeks after getting over the jetlag from his trip back from the Cascades, he’s off touring Ireland.” He shook his head. “Living his best life.”
He’d hired Austin on a part-time basis in September. We needed a new associate when Emma was promoted to replace a supervisor who'd quit without even giving his two weeks. There was a whole thing. I'm having a hard time recalling the guy's name, but I liked him well enough. He was a good worker and he seemed like a bright kid, but he was—well, he was young. Naïve. One day he found Jeremy sitting in the back room with his laptop, and took advantage of the open-door policy to ask why the store manager and supervisors didn’t get health benefits or paid time off. Jeremy told him it "was being worked on," and that he couldn’t discuss it any further at that time. I understand the kid got argumentative, though I never knew precisely what was said.
Irene started visiting the shop a lot more often after that, almost always arriving when the kid was working. No matter what he was doing, she’d find a reason to intervene, to micromanage and harangue him, and effectively make his job impossible. A coincidence, surely.
It’s something I still think about. By any metric, Jeremy and Irene have done very well for themselves. They’re both a little over 40 years old. I remember hearing they met at law school. In addition to Avenue Brew, they own a bistro in Francisville and an ice cream parlor in Point Breeze. They have a house on the Blue Line, send their son to a Montessori school, and pull up to their businesses in a white Volkswagen ID.4. But whenever the subject of benefits, wages, or even free shift meals came up, they pled poverty. It simply couldn’t be done. But they liked to remind us about all they did to make Avenue Brew a fun place to work, like let the staff pick the music and allow Oliver and me to conduct a beer tasting once a day. They stuck Black Lives Matter, Believe Women, and Progress flag decals on the front door and windows, and I remember Irene wearing a Black Trans Lives Matter shirt once or twice when covering a supervisor's shift. None of the college students or recent graduates who composed most of Avenue Brew's staff could say the bosses weren't on the right team. And yet...
I'm sorry—I was talking about Austin. He was maybe 30 and already had another job, a “real” job, some sort of remote gig lucrative enough for him to make rent on a studio in the picturesque Episcopal church down the street that had been converted into upscale apartments some years back. Austin wasn’t looking for extra cash. He wanted to socialize. To have something to do and people to talk to in the outside world. He wanted to make friends, and all of us could appreciate that—but it’s hard to be fond of a coworker who irredeemably sucks at his job. Austin never acted with any urgency, was inattentive to detail, and even after repeated interventions from Oliver and the supervisors, he continued to perform basic tasks in bafflingly inefficient ways. Having Austin on your shift meant carrying his slack, and everyone was fed up after a few months. Oliver sat him down, told him he was on thin ice, and gave him a list of the areas in which he needed to improve if he didn’t want to be let go.
When Austin gave Oliver the indignant “I don’t need this job” speech, it was different from those times Danny or I told a boss to go to hell and walked out. Austin truly didn’t need it. He basically said the job was beneath him, and so was Oliver.
It got deep under Oliver’s skin. He did need the job and had to take it seriously, even when it meant being the dipshit manager chewing out a man four or five years his senior. He earned $18 an hour (plus tips when he wasn’t doing admin work), had debts to pay off, and couldn't expect to get any help from his family.
The important thing, though, the part I distinctly remember, was that Oliver was looking at a video of a wading bird Austin had recorded. An egret, maybe. White feathers, long black legs, pointy black beak. Austin must have been standing on a ledge above a creek, because he had an overhead view of the bird as it stood in the water, slowly and deliberately stretching and retracting its neck, eyeing the wriggling little shadows below. As far as the fish could know, they were swimming around a pair of reeds growing out of the silt. The predator from which they extended was of a world beyond their understanding and out of their reach.
The video ended. Oliver moved on to the next item: a photograph of the bird from the same perspective, with a fish clamped in its beak. Water droplets flung from the victim's thrashing tail caught the sunlight. And I remember now, I clearly remember, the shapes of like twelve other fish stupidly milling about the bird's feet, unperturbed and unpanicked.
Danny peered at Oliver’s phone and observed a resemblance between the bird—its shape and bearing, and the composition of the photograph—and a POV porn video shot from behind and above, and he told us so. Elaborately. He made squawking noises.
“And mom says I’m a degenerate,” Oliver sighed. “Can you practice your interspecies pickup artist shit somewhere else?” Oliver flicked his wrist, shooing Danny off, and held his phone in front of his face to signal that he was done talking.
Danny sagged a little on his stool and turned away. I sometimes felt bad for him. For all his faults, he had the heart of a puppy dog. He really did think of us as his tribe. There was nobody else who’d only ever answer “yes” when you asked him to pick up a shift, and he did it completely out of loyalty.
He was turning 29 in a week. I wondered how many people would actually turn out to celebrate with him at the Black Taxi. Kyle probably would—but even he regarded Danny more as a source of vulgar entertainment than a friend.
Then it happened again. When I turned to speak to Oliver, there’d been a pair of pool cues leaning side-by-side against the wall a few stools down. Now they were gone.
This time it might have been my imagination. Somebody passing by could have casually snatched them up and kept walking.
But a moment later I seemed to notice a second TouchTunes box protruding from the wall directly behind me. I let it be.
Marina returned from the bathroom. Danny rose and offered her back her seat with an exaggerated bow. Before she got settled, I asked if she’d like to step outside with me. She withdrew her pack of Marlboro Menthols from her canvas bag, which she left sitting on the stool to deter Danny from sitting back down.
Marina never minded letting me bum cigarettes from time to time. I couldn’t buy them for myself anymore; it’s a habit I could never keep under control, and was only getting more expensive. Like everything else in the world. About once a month I reimbursed her by buying her a pack.
The air out on the sidewalk was as hot as the air inside Twenty, but easier to breathe. After lighting up, Marina leaned against the bricks and sighed.
“I wish Oliver would fire Danny already and get it over with.”
I nodded. Marina rarely talked about anything but work.
“He sneaks drinks and doesn't think anyone notices he's buzzed,” she went on. “He steals so much shit and isn’t even a little subtle about it. He’s going to get Oliver in trouble. And he’s a creep.”
“Yeah,” I said. These were her usual complaints about Danny, and they were all true. “At least he’s better than Austin.”
“That’s a low bar.”
Three dirt bikes and an ATV roared down the lonely street, charging through stop sign after stop sign, putting our talk on hold.
“Remind me. You’ve got one semester left, right?” I asked after the noise ebbed.
“Yep.”
Marina was a marketing major at Temple. She’d had an internship during the spring semester, and her boss told her to give her a call the very minute she graduated. Her parents in central Pennsylvania couldn’t pay her rent or tuition for her, so she was a full-time student and a full-time employee at Avenue Brew. Her emotional spectrum ranged from "tired" to "over it." She’d been waiting tables and working at coffee shops since she was seventeen, had no intention of continuing for even a day longer than she had to, and feared the escape hatch would slam shut if she dallied too long after prying it open.
She’d considered majoring in English, like Kyle. She went for marketing instead. I couldn’t blame her.
“Are you okay?” she asked. “You’ve been kind of off all day.”
“I’m terrible.”
“Why?”
I gave dodgy answers, but she asked precisely the right follow-up questions to get me going about what happened with Heather the night before.
It was the new job. Before the pandemic, Heather worked as a server at a Center City bar and grill. (That's where I met her; we were coworkers for about a year, and then I left to work Café Chakra because it was quieter and closer to where I lived.) When the place closed its doors and laid everyone off during the lockdown, she got a stopgap job at the Acme on Passyunk, and hated it. Then in March, she found a bar-and-lounge gig in a ritzy hotel on Broad Street. Very corporate. Excellent pay, great benefits. Definitely a step up. But her new employers made Irene and Jeremy look like Bob and Linda Belcher by comparison. It was the kind of place where someone had recently gotten herself fired for leaving work to rush to the hospital after getting the news that her grandmother was about to be taken off life support, and not finding someone to come in and cover the last two hours of her shift.
Heather seldom worked fewer than fifty-five hours a week, and her schedule was even more erratic than mine. At least once a week she left the hotel at 1:00 or 2:00 AM and returned at 9:00 the next morning. Neither of us could remember the last time she’d had two consecutive days off, and it had been over a month since one of mine overlapped with one of hers. She’d spent it drinking alone at home. All she wanted was some privacy.
I’d biked to South Philly to meet her when she got home at 1:30. The argument that killed our relationship for good began around 2:30, when I complained that we never had sex anymore. Heather accused me of only caring about that, when she was so exhausted and stressed that her hair was falling out in the shower. Quit the job? She couldn’t quit. The money was too good. She had student loans, medical bills, and credit card debt, and for the first time in her life she could imagine paying it all off before hitting menopause.
So, yeah, I was cranky about our sex life being dead in the water. Say whatever you like. But at that point, what were we to each other? We did nothing together anymore but complain about work before one or both of us fell asleep. That isn’t a relationship.
She said my hair always smelled like sandwiches, even after bathing, and she was done pretending it didn’t turn her off. I told her she was one to talk—she always reeked of liquor. As things escalated, we stopped caring if her roommates heard us. “You want to be a father?” she shouted around 4:00 AM. “Making what you make? That poor fucking kid.”
We fought until sunrise, and I left her apartment with the understanding that I wouldn’t be coming back, wouldn’t be calling her ever again. I biked home and sat on the steps facing the cement panel that was my house’s backyard. After my phone died and I couldn’t anaesthetize myself with dumb YouTube videos or make myself feel crazy staring at the download button for the Tinder app, I watched the sparrows hopping on and off the utility lines for a while.
At 11:40 I went inside. One of my roommates was already in the shower, so the best I could do was put on a clean Avenue Brew T-shirt before walking to the shop and clocking in at noon to help deal with the lunch rush.
“That’s a lot,” Marina finally said. “Sorry.”
I don’t know what I was expecting her to say. She was sixteen years my junior, after all, and just a coworker. She didn’t need to hear any of this, and I definitely didn't need to be telling her. But who else was there to tell?
She’d already finished her cigarette. I still had a few puffs left. She went inside.
I decided to call it a night.
The second TouchTunes box was gone—naturally. Danny had taken my stool, and regarded my approach with a puckish you snooze you lose grin. I wasn’t going to say anything. I’d just pay my bill, give everyone a nod goodnight, and walk the five blocks back home.
And then Danny disappeared.
One second, he was there. The next—gone.
Danny didn’t just instantaneously vanish. Even when something happens in the blink of an eye, you can still put together something of a sequence. I saw him—I seemed to see him—falling into himself, collapsing to a point, and then to nothing.
You know how sometimes a sound is altogether inaudible unless you’re looking at the source—like when you don’t realize somebody’s whispering at you, and can then hear and understand them after they get your attention? I think that was the case here. I wouldn't have known to listen if I hadn't seen it happen. What I heard lingered for two, maybe three seconds, and wasn't any louder than a fly buzzing inside a lampshade. A tiny and impossibly distant scream, pitchshifted like a receding ambulance siren into a basso drone...
I don’t know. I don’t know for sure. I’m certain I remember a flash of red, and I have the idea of Danny’s trunk expanding, opening up as it imploded. A crimson flower, flecked white, with spooling pink stalks—and Danny’s wide-eyed face above it, drawn twisting and shrinking into its petals.
For an instant, Twenty’s interior shimmered. Not shimmered, exactly—glitched would be a better word. If you’re old enough to remember the fragmented graphics that sometimes flashed onscreen when you turned on the Nintendo without blowing on the cartridge, you’ll have an idea of what I mean. It happened much too fast, and there was too much of it to absorb. The one clear impression I could parse was the mirage of a cash register flickering upside-down above the pool table.
Not a cash register. The shape was familiar, but the texture was wrong. I think it was ribbed, sort of like a maggot. I think it glistened. Like—camo doesn’t work anymore when the wearer stops crouching behind a bush and breaks into a run. Do you get what I’m saying?
Nobody else seemed to notice. The pool balls clacked. A New Order track was playing on the TouchTunes box. A nearby argument about about Nick Sirianni continued unabated.
Finally, there was a downward rush of air—and this at least elicited a reaction from the bartender, who slapped my bill to keep it from sailing off the counter.
“Danny,” I said.
“Danny?” Kyle asked me quietly. His face had gone pale.
“Danny?” Oliver repeated in a faraway voice.
After a pause, Kyle blinked a few times. “You heard from him?”
“God forbid,” said Marina. “When he quit I was like, great, I can keep working here after all.”
“Oh, come on—”
“Kyle. Did I ever show you those texts he sent me once at three in the morning?” The color had returned to Oliver’s face.
“No, what did he say?”
Oliver tapped at his phone and turned the screen toward Kyle.
“Oh. Oh, jeez.”
“Right? Like—if you want to ask me something, ask me. You know? Don’t be weirdly accusatory about it…”
I pulled a wad of fives and ones from my pocket, threw it all onto the counter, and beelined for the exit without consideration for the people I squeezed through and shoved past on the way.
I heard Marina saying “let him go.”
I went a second consecutive night without sleep. Fortunately I wasn’t scheduled to come in the next day.
The schedule. It’s funny. Oliver was generally great at his job, and even when he wasn’t, I cut him a lot of slack because I knew Irene and Jeremy never gave him a moment’s peace. But I could never forgive him those times he waited until the weekend to make up and distribute the schedule. This was one of those weeks he didn’t get around to it until Saturday afternoon. When I found it in my inbox, Danny’s name wasn’t anywhere on it.
As far as I know, nobody who hadn’t been at Twenty that night asked what happened to him. We were a bit overstaffed as it was, and everyone probably assumed Danny was slated for the chopping block. The part-timers were, for the most part, happy to get a few additional hours.
Oliver abruptly quit around Labor Day after a final acrimonious clash with the owners. I never found out the details, and I never saw him again. Jeremy and Irene took turns minding the store while a replacement manager was sought. None of the supervisors would be pressured into taking the job; they knew from Oliver what they could expect.
About three weeks after Oliver left, I came in for my purchasing shift and found Jeremy waiting for me in the back room. I knew it was serious when he didn’t greet me with the awkward fist-bump he ordinarily required of his male employees.
“You’ve seen the numbers,” he said. Business for the summer had fallen short of expectations, it was true, and he and Irene had decided to rein in payroll expenses. My purchaser position was being eliminated. Its responsibilities would be redistributed among the supervisors and the new manager, when one was found. In the meantime, I'd be going back to the regular $11 an hour (plus tips of course) associate position full-time.
Jeremy assured me I'd be first in the running for supervisor the next time there was an opening.
I told him it was fine, I was done, and if he’d expected the courtesy of two weeks’ notice, he shouldn’t have blindsided me like that.
“Well, that’s your choice,” he answered, trying not to look pleased. His payroll problem was solving itself.
I racked up credit card debt for a few months. Applied for entry-level museum jobs that might appreciate my art history degree. Aimed for some purchasing and administrative assistant gigs, and just for the hell of it, turned in a resume for a facilitator position at an after-school art program. Got a few interviews. All of them eventually told me they’d decided to go in a different direction. I finally got hired to bartend at Hops from Underground, a microbrewery on Fairmount.
I’m still there. The money’s okay, but it fluctuates. Hours are reasonable. I’m on their high-deductible health plan. There’s a coworker I’ve been dating. Sort of dating. You know how it goes. In this line of work you get so used to people coming and going that you learn not to get too attached. I walk past Avenue Brew a few times a week, but stopped peering in through the window when I didn't recognize the people behind the counter anymore.
submitted by obeliskposture to stupidpol [link] [comments]
It's relevant to the sub insofar as it's about urban alienation and the working conditions at a small business run by IN THIS HOUSE WE BELIEVE people. (I tried to pitch it as a story of the great resignation with a momentary flicker of cosmic horror.) It's based on a similar job I took on after getting laid off during the lockdown, and the circumstances of the main character's breakup are faintly similar to one I went through several years back (her job sucked the life out of her).
Without further ado:
* * *
It was getting close to midnight, and the temperature outside was still above 80 degrees. We’d locked up the shop at 10:15 and walked over to Twenty, the dive bar on Poplar Street, where a single wall-mounted air conditioner and four wobbly ceiling fans weren’t putting up much resistance against the July heat baking the place from the outside and the dense mass of bodies giving it a stifling fever from within.
Just now I came close to saying it was a Wednesday night, because that was usually when the cyclists descended upon Avenue Brew, the gritty-but-bougie craft beer and sandwich shop I was working at back then. Every Wednesday between March and November, about fifteen to twenty-five Gen Xers dressed in skintight polyester, all packages and camel toes and fanny packs, locked up their thousand-dollar bikes on the sidewalk and lined up for IPAs and paninis. They reliably arrived around 8:00, an hour before we closed, making it impossible to get started on the closing checklist and leave on time at 10:00. The worst of them were demanding and rude, and even the best got raucous and stubborn after a couple drinks. There were nights when bringing in the sidewalk tables couldn’t be done without arguing with them. Most were sub-par tippers, to boot.
After Wednesday came and went that week without so much as a single 40-something in Ray Bans and padded shorts stopping in to double-fist two cans of Jai Alai, we dared to hope the cyclists had chosen another spot to be their finish line from there on out. But no—they’d only postponed their weekly ride, and swarmed us on Friday night instead.
I was the last person to find out; I was clocked in as purchaser that evening. The position was something like a promotion I'd received a year earlier: for twenty hours a week, I got to retreat from the public and sit in the back room with the store laptop, reviewing sales and inventory, answering emails from brewery reps, and ordering beer, beverages, and assorted paper goods. When I put in hours as purchaser, my wage went up from $11 to $15 an hour, but I was removed from the tip pool. On most days, tips amounted to an extra two or three dollars an hour, so I usually came out ahead.
This was back in 2021. I don't know what Avenue Brew pays these days.
Anyway, at about 8:15, I stepped out to say goodbye to everyone and found the shop in chaos. Friday nights were generally pretty active, the cyclists' arrival had turned the place into a mob scene. The line extended to the front door. The phone was ringing. The Grubhub tablet dinged like an alarm clock without a snooze button. Danny was on the sandwich line and on the verge of losing his temper. Oliver was working up a sweat running food, bussing tables, and replenishing ingredients from the walk-in. The unflappable Marina was on register, and even she seemed like she was about to snap at somebody.
What else could I do? I stayed until closing to answer the phone, process Grubhub orders, hop on and off the second register, and help Danny with sandwich prep. After the tills were counted out, I stayed another hour to take care of the dishes, since nobody had a chance to do a first load. Oliver was grateful, even though he grumbled about having to make some calls and rearrange Sunday's schedule so I could come in a couple hours late. Irene and Jeremy, Avenue Brew's owners, would kick his ass if he let me go into overtime.
Danny suggested that we deserved a few drinks ourselves after managing to get through the shift without killing anyone. Not even Marina could find a reason to disagree with him.
The neighborhood had undergone enough gentrification to support an upscale brunch spot, an ice cream parlor, a gourmet burger restaurant, a coffee and bahn mi shop, and Avenue Brew (to name a few examples), but not yet quite enough that the people who staffed them couldn’t afford to live within a ten-minute walk from the main avenue where all these hep eateries stood between 24-hour corner stores with slot machines in back, late-night Chinese and Mexico-Italian takeout joints with bulletproof glass at the counters, and long-shuttered delis and shoe stores. Twenty on Poplar was the watering hole set aside for people like us. It was dim, a bit dilapidated, and inexpensive, and usually avoided by denizens of the condos popping up on the vacant lots and replacing clusters of abandoned row houses.
When we arrived, Kyle waved us over. He didn’t work at Avenue Brew anymore, but still kept up with a few of us. He was at Twenty at least four nights out of the week.
So there we all were. I sat with a brooding stranger freestyling to himself in a low mumble on the stool to my left and Oliver on my right, who tapped at his phone and nursed a bottle of Twisted Tea. To Oliver’s right sat Marina, staring at nothing in particular and trying to ignore Danny, who stood behind her, closer than she would have liked, listening to Kyle explain the crucial differences between the Invincible comic book and the Invincible web series.
I recall being startled back to something like wakefulness when it seemed to me that the ceiling had sprouted a new fan. I blinked my eyes, and it wasn’t there anymore. It reminded me of an incident from when I was still living with my folks in South Jersey and still had a car, and was driving home from a friend’s house party up in Bergen County. It was 6:30 AM, I hadn’t slept all night, and needed to get home so I could get at least little shuteye before heading to Whole Foods for my 11:00 AM shift. I imagined I passed beneath the shadows of overpasses I knew weren’t there, and realized I was dreaming at the wheel.
I was pretty thoroughly zombified at that point. Heather and I had broken up for good the night before, and I hadn't gotten even a minute of sleep. Calling out at Avenue Brew was tough. Unless you found someone willing to cover your shift on like six hours' notice, you were liable to get a writeup, a demotion, or your hours cut if you couldn't produce a doctor's note. So I loaded up on caffeine pills and Five-Hour Energy bottles at the corner store, and powered through as best I could.
I finished the last thimbleful of Blue Moon in my glass. Oliver wiped the sweat from the back of his neck with a napkin and covered his mouth to stifle a laugh at the KiwiFarms thread he was scrolling through. Pool balls clacked; somebody swore and somebody laughed. The TouchTunes box was playing Bob Dylan’s “Rain Day Woman #12 & 35,” and enough bleary 40-something men around the bar were bobbing their heads and mouthing the words to make it impossible to determine which one of them paid two bucks to hear it. A guy by the cigarette machine who looked like a caricature of Art Carney in flannel and an old Pixies T-shirt was accosting a woman who must have been a toddler when he hit drinking age, and she momentarily made eye contact with me as she scanned the area for a way out. Danny was shouting over the bartender’s head, carrying on a conversation with the Hot Guy from Pizza Stan’s, who was sitting on the horseshoe’s opposite arm.
I never got his name, but when Oliver first referred to him as the Hot Guy from Pizza Stan’s, I knew exactly who he meant. Philly scene kid par excellence. Mid-20s, washed-out black denim, dyed black hair, thick bangs, and dark, gentle eyes. He was only truly alluring when he was on the job, because he seldom smiled then—and when he smiled, he broke the spell by exposing his teeth, stained a gnarly shade of mahogany from too much smoking and not enough brushing.
“How’s Best? Marcus still a joker?” Danny asked him.
“Yeah, you know Marcus. You know how he is.”
So the Hot Guy had been working at Best Burger (directly across the street from Avenue Brew) ever since Pizza Stan’s owners mismanaged the place unto insolvency. (Afterwards it was renovated and reopened as a vegan bakery—which incidentally closed down about a month ago.) Danny used to work at Best Burger, but that ended after he got into a shouting match with the owner. I happened to overhear it while I was dragging in the tables and collecting the chairs from the sidewalk the night it happened. It wasn’t any of my business, and I tried not to pay attention, but they were really tearing into each other. A month later, Oliver welcomed Danny aboard at Avenue Brew. I hadn’t known he’d been interviewed, and by then it was too late to mention the incident. But I’d have been a hypocrite to call it a red flag after the way I resigned from my position as Café Chakra's assistant manager two years earlier—not that we need to go dredging that up right now. Let's say there was some bad blood and leave it at that.
Anyway, I was thinking about giving in and buying a pack of cigarettes from the machine—and then remembered that Twenty didn’t have a cigarette machine. I looked again. The Art Carney-lookalike was still there, fingering his phone with a frown, but the girl was gone—and so was the cigarette machine.
I had only a moment to puzzle over this before Danny clapped me on the shoulder and thrust a shot glass in front of me.
“Starfish!” he said. (Danny called me Starfish. Everybody else called me Pat.) “You look like you need some juice.”
He distributed shots to everyone else. Marina declined hers, but changed her mind when Kyle offered to take it instead.
She and Kyle had stopped sleeping together after Kyle left Avenue Brew to work at the Victory taproom on the Parkway, but Marina was still concerned about his bad habits, which Danny delighted in encouraging.
We all leaned in to clink our glasses. Before I could find an appropriate moment to ask Marina if I could bum a cigarette, she got up to visit the bathroom. Danny took her seat and bowed his head for a conspiratorial word with Kyle.
I watched from the corner of my eye and tried to listen in. Like Marina, I was a little worried about Kyle. He got hired at Avenue Brew around the same time I did, just before the pandemic temporarily turned us into a takeout joint. He was a senior at Drexel then, an English major, and sometimes talked about wanting to either find work in publishing or carve out a career as a freelance writer after graduating. But first he intended to spend a year getting some life in before submitting himself to the forever grind.
He read a lot of Charles Bukowski and Hunter Thompson. He relished the gritty and sordid, and had already been good at sniffing it out around the neighborhood and in West Philly before Danny introduced him to cocaine, casinos, strip clubs, and a rogue’s gallery of shady but fascinating people. (None were really Danny’s friends; just fellow passengers who intersected with the part of his life where he sometimes went to Parx, sometimes came out ahead, sometimes spent his winnings on coke, and sometimes did bumps at titty bars.) Kyle recounted these adventures with a boyish enthusiasm for the naked reality of sleaze, like a middle schooler telling his locker room buddies about catching his older brother in flagrante and seeing so-and-so body parts doing such-and-such things.
Marina hated it. She never said as much to me, but she was afraid that the template Kyle set for his life during his “year off” was in danger of becoming locked in. The anniversary of his graduation had already passed, and now here he was trying to convince Danny to contribute a couple hundred dollars toward a sheet of acid his guy had for sale. He wasn't doing much writing lately.
I was the oldest employee at Avenue Brew (as I write this I’m 37, but fortunately I don’t look it), and when Kyle still worked with us I felt like it was my prerogative to give him some advice. The longer he waited to make inroads, I once told him, the more likely he’d be seen as damaged goods by the publishing world. He needed to jam his foot in the door while he was still young.
I could tell the conversation bored him, and didn’t bring up the subject again.
The bartender took my glass and curtly asked if I’d like another drink.
“No thanks, not yet,” I answered.
She slid me my bill.
I missed the old bartender, the one she’d replaced. I forget her name, but she was ingenuous and energetic and sweet. Pretty much everyone had some sort of crush on her. Sometimes she came into Avenue Brew for lunch, and tipped us as well as we tipped her. Maybe three months before that night—Danny witnessed it—she suddenly started crying and rushed out the door. Everyone at the bar mutely looked to each other for an explanation. (Fortunately for Twenty, the kitchen manager hadn’t left yet, and picked up the rest of her shift.)
She never came back. None of us had seen her since. But drafts still had to be poured and bottlecaps pulled off, and now here was another white woman in her mid-twenties wearing a black tank top, a pushup bra, and a scrunchie, same as before. Twenty’s regulars grew accustomed to not expecting to see the person she’d replaced, and life went on.
“How’re you doing?” I asked Oliver, just to say something to somebody, and to keep my thoughts from wandering back to Heather.
“Just kind of existing right now,” he answered. His phone lay face-up on the counter. He was swiping through Instagram, and I recognized the avatar of the user whose album he hate-browsed.
“And how’s Austin been?” I asked.
“Oh, you know. Not even three weeks after getting over the jetlag from his trip back from the Cascades, he’s off touring Ireland.” He shook his head. “Living his best life.”
He’d hired Austin on a part-time basis in September. We needed a new associate when Emma was promoted to replace a supervisor who'd quit without even giving his two weeks. There was a whole thing. I'm having a hard time recalling the guy's name, but I liked him well enough. He was a good worker and he seemed like a bright kid, but he was—well, he was young. Naïve. One day he found Jeremy sitting in the back room with his laptop, and took advantage of the open-door policy to ask why the store manager and supervisors didn’t get health benefits or paid time off. Jeremy told him it "was being worked on," and that he couldn’t discuss it any further at that time. I understand the kid got argumentative, though I never knew precisely what was said.
Irene started visiting the shop a lot more often after that, almost always arriving when the kid was working. No matter what he was doing, she’d find a reason to intervene, to micromanage and harangue him, and effectively make his job impossible. A coincidence, surely.
It’s something I still think about. By any metric, Jeremy and Irene have done very well for themselves. They’re both a little over 40 years old. I remember hearing they met at law school. In addition to Avenue Brew, they own a bistro in Francisville and an ice cream parlor in Point Breeze. They have a house on the Blue Line, send their son to a Montessori school, and pull up to their businesses in a white Volkswagen ID.4. But whenever the subject of benefits, wages, or even free shift meals came up, they pled poverty. It simply couldn’t be done. But they liked to remind us about all they did to make Avenue Brew a fun place to work, like let the staff pick the music and allow Oliver and me to conduct a beer tasting once a day. They stuck Black Lives Matter, Believe Women, and Progress flag decals on the front door and windows, and I remember Irene wearing a Black Trans Lives Matter shirt once or twice when covering a supervisor's shift. None of the college students or recent graduates who composed most of Avenue Brew's staff could say the bosses weren't on the right team. And yet...
I'm sorry—I was talking about Austin. He was maybe 30 and already had another job, a “real” job, some sort of remote gig lucrative enough for him to make rent on a studio in the picturesque Episcopal church down the street that had been converted into upscale apartments some years back. Austin wasn’t looking for extra cash. He wanted to socialize. To have something to do and people to talk to in the outside world. He wanted to make friends, and all of us could appreciate that—but it’s hard to be fond of a coworker who irredeemably sucks at his job. Austin never acted with any urgency, was inattentive to detail, and even after repeated interventions from Oliver and the supervisors, he continued to perform basic tasks in bafflingly inefficient ways. Having Austin on your shift meant carrying his slack, and everyone was fed up after a few months. Oliver sat him down, told him he was on thin ice, and gave him a list of the areas in which he needed to improve if he didn’t want to be let go.
When Austin gave Oliver the indignant “I don’t need this job” speech, it was different from those times Danny or I told a boss to go to hell and walked out. Austin truly didn’t need it. He basically said the job was beneath him, and so was Oliver.
It got deep under Oliver’s skin. He did need the job and had to take it seriously, even when it meant being the dipshit manager chewing out a man four or five years his senior. He earned $18 an hour (plus tips when he wasn’t doing admin work), had debts to pay off, and couldn't expect to get any help from his family.
The important thing, though, the part I distinctly remember, was that Oliver was looking at a video of a wading bird Austin had recorded. An egret, maybe. White feathers, long black legs, pointy black beak. Austin must have been standing on a ledge above a creek, because he had an overhead view of the bird as it stood in the water, slowly and deliberately stretching and retracting its neck, eyeing the wriggling little shadows below. As far as the fish could know, they were swimming around a pair of reeds growing out of the silt. The predator from which they extended was of a world beyond their understanding and out of their reach.
The video ended. Oliver moved on to the next item: a photograph of the bird from the same perspective, with a fish clamped in its beak. Water droplets flung from the victim's thrashing tail caught the sunlight. And I remember now, I clearly remember, the shapes of like twelve other fish stupidly milling about the bird's feet, unperturbed and unpanicked.
Danny peered at Oliver’s phone and observed a resemblance between the bird—its shape and bearing, and the composition of the photograph—and a POV porn video shot from behind and above, and he told us so. Elaborately. He made squawking noises.
“And mom says I’m a degenerate,” Oliver sighed. “Can you practice your interspecies pickup artist shit somewhere else?” Oliver flicked his wrist, shooing Danny off, and held his phone in front of his face to signal that he was done talking.
Danny sagged a little on his stool and turned away. I sometimes felt bad for him. For all his faults, he had the heart of a puppy dog. He really did think of us as his tribe. There was nobody else who’d only ever answer “yes” when you asked him to pick up a shift, and he did it completely out of loyalty.
He was turning 29 in a week. I wondered how many people would actually turn out to celebrate with him at the Black Taxi. Kyle probably would—but even he regarded Danny more as a source of vulgar entertainment than a friend.
Then it happened again. When I turned to speak to Oliver, there’d been a pair of pool cues leaning side-by-side against the wall a few stools down. Now they were gone.
This time it might have been my imagination. Somebody passing by could have casually snatched them up and kept walking.
But a moment later I seemed to notice a second TouchTunes box protruding from the wall directly behind me. I let it be.
Marina returned from the bathroom. Danny rose and offered her back her seat with an exaggerated bow. Before she got settled, I asked if she’d like to step outside with me. She withdrew her pack of Marlboro Menthols from her canvas bag, which she left sitting on the stool to deter Danny from sitting back down.
Marina never minded letting me bum cigarettes from time to time. I couldn’t buy them for myself anymore; it’s a habit I could never keep under control, and was only getting more expensive. Like everything else in the world. About once a month I reimbursed her by buying her a pack.
The air out on the sidewalk was as hot as the air inside Twenty, but easier to breathe. After lighting up, Marina leaned against the bricks and sighed.
“I wish Oliver would fire Danny already and get it over with.”
I nodded. Marina rarely talked about anything but work.
“He sneaks drinks and doesn't think anyone notices he's buzzed,” she went on. “He steals so much shit and isn’t even a little subtle about it. He’s going to get Oliver in trouble. And he’s a creep.”
“Yeah,” I said. These were her usual complaints about Danny, and they were all true. “At least he’s better than Austin.”
“That’s a low bar.”
Three dirt bikes and an ATV roared down the lonely street, charging through stop sign after stop sign, putting our talk on hold.
“Remind me. You’ve got one semester left, right?” I asked after the noise ebbed.
“Yep.”
Marina was a marketing major at Temple. She’d had an internship during the spring semester, and her boss told her to give her a call the very minute she graduated. Her parents in central Pennsylvania couldn’t pay her rent or tuition for her, so she was a full-time student and a full-time employee at Avenue Brew. Her emotional spectrum ranged from "tired" to "over it." She’d been waiting tables and working at coffee shops since she was seventeen, had no intention of continuing for even a day longer than she had to, and feared the escape hatch would slam shut if she dallied too long after prying it open.
She’d considered majoring in English, like Kyle. She went for marketing instead. I couldn’t blame her.
“Are you okay?” she asked. “You’ve been kind of off all day.”
“I’m terrible.”
“Why?”
I gave dodgy answers, but she asked precisely the right follow-up questions to get me going about what happened with Heather the night before.
It was the new job. Before the pandemic, Heather worked as a server at a Center City bar and grill. (That's where I met her; we were coworkers for about a year, and then I left to work Café Chakra because it was quieter and closer to where I lived.) When the place closed its doors and laid everyone off during the lockdown, she got a stopgap job at the Acme on Passyunk, and hated it. Then in March, she found a bar-and-lounge gig in a ritzy hotel on Broad Street. Very corporate. Excellent pay, great benefits. Definitely a step up. But her new employers made Irene and Jeremy look like Bob and Linda Belcher by comparison. It was the kind of place where someone had recently gotten herself fired for leaving work to rush to the hospital after getting the news that her grandmother was about to be taken off life support, and not finding someone to come in and cover the last two hours of her shift.
Heather seldom worked fewer than fifty-five hours a week, and her schedule was even more erratic than mine. At least once a week she left the hotel at 1:00 or 2:00 AM and returned at 9:00 the next morning. Neither of us could remember the last time she’d had two consecutive days off, and it had been over a month since one of mine overlapped with one of hers. She’d spent it drinking alone at home. All she wanted was some privacy.
I’d biked to South Philly to meet her when she got home at 1:30. The argument that killed our relationship for good began around 2:30, when I complained that we never had sex anymore. Heather accused me of only caring about that, when she was so exhausted and stressed that her hair was falling out in the shower. Quit the job? She couldn’t quit. The money was too good. She had student loans, medical bills, and credit card debt, and for the first time in her life she could imagine paying it all off before hitting menopause.
So, yeah, I was cranky about our sex life being dead in the water. Say whatever you like. But at that point, what were we to each other? We did nothing together anymore but complain about work before one or both of us fell asleep. That isn’t a relationship.
She said my hair always smelled like sandwiches, even after bathing, and she was done pretending it didn’t turn her off. I told her she was one to talk—she always reeked of liquor. As things escalated, we stopped caring if her roommates heard us. “You want to be a father?” she shouted around 4:00 AM. “Making what you make? That poor fucking kid.”
We fought until sunrise, and I left her apartment with the understanding that I wouldn’t be coming back, wouldn’t be calling her ever again. I biked home and sat on the steps facing the cement panel that was my house’s backyard. After my phone died and I couldn’t anaesthetize myself with dumb YouTube videos or make myself feel crazy staring at the download button for the Tinder app, I watched the sparrows hopping on and off the utility lines for a while.
At 11:40 I went inside. One of my roommates was already in the shower, so the best I could do was put on a clean Avenue Brew T-shirt before walking to the shop and clocking in at noon to help deal with the lunch rush.
“That’s a lot,” Marina finally said. “Sorry.”
I don’t know what I was expecting her to say. She was sixteen years my junior, after all, and just a coworker. She didn’t need to hear any of this, and I definitely didn't need to be telling her. But who else was there to tell?
She’d already finished her cigarette. I still had a few puffs left. She went inside.
I decided to call it a night.
The second TouchTunes box was gone—naturally. Danny had taken my stool, and regarded my approach with a puckish you snooze you lose grin. I wasn’t going to say anything. I’d just pay my bill, give everyone a nod goodnight, and walk the five blocks back home.
And then Danny disappeared.
One second, he was there. The next—gone.
Danny didn’t just instantaneously vanish. Even when something happens in the blink of an eye, you can still put together something of a sequence. I saw him—I seemed to see him—falling into himself, collapsing to a point, and then to nothing.
You know how sometimes a sound is altogether inaudible unless you’re looking at the source—like when you don’t realize somebody’s whispering at you, and can then hear and understand them after they get your attention? I think that was the case here. I wouldn't have known to listen if I hadn't seen it happen. What I heard lingered for two, maybe three seconds, and wasn't any louder than a fly buzzing inside a lampshade. A tiny and impossibly distant scream, pitchshifted like a receding ambulance siren into a basso drone...
I don’t know. I don’t know for sure. I’m certain I remember a flash of red, and I have the idea of Danny’s trunk expanding, opening up as it imploded. A crimson flower, flecked white, with spooling pink stalks—and Danny’s wide-eyed face above it, drawn twisting and shrinking into its petals.
For an instant, Twenty’s interior shimmered. Not shimmered, exactly—glitched would be a better word. If you’re old enough to remember the fragmented graphics that sometimes flashed onscreen when you turned on the Nintendo without blowing on the cartridge, you’ll have an idea of what I mean. It happened much too fast, and there was too much of it to absorb. The one clear impression I could parse was the mirage of a cash register flickering upside-down above the pool table.
Not a cash register. The shape was familiar, but the texture was wrong. I think it was ribbed, sort of like a maggot. I think it glistened. Like—camo doesn’t work anymore when the wearer stops crouching behind a bush and breaks into a run. Do you get what I’m saying?
Nobody else seemed to notice. The pool balls clacked. A New Order track was playing on the TouchTunes box. A nearby argument about about Nick Sirianni continued unabated.
Finally, there was a downward rush of air—and this at least elicited a reaction from the bartender, who slapped my bill to keep it from sailing off the counter.
“Danny,” I said.
“Danny?” Kyle asked me quietly. His face had gone pale.
“Danny?” Oliver repeated in a faraway voice.
After a pause, Kyle blinked a few times. “You heard from him?”
“God forbid,” said Marina. “When he quit I was like, great, I can keep working here after all.”
“Oh, come on—”
“Kyle. Did I ever show you those texts he sent me once at three in the morning?” The color had returned to Oliver’s face.
“No, what did he say?”
Oliver tapped at his phone and turned the screen toward Kyle.
“Oh. Oh, jeez.”
“Right? Like—if you want to ask me something, ask me. You know? Don’t be weirdly accusatory about it…”
I pulled a wad of fives and ones from my pocket, threw it all onto the counter, and beelined for the exit without consideration for the people I squeezed through and shoved past on the way.
I heard Marina saying “let him go.”
I went a second consecutive night without sleep. Fortunately I wasn’t scheduled to come in the next day.
The schedule. It’s funny. Oliver was generally great at his job, and even when he wasn’t, I cut him a lot of slack because I knew Irene and Jeremy never gave him a moment’s peace. But I could never forgive him those times he waited until the weekend to make up and distribute the schedule. This was one of those weeks he didn’t get around to it until Saturday afternoon. When I found it in my inbox, Danny’s name wasn’t anywhere on it.
As far as I know, nobody who hadn’t been at Twenty that night asked what happened to him. We were a bit overstaffed as it was, and everyone probably assumed Danny was slated for the chopping block. The part-timers were, for the most part, happy to get a few additional hours.
Oliver abruptly quit around Labor Day after a final acrimonious clash with the owners. I never found out the details, and I never saw him again. Jeremy and Irene took turns minding the store while a replacement manager was sought. None of the supervisors would be pressured into taking the job; they knew from Oliver what they could expect.
About three weeks after Oliver left, I came in for my purchasing shift and found Jeremy waiting for me in the back room. I knew it was serious when he didn’t greet me with the awkward fist-bump he ordinarily required of his male employees.
“You’ve seen the numbers,” he said. Business for the summer had fallen short of expectations, it was true, and he and Irene had decided to rein in payroll expenses. My purchaser position was being eliminated. Its responsibilities would be redistributed among the supervisors and the new manager, when one was found. In the meantime, I'd be going back to the regular $11 an hour (plus tips of course) associate position full-time.
Jeremy assured me I'd be first in the running for supervisor the next time there was an opening.
I told him it was fine, I was done, and if he’d expected the courtesy of two weeks’ notice, he shouldn’t have blindsided me like that.
“Well, that’s your choice,” he answered, trying not to look pleased. His payroll problem was solving itself.
I racked up credit card debt for a few months. Applied for entry-level museum jobs that might appreciate my art history degree. Aimed for some purchasing and administrative assistant gigs, and just for the hell of it, turned in a resume for a facilitator position at an after-school art program. Got a few interviews. All of them eventually told me they’d decided to go in a different direction. I finally got hired to bartend at Hops from Underground, a microbrewery on Fairmount.
I’m still there. The money’s okay, but it fluctuates. Hours are reasonable. I’m on their high-deductible health plan. There’s a coworker I’ve been dating. Sort of dating. You know how it goes. In this line of work you get so used to people coming and going that you learn not to get too attached. I walk past Avenue Brew a few times a week, but stopped peering in through the window when I didn't recognize the people behind the counter anymore.
2023.06.03 15:12 _Triple_ [STORE] 900+ KNIVES/GLOVES/SKINS, 50.000$+ INVENTORY. M9 Fade, M4 Poseidon, BFK Freehand, Crimson Kimono, Nomad Fade, Skeleton, Kara Lore, Bayo Autotronic, AWP Fade, Kara Damas, BFK Ultra, Kara Freehand, Kara Bright, M9 Damas, Omega, Tiger Strike, Flip MF, Bayo Tiger, Deagle Blaze, Talon & More
Everything in my inventory is up for trade. The most valuable items are listed here, the rest you can find in My Inventory
Feel free to Add Me or even better send a Trade Offer. Open for any suggestions: upgrades, downgrades / knives, gloves, skins / stickers, patterns, floats.
All Buyouts are listed in cash value.
KNIVES
★ Butterfly Knife Freehand FN #1, B/O: $2500
★ Butterfly Knife Ultraviolet FT, B/O: $822
★ Butterfly Knife Scorched FT, B/O: $616
⎯★ Bayonet Tiger Tooth MW #1, B/O: $1300
★ Bayonet Autotronic FN, B/O: $1050
★ Bayonet Tiger Tooth MW, B/O: $629
★ Bayonet Bright Water FT, B/O: $326
★ Bayonet Safari Mesh BS, B/O: $233
⎯★ Karambit Lore FT, B/O: $1110
★ Karambit Damascus Steel FT, B/O: $840
★ Karambit Freehand MW, B/O: $784
★ Karambit Bright Water MW, B/O: $759
⎯★ M9 Bayonet Fade FN, B/O: $1801
★ M9 Bayonet Fade FN, B/O: $1801
★ M9 Bayonet Damascus Steel FN, B/O: $751
⎯★ Nomad Knife Fade FN, B/O: $1156
★ Nomad Knife Slaughter MW, B/O: $544
★ Nomad Knife Blue Steel WW, B/O: $318
⎯★ Flip Knife Marble Fade FN, B/O: $646
★ Flip Knife Doppler (Phase 4) FN, B/O: $574
★ Flip Knife Gamma Doppler (Phase 1) MW, B/O: $552
★ Flip Knife Case Hardened FT, B/O: $257
★ Flip Knife Freehand FT, B/O: $255
★ StatTrak™ Flip Knife Bright Water FN, B/O: $287
⎯★ Huntsman Knife Lore FN, B/O: $461
★ Huntsman Knife Gamma Doppler (Phase 4) FN, B/O: $436
★ Huntsman Knife Doppler (Phase 3) FN, B/O: $353
★ Huntsman Knife Autotronic FT, B/O: $212
★ Huntsman Knife Bright Water FT, B/O: $129
★ Huntsman Knife Forest DDPAT MW, B/O: $129
★ Huntsman Knife Forest DDPAT BS, B/O: $123
★ StatTrak™ Huntsman Knife Rust Coat BS, B/O: $127
⎯★ Bowie Knife Gamma Doppler (Phase 2) FN, B/O: $375
★ Bowie Knife Gamma Doppler (Phase 1) FN, B/O: $363
★ Bowie Knife Tiger Tooth FN, B/O: $269
★ Bowie Knife Crimson Web WW, B/O: $192
★ Bowie Knife Bright Water FN, B/O: $159
★ Bowie Knife Ultraviolet FT, B/O: $126
⎯★ Stiletto Knife Slaughter FN, B/O: $616
★ Stiletto Knife Crimson Web FT, B/O: $412
★ StatTrak™ Stiletto Knife Night Stripe FT, B/O: $227
⎯★ Falchion Knife Lore FT, B/O: $214
★ Falchion Knife Autotronic FT, B/O: $192
★ Falchion Knife Scorched WW, B/O: $105
⎯★ Survival Knife Crimson Web BS, B/O: $216
★ Survival Knife Case Hardened FT, B/O: $198
★ Survival Knife Scorched FT, B/O: $111
⎯★ Shadow Daggers Fade FN, B/O: $368
★ Shadow Daggers Doppler (Phase 3) FN, B/O: $228
★ Shadow Daggers, B/O: $201
★ Shadow Daggers Damascus Steel FT, B/O: $108
★ Shadow Daggers Ultraviolet FT, B/O: $105
★ Shadow Daggers Black Laminate FT, B/O: $99
★ Shadow Daggers Forest DDPAT FT, B/O: $85
⎯★ Gut Knife Doppler (Sapphire) MW #1, B/O: $1700
★ Gut Knife Gamma Doppler (Phase 1) FN, B/O: $223
★ Gut Knife Marble Fade FN, B/O: $203
★ Gut Knife Doppler (Phase 2) FN, B/O: $191
★ Gut Knife Case Hardened BS, B/O: $127
⎯★ Navaja Knife Doppler (Phase 4) FN, B/O: $199
★ Navaja Knife Doppler (Phase 4) FN, B/O: $199
★ Navaja Knife, B/O: $138
★ Navaja Knife Damascus Steel FN, B/O: $111
⎯★ Classic Knife Urban Masked FT, B/O: $146
★ StatTrak™ Classic Knife Stained BS, B/O: $168
⎯★ Ursus Knife Doppler (Phase 3) FN, B/O: $476
★ Ursus Knife, B/O: $375
⎯★ Skeleton Knife, B/O: $1137
★ Talon Knife, B/O: $608
★ Paracord Knife, B/O: $305
★ Survival Knife Forest DDPAT FT, B/O: $97
GLOVES
★ Moto Gloves Transport MW, B/O: $204
★ Moto Gloves Polygon BS, B/O: $142
★ Moto Gloves Blood Pressure BS, B/O: $84
★ Moto Gloves Blood Pressure BS, B/O: $84
★ Moto Gloves 3rd Commando Company BS, B/O: $63
★ Moto Gloves 3rd Commando Company BS, B/O: $63
⎯★ Specialist Gloves Crimson Kimono WW, B/O: $1215
★ Specialist Gloves Tiger Strike FT, B/O: $672
★ Specialist Gloves Lt. Commander FT, B/O: $305
★ Specialist Gloves Lt. Commander BS, B/O: $140
★ Specialist Gloves Crimson Web BS, B/O: $137
★ Specialist Gloves Buckshot FT, B/O: $75
⎯★ Driver Gloves Crimson Weave FT, B/O: $359
★ Driver Gloves Imperial Plaid BS, B/O: $229
★ Driver Gloves Overtake BS, B/O: $77
★ Driver Gloves Racing Green FT, B/O: $48
⎯★ Sport Gloves Omega FT, B/O: $739
★ Sport Gloves Amphibious BS #2, B/O: $733
★ Sport Gloves Arid BS, B/O: $292
⎯★ Hand Wraps Giraffe MW, B/O: $212
★ Hand Wraps Leather FT, B/O: $160
★ Hand Wraps Desert Shamagh MW, B/O: $101
⎯★ Broken Fang Gloves Yellow-banded MW, B/O: $185
★ Broken Fang Gloves Needle Point FT, B/O: $67
★ Broken Fang Gloves Needle Point WW, B/O: $59
⎯★ Hydra Gloves Case Hardened BS, B/O: $65
★ Hydra Gloves Emerald FT, B/O: $65
★ Hydra Gloves Emerald BS, B/O: $62
WEAPONS
AK-47 Case Hardened BS, B/O: $130
AK-47 Bloodsport MW, B/O: $79
AK-47 Fuel Injector BS, B/O: $76
AK-47 Fuel Injector BS, B/O: $76
AK-47 Bloodsport FT, B/O: $70
AK-47 Neon Rider MW, B/O: $60
StatTrak™ AK-47 Aquamarine Revenge FT, B/O: $72
⎯AWP Fade FN, B/O: $1039
AWP Asiimov FT, B/O: $139
AWP Asiimov FT, B/O: $139
AWP Wildfire MW, B/O: $95
AWP BOOM MW, B/O: $93
AWP BOOM MW, B/O: $93
AWP Duality FN, B/O: $81
AWP Asiimov BS, B/O: $79
AWP Asiimov BS, B/O: $79
AWP Chromatic Aberration FN, B/O: $60
StatTrak™ AWP Hyper Beast FT, B/O: $68
StatTrak™ AWP Hyper Beast FT, B/O: $68
StatTrak™ AWP Electric Hive FT, B/O: $55
⎯Desert Eagle Blaze FN, B/O: $623
Desert Eagle Emerald Jörmungandr FN, B/O: $241
Desert Eagle Cobalt Disruption FN, B/O: $81
Desert Eagle Cobalt Disruption FN, B/O: $81
Desert Eagle Cobalt Disruption FN, B/O: $81
Desert Eagle Printstream FT, B/O: $54
⎯M4A1-S Blue Phosphor FN, B/O: $434
StatTrak™ M4A1-S Bright Water MW, B/O: $55
⎯M4A4 Poseidon FN, B/O: $1465
M4A4 Asiimov BS, B/O: $55
M4A4 Hellfire MW, B/O: $50
⎯USP-S Kill Confirmed MW, B/O: $72
USP-S Printstream FT, B/O: $69
StatTrak™ USP-S Kill Confirmed FT, B/O: $139
⎯AUG Flame Jörmungandr FN, B/O: $234
P90 Run and Hide FT, B/O: $147
Five-SeveN Candy Apple FN, B/O: $61
Trade Offer Link - Steam Profile Link - My Inventory
Some items on the list may no longer be available or are still locked, visit My Inventory for more details.
Send a Trade Offer for fastest response. I consider all offers.
Add me for discuss if there is a serious offer that needs to be discussed.
2023.06.03 14:49 chuckhustmyre [TH] Mirror Image
By Chuck Hustmyre
William Bailey's forehead shattered the mirror like a sledgehammer. The last thing he remembered before he blacked out was the feeling that he was falling through the mirror. Sub-cranial hematoma, a concussion, maybe even a cracked skull--that had to be the reason for the strange feeling. The mirror was mounted on the wall just to the right of the bar, four feet tall by about three feet wide. As consciousness slipped away, common sense and his strong belief in the rational world told him that he couldn't fall through the mirror. He must have bounced his head off the wall and be falling toward the floor.
It seemed like just a second or two before William's eyes popped open. He lay on his back, on the hard wood floor of Fausto's, with Johnny Davis towering over him. Big Johnny probably wanted to finish him off, maybe kill him, and finally end their twenty-year-old feud. Either Big Johnny Davis and the ceiling lights above him were spinning, or William's head was spinning, but either way something wasn't right.
He raised his head and looked to his left, toward the bar. Except the bar wasn't there. Instead, he was staring at the bathrooms. That didn't make sense. It must be his brain that had gotten spun around. William turned his head and peered over his size-ten wingtips at the busted mirror. The wooden frame and most of the glass still clung to the wall, the rest sat broken on the ground. The bar had to be on his left. He looked again, and still saw the bathrooms. A brain bruise, maybe some fluid pressure building up might be the cause of it.
"Get up!" Big Johnny Davis said.
William looked up at him. Johnny stood behind him, just beyond his shoulders. Perfect place for him to stomp my head into the plank floor. Except Johnny Davis was holding out his hand.
"Come on, we've got to get out of here."
Davis looked scared. It was the first time William Bailey could ever remember Johnny Davis looking scared. William had always been scared of Big Johnny, but Big Johnny wasn't scared of anything or anyone.
Police sirens wailed in the distance.
Johnny glanced over his shoulder. William craned his neck to look where Johnny was looking, saw he was staring at the front door like a man terrified something bad was going to come through it. Big Johnny looked down at him again and pumped his hand. "Come on, get up. They'll be here any second."
"Who?" William asked. "Who'll be--" But before he finished, Big Johnny Davis reached down, grabbed him by both arms, and jerked him to his feet.
As he was dragged toward the door by the only man in town who truly hated him, William glanced up and saw the rusted metal sign nailed above the door. He had to have a concussion, probably severe; that had to be it, because the letters on the sign were backward. It said TUO.
As Johnny Davis pulled him out the door, William heard tires skid on the pavement.
"Where's your car?" Johnny asked.
William twisted away from the big man's grip, then turned to his left. "In the alley." He started to run, still not sure exactly what he was running from.
Behind him, Big John shouted, "The alley's over here."
William kept running but turned his head back toward Johnny. "I know where the alley--"
Something hit him across the midsection and toppled him to the ground. He got his hands up just in time to break his fall and managed to keep his head from slamming into the sidewalk. When he looked up he saw a shopping cart tumbled onto its side.
Once again, William found himself lying flat on his back, this time amid the spilled contents of the cart. It had been filled with junk: paper bags full of dirty clothes, canned food, bags of potato chips, a diamond shaped, orange road sign, and other trash that looked like it had been collected from back alley garbage bins.
The homeless man who'd been pushing the cart was scrawny, and wafer thin. His skin was the color of old shoe leather, and he wore a long gray beard, tangled and matted with food and bits of filth. He was sprawled on the ground next to his cart, half sitting up, staring at William with his bright blue eyes.
Car doors slammed, men shouted.
"You better get going," the homeless man said, as he cocked his head. "The police after you?"
Police!
Before William could assure the old man that the police weren't after him--he was a respected businessman and family man--someone behind him grabbed him under both arms and pulled him to his feet. William turned and found himself staring into the face of Johnny Davis. "The alley's that way," Johnny said, pointing to the other side of Fausto's. With one hand gripping William's jacket, Johnny dashed across the front of the bar toward the alley. The alley--right there, plain as day--on the other side of Fausto's, right where it shouldn't be, where it couldn't be. William had been here a thousand times. As you stepped out of the bar, the alley was on the left, Brockton's Ace Hardware on the right. Now everything was mixed up and in the wrong place.
Johnny Davis turned down the alley, dragging William behind him. After just a few steps, a spotlight flashed in front of them.
"Stop!" a voice commanded. "Get on the ground."
William couldn't see because Johnny was in his way. "Who's that yelling?" he asked.
Big Johnny stopped and William plowed into his back.
"Get on the ground," the voice boomed again.
William poked his head out from behind Johnny Davis's back. The blinding white light was in his face. He couldn't see a thing.
POP! POP! POP!
Gunshots.
Big Johnny sagged, then crashed to his knees. Instinctively, William bent forward and grabbed hold of Johnny. "What's the matter?"
More pops.
Johnny's big hand reached out and shoved William back toward the street. "Back door," he wheezed, then plunged forward onto his face.
William stood alone. Behind the white spotlight he saw blue police lights flashing. He was totally exposed.
POP! POP!
He saw flashes--little yellow spurts of flame--as something tugged at his jacket.
William had said "back door." What back door? Fausto's had a back door, but it didn't lead anywhere except to the open space behind the building used for trash and deliveries. Twenty feet of asphalt between the bar and the back of the building on the next block. William had parked his car at the end of the alley, but the police cars--or whatever they were--had the alley blocked off. The building behind Fausto's also had an alley that ran alongside it, but the owner had closed it off to keep the bums out. He'd put up a gate, padlocked it, and topped it with razor wire. It was a dead end.
Two more pops. Dead end or not it was better than standing here and getting shot. William turned and ran. He burst through the front door of Fausto's, dashed through the bar, past the shattered mirror, hit the back door at a dead run, and was outside behind the bar within seconds.
He could see the tail end of his car sticking out from the corner of the building, but with the cops blocking the alley, his car was useless to him. William glanced across the open space to the alley that ran next to the other building. The gate, the padlock, the razor wire--all still in place. To his right an overflowing garbage dumpster sat beside the back of Fausto's, jammed against the fire ladder.
The fire ladder.
An iron ladder bolted to the cinderblock wall.
William looked up. The top of the ladder was lost in shadow, but he knew it went up two stories to the roof. Last summer, when the toilet had stopped up, he'd come out back to take a leak and had stood behind the dumpster, peeing against the wall like a kid, one hand draped over the bottom rung of the ladder.
He slipped behind the dumpster. The smell made him gag. The bottom of the ladder was four feet from the ground. William reached up as high as he could, grabbed hold of the third rung, then hauled himself up.
Through the partially open back door came the sounds of heavy feet pounding on the hard wood floor of the bar.
Halfway up the ladder, he was exhausted--and scared. Shaking, he white-knuckled the ladder. Being more than ten feet off the ground terrified him. He needed a break, just a second or two to catch his breath. There was enough moonlight so he could see into one of the second story windows. Inside, junk was piled everywhere. Old barstools, a busted jukebox, furniture stacked almost to the ceiling. Years ago, old man Fausto lived on the second floor, but Jake, who'd bought the place from the old man and had decided to keep the name, used it for storage.
Below him, William heard the back door thrown open so hard it banged against the wall. He scrambled up until he reached the top of the ladder, then hoisted himself over the edge of the roof. Down on the ground a voice shouted, "There he is, up there."
Another gunshot. What the hell was going on?
The unmistakable sound of feet--fast feet, in shape feet, boot shod feet--scurrying up the ladder. Standing on the tar and pebble roof, William glanced around for something he could use as a weapon, shocked he was even thinking of such a thing. A five gallon plastic bucket was all there was. It stood upright, filled with rainwater. He picked it up and peered over the edge. A uniformed policeman was three quarters of the way up the ladder. Two more cops were right behind him.
William looked at the heavy bucket in his hands, thought about just dumping the water onto them but knew it wouldn't stop them. There was only one way to stop them, and that was to knock them off the ladder. He thought about warning them, maybe trying to scare them away. But they were cops. You couldn't scare them away.
So why had they shot Johnny Davis, and why were they shooting at him?
The first officer looked up and saw William staring down at him with the bucket in his hands. Their eyes locked for just a second and the cop stopped. In those eyes that stared back at him, William saw an almost maniacal determination that sent a shiver down his spine. The officer held his grip on the ladder with his right hand while his left dropped to the pistol resting in his gleaming leather holster. In one smooth motion he drew his gun and raised it toward William.
William Bailey tossed the bucket down the ladder. A shot rang out an instant before the heavy bucket thudded into the cop's head. Like a gruesome traffic accident happening before his eyes, William couldn't help but watch as the policeman fell, taking his two partners down with him. The last thing William saw before he turned away was a jumbled heap of black uniforms resting on the concrete below the ladder.
* * *
Hiding in the shadow of a telephone booth, thinking. Home. He had to get home. Had to get back to Marge and the kids. Maybe somehow he could explain what had happened. Vincent, his attorney, he would know what to do--maybe--but he was a civil lawyer not a criminal attorney. He wrote contracts and did personal injury on the side; he didn't get people out of jail who'd killed a cop by dropping a bucket of water on his head and knocking him and his buddies off the side of a building.
As the cab he'd been waiting for pulled up, William stepped out from the dark and climbed into the back seat.
The driver turned around. "Where to?"
William pulled the door shut. "Uptown. 1721 Audubon Court."
"Fare's gonna be about fifteen dollars. After dark, I gotta have the money up front."
"What?"
"Company policy." The cabbie shrugged. "A lot of drivers been getting stiffed."
William opened his wallet, pulled out a twenty and handed it across the seat. The driver took it and almost slipped it into his cash box, then took a second look at the bill. His face tightened. "What the hell is this?"
"Huh?"
With the bill stretched between his hands, the cabbie stared at it for a second then looked up at William. "You're either the dumbest counterfeiter who ever lived or you've been had."
"What you are talking about?"
The driver faced the bill toward William but didn't hand it back to him. "It's printed backwards."
William looked at the twenty-dollar bill in the man's hand. It looked like--it was--an almost brand new bill, nothing wrong with it as far as he could tell.
"Get out of my cab," the driver said.
William didn't know what the man was talking about but knew he didn't want to get out. This cab was his only way home. He reached for the twenty. "If you don't like that one I've got another--"
The driver pulled his hands away. "I ain't giving this back. I got to turn it in to the police." He dropped one hand behind his seat back, then came up clutching a pistol, an old German Luger by the looks of it, the muzzle aimed straight at William's face. "In fact, I bet they give me a reward if I bring you in with it."
William jerked the door handle and rolled out into the street. He sprang to his feet and ran, the driver's yells just background noise. Has everyone gone crazy or is it just me?
Home. He had to get home.
* * *
Rain. Driving, relentless rain. William was just two blocks from Fausto's. In two hours, that's as far as he'd gotten--one block an hour. Police cars prowled the neighborhood, shinning spotlights into every nook and cranny, lighting up every shadow. Everyone in Fausto's knew his name. He'd been going there three or four nights a week after work for years. The cabbie had his address. William had given it to him when he told the hack driver where to drop him.
Ten o'clock at night, with nowhere to go and no way to get there, William sat behind the closed Goodwill store, under an overhang that barely kept the rain off of him.
Huddled in the dark, head sunk between his knees, he hadn't heard anyone approach.
"You don't look so good."
Startled, William looked up, prepared to run again. It was the homeless man he'd knocked over outside the bar. The one with the shopping cart and the leathery skin. William relaxed a little. "Excuse me?"
The man pushed his cart closer. "You're not supposed to be here."
William looked around. "Why not?"
The old man grinned, half his teeth gone.
William found it nearly impossible to tell his age. The guy could be forty and maybe had lived a hard life, or perhaps he was a well-preserved seventy, pickled by a lifetime of booze. William waved him off, expecting a plea for money. "I can't help you."
The old man stopped just a few feet away. "Everything's out of place isn't it?" He had a strange lilting voice. Almost like an accent.
And he was right. Everything was out of place--from Johnny Davis to the cab driver--everything was wrong.
Strapped to the back of the old man's shopping cart was a plastic sign about the size of a loaf of bread. William recognized the sign, the words, the colors, the logo of a local supermarket chain, all were familiar to him, but the letters were backward, unreadable.
Rainwater ran down William's face. He pointed to the sign. "Why's it written like that?"
The old man looked at the sign then back at William. "Like what?" he said, then shuffled away behind his basket.
* * *
The rain came down even harder. William slouched in a darkened doorway across the street from Fausto's. Nothing made sense. Everything was messed up, backward, out of whack. Almost like this wasn't his home, like he was a stranger seeing it for the first time.
But that was crazy. He'd grown up here, gone to Brother Martin High School, dated Jenny Underhill who went to Cabrini, lost her to Johnny Davis, then got her back only to lose her again the first year of college to some kid who drove a Mustang. Two years later William married Marge at Saint Luke's. They had two kids.
This town was his home. He recognized it. He knew the people here, Big Johnny and Zeke, the bartender at Fausto's. But things were different, little things. John Davis for one. In trying to help him, the big man had gotten himself killed. That wasn't John Davis--at least not the one William Bailey had known since seventh grade. Everything looked the same but wasn't. Nothing was quite right.
But they knew him--or someone like him.
A strange sensation crept over him that made the hair on the back of his neck rise. Maybe he didn't belong here. Maybe everything wasn't as it appeared. Maybe this wasn't his home. But if that were true, then whose home was it? Another thought, even scarier seeped through his brain. If he was here, who was there--at his home?
Crazy.
William dropped his head into his hands. Just considering such nonsense was a waste of time. Yet, here he was scanning the street, thinking of going back inside Fausto's, back to that mirror.
Not much time to think about it. The bar closed at three AM and it was already two-thirty. When he'd left--run for his life with Big Johnny--most of the mirror was still in the frame hanging on the wall.
Something about that damned mirror.
But Fausto's was dangerous, so a couple of hours ago William had found another mirror. In the men's room of a twenty-four hour gas station. The Chevron on North Rampart.
He had approached it cautiously, afraid he was going mad. As he peered over the sink into the mirror, he saw what he always saw, his own reflection. Holding up his left hand, he looked at the image in the mirror, at the watch strapped to his wrist. He noticed that the man in the mirror wore his watch on his right hand. Just the opposite.
William stood in the gas station bathroom for twenty minutes before he worked up his nerve. Finally, he took a deep breath, leaned back, then slammed his forehead into the dirt-streaked mirror. The glass shattered and cut his head. Blood dribbled off the tip of his nose into the sink. His reflection stared out at him from the other side of the mirror, blood running down his face, too.
I have gone crazy!
So the gas station hadn't worked out. Ducking police cruisers, William had wandered the streets, his head reeling. What was he doing?
On the sidewalk, he found a sopping wet magazine that the wind had blown up against the side of a newspaper machine. The cover caught his eye. He picked it up. It was printed backwards, the letters reversed, words running right to left. The spine was on the right. As he flipped through the pages, he couldn't read a thing. Then William had an idea.
In the bathroom of an all night restaurant he held the wet magazine up to the mirror. Perfect. The reflected image was normal, spine on the left, words running left to right, all the letters printed correctly. He could read it clearly. But what did it mean?
Then he drove his head into that mirror. The glass cracked. Someone walked in, a skinny waiter wearing an apron. He stood gawking as William leaned over the sink with tears of pain filling his eyes.
The waiter looked at the broken mirror, then jabbed a finger at William's bloody forehead. "What the hell are you doing?"
"An accident," he mumbled, pressing his fingers against the fresh cut.
The waiter turned. "I'm calling the cops."
William Bailey ran.
Now he was huddled in the rain staring at Fausto's across the street. Because he had nowhere else to go.
He stood and walked toward Fausto's. When he was halfway across the street, a police car glided around the corner, headlights reflecting off the wet pavement. The cops in no hurry, just cruising. William forced himself to keep walking, not to run. One foot in front of the other. In the downpour, odds were that the cops wouldn't even recognize him.
But they did recognize him.
The police car slid to a stop as its high beams clicked on and its blue strobe lights started popping. Both front doors flew open.
Like a sinner seeking the sanctuary of a church, William ran straight for Fausto's door. As he burst inside, Zeke looked up from behind the bar. "William! What the hell are you doing here?"
He ignored the bartender, running right past him, eyes focused on the broken mirror and its busted frame hanging on the wall.
Zeke again, "The cops been looking all over for you. Say you killed two officers and--"
Behind him the front door banged against the wall. "Police!" a voice behind him commanded. "Stop."
But William didn't stop. He kept running--running straight for the mirror. Reflected in its fragmented pieces he saw two uniformed police officers behind him, heard their boots pounding on the wooden floor. Just ten feet separated him from the mirror. At full speed he took two strides then dove. He stretched his arms out overhead and tucked his chin into his chest as his feet left the floor.
He felt one hand hit wall and the other strike broken glass. Then his head hit. More glass cracked, more skin split.
Darkness.
* * *
William's eyes popped open. He was staring at the ceiling. Rough voices, even rougher hands. They rolled him over onto his stomach and jerked his arms behind his back. He felt cold steel on his wrists and heard the metallic ratcheting as the handcuffs tightened and bit into his skin.
He tilted his head up and rested his chin against the floor. Blood poured down the side of his face; he watched it pool on the floor then seep between the wooden planks. By rolling his eyes up he could just see the empty spot on the wall where the mirror had hung. Lying on the floor, three feet from his head, was the broken frame and the rest of the glass.
The two cops grabbed his arms and yanked him to his feet, sending waves of pain through his shoulders and wrists. As they spun him toward the door, one of the officers said, "You're under arrest."
"Why?" William asked.
The officer pressed his face into William's. "Murdering your family for starters."
"My...my family." William felt his stomach cinch and his bowels turn to ice. A thought he'd had earlier in the night echoed inside his head. If he was here, who was there--at his home.
As the cops dragged him across the floor, William glanced up and saw the rusted metal sign nailed above the door.
OUT.
He was home.
THE END
submitted by chuckhustmyre to shortstories [link] [comments]
William Bailey's forehead shattered the mirror like a sledgehammer. The last thing he remembered before he blacked out was the feeling that he was falling through the mirror. Sub-cranial hematoma, a concussion, maybe even a cracked skull--that had to be the reason for the strange feeling. The mirror was mounted on the wall just to the right of the bar, four feet tall by about three feet wide. As consciousness slipped away, common sense and his strong belief in the rational world told him that he couldn't fall through the mirror. He must have bounced his head off the wall and be falling toward the floor.
It seemed like just a second or two before William's eyes popped open. He lay on his back, on the hard wood floor of Fausto's, with Johnny Davis towering over him. Big Johnny probably wanted to finish him off, maybe kill him, and finally end their twenty-year-old feud. Either Big Johnny Davis and the ceiling lights above him were spinning, or William's head was spinning, but either way something wasn't right.
He raised his head and looked to his left, toward the bar. Except the bar wasn't there. Instead, he was staring at the bathrooms. That didn't make sense. It must be his brain that had gotten spun around. William turned his head and peered over his size-ten wingtips at the busted mirror. The wooden frame and most of the glass still clung to the wall, the rest sat broken on the ground. The bar had to be on his left. He looked again, and still saw the bathrooms. A brain bruise, maybe some fluid pressure building up might be the cause of it.
"Get up!" Big Johnny Davis said.
William looked up at him. Johnny stood behind him, just beyond his shoulders. Perfect place for him to stomp my head into the plank floor. Except Johnny Davis was holding out his hand.
"Come on, we've got to get out of here."
Davis looked scared. It was the first time William Bailey could ever remember Johnny Davis looking scared. William had always been scared of Big Johnny, but Big Johnny wasn't scared of anything or anyone.
Police sirens wailed in the distance.
Johnny glanced over his shoulder. William craned his neck to look where Johnny was looking, saw he was staring at the front door like a man terrified something bad was going to come through it. Big Johnny looked down at him again and pumped his hand. "Come on, get up. They'll be here any second."
"Who?" William asked. "Who'll be--" But before he finished, Big Johnny Davis reached down, grabbed him by both arms, and jerked him to his feet.
As he was dragged toward the door by the only man in town who truly hated him, William glanced up and saw the rusted metal sign nailed above the door. He had to have a concussion, probably severe; that had to be it, because the letters on the sign were backward. It said TUO.
As Johnny Davis pulled him out the door, William heard tires skid on the pavement.
"Where's your car?" Johnny asked.
William twisted away from the big man's grip, then turned to his left. "In the alley." He started to run, still not sure exactly what he was running from.
Behind him, Big John shouted, "The alley's over here."
William kept running but turned his head back toward Johnny. "I know where the alley--"
Something hit him across the midsection and toppled him to the ground. He got his hands up just in time to break his fall and managed to keep his head from slamming into the sidewalk. When he looked up he saw a shopping cart tumbled onto its side.
Once again, William found himself lying flat on his back, this time amid the spilled contents of the cart. It had been filled with junk: paper bags full of dirty clothes, canned food, bags of potato chips, a diamond shaped, orange road sign, and other trash that looked like it had been collected from back alley garbage bins.
The homeless man who'd been pushing the cart was scrawny, and wafer thin. His skin was the color of old shoe leather, and he wore a long gray beard, tangled and matted with food and bits of filth. He was sprawled on the ground next to his cart, half sitting up, staring at William with his bright blue eyes.
Car doors slammed, men shouted.
"You better get going," the homeless man said, as he cocked his head. "The police after you?"
Police!
Before William could assure the old man that the police weren't after him--he was a respected businessman and family man--someone behind him grabbed him under both arms and pulled him to his feet. William turned and found himself staring into the face of Johnny Davis. "The alley's that way," Johnny said, pointing to the other side of Fausto's. With one hand gripping William's jacket, Johnny dashed across the front of the bar toward the alley. The alley--right there, plain as day--on the other side of Fausto's, right where it shouldn't be, where it couldn't be. William had been here a thousand times. As you stepped out of the bar, the alley was on the left, Brockton's Ace Hardware on the right. Now everything was mixed up and in the wrong place.
Johnny Davis turned down the alley, dragging William behind him. After just a few steps, a spotlight flashed in front of them.
"Stop!" a voice commanded. "Get on the ground."
William couldn't see because Johnny was in his way. "Who's that yelling?" he asked.
Big Johnny stopped and William plowed into his back.
"Get on the ground," the voice boomed again.
William poked his head out from behind Johnny Davis's back. The blinding white light was in his face. He couldn't see a thing.
POP! POP! POP!
Gunshots.
Big Johnny sagged, then crashed to his knees. Instinctively, William bent forward and grabbed hold of Johnny. "What's the matter?"
More pops.
Johnny's big hand reached out and shoved William back toward the street. "Back door," he wheezed, then plunged forward onto his face.
William stood alone. Behind the white spotlight he saw blue police lights flashing. He was totally exposed.
POP! POP!
He saw flashes--little yellow spurts of flame--as something tugged at his jacket.
William had said "back door." What back door? Fausto's had a back door, but it didn't lead anywhere except to the open space behind the building used for trash and deliveries. Twenty feet of asphalt between the bar and the back of the building on the next block. William had parked his car at the end of the alley, but the police cars--or whatever they were--had the alley blocked off. The building behind Fausto's also had an alley that ran alongside it, but the owner had closed it off to keep the bums out. He'd put up a gate, padlocked it, and topped it with razor wire. It was a dead end.
Two more pops. Dead end or not it was better than standing here and getting shot. William turned and ran. He burst through the front door of Fausto's, dashed through the bar, past the shattered mirror, hit the back door at a dead run, and was outside behind the bar within seconds.
He could see the tail end of his car sticking out from the corner of the building, but with the cops blocking the alley, his car was useless to him. William glanced across the open space to the alley that ran next to the other building. The gate, the padlock, the razor wire--all still in place. To his right an overflowing garbage dumpster sat beside the back of Fausto's, jammed against the fire ladder.
The fire ladder.
An iron ladder bolted to the cinderblock wall.
William looked up. The top of the ladder was lost in shadow, but he knew it went up two stories to the roof. Last summer, when the toilet had stopped up, he'd come out back to take a leak and had stood behind the dumpster, peeing against the wall like a kid, one hand draped over the bottom rung of the ladder.
He slipped behind the dumpster. The smell made him gag. The bottom of the ladder was four feet from the ground. William reached up as high as he could, grabbed hold of the third rung, then hauled himself up.
Through the partially open back door came the sounds of heavy feet pounding on the hard wood floor of the bar.
Halfway up the ladder, he was exhausted--and scared. Shaking, he white-knuckled the ladder. Being more than ten feet off the ground terrified him. He needed a break, just a second or two to catch his breath. There was enough moonlight so he could see into one of the second story windows. Inside, junk was piled everywhere. Old barstools, a busted jukebox, furniture stacked almost to the ceiling. Years ago, old man Fausto lived on the second floor, but Jake, who'd bought the place from the old man and had decided to keep the name, used it for storage.
Below him, William heard the back door thrown open so hard it banged against the wall. He scrambled up until he reached the top of the ladder, then hoisted himself over the edge of the roof. Down on the ground a voice shouted, "There he is, up there."
Another gunshot. What the hell was going on?
The unmistakable sound of feet--fast feet, in shape feet, boot shod feet--scurrying up the ladder. Standing on the tar and pebble roof, William glanced around for something he could use as a weapon, shocked he was even thinking of such a thing. A five gallon plastic bucket was all there was. It stood upright, filled with rainwater. He picked it up and peered over the edge. A uniformed policeman was three quarters of the way up the ladder. Two more cops were right behind him.
William looked at the heavy bucket in his hands, thought about just dumping the water onto them but knew it wouldn't stop them. There was only one way to stop them, and that was to knock them off the ladder. He thought about warning them, maybe trying to scare them away. But they were cops. You couldn't scare them away.
So why had they shot Johnny Davis, and why were they shooting at him?
The first officer looked up and saw William staring down at him with the bucket in his hands. Their eyes locked for just a second and the cop stopped. In those eyes that stared back at him, William saw an almost maniacal determination that sent a shiver down his spine. The officer held his grip on the ladder with his right hand while his left dropped to the pistol resting in his gleaming leather holster. In one smooth motion he drew his gun and raised it toward William.
William Bailey tossed the bucket down the ladder. A shot rang out an instant before the heavy bucket thudded into the cop's head. Like a gruesome traffic accident happening before his eyes, William couldn't help but watch as the policeman fell, taking his two partners down with him. The last thing William saw before he turned away was a jumbled heap of black uniforms resting on the concrete below the ladder.
* * *
Hiding in the shadow of a telephone booth, thinking. Home. He had to get home. Had to get back to Marge and the kids. Maybe somehow he could explain what had happened. Vincent, his attorney, he would know what to do--maybe--but he was a civil lawyer not a criminal attorney. He wrote contracts and did personal injury on the side; he didn't get people out of jail who'd killed a cop by dropping a bucket of water on his head and knocking him and his buddies off the side of a building.
As the cab he'd been waiting for pulled up, William stepped out from the dark and climbed into the back seat.
The driver turned around. "Where to?"
William pulled the door shut. "Uptown. 1721 Audubon Court."
"Fare's gonna be about fifteen dollars. After dark, I gotta have the money up front."
"What?"
"Company policy." The cabbie shrugged. "A lot of drivers been getting stiffed."
William opened his wallet, pulled out a twenty and handed it across the seat. The driver took it and almost slipped it into his cash box, then took a second look at the bill. His face tightened. "What the hell is this?"
"Huh?"
With the bill stretched between his hands, the cabbie stared at it for a second then looked up at William. "You're either the dumbest counterfeiter who ever lived or you've been had."
"What you are talking about?"
The driver faced the bill toward William but didn't hand it back to him. "It's printed backwards."
William looked at the twenty-dollar bill in the man's hand. It looked like--it was--an almost brand new bill, nothing wrong with it as far as he could tell.
"Get out of my cab," the driver said.
William didn't know what the man was talking about but knew he didn't want to get out. This cab was his only way home. He reached for the twenty. "If you don't like that one I've got another--"
The driver pulled his hands away. "I ain't giving this back. I got to turn it in to the police." He dropped one hand behind his seat back, then came up clutching a pistol, an old German Luger by the looks of it, the muzzle aimed straight at William's face. "In fact, I bet they give me a reward if I bring you in with it."
William jerked the door handle and rolled out into the street. He sprang to his feet and ran, the driver's yells just background noise. Has everyone gone crazy or is it just me?
Home. He had to get home.
* * *
Rain. Driving, relentless rain. William was just two blocks from Fausto's. In two hours, that's as far as he'd gotten--one block an hour. Police cars prowled the neighborhood, shinning spotlights into every nook and cranny, lighting up every shadow. Everyone in Fausto's knew his name. He'd been going there three or four nights a week after work for years. The cabbie had his address. William had given it to him when he told the hack driver where to drop him.
Ten o'clock at night, with nowhere to go and no way to get there, William sat behind the closed Goodwill store, under an overhang that barely kept the rain off of him.
Huddled in the dark, head sunk between his knees, he hadn't heard anyone approach.
"You don't look so good."
Startled, William looked up, prepared to run again. It was the homeless man he'd knocked over outside the bar. The one with the shopping cart and the leathery skin. William relaxed a little. "Excuse me?"
The man pushed his cart closer. "You're not supposed to be here."
William looked around. "Why not?"
The old man grinned, half his teeth gone.
William found it nearly impossible to tell his age. The guy could be forty and maybe had lived a hard life, or perhaps he was a well-preserved seventy, pickled by a lifetime of booze. William waved him off, expecting a plea for money. "I can't help you."
The old man stopped just a few feet away. "Everything's out of place isn't it?" He had a strange lilting voice. Almost like an accent.
And he was right. Everything was out of place--from Johnny Davis to the cab driver--everything was wrong.
Strapped to the back of the old man's shopping cart was a plastic sign about the size of a loaf of bread. William recognized the sign, the words, the colors, the logo of a local supermarket chain, all were familiar to him, but the letters were backward, unreadable.
Rainwater ran down William's face. He pointed to the sign. "Why's it written like that?"
The old man looked at the sign then back at William. "Like what?" he said, then shuffled away behind his basket.
* * *
The rain came down even harder. William slouched in a darkened doorway across the street from Fausto's. Nothing made sense. Everything was messed up, backward, out of whack. Almost like this wasn't his home, like he was a stranger seeing it for the first time.
But that was crazy. He'd grown up here, gone to Brother Martin High School, dated Jenny Underhill who went to Cabrini, lost her to Johnny Davis, then got her back only to lose her again the first year of college to some kid who drove a Mustang. Two years later William married Marge at Saint Luke's. They had two kids.
This town was his home. He recognized it. He knew the people here, Big Johnny and Zeke, the bartender at Fausto's. But things were different, little things. John Davis for one. In trying to help him, the big man had gotten himself killed. That wasn't John Davis--at least not the one William Bailey had known since seventh grade. Everything looked the same but wasn't. Nothing was quite right.
But they knew him--or someone like him.
A strange sensation crept over him that made the hair on the back of his neck rise. Maybe he didn't belong here. Maybe everything wasn't as it appeared. Maybe this wasn't his home. But if that were true, then whose home was it? Another thought, even scarier seeped through his brain. If he was here, who was there--at his home?
Crazy.
William dropped his head into his hands. Just considering such nonsense was a waste of time. Yet, here he was scanning the street, thinking of going back inside Fausto's, back to that mirror.
Not much time to think about it. The bar closed at three AM and it was already two-thirty. When he'd left--run for his life with Big Johnny--most of the mirror was still in the frame hanging on the wall.
Something about that damned mirror.
But Fausto's was dangerous, so a couple of hours ago William had found another mirror. In the men's room of a twenty-four hour gas station. The Chevron on North Rampart.
He had approached it cautiously, afraid he was going mad. As he peered over the sink into the mirror, he saw what he always saw, his own reflection. Holding up his left hand, he looked at the image in the mirror, at the watch strapped to his wrist. He noticed that the man in the mirror wore his watch on his right hand. Just the opposite.
William stood in the gas station bathroom for twenty minutes before he worked up his nerve. Finally, he took a deep breath, leaned back, then slammed his forehead into the dirt-streaked mirror. The glass shattered and cut his head. Blood dribbled off the tip of his nose into the sink. His reflection stared out at him from the other side of the mirror, blood running down his face, too.
I have gone crazy!
So the gas station hadn't worked out. Ducking police cruisers, William had wandered the streets, his head reeling. What was he doing?
On the sidewalk, he found a sopping wet magazine that the wind had blown up against the side of a newspaper machine. The cover caught his eye. He picked it up. It was printed backwards, the letters reversed, words running right to left. The spine was on the right. As he flipped through the pages, he couldn't read a thing. Then William had an idea.
In the bathroom of an all night restaurant he held the wet magazine up to the mirror. Perfect. The reflected image was normal, spine on the left, words running left to right, all the letters printed correctly. He could read it clearly. But what did it mean?
Then he drove his head into that mirror. The glass cracked. Someone walked in, a skinny waiter wearing an apron. He stood gawking as William leaned over the sink with tears of pain filling his eyes.
The waiter looked at the broken mirror, then jabbed a finger at William's bloody forehead. "What the hell are you doing?"
"An accident," he mumbled, pressing his fingers against the fresh cut.
The waiter turned. "I'm calling the cops."
William Bailey ran.
Now he was huddled in the rain staring at Fausto's across the street. Because he had nowhere else to go.
He stood and walked toward Fausto's. When he was halfway across the street, a police car glided around the corner, headlights reflecting off the wet pavement. The cops in no hurry, just cruising. William forced himself to keep walking, not to run. One foot in front of the other. In the downpour, odds were that the cops wouldn't even recognize him.
But they did recognize him.
The police car slid to a stop as its high beams clicked on and its blue strobe lights started popping. Both front doors flew open.
Like a sinner seeking the sanctuary of a church, William ran straight for Fausto's door. As he burst inside, Zeke looked up from behind the bar. "William! What the hell are you doing here?"
He ignored the bartender, running right past him, eyes focused on the broken mirror and its busted frame hanging on the wall.
Zeke again, "The cops been looking all over for you. Say you killed two officers and--"
Behind him the front door banged against the wall. "Police!" a voice behind him commanded. "Stop."
But William didn't stop. He kept running--running straight for the mirror. Reflected in its fragmented pieces he saw two uniformed police officers behind him, heard their boots pounding on the wooden floor. Just ten feet separated him from the mirror. At full speed he took two strides then dove. He stretched his arms out overhead and tucked his chin into his chest as his feet left the floor.
He felt one hand hit wall and the other strike broken glass. Then his head hit. More glass cracked, more skin split.
Darkness.
* * *
William's eyes popped open. He was staring at the ceiling. Rough voices, even rougher hands. They rolled him over onto his stomach and jerked his arms behind his back. He felt cold steel on his wrists and heard the metallic ratcheting as the handcuffs tightened and bit into his skin.
He tilted his head up and rested his chin against the floor. Blood poured down the side of his face; he watched it pool on the floor then seep between the wooden planks. By rolling his eyes up he could just see the empty spot on the wall where the mirror had hung. Lying on the floor, three feet from his head, was the broken frame and the rest of the glass.
The two cops grabbed his arms and yanked him to his feet, sending waves of pain through his shoulders and wrists. As they spun him toward the door, one of the officers said, "You're under arrest."
"Why?" William asked.
The officer pressed his face into William's. "Murdering your family for starters."
"My...my family." William felt his stomach cinch and his bowels turn to ice. A thought he'd had earlier in the night echoed inside his head. If he was here, who was there--at his home.
As the cops dragged him across the floor, William glanced up and saw the rusted metal sign nailed above the door.
OUT.
He was home.
THE END
2023.06.03 12:45 ur_volkswagen_sux "Amid all the finger-pointing and fear-fanning, the truth hides in the corner, too scared to emerge. The truth is that we are supposed to think critically, weigh evidence from both sides and then make up our own minds. Instead, we’ve become a country hell bent on..."
Why does my drinking Bud Light offend you?
May 30, 2023 4:39 pm • Last Updated: May 30, 2023 4:41 pm
By Mike DiMauro
Day Assistant Sports Editor
[[email protected]](mailto:[email protected])
News item: Anthony Bass, a pitcher for the Toronto Blue Jays, shared a video Monday via Instagram endorsing an anti-LGBTQ boycott of brands such as Target and Bud Light.
"Here's the reason biblically why I believe Christians have gotta be boycotting Target, Bud Light, and any other corporation that's pushing the things they're pushing,” Bass said. “I think a lot of people make this into a political issue, or they say, 'Oh, what's the big deal?’
“This is evil, this is demonic, we won't stand for it, we're not going to go to the stores anymore and we're not going to give you our money.”
It would be impolite to wish that Mr. Bass, who throws a ball for a living, blows out his elbow. Perhaps then he could simply blow it out his tailpipe.
Because I’ve grown tired of sanctimonious and hypocritical moral outrage over what Target and Bud Light are “pushing,” while it’s permissible that Bass and his ilk get to “push” their beliefs on the rest of us.
Example: In the last two months or so, I’ve been questioned a half dozen times in public as to why I’m drinking Bud Light. Seems people like Bass have objected to Anheuser Busch’s marketing partnership with transgender influencer Dylan Mulvaney. Their boycott of Bud Light has led to a decrease in sales both locally and nationally. (Local bar and restaurant owners say Bud Light sales are down almost 30 percent.)
It is their right, of course, to boycott the product. I’m just curious as to why what I’m drinking is their business. I drink Bud Light because I like it. And I’m still drinking Bud Light because I will not marginalize people based on gender, race, religion, ethnicity, or sexual orientation. I’m respectful enough to support someone else’s desire to evolve into another gender. And I’m not stupid enough to believe that my decision to drink Bud Light changes who I am or what I stand for in any possible way.
But I wonder why it’s so important for people — and the questions to me haven’t all come from men — to announce their disdain for a bottle of beer, tacitly implying their sexuality is “normal.” Remember this one and write it down: If you are truly comfortable with who you are, you needn’t announce anything to anyone.
And yet to further illustrate how screwed up this country really is, there’s this: Anheuser-Busch hasn’t merely been accused of alienating its traditional customer base with the partnership, but some LGBTQ+ campaigners have also criticized the company for not defending its ties with Mulvaney.
Amid all the finger-pointing and fear-fanning, the truth hides in the corner, too scared to emerge. The truth is that we are supposed to think critically, weigh evidence from both sides and then make up our own minds. Instead, we’ve become a country hell bent on legislating whatever cause we think is right and just, while burying the other side from all consideration.
It’s political tribalism. All or nothing. One side or the other. If you’re not in agreement with every morsel of the transgender movement, you are a snarling, hating, infidel. If you’re not in total agreement with Anthony Bass and his beliefs, you’re going to wither in hell.
But what if — and hold on to your ascots here — two conflicting positions can still be true? Example: What if I support Bud Light’s decision to use a transgender influencer, but also believe that transgender high school athletes belong in their own division?
I disagree with the Connecticut Interscholastic Athletic Conference’s policy complying with a state law that requires all high school students be treated according to their gender identity. We should consider a sports-centric law that acknowledges sports' unique challenges and accommodates the physical component for success that exists virtually nowhere else in society.
Sex discrimination in education, health care, housing and financial credit have no place in this country. But we must — must — realize and accept that sports require a physical component to succeed that calls for different guidelines.
Put it this way: Applying to a school or for health care, housing or financial credit requires no physical component to succeed. Sports require speed, strength and agility and do not fit under the same umbrella. And yet sports are routinely shoved into the same arguments about unfair treatment. Injustices get piled on for rhetorical usefulness, even though they're not applicable.
The male born composition has inherent physical advantages, rare exceptions noted. But in the aggregate, there are physiologic differences between biological males and females. I don’t believe writing that makes me transphobic. We should respect a person’s pronoun of choice. But that doesn't mean we have to blindly agree with claims that are not supported by science.
Yet that appears to be the new end game in this country. Blind agreement. Their side or yours. And here I sit, sipping my Bud Light, trying to figure out why so many of us act like the last three letters of Anthony Bass’ last name.
This is the opinion of Day sports columnist Mike DiMauro
Comment threads are monitored for 48 hours after publication and then closed.
READER COMMENTS
Philip BroseJune 1, 2023 at 16:30Report
Robin great points the right can’t even keep track on who to be mad at. Why are they so sensitive? I here Chick-fil-a is evil now for they “ensuring equal access,” “valuing differences,” and “creating a culture of belonging,” under the title, “Committed to being Better at Together.” what monsters!
Philip BroseJune 1, 2023 at 16:27Report
William Peter the guidance councilor?
Joseph B De La CruzJune 1, 2023 at 15:15Report
This article pretty much sums up exactly how I feel about the situation. Bud Light basically sent someone a can with her image celebrating a milestone. The fact it turned the beer into enemy number one doesn’t surprise me considering the vitriol that has become commonplace in our country. I have had plenty of private messages regarding a video I posted supporting a beer, and more importantly a human being. Most have been vehemently against my support of both and relish the chance to send me a screen shot of Bud Lights stock on a daily basis with a “Go woke, Go broke” ending. I believe much of the vitriol comes from news and talk radio which is why Spotify now fills my vehicle with music instead of talk. I ask everyone to limit their news intake to 30 minutes per day regardless of your party affiliation to center your life. Sometimes my radio will land on a “news station”, and I can feel my blood pressure rise as the most divisive topic of the day is being discussed with a majority of the facts not being considered. I am not recommending folks to ignore what’s happening in our world, but would point out that our country has survived many decades without the need for “up to the second” news reports. Most of the things we worry about will never happen and it seems our country is living in a constant state of fear which is certainly to blame for the vitriol. There will never be a point where everyone in the country will collectively say we are all happy with everything, but I still have a deep believe that with constructive conversations and true empathy we can get us close. When I get my boat in the water I would love to have an ice cold Bud Light while listening to my relaxing boat playlist, and of course talking with my favorite sports writer. That’s an invitation Mike. Great article.
Robin DaudaJune 1, 2023 at 13:41Report
“Bud Light sales are down between 26% and 35% nationwide additionally Budweiser and other AB brands (Michelob Ultra, Busch Light and Natural Light to name a few) have also taken a hit of around 11%.”
All the more reason to explain what set this off. Completely unhinged.
“My take, buy Coors stock now”
And that statement reinforces my point since Coors has been a decades long supporter of LGBT rights probably the biggest supporter (it all began with a workegay alliance boycott ironically… or not)
“Coors Light has been a sponsor of The Center and Denver PrideFest for decades,” says Rex Fuller, CEO of The Center on Colfax. “The work we have been able to do at The Center over the last four decades would not be possible without this support and we are grateful for it.”
Beyond supporting Denver PrideFest, Molson Coors has a distinguished history of supporting LGBTQ communities across the country, with significant support for organizations such as Human Rights Campaign (HRC), Matthew Shepard Foundation, National Amateur Gay Athletics Association of America, National Gay & Lesbian Chamber of Commerce, LGBT Victory Institute, Out & Equal, and One Colorado.
In addition to these partners, Molson Coors works with local LGBTQ organizations in key communities through its Tap Into Change program. Annually, the summer program donates more than $100,000 to these organizations with a consistent growth in impact each year. Events take place in each city to help raise additional funds, awareness, and support for the missions of these local organizations. Over the past 10 years, Tap Into Change has raised nearly $600,000 for local LGBTQ and HIV/AIDS nonprofits.
https://denverpride.org/coors-light-supports-the-lgbtq-community/
This is even though like 2006, 2010 and 2014 they had to go through boycotts for this. And they did shrink back in response, but also came right back and didn’t move backwards for long.
And what will I do?
Continue drinking Corona because I drink what I drink.
It’s damn near impossible to do a successful boycott long term. The web of corporate connections means when you think you’re hurting one, it’s actually benefitting another one connected to it.
The beverage brand that owns Budweiser, Corona, and Stella Artois, is suing US beer-maker Constellation Brands for using the Corona brand name in a hard seltzer, according to a lawsuit filed Monday.
Beverage giant Anheuser-Busch InBev (AB InBev) acquired Corona’s parent company, Grupo Modelo, in 2013, but US antitrust regulators required it to sell the company’s US-based business to Constellation. AB InBev retained rights to the products in other markets, and the deal gave Constellation the rights to produce Corona and other Modelo brands in the US.
William PeterJune 1, 2023 at 13:36Report
The virtue signalers didn’t like my harmless comment. I guess being offended by an opposing view is reason enough to silence someone in 2023
Richard GoldenJune 1, 2023 at 12:57Report
Robin- not certain this article nor all the comments will move the needle. Bud Light sales are down between 26% and 35% nationwide additionally Budweiser and other AB brands (Michelob Ultra, Busch Light and Natural Light to name a few) have also taken a hit of around 11%. Bud Light has been the best selling beer in the USA for over 20 years and the normal volume of sales is 27 million barrels a year or 1134 million gallons. A 30% drop equals a loss of 340 million gallons a year. My take, buy Coors stock now
Chris JawakaJune 1, 2023 at 10:12Report
People are allowed to drink or not drink whatever beer they want and for whatever reason they choose. End of story.
Robin DaudaJune 1, 2023 at 09:05Report
Do people realize that Bud Light sent a pack of specially made cans with the person’s face on it and did a minute long or so bit released on like TicTok? It wasn’t some big nationwide PR campaign yet it rubbed someone the wrong way (or so they would like us to think) and it snowballed into this.
I don’t ever want to hear about people calling “the libs” snowflakes or use their center liberal stances as a weakness. These champions of “conservatives” are gullible whiny babies.
I watched in real time a bunch of idiots blow something up out of nothing and then saw them flocking to the internet people with their influencer pages and podcasts and publications where immediately they were being hawked “anti-woke” beer and all these other wares, often made by the same places they are boycotting for double the price.
There is a whole market opening up to people that will only get their businesses off the ground (temporarily for a quick cash grab) by using these outrage tactics and capitalizing (literally) on impaired brains that as Mr. DiMauro correctly observed “Blind agreement. Their side or yours”
Bless your little void of empathy and common sense hearts. Don’t spend all your money in one place now, spread the wealth to these people selling you overpriced junk.
Paul LevasseurJune 1, 2023 at 07:47Report
Mike is discussing one of this election cycles right wing culture war hot spots.
If you can’t get elected because of your governing skills you’re going to have to try to get elected by getting people angry and hateful. The right wing loves doing that. It’s their bread and butter.
TOM DONNEEJune 1, 2023 at 06:46Report
Preaching hate and preaching tolerance ARE NOT the same Evan
DANIEL STORMSJune 1, 2023 at 05:56Report
I always liked this formulation: “In the first place, what makes it any of you business? And in the second place, my reasons for saying yea to [whatever it is that offends you] are at least as valid (and maybe more so) than yours for nay. And in the third place, what makes it any of your sodding business in the first place?” I agree wholeheartedly with your plea for reason and tolerance. Not to seem argumentative but rather to add information to the discussion, though, you might be interested in this blog post from a biologist about the supposed physiologic advantages a trans man or woman has over a cis athelete: https://freethoughtblogs.com/pharyngula/2023/05/31/we-hunted-the-rabbit/
Evan AndriopolousJune 1, 2023 at 03:10Report
For me… Bud Light as a “beer” sucks. I would rather support local breweries that provide far better beers. As far as this column… as far as AB selecting this influencer in their campaign I have no opinion on it or that person. Up to each to decide for themselves.
Regarding this column actually Mike what you are writing is basically the same as the boycott and the changes in attitudes (political divide) of the country. Often used by politicians on BOTH sides of the aisle screaming to be open, defending one´s right to choose, freedom of speech etc.. and this is the most important part..”unless it does not validate their opinion or view”. This is exactly what you are writing. So if someone elects to boycott something and we know the WOKE police and Leftists enjoy not only condemning opposing viewpoints to the point of boycotting, attacking employers for the “views” of their employees etc… and demanding they be removed from the position their are in. So if someone boycotts something let them… I would ask you… why does it offend you that others are using their constitutional right by boycotting (freedom of speech). I always respect other´s opinions and even when we do not agree. Sadly we live in a world where people are afraid to speak up due to the potential ramifications. None of us will always agree and I know the powers to be are trying to “force” us to all be uniform in our opinions which is sad. And btw Bud Light is terrible anyway… How about you focus on sports.
Benoit BenoitMay 31, 2023 at 20:12Report
Ironic you drink because you like it but will continue to drink it because “ I will not marginalize people based on gender, race, religion, ethnicity, or sexual orientation.” Not just because you like it.
William PeterMay 31, 2023 at 17:46Report
This comment has been removed for violating The Day’s commenting policy.
JAY DEMPSEYMay 31, 2023 at 16:53Report
TY Mike….. I drink Bud Light most all the time unless in Ireland…and support Levine Distributors in our area and my friends that work there. I think the cancel culture is terrible whatever your political party of choice is. Very sad that social media has done this to us. I have good friends that I can no longer talk politics with because of the “great divide” that enriches social media giants.
ROBERT WARNERMay 31, 2023 at 16:45Report
I suppose a similar question could be asked, “Why does a person wearing a MAGA hat bother some people?”
David NowakowskiMay 31, 2023 at 14:30Report
great column, Mike. I’d like to think there are far more folks who see this subject and all its nuances the way you do…but you are probably right again in saying that it is tough to go against your chosen tribe on any component, regardless of how you might actually feel. thanks again!
Andrew RogersonMay 31, 2023 at 13:33Report
Mike DiMauro – well said sir, on all counts.
Lynn YoungMay 31, 2023 at 13:28Report
Drink what you like. Be who you are. Live and let live.
Richard GoldenMay 31, 2023 at 12:36Report
Light Beer is like Sex on the Beach….****ing near water.
Paul NUNESMay 31, 2023 at 11:44Report
Does anyone remember the first light beer and the commercial featuring a slice of bread?
THOMAS MORIARTYMay 31, 2023 at 11:05Report
Richard, must have been some other brand light. Bud Light? It was probably 10 years ago. But he could have been messing with me.
Richard GoldenMay 31, 2023 at 10:17Report
Malcolm- The moral of the story is; if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.
Richard GoldenMay 31, 2023 at 10:16Report
Thomas- as far as I knew and as far as I can tell Guinness is the most popular beer in Ireland holding a full 25% of the market share. Bud Light does not even show up in the top ten (https://www.beer100.com/best-selling-beers-ireland/) I think the guy was pulling your leg. Bud Light only became available in Ireland in 2020.
Malcolm JulesMay 31, 2023 at 09:32Report
A corporation decided to target one of their products to a specific community and failed….end of story.
Margaret KliseMay 31, 2023 at 09:12Report
Agree/agree. Good article, Mike.
SUSAN HOTCHKISSMay 31, 2023 at 09:06Report
I always enjoy Mike’s opinion pieces. In total agreement about the transgender athlete issue.
THOMAS MORIARTYMay 31, 2023 at 09:00Report
Tom, hope all is well with your daughter.
THOMAS MORIARTYMay 31, 2023 at 08:57Report
A Bud Light story: Several years ago while in Ireland my son and I toured the Guinness brewery. Of course there’s a pub on the top floor and while getting a pint of Guinness the bar I notice several taps Bud Light. I asked the bartender “why in God’s name are you serving THAT stuff in here?” He replied that it’s the best selling beer in Ireland. Go figue!
THOMAS MORIARTYMay 31, 2023 at 08:51Report
Good column Mike. These anti “woke” zealots claim to support democracy but would be no different from the Taliban if they had their way.
Richard GoldenMay 31, 2023 at 08:42Report
All this talk of beer makes me thirsty…but I have found that drinking beer has become an unwelcome undertaking. No beer allowed at the beach, nor while night fishing in Waterford, nor surf fishing at Avery Point, nor at any state boat launch, nor is state parks- try walking down the street with a cold one….
Chris JawakaMay 31, 2023 at 08:08Report
IMO The left loves their cancel culture but gets all grumpy when the right does the same. Hey it can go both ways. That said I really don’t care about the Bud thing. Its not like they sold beer with its face on it.
Matther TookerMay 31, 2023 at 07:35Report
Thoughtful piece as always Mike. Perhaps the best offset for the 30% decrease in Bud Light sales would be a 30% increase in church attendance. I am betting that won’t happen. (Matt Tooker)
KEITH J. ROBBINSMay 31, 2023 at 06:11Report
You drinking Bud-Lite does not offend me, although it is a horrible beer. What is my concern is a guy using the ladies room that my nieces use!
TOM DONNEEMay 31, 2023 at 05:55Report
Agree Phil. Well done Mike!! Waiting for my daughter to come out of surgery. Then we’ll stop for a cold one, think I’ll make it a Bud Lite!!!
Philip BroseMay 30, 2023 at 16:59Report
Mr. DiMauro is always thoughtful and intelligent. The best writer at the day. Give the guy a raise.
submitted by ur_volkswagen_sux to NewLondonCounty [link] [comments]
May 30, 2023 4:39 pm • Last Updated: May 30, 2023 4:41 pm
By Mike DiMauro
Day Assistant Sports Editor
[[email protected]](mailto:[email protected])
News item: Anthony Bass, a pitcher for the Toronto Blue Jays, shared a video Monday via Instagram endorsing an anti-LGBTQ boycott of brands such as Target and Bud Light.
"Here's the reason biblically why I believe Christians have gotta be boycotting Target, Bud Light, and any other corporation that's pushing the things they're pushing,” Bass said. “I think a lot of people make this into a political issue, or they say, 'Oh, what's the big deal?’
“This is evil, this is demonic, we won't stand for it, we're not going to go to the stores anymore and we're not going to give you our money.”
It would be impolite to wish that Mr. Bass, who throws a ball for a living, blows out his elbow. Perhaps then he could simply blow it out his tailpipe.
Because I’ve grown tired of sanctimonious and hypocritical moral outrage over what Target and Bud Light are “pushing,” while it’s permissible that Bass and his ilk get to “push” their beliefs on the rest of us.
Example: In the last two months or so, I’ve been questioned a half dozen times in public as to why I’m drinking Bud Light. Seems people like Bass have objected to Anheuser Busch’s marketing partnership with transgender influencer Dylan Mulvaney. Their boycott of Bud Light has led to a decrease in sales both locally and nationally. (Local bar and restaurant owners say Bud Light sales are down almost 30 percent.)
It is their right, of course, to boycott the product. I’m just curious as to why what I’m drinking is their business. I drink Bud Light because I like it. And I’m still drinking Bud Light because I will not marginalize people based on gender, race, religion, ethnicity, or sexual orientation. I’m respectful enough to support someone else’s desire to evolve into another gender. And I’m not stupid enough to believe that my decision to drink Bud Light changes who I am or what I stand for in any possible way.
But I wonder why it’s so important for people — and the questions to me haven’t all come from men — to announce their disdain for a bottle of beer, tacitly implying their sexuality is “normal.” Remember this one and write it down: If you are truly comfortable with who you are, you needn’t announce anything to anyone.
And yet to further illustrate how screwed up this country really is, there’s this: Anheuser-Busch hasn’t merely been accused of alienating its traditional customer base with the partnership, but some LGBTQ+ campaigners have also criticized the company for not defending its ties with Mulvaney.
Amid all the finger-pointing and fear-fanning, the truth hides in the corner, too scared to emerge. The truth is that we are supposed to think critically, weigh evidence from both sides and then make up our own minds. Instead, we’ve become a country hell bent on legislating whatever cause we think is right and just, while burying the other side from all consideration.
It’s political tribalism. All or nothing. One side or the other. If you’re not in agreement with every morsel of the transgender movement, you are a snarling, hating, infidel. If you’re not in total agreement with Anthony Bass and his beliefs, you’re going to wither in hell.
But what if — and hold on to your ascots here — two conflicting positions can still be true? Example: What if I support Bud Light’s decision to use a transgender influencer, but also believe that transgender high school athletes belong in their own division?
I disagree with the Connecticut Interscholastic Athletic Conference’s policy complying with a state law that requires all high school students be treated according to their gender identity. We should consider a sports-centric law that acknowledges sports' unique challenges and accommodates the physical component for success that exists virtually nowhere else in society.
Sex discrimination in education, health care, housing and financial credit have no place in this country. But we must — must — realize and accept that sports require a physical component to succeed that calls for different guidelines.
Put it this way: Applying to a school or for health care, housing or financial credit requires no physical component to succeed. Sports require speed, strength and agility and do not fit under the same umbrella. And yet sports are routinely shoved into the same arguments about unfair treatment. Injustices get piled on for rhetorical usefulness, even though they're not applicable.
The male born composition has inherent physical advantages, rare exceptions noted. But in the aggregate, there are physiologic differences between biological males and females. I don’t believe writing that makes me transphobic. We should respect a person’s pronoun of choice. But that doesn't mean we have to blindly agree with claims that are not supported by science.
Yet that appears to be the new end game in this country. Blind agreement. Their side or yours. And here I sit, sipping my Bud Light, trying to figure out why so many of us act like the last three letters of Anthony Bass’ last name.
This is the opinion of Day sports columnist Mike DiMauro
Comment threads are monitored for 48 hours after publication and then closed.
READER COMMENTS
Philip BroseJune 1, 2023 at 16:30Report
Robin great points the right can’t even keep track on who to be mad at. Why are they so sensitive? I here Chick-fil-a is evil now for they “ensuring equal access,” “valuing differences,” and “creating a culture of belonging,” under the title, “Committed to being Better at Together.” what monsters!
Philip BroseJune 1, 2023 at 16:27Report
William Peter the guidance councilor?
Joseph B De La CruzJune 1, 2023 at 15:15Report
This article pretty much sums up exactly how I feel about the situation. Bud Light basically sent someone a can with her image celebrating a milestone. The fact it turned the beer into enemy number one doesn’t surprise me considering the vitriol that has become commonplace in our country. I have had plenty of private messages regarding a video I posted supporting a beer, and more importantly a human being. Most have been vehemently against my support of both and relish the chance to send me a screen shot of Bud Lights stock on a daily basis with a “Go woke, Go broke” ending. I believe much of the vitriol comes from news and talk radio which is why Spotify now fills my vehicle with music instead of talk. I ask everyone to limit their news intake to 30 minutes per day regardless of your party affiliation to center your life. Sometimes my radio will land on a “news station”, and I can feel my blood pressure rise as the most divisive topic of the day is being discussed with a majority of the facts not being considered. I am not recommending folks to ignore what’s happening in our world, but would point out that our country has survived many decades without the need for “up to the second” news reports. Most of the things we worry about will never happen and it seems our country is living in a constant state of fear which is certainly to blame for the vitriol. There will never be a point where everyone in the country will collectively say we are all happy with everything, but I still have a deep believe that with constructive conversations and true empathy we can get us close. When I get my boat in the water I would love to have an ice cold Bud Light while listening to my relaxing boat playlist, and of course talking with my favorite sports writer. That’s an invitation Mike. Great article.
Robin DaudaJune 1, 2023 at 13:41Report
“Bud Light sales are down between 26% and 35% nationwide additionally Budweiser and other AB brands (Michelob Ultra, Busch Light and Natural Light to name a few) have also taken a hit of around 11%.”
All the more reason to explain what set this off. Completely unhinged.
“My take, buy Coors stock now”
And that statement reinforces my point since Coors has been a decades long supporter of LGBT rights probably the biggest supporter (it all began with a workegay alliance boycott ironically… or not)
“Coors Light has been a sponsor of The Center and Denver PrideFest for decades,” says Rex Fuller, CEO of The Center on Colfax. “The work we have been able to do at The Center over the last four decades would not be possible without this support and we are grateful for it.”
Beyond supporting Denver PrideFest, Molson Coors has a distinguished history of supporting LGBTQ communities across the country, with significant support for organizations such as Human Rights Campaign (HRC), Matthew Shepard Foundation, National Amateur Gay Athletics Association of America, National Gay & Lesbian Chamber of Commerce, LGBT Victory Institute, Out & Equal, and One Colorado.
In addition to these partners, Molson Coors works with local LGBTQ organizations in key communities through its Tap Into Change program. Annually, the summer program donates more than $100,000 to these organizations with a consistent growth in impact each year. Events take place in each city to help raise additional funds, awareness, and support for the missions of these local organizations. Over the past 10 years, Tap Into Change has raised nearly $600,000 for local LGBTQ and HIV/AIDS nonprofits.
https://denverpride.org/coors-light-supports-the-lgbtq-community/
This is even though like 2006, 2010 and 2014 they had to go through boycotts for this. And they did shrink back in response, but also came right back and didn’t move backwards for long.
And what will I do?
Continue drinking Corona because I drink what I drink.
It’s damn near impossible to do a successful boycott long term. The web of corporate connections means when you think you’re hurting one, it’s actually benefitting another one connected to it.
The beverage brand that owns Budweiser, Corona, and Stella Artois, is suing US beer-maker Constellation Brands for using the Corona brand name in a hard seltzer, according to a lawsuit filed Monday.
Beverage giant Anheuser-Busch InBev (AB InBev) acquired Corona’s parent company, Grupo Modelo, in 2013, but US antitrust regulators required it to sell the company’s US-based business to Constellation. AB InBev retained rights to the products in other markets, and the deal gave Constellation the rights to produce Corona and other Modelo brands in the US.
William PeterJune 1, 2023 at 13:36Report
The virtue signalers didn’t like my harmless comment. I guess being offended by an opposing view is reason enough to silence someone in 2023
Richard GoldenJune 1, 2023 at 12:57Report
Robin- not certain this article nor all the comments will move the needle. Bud Light sales are down between 26% and 35% nationwide additionally Budweiser and other AB brands (Michelob Ultra, Busch Light and Natural Light to name a few) have also taken a hit of around 11%. Bud Light has been the best selling beer in the USA for over 20 years and the normal volume of sales is 27 million barrels a year or 1134 million gallons. A 30% drop equals a loss of 340 million gallons a year. My take, buy Coors stock now
Chris JawakaJune 1, 2023 at 10:12Report
People are allowed to drink or not drink whatever beer they want and for whatever reason they choose. End of story.
Robin DaudaJune 1, 2023 at 09:05Report
Do people realize that Bud Light sent a pack of specially made cans with the person’s face on it and did a minute long or so bit released on like TicTok? It wasn’t some big nationwide PR campaign yet it rubbed someone the wrong way (or so they would like us to think) and it snowballed into this.
I don’t ever want to hear about people calling “the libs” snowflakes or use their center liberal stances as a weakness. These champions of “conservatives” are gullible whiny babies.
I watched in real time a bunch of idiots blow something up out of nothing and then saw them flocking to the internet people with their influencer pages and podcasts and publications where immediately they were being hawked “anti-woke” beer and all these other wares, often made by the same places they are boycotting for double the price.
There is a whole market opening up to people that will only get their businesses off the ground (temporarily for a quick cash grab) by using these outrage tactics and capitalizing (literally) on impaired brains that as Mr. DiMauro correctly observed “Blind agreement. Their side or yours”
Bless your little void of empathy and common sense hearts. Don’t spend all your money in one place now, spread the wealth to these people selling you overpriced junk.
Paul LevasseurJune 1, 2023 at 07:47Report
Mike is discussing one of this election cycles right wing culture war hot spots.
If you can’t get elected because of your governing skills you’re going to have to try to get elected by getting people angry and hateful. The right wing loves doing that. It’s their bread and butter.
TOM DONNEEJune 1, 2023 at 06:46Report
Preaching hate and preaching tolerance ARE NOT the same Evan
DANIEL STORMSJune 1, 2023 at 05:56Report
I always liked this formulation: “In the first place, what makes it any of you business? And in the second place, my reasons for saying yea to [whatever it is that offends you] are at least as valid (and maybe more so) than yours for nay. And in the third place, what makes it any of your sodding business in the first place?” I agree wholeheartedly with your plea for reason and tolerance. Not to seem argumentative but rather to add information to the discussion, though, you might be interested in this blog post from a biologist about the supposed physiologic advantages a trans man or woman has over a cis athelete: https://freethoughtblogs.com/pharyngula/2023/05/31/we-hunted-the-rabbit/
Evan AndriopolousJune 1, 2023 at 03:10Report
For me… Bud Light as a “beer” sucks. I would rather support local breweries that provide far better beers. As far as this column… as far as AB selecting this influencer in their campaign I have no opinion on it or that person. Up to each to decide for themselves.
Regarding this column actually Mike what you are writing is basically the same as the boycott and the changes in attitudes (political divide) of the country. Often used by politicians on BOTH sides of the aisle screaming to be open, defending one´s right to choose, freedom of speech etc.. and this is the most important part..”unless it does not validate their opinion or view”. This is exactly what you are writing. So if someone elects to boycott something and we know the WOKE police and Leftists enjoy not only condemning opposing viewpoints to the point of boycotting, attacking employers for the “views” of their employees etc… and demanding they be removed from the position their are in. So if someone boycotts something let them… I would ask you… why does it offend you that others are using their constitutional right by boycotting (freedom of speech). I always respect other´s opinions and even when we do not agree. Sadly we live in a world where people are afraid to speak up due to the potential ramifications. None of us will always agree and I know the powers to be are trying to “force” us to all be uniform in our opinions which is sad. And btw Bud Light is terrible anyway… How about you focus on sports.
Benoit BenoitMay 31, 2023 at 20:12Report
Ironic you drink because you like it but will continue to drink it because “ I will not marginalize people based on gender, race, religion, ethnicity, or sexual orientation.” Not just because you like it.
William PeterMay 31, 2023 at 17:46Report
This comment has been removed for violating The Day’s commenting policy.
JAY DEMPSEYMay 31, 2023 at 16:53Report
TY Mike….. I drink Bud Light most all the time unless in Ireland…and support Levine Distributors in our area and my friends that work there. I think the cancel culture is terrible whatever your political party of choice is. Very sad that social media has done this to us. I have good friends that I can no longer talk politics with because of the “great divide” that enriches social media giants.
ROBERT WARNERMay 31, 2023 at 16:45Report
I suppose a similar question could be asked, “Why does a person wearing a MAGA hat bother some people?”
David NowakowskiMay 31, 2023 at 14:30Report
great column, Mike. I’d like to think there are far more folks who see this subject and all its nuances the way you do…but you are probably right again in saying that it is tough to go against your chosen tribe on any component, regardless of how you might actually feel. thanks again!
Andrew RogersonMay 31, 2023 at 13:33Report
Mike DiMauro – well said sir, on all counts.
Lynn YoungMay 31, 2023 at 13:28Report
Drink what you like. Be who you are. Live and let live.
Richard GoldenMay 31, 2023 at 12:36Report
Light Beer is like Sex on the Beach….****ing near water.
Paul NUNESMay 31, 2023 at 11:44Report
Does anyone remember the first light beer and the commercial featuring a slice of bread?
THOMAS MORIARTYMay 31, 2023 at 11:05Report
Richard, must have been some other brand light. Bud Light? It was probably 10 years ago. But he could have been messing with me.
Richard GoldenMay 31, 2023 at 10:17Report
Malcolm- The moral of the story is; if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.
Richard GoldenMay 31, 2023 at 10:16Report
Thomas- as far as I knew and as far as I can tell Guinness is the most popular beer in Ireland holding a full 25% of the market share. Bud Light does not even show up in the top ten (https://www.beer100.com/best-selling-beers-ireland/) I think the guy was pulling your leg. Bud Light only became available in Ireland in 2020.
Malcolm JulesMay 31, 2023 at 09:32Report
A corporation decided to target one of their products to a specific community and failed….end of story.
Margaret KliseMay 31, 2023 at 09:12Report
Agree/agree. Good article, Mike.
SUSAN HOTCHKISSMay 31, 2023 at 09:06Report
I always enjoy Mike’s opinion pieces. In total agreement about the transgender athlete issue.
THOMAS MORIARTYMay 31, 2023 at 09:00Report
Tom, hope all is well with your daughter.
THOMAS MORIARTYMay 31, 2023 at 08:57Report
A Bud Light story: Several years ago while in Ireland my son and I toured the Guinness brewery. Of course there’s a pub on the top floor and while getting a pint of Guinness the bar I notice several taps Bud Light. I asked the bartender “why in God’s name are you serving THAT stuff in here?” He replied that it’s the best selling beer in Ireland. Go figue!
THOMAS MORIARTYMay 31, 2023 at 08:51Report
Good column Mike. These anti “woke” zealots claim to support democracy but would be no different from the Taliban if they had their way.
Richard GoldenMay 31, 2023 at 08:42Report
All this talk of beer makes me thirsty…but I have found that drinking beer has become an unwelcome undertaking. No beer allowed at the beach, nor while night fishing in Waterford, nor surf fishing at Avery Point, nor at any state boat launch, nor is state parks- try walking down the street with a cold one….
Chris JawakaMay 31, 2023 at 08:08Report
IMO The left loves their cancel culture but gets all grumpy when the right does the same. Hey it can go both ways. That said I really don’t care about the Bud thing. Its not like they sold beer with its face on it.
Matther TookerMay 31, 2023 at 07:35Report
Thoughtful piece as always Mike. Perhaps the best offset for the 30% decrease in Bud Light sales would be a 30% increase in church attendance. I am betting that won’t happen. (Matt Tooker)
KEITH J. ROBBINSMay 31, 2023 at 06:11Report
You drinking Bud-Lite does not offend me, although it is a horrible beer. What is my concern is a guy using the ladies room that my nieces use!
TOM DONNEEMay 31, 2023 at 05:55Report
Agree Phil. Well done Mike!! Waiting for my daughter to come out of surgery. Then we’ll stop for a cold one, think I’ll make it a Bud Lite!!!
Philip BroseMay 30, 2023 at 16:59Report
Mr. DiMauro is always thoughtful and intelligent. The best writer at the day. Give the guy a raise.
2023.06.03 11:27 Kotkijet Preview notes for the first juvenile hurdle of the season
I AM NOT A TIPSTER. I AM NEVER A TIPSTER. NOTHING I WRITE IS EVER A TIP. THIS CONTENT IS SOLELY INTENDED TO INFORM, NEVER ADVISE
For context, the average strike rate (SR) across all juveniles is 9.54%, winner-runner (WR) 19.55%, improvement rate (IMP) 36.90%, clear round (CR) 96.07%, prize money per race (PMPR) £1107.31
https://www.equidia.fchevaux/waitara
submitted by Kotkijet to HorseRacingUK [link] [comments]
HEXHAM 3RD JUNE – PREVIEW NOTES
Unless stated, all figures relate to British and Irish juvenile hurdlers since 2004/05For context, the average strike rate (SR) across all juveniles is 9.54%, winner-runner (WR) 19.55%, improvement rate (IMP) 36.90%, clear round (CR) 96.07%, prize money per race (PMPR) £1107.31
Race History/Stats
- Traditional curtain raiser, held each year since 2008 apart from 2020
- Average winning Dis 0.89 median, 1.14 mean. Figures lower only at Chepstow and Cheltenham.
- Average winners’ seasonal RPR of 103.43 over a stone lower than standard juvenile hurdle.
- Four graduates have gone on to contest the Triumph; Simarian (1st 2008, 7th Triumph), Lindenhurst (2nd 2013, 9th Triumph), Koi Dodville (1st 2021, 11th Triumph), Rupestrian (1st 2009, PU Triumph).
- Dinarius (5th 2008), Ocean Transit (4th 2008) and Linger (UR 2016) eventually earned RPRs exceeding 130
Course Info
- Undulating, galloping, left-handed track.
- Average winning Dis of 0.89 median, 1.11 mean are 0.46 lower than average runner; greatest discrepancy of all racecourses.
- Clear round 97.24% (+1.17 cf. standard), completion rate 77.91% (-9.36 cf. standard) lower only at Southwell.
- Odds-on SR of 40% is lowest of all British courses with 10 or more qualifiers.
- No discernible pace advantage
Ground & Pace
- Good. Dry weather forecast, watering to maintain.
- Three have made running in past. Solid pace anticipated.
City Of Ruins bg Donald McCain Unraced
Nathaniel (New Approach){7-f}(0.53) 2/1 Devilment 150 2nd Anniversary Hurdle (G1), Aintree 2015Breeding
- Nathaniel 27.5% WR, including Zanahiyr, Burning Victory and Navajo Pass. Won this race in 2019 with Green Etoile.
- Full-brother Tuddenham Green won two Juveniles last term and finsihed second in Wensleydale.
- Nephew of Devilment (2nd Anniversary) and Nasee (minor staying hurdle winner)
Source
- Cost 7,000gns as yearling at Tatts October Sale.
- Donald McCain one win from five with racecourse debutants (Sacre Pierre a three-time winner in 2021/22).
Trainer
- 38.89% WR since 2018/19.
- 12 runners without a win at Hexam, 2nd in 2018 running with Weinberg.
Summary
- Outside of Junior NH Hurdles, previously unraced juvenile hurdling debutants have a first-time-out strike-rate of just 2.35%. Nevertheless, one such winner was trained by Donald McCain and this pedigree is an especially strong one for the time of year.
Hourless bg Alan King f5-1-0 (49) 57
Time Test (Green Desert){14-c}(1.36) 3/1 Blue Bit 107 1st 2m Handicap Hurdle, Tramore 1997Breeding
- Time Test second season, one juvenile to date; Never No Trouble r9w1 RPR91
- Green Desert below average influence in juvenile hurdles (15.79% WR damsire, 15.38% WR sire)
- Family of Kutub, Blue Bit (3/1) only winning jumper of ten+ relatives from 3rd dam.
Source
- Cost 70,000gns at last year’s Tatts Guineas Sale.
- Self-trained Alan King juveniles 51.06% WR.
- Those rated 61 or below have 15% first time strike rate. However, those rated 56 or below are only one winner from thirteen, with Proprioception’s sole win from six coming in a Southwell mares’ handicap off 92.
Trainer
- Most winners of any trainer since 2004/05, 47.13% WR, 48.57% IMP
- Three runs in this race, one win (Green Etoile 2019), one second (City Dreamer 2017)
Flat Profile
- No show on first three outings, but won handicap debut off 47 at Wolverhampton over 1m1½f.
- Raced keenly in rear off modest tempo, green under pressure but led inside final furlong winning with bit to spare.
- Raised two pounds, still green when one paced 5th last time at Bath
Summary
- Represents most successful trainer in the sphere and does have a win to his name. However, that came at a decidedly modest level and there is also a concern that he could find himself unbalanced around Hexham.
Indication Rocket bg Rebecca Menzies f9-1-2 (61) 64
Dandy Man (Rip Van Winkle){14-c}(0.71) 3/1 Rocky Wednesday 140 3rd Winning Fair Juvenile Hurdle (G2), Fairyhouse 2011Breeding
- Dandy Man 7.14%WR, 0-12 IMP. Chatez (Alan King rated 96 on flat) only winner.
- Rip Van Winkle 0-3 as damsire, 7.69% WR as sire.
- Third dam produced useful winners Bohemian Spirit and Rocky Wednesday
Source
- 16,000gns as 2yo at Tatts Guineas Sale.
- Sole self-trained flat recruit beaten only hurdles start.
Trainer
- 62.50% Improvement rate since 2018/19 is highest in GB.
- 26.67% First time strike rate, including three such winners last term. First juvenile at Hexham.
Flat Profile
- Most experienced runner in the field courtesy of nine outings. Modest on first three starts over 6f, but has steadily improved for switch to handicaps and step up in trip.
- Runner-up in slowly run 10f Newcastle Nursery in September, off the mark penultimate outing in mile handicap off 55 at same track in early May.
- Had run of race up front, but pulled clear again when caught inside distance to win by 2½l. No subsequent winners but those out since have run to form.
- Last seen ten days later finishing third at Wolverhampton over a further furlong-and-a-half off 61. Travelled strongly but no extra when headed turning for home.
Summary
*Rebecca Menzies is a very capable trainer of juveniles who finds improvement from her charges more often than not; which is very much a positive for a horse who is only a few pounds from the top rated. However, while the damline is sound, the sire and damsire have poor records and stamina around Hexham is not assured.Uncle Matthew bg Evan Williams f6-1-0 (65) 69
Fast Company (Manduro){13-c}(0.78) 3/1 Scriptwriter 134 5th Holloway’s Handicap Hurdle (G2,133), Ascot 2009Breeding
- Fast Company since 2018/19; 41.18% WR, 22.73% SR (2nd highest) 64.29% IMP (5th highest)
- Manduro 3-12 WR, 62.50% IMP as damsire, 32.14% WR as sire
- Half-brother pulled up sole jumps start. Nephew of Hunter’s Light. Fourth dam produced Darshaan, along with useful jumpers Daraydan and Darialann.
Source
- £16,000 Tatts Ascot March
- ex-John Gosden’s have below-average record in juveniles; WR 18.35%, IMP 22.97%
- First to join Evan Williams from Gosden’s
- Williams 31.75% WR with those bought at public auction. 29.79% for those costing £20,000 or less. Ex-Gosdens 18.60% WR <= £20,000
Trainer
- 27.97% WR, although only 9.52% since 2017/18
- 22.03% Strike rate during summer.
- Two runners in this contest; Simarian (1st 2008 – strongest juvenile graduate from contest; 1st Prestbury, 7th Triumph) Quickdrawmcgraw (2nd 2022)
Flat Profile
- Five-race 2yo campaign starting in Autumn saw him finish no closer than fourth with a BHA mark of 62.
- Made winning return in 1m3f Southwell handicap off 62; starting slowly, prominent halfway and stayed on dourly to prevail by head. Third, fourth and fifth all placed next time.
Summary
- Trainer not as prolific as he was previously, but still managed a second in this contest last year with 52 rated Quickdrawmcgraw. Pedigree is very solid, neither stamina nor attitude would be a concern, and the his Southwell win is as strong as any British form in this line-up. However, those leaving John Gosden’s often underperform when switched to hurdles.
Max Of Stars bf Ollie Pears f4-0-0 (55) 57
Cloth Of Stars (Rock Of Gibraltar){31}(0.67) 3/2 Tiger Roll 174 1st Triumph Hurdle (G1), Cheltenham 2014Breeding
- Cloth Of Stars first crop. 1st Ganay, 2nd and 3rd in Arc. 2/3 Elgin 3/2 Dodging Bullets, 1.62m
- Sea The Stars 35% WR as juvenile grandsire, 33.33% WR as sire.
- Two juveniles to date in France, each placing at moderate level.
- Rock of Gibraltar 13.95% WR as damsire.
- Third dam, On Air, 4th in Kennel Gate. Produced useful Khachaturian and dam of Tiger Roll
Source
- €8,500 as yearling from Arqana
- Sole placed juvenile My Brother Jack, trained on flat by Pears
Trainer
- 0-6 WR. No runners at Hexham. 100% IMP courtesy of My Brother Jack (sole qualifier)
Jockey
- Sean Quinlan won 2017 running with 8/1 shot Costa Percy
Flat Profile
- Made debut in February. Beaten at least eleven lengths first three outings in maidens at Southwell and Doncaster.
- Handicap debut off 56 at Southwell over 1m4f. Raced keenly with uncontested lead, headed final furlong, flashed tail under pressure. Finished 2¼l fourth of six.
Summary
- Distant relative of Tiger Roll and first-season sire not without potential. However, while best form on flat came last time out, it still leaves enough to find and her attitude was not massively encouraging.
Waitara chf David Pipe f6-2-1 (30.0/66) TF68
Recoletos (Hernando){1-t}(0.54) 1/2 Theamoi 62.5 1st 3550m 3yo Handicap Hurdle (59.0), Fontainebleau 2022https://www.equidia.fchevaux/waitara
Breeding
- Recoletos first juvenile runner. Won Moulin and d’Ispahan, 3rd French Derby. Half-brother to winning hurdler Pedregalejo. 1.63m
- Whipper’s sole juvenile stallion Very Nice Name 14.29% WR. Whipper himself 20% WR
- Hernando 29.27% WR as damsire inc. Punjabi, Adagio and Gaelic Warrior. 60.71% IMP
- Nephew of Timos. 0.5 Thea (1st 4yo Hurdle, Auteuil), 0.5 Ticinello (3rd 4yo Hurdle Enghien). 2/1 Trillion Stars, 3/1 Thagus (both winners)
Source
- David Pipe 7-22 first time ex-French Claimers; including last two winners of this race, Koi Dodville and Free Chakarte (both bought off Flat).
- Waitara second least expensive of such horses, only Jilaijone lower at €10,806; won first time at Fontwell last term for same owner.
- First export of Thierry & Gaël Lemer.
Trainer
- David Pipe 46.67% WR since 2018/19 (5th highest) 38.46% SR during June.
- Last four runners in this race; Free Chakarte (1st 2022), Koi Dodville (1st 2021), Bathwick Scanno (2nd 2011), Lucky Quay (1st 2010)
Flat Profile
- Beaten by at least 12l on both outings at two, but began 3yo campaign with win in Pau 2000m claimer (retained for €11,001)
- Forgiven sixth place finish next time having missed break. Second penultimate outing; winner (2kg lighter) had run of race, stayed on well from remainder.
- Last seen winning 2100m Toulouse claimer in mid March. Broke slowly but soon in lead racing keenly. Caught at distance but responded generously for pressure; winning decisively by length and a half.
- Fifth placed finisher only subsequent winner. Nevertheless, runner-up has since been consistent in handicaps off 62. Mark in mid-high 60s would be appropriate.
Summary
- Last two runnings have gone to David Pipe trained ex-French claimers, and while Free Chakarte and Koi Dodville had slightly higher ratings, Waitara still emerges on top at these weights. Moreover, she has shown consistent form throughout 2023 and a good attitude to complement same. First-season sire yet to be tested but has perfectly reasonable credentials and the damsire and damlines are encouraging. Only concern would be a lack of form shown on ground better than soft.
Strong Prospects
- Waitara
Reasonable Prospects
- Uncle Matthew
- Indication Rocket
Feasible Prospects
- City Of Ruins
Moderate Prospects
- Hourless
- Max Of Stars
Negligible Prospects
.2023.06.03 10:52 midwestchauffeur The Importance of Car Service: Ensuring Optimal Performance and Safety
Introduction: Regular car service plays a vital role in maintaining the optimal performance and safety of our vehicles. It involves a comprehensive inspection, maintenance, and repair of various components, ensuring that our cars operate efficiently and reliably. In this article, we will explore the significance of car service and discuss the key benefits it offers to vehicle owners.
Conclusion: Regular car service is a crucial aspect of responsible vehicle ownership. By prioritizing safety, extending your car's lifespan, improving fuel efficiency, avoiding costly repairs, preserving resale value, and leveraging professional expertise, you can enjoy a reliable and efficient driving experience. Remember to follow your manufacturer's recommended maintenance schedule and consult with trusted professionals to keep your car in top shape for years to come.
View Poll
submitted by midwestchauffeur to u/midwestchauffeur [link] [comments]
- Enhancing Safety on the Road: Heading: Prioritizing Your Safety
- Extending Lifespan and Reliability: Heading: Prolonging Your Vehicle's Lifespan
- Improving Fuel Efficiency: Heading: Maximizing Your Fuel Economy
- Avoiding Costly Repairs: Heading: Saving Your Wallet from Major Expenses
- Preserving Resale Value: Heading: Protecting Your Investment
- Accessing Expert Advice: Heading: Leveraging Professional Expertise
Conclusion: Regular car service is a crucial aspect of responsible vehicle ownership. By prioritizing safety, extending your car's lifespan, improving fuel efficiency, avoiding costly repairs, preserving resale value, and leveraging professional expertise, you can enjoy a reliable and efficient driving experience. Remember to follow your manufacturer's recommended maintenance schedule and consult with trusted professionals to keep your car in top shape for years to come.
View Poll
2023.06.03 10:36 Noghbuddy A Secret Chord - Part 5
This part got a little bit away from me. I only intended to have a brief moment between David and Ruk'sa, but it grew a bit more than I planned. It seemed like the right time for David to tell a little bit about his side of things. I hope you enjoy, and once again let me know what you think.
First / Prev / Next (At some point)
CW: Suicidal thoughts/actions
----------
David was all-too familiar with the ceiling of his bedroom. He’d spent many nights staring up at it praying for sleep to take him. Of course, then he had to deal with the nightmares. Tonight, was no different. Well, there were the two fik sleeping on either side of him, but the insomnia still had a firm grasp of him. The following afternoon he was supposed to catch a chartered shuttle out to the boonies for the funeral of a man he didn’t know. He could probably catch some sleep on the red eye, but if he couldn’t even sleep in his own bed…
He decided to stretch his legs. Thanks to a bit of luck, he wasn’t pinned down like last time, so he tried his best to stealthily shuffle off the foot of the bed. He padded silently to the bathroom, closed the door, then flicked on the light. Blinded for a moment, he blinked his eyes a couple times in the mirror until his vision cleared. Between the dark circles under his eyes and how gaunt his cheeks had become; his face took on an almost skull-like appearance.
He stared into his eyes, watching them dilate ever so slightly. Come on, man. You gotta get some sleep. Something. Anything. He ran his fingers through his mop, contemplating whether he should try and find some kind of barber. Perhaps one that could do something about his beard too. Knowing his luck, the aliens probably just grow perfect hair and have no concept of a hairstylist.
Resting his elbows on the counter, he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes until he saw spots. Just let exhaustion take you. It wouldn’t be the first time.
He flicked off the light and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark once again. Once he could see, he padded back out of the bathroom and into the living room. The fik had overrun the small abode. Half a dozen bodies strewn about peacefully asleep on the floor, the room full of gentle breathing and the occasional snore. Chief Sulta had claimed the couch after being denied the bed by David. She made it clear he could also use the bed, but he didn’t feel comfortable letting a stranger into it. This of course didn’t stop the other two who were with him the previous night. Apparently, they thought they got a pass. He was too frustrated to object. Plus…They were warm…
David carefully stepped over the sleeping forms making his way to his kitchen. The chief seemed alright after a couple conversations. His guardians disapproved vehemently of course, but she seemed honest. A bit too honest. She really intended to do everything she could to keep David safe, but…Well, she wasn’t the sharpest bulb in the box.
Clearing the threshold, he made his way to the fridge for something to drink. As he sipped, he checked the time. It was still a few hours till morning. It was hard to tell on station. This one orbited a moon that orbited a gas giant that orbited another gas giant that all orbited a distant star. There was some kind of galactic standard time, but David could never get his head around it.
“Why are you awake?”
He looked up at Rus’ka leaning against the doorway. She was rubbing sleep out of her eyes.
“I can’t sleep.”
“Why?”
“I just can’t. I have insomnia.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s where I can’t sleep.”
She crossed the room to stand beside him as he turned to lean back against the counter.
“Sleeping is easy. Just close eyes and relax. Sleep come to you. You try too hard, maybe?”
He sighed and reminded himself that they were a relatively young species that didn’t come with countless medical journals or psychology papers. Lucky them.
“If only it were that easy. No. I broke whatever I had that let me sleep.”
“How can you fix?”
“I…I don’t know.”
“Well…How did you break?”
He closed his eyes and set his glass aside, “I don’t know…Well, I have some ideas, but I don’t know.”
“What ideas?”
He couldn’t tell if she knew what she was doing or was just stubbornly persistent. Probably a mix of both. “Probably what happened to me.”
“What happened to you?”
He took a deep breath and slid down the counter to sit on the floor. She joined him there. “I told you: a lot.” He looked her in the eyes. She didn’t look away. He didn’t want to talk about this. He’d do anything besides talk about this, but… If she wanted to live here. Live with him, then she should probably know. She’d find out one way or another. When did I accept that?
Looking down between his knees he sighed and began, “I was kidnapped. I don’t remember much of what happened. One minute I’m trying to figure out why my Honda died again, the next I’m strapped to a table.” He shuddered. “I was groggy, but I could still feel them-“ He swallowed, “cutting into me. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t scream. I just felt and watched. They were out of a nightmare. They couldn’t be real. But I felt it. It was real. It hurt. Oh God, it hurt.”
He screwed his eyes shut trying to force the memory down. To think of anything else. Ruk’sa put her arm around his shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. “Then I could hear them. I could understand the snakes.” He fingered the scar behind his ear, “They put a translator in me. Then threw me in a cell. I was a slave.”
*****
As soon as he could move his arms, he began hammering on the metal cage around him. “Let me out! Don’t do this! Let me out!”
In a flash a blade whizzed past his temple scoring a shallow cut. “Silence! You will not speak. You have nothing to say anyway.”
His crimson captor ignored him and returned to the console before them. David took stock of his situation to find any possible way out. He was prone on his back in a metal coffin with a grate by his head, apparently there for easy stabbing access. He took a minute to control his breathing when the guard slithered out the door.
The box wasn’t tiny. It seemed to be made for larger creatures, but it was still a challenge for David to sit up. He grabbed onto the bars and pulled himself up to the hatch. A quick scan revealed the handle just outside. He thrust his hands through the bars, but he couldn’t reach the latch. It was so close. It looked like it turned toward him. All he had to do was pull it.
He sat for a moment contemplating what he had available. All he had on him was his rental tux. He regretted not going for the cummerbund, so the bow tie would have to suffice. He pulled it off his neck and stuck his hands out of the cage. It took a few tries, but he eventually managed to toss one end of the tie around the handle and caught it in his other hand. He didn’t have a lot of leverage, but with a steady pull he managed to pop the latch.
It was awkward twisting and dropping to the floor, but he was free…Free-ish. Now he just had to get out of the room. Glancing back to the wall of cells he realized he was the only one there. That made things simple. He stalked to the iris door and peeked out after it hissed open. The halls were empty, so he ducked outside. The place was massive, which made sense given its inhabitants. He noticed the halls had a slight bow in them. Must have made slithering easier.
He picked a direction and padded away as quietly as his dress shoes allowed. He’d stop at every intersection and listen. He chose the path with the least sound up until some kind of alarm sounded.
“Cell breach. Alert. Cell breach.”
He needed to hide, and fast. Looking around the circular hallway he noticed pipes and vents above him. Using the rounded walls to his advantage, he got a running start and ran up the side of the warped wall. It took a couple tries, but he eventually made his primate ancestors proud and caught a pipe above him. He hauled himself up and began shuffling awkwardly above the hallway.
Below him pandemonium broke out. He saw dozens of snake monsters slithering this way or that, looking for him. Each armed.
David channeled his inner John McClain and pulled a vent off the ceiling and climbed inside. As he crawled, he thought about what he was even looking for. There had to be some kind of escape pod, or shuttle he could steal. Maybe hide out on the next shuttle headed down to abduct some other poor dumb bastard. All he knew was he needed to get home. After scuttling around for a while his luck ran out. He crawled over a vent that couldn’t hold his weight and he fell into a hallway. Hauling himself upright with a groan he stopped dead at what he saw.
He could see Earth through the window. David never believed he could be an astronaut. He thought this view would forever be a dream, but there it was. Earth was beautiful.
Then he felt a sharp stinging pain across his back as a monster slashed him. He convulsed and collapsed, losing consciousness as he was dragged back to Hell.
*****
“I don’t know how long I was there…But that was the last time I saw home…I tried escaping. Many times. I saw home and damn it I was going to get back…Each time they punished me. Each time I ‘lost value’.” He looked over his scared arm then squeezed his eyes shut. Forcing the memories away. He didn’t want to be taken again, but they pulled. He could feel the cuts. The burns.
Ruk’sa rubbed his shoulders and leaned into him. Trying to keep him there with her.
With a shuddering breath, David continued, “Then one day, I was ‘rescued’. I don’t know if they were with the Community or just pretending, but some of those big bastards raided the ship. It got loud and violent. They hauled us off and took us to a little waystation. Refueling, I guess. They kept telling us we were safe. Then one of them…I think he was one of them, told us we needed a medical examination.”
*****
David and a couple of other escapees stared out the window at the strange planet. It was a pale-yellow rock drifting around some distant star. They were let off the ship to stretch their legs while it refueled for the next leg of the journey. David didn’t know where it was supposed to go. He just wanted to go home. He didn’t know or care how he’d explain what happened to him. There were plenty of crazy whack-jobs who claimed to be abducted. He could just roll with them. Or just pretend the whole thing never happened.
One of those big bastards who ripped him out of his cell and tossed him bodily off the ship appeared in the doorway.
“You there. You need a medic to look you over. Come on over here and let’s take a look at you.”
Seemed fair enough. David wasn’t sure how much blood was too much to lose, but the snakes flirted with that line all too often. He and the others shuffled over to the giant and where he directed. David entered the room and was soon pulled up by his arm. It felt like it might pop out of its socket. He struggled and thrashed before a giant fist sent the world to spin.
He woke up in another cell with another man. All he could do was weep.
*****
David didn’t notice when Ruk’sa drew him into her lap. He clutched at her arm to stay where he was. In the here and now. He could still see Sammuel’s face.
“The big bastards didn’t cut. They just hit you. Or starved you. All I could do was hold on. I tried to help Sammuel. Tried to keep him strong. If he was strong then I would be strong. We’d come so far. I held out. I did it once, I could do it again. And I was right. We were liberated once again after God only knows how long. We were free.” He swallowed and wiped away the tears forming in hie eyes.
“I can still remember the blinding light. I was numb when they hauled us off. They took us to some big station and asked where we wanted to go. I told them I just wanted to go home.” He let the tears fall now, “they told me it was gone. ‘What do you mean it’s gone?’ ‘It’s been destroyed. A terrible tragedy.’ I thought they were lying. It had to be another trick to keep me enslaved. I never escaped. They just refuse to send me home…Then they showed me…”
He clutched at her shoulders and buried his face in the nape of her neck, “That was all I had! I just wanted to go home! And they fucking stole that too!”
He wept and shuddered in her grasp. She stroked the back of his head while he collected himself.
“They tried to fix me. I broke down. I had nothing left. So, they sent me away to the loony bin. I just wanted to die. Is that too much to ask? Just bury me with the rest of my kind. But they had to try and fix me. They barely knew me or mine! How can you fix that!?”
*****
He was trapped once again. The fucking snake sat there asking questions like they didn’t destroy his life.
“David. Please talk to me. I’m trying to help you. If you just talk to me, we can help you.”
What fresh Hell was this? Making his tormentors try and fix him? David closed his eyes and refused to speak. If he looked at her, he could only relive what they did.
“I know what you went through was stressful…”
She didn’t know shit! How could she? He wouldn’t give her anything. Never again. He wasn’t a slave. He’d die first. Why didn’t he die? He should be with all the others. What’s left?
“David, please. I’m trying to help you. I just want what’s best for you.”
He knew what was best for him. He was tired of everyone trying to control him. This was no different. Well, no more. He’d seize the last bit of control he had. His hands were bound, but his mouth was still free. He bit down on his wrist. Maybe he could bleed out before someone stopped him.
“Nurse! Nurse! I need you in here!”
*****
David didn’t know how long it had been. Ruk’sa was rocking him back and forth. He felt tired. But he still couldn’t sleep.
“I was trapped there for a while…I couldn’t take it…Once they realized I wouldn’t talk to a snake, I started saying the magic words. ‘Oh, I feel better. I’m moving on. I’ll be fine I promise.’ They didn’t know the first thing about humans. I lied. They let me go thinking they’d done good… When they let me free, I tried taking all the pills they gave me. I tried ending it all a couple more times…They’re too damn good at stopping me.”
Ruk’sa couldn’t stop herself. She clutched David tightly to herself. “Saaaa, no! David, no! You can’t mean that! David must…David must….Saa!” She was ashamed for not having the words. She couldn’t fix him.
“I’m sorry…You just found a broken human…Just let me be broken.”
“No!...We fix you!...We must!” She held him tight as if he’d slip away. She didn’t know what to say. But she’d figure it out. She had to.
They stayed like that for a while before David asked, “Can…Can you hold me? Just like this? Please?”
She nodded, “Forever, if I must.”
David buried his face in her chest while she clutched him tightly. She tried to stop the tears from falling. To stay strong. To hold him and show him he was safe.
She tried her best, all the while a certain albino listened from around the corner, out of sight.
submitted by Noghbuddy to WolvensStories [link] [comments]
First / Prev / Next (At some point)
CW: Suicidal thoughts/actions
----------
David was all-too familiar with the ceiling of his bedroom. He’d spent many nights staring up at it praying for sleep to take him. Of course, then he had to deal with the nightmares. Tonight, was no different. Well, there were the two fik sleeping on either side of him, but the insomnia still had a firm grasp of him. The following afternoon he was supposed to catch a chartered shuttle out to the boonies for the funeral of a man he didn’t know. He could probably catch some sleep on the red eye, but if he couldn’t even sleep in his own bed…
He decided to stretch his legs. Thanks to a bit of luck, he wasn’t pinned down like last time, so he tried his best to stealthily shuffle off the foot of the bed. He padded silently to the bathroom, closed the door, then flicked on the light. Blinded for a moment, he blinked his eyes a couple times in the mirror until his vision cleared. Between the dark circles under his eyes and how gaunt his cheeks had become; his face took on an almost skull-like appearance.
He stared into his eyes, watching them dilate ever so slightly. Come on, man. You gotta get some sleep. Something. Anything. He ran his fingers through his mop, contemplating whether he should try and find some kind of barber. Perhaps one that could do something about his beard too. Knowing his luck, the aliens probably just grow perfect hair and have no concept of a hairstylist.
Resting his elbows on the counter, he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes until he saw spots. Just let exhaustion take you. It wouldn’t be the first time.
He flicked off the light and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark once again. Once he could see, he padded back out of the bathroom and into the living room. The fik had overrun the small abode. Half a dozen bodies strewn about peacefully asleep on the floor, the room full of gentle breathing and the occasional snore. Chief Sulta had claimed the couch after being denied the bed by David. She made it clear he could also use the bed, but he didn’t feel comfortable letting a stranger into it. This of course didn’t stop the other two who were with him the previous night. Apparently, they thought they got a pass. He was too frustrated to object. Plus…They were warm…
David carefully stepped over the sleeping forms making his way to his kitchen. The chief seemed alright after a couple conversations. His guardians disapproved vehemently of course, but she seemed honest. A bit too honest. She really intended to do everything she could to keep David safe, but…Well, she wasn’t the sharpest bulb in the box.
Clearing the threshold, he made his way to the fridge for something to drink. As he sipped, he checked the time. It was still a few hours till morning. It was hard to tell on station. This one orbited a moon that orbited a gas giant that orbited another gas giant that all orbited a distant star. There was some kind of galactic standard time, but David could never get his head around it.
“Why are you awake?”
He looked up at Rus’ka leaning against the doorway. She was rubbing sleep out of her eyes.
“I can’t sleep.”
“Why?”
“I just can’t. I have insomnia.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s where I can’t sleep.”
She crossed the room to stand beside him as he turned to lean back against the counter.
“Sleeping is easy. Just close eyes and relax. Sleep come to you. You try too hard, maybe?”
He sighed and reminded himself that they were a relatively young species that didn’t come with countless medical journals or psychology papers. Lucky them.
“If only it were that easy. No. I broke whatever I had that let me sleep.”
“How can you fix?”
“I…I don’t know.”
“Well…How did you break?”
He closed his eyes and set his glass aside, “I don’t know…Well, I have some ideas, but I don’t know.”
“What ideas?”
He couldn’t tell if she knew what she was doing or was just stubbornly persistent. Probably a mix of both. “Probably what happened to me.”
“What happened to you?”
He took a deep breath and slid down the counter to sit on the floor. She joined him there. “I told you: a lot.” He looked her in the eyes. She didn’t look away. He didn’t want to talk about this. He’d do anything besides talk about this, but… If she wanted to live here. Live with him, then she should probably know. She’d find out one way or another. When did I accept that?
Looking down between his knees he sighed and began, “I was kidnapped. I don’t remember much of what happened. One minute I’m trying to figure out why my Honda died again, the next I’m strapped to a table.” He shuddered. “I was groggy, but I could still feel them-“ He swallowed, “cutting into me. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t scream. I just felt and watched. They were out of a nightmare. They couldn’t be real. But I felt it. It was real. It hurt. Oh God, it hurt.”
He screwed his eyes shut trying to force the memory down. To think of anything else. Ruk’sa put her arm around his shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. “Then I could hear them. I could understand the snakes.” He fingered the scar behind his ear, “They put a translator in me. Then threw me in a cell. I was a slave.”
*****
As soon as he could move his arms, he began hammering on the metal cage around him. “Let me out! Don’t do this! Let me out!”
In a flash a blade whizzed past his temple scoring a shallow cut. “Silence! You will not speak. You have nothing to say anyway.”
His crimson captor ignored him and returned to the console before them. David took stock of his situation to find any possible way out. He was prone on his back in a metal coffin with a grate by his head, apparently there for easy stabbing access. He took a minute to control his breathing when the guard slithered out the door.
The box wasn’t tiny. It seemed to be made for larger creatures, but it was still a challenge for David to sit up. He grabbed onto the bars and pulled himself up to the hatch. A quick scan revealed the handle just outside. He thrust his hands through the bars, but he couldn’t reach the latch. It was so close. It looked like it turned toward him. All he had to do was pull it.
He sat for a moment contemplating what he had available. All he had on him was his rental tux. He regretted not going for the cummerbund, so the bow tie would have to suffice. He pulled it off his neck and stuck his hands out of the cage. It took a few tries, but he eventually managed to toss one end of the tie around the handle and caught it in his other hand. He didn’t have a lot of leverage, but with a steady pull he managed to pop the latch.
It was awkward twisting and dropping to the floor, but he was free…Free-ish. Now he just had to get out of the room. Glancing back to the wall of cells he realized he was the only one there. That made things simple. He stalked to the iris door and peeked out after it hissed open. The halls were empty, so he ducked outside. The place was massive, which made sense given its inhabitants. He noticed the halls had a slight bow in them. Must have made slithering easier.
He picked a direction and padded away as quietly as his dress shoes allowed. He’d stop at every intersection and listen. He chose the path with the least sound up until some kind of alarm sounded.
“Cell breach. Alert. Cell breach.”
He needed to hide, and fast. Looking around the circular hallway he noticed pipes and vents above him. Using the rounded walls to his advantage, he got a running start and ran up the side of the warped wall. It took a couple tries, but he eventually made his primate ancestors proud and caught a pipe above him. He hauled himself up and began shuffling awkwardly above the hallway.
Below him pandemonium broke out. He saw dozens of snake monsters slithering this way or that, looking for him. Each armed.
David channeled his inner John McClain and pulled a vent off the ceiling and climbed inside. As he crawled, he thought about what he was even looking for. There had to be some kind of escape pod, or shuttle he could steal. Maybe hide out on the next shuttle headed down to abduct some other poor dumb bastard. All he knew was he needed to get home. After scuttling around for a while his luck ran out. He crawled over a vent that couldn’t hold his weight and he fell into a hallway. Hauling himself upright with a groan he stopped dead at what he saw.
He could see Earth through the window. David never believed he could be an astronaut. He thought this view would forever be a dream, but there it was. Earth was beautiful.
Then he felt a sharp stinging pain across his back as a monster slashed him. He convulsed and collapsed, losing consciousness as he was dragged back to Hell.
*****
“I don’t know how long I was there…But that was the last time I saw home…I tried escaping. Many times. I saw home and damn it I was going to get back…Each time they punished me. Each time I ‘lost value’.” He looked over his scared arm then squeezed his eyes shut. Forcing the memories away. He didn’t want to be taken again, but they pulled. He could feel the cuts. The burns.
Ruk’sa rubbed his shoulders and leaned into him. Trying to keep him there with her.
With a shuddering breath, David continued, “Then one day, I was ‘rescued’. I don’t know if they were with the Community or just pretending, but some of those big bastards raided the ship. It got loud and violent. They hauled us off and took us to a little waystation. Refueling, I guess. They kept telling us we were safe. Then one of them…I think he was one of them, told us we needed a medical examination.”
*****
David and a couple of other escapees stared out the window at the strange planet. It was a pale-yellow rock drifting around some distant star. They were let off the ship to stretch their legs while it refueled for the next leg of the journey. David didn’t know where it was supposed to go. He just wanted to go home. He didn’t know or care how he’d explain what happened to him. There were plenty of crazy whack-jobs who claimed to be abducted. He could just roll with them. Or just pretend the whole thing never happened.
One of those big bastards who ripped him out of his cell and tossed him bodily off the ship appeared in the doorway.
“You there. You need a medic to look you over. Come on over here and let’s take a look at you.”
Seemed fair enough. David wasn’t sure how much blood was too much to lose, but the snakes flirted with that line all too often. He and the others shuffled over to the giant and where he directed. David entered the room and was soon pulled up by his arm. It felt like it might pop out of its socket. He struggled and thrashed before a giant fist sent the world to spin.
He woke up in another cell with another man. All he could do was weep.
*****
David didn’t notice when Ruk’sa drew him into her lap. He clutched at her arm to stay where he was. In the here and now. He could still see Sammuel’s face.
“The big bastards didn’t cut. They just hit you. Or starved you. All I could do was hold on. I tried to help Sammuel. Tried to keep him strong. If he was strong then I would be strong. We’d come so far. I held out. I did it once, I could do it again. And I was right. We were liberated once again after God only knows how long. We were free.” He swallowed and wiped away the tears forming in hie eyes.
“I can still remember the blinding light. I was numb when they hauled us off. They took us to some big station and asked where we wanted to go. I told them I just wanted to go home.” He let the tears fall now, “they told me it was gone. ‘What do you mean it’s gone?’ ‘It’s been destroyed. A terrible tragedy.’ I thought they were lying. It had to be another trick to keep me enslaved. I never escaped. They just refuse to send me home…Then they showed me…”
He clutched at her shoulders and buried his face in the nape of her neck, “That was all I had! I just wanted to go home! And they fucking stole that too!”
He wept and shuddered in her grasp. She stroked the back of his head while he collected himself.
“They tried to fix me. I broke down. I had nothing left. So, they sent me away to the loony bin. I just wanted to die. Is that too much to ask? Just bury me with the rest of my kind. But they had to try and fix me. They barely knew me or mine! How can you fix that!?”
*****
He was trapped once again. The fucking snake sat there asking questions like they didn’t destroy his life.
“David. Please talk to me. I’m trying to help you. If you just talk to me, we can help you.”
What fresh Hell was this? Making his tormentors try and fix him? David closed his eyes and refused to speak. If he looked at her, he could only relive what they did.
“I know what you went through was stressful…”
She didn’t know shit! How could she? He wouldn’t give her anything. Never again. He wasn’t a slave. He’d die first. Why didn’t he die? He should be with all the others. What’s left?
“David, please. I’m trying to help you. I just want what’s best for you.”
He knew what was best for him. He was tired of everyone trying to control him. This was no different. Well, no more. He’d seize the last bit of control he had. His hands were bound, but his mouth was still free. He bit down on his wrist. Maybe he could bleed out before someone stopped him.
“Nurse! Nurse! I need you in here!”
*****
David didn’t know how long it had been. Ruk’sa was rocking him back and forth. He felt tired. But he still couldn’t sleep.
“I was trapped there for a while…I couldn’t take it…Once they realized I wouldn’t talk to a snake, I started saying the magic words. ‘Oh, I feel better. I’m moving on. I’ll be fine I promise.’ They didn’t know the first thing about humans. I lied. They let me go thinking they’d done good… When they let me free, I tried taking all the pills they gave me. I tried ending it all a couple more times…They’re too damn good at stopping me.”
Ruk’sa couldn’t stop herself. She clutched David tightly to herself. “Saaaa, no! David, no! You can’t mean that! David must…David must….Saa!” She was ashamed for not having the words. She couldn’t fix him.
“I’m sorry…You just found a broken human…Just let me be broken.”
“No!...We fix you!...We must!” She held him tight as if he’d slip away. She didn’t know what to say. But she’d figure it out. She had to.
They stayed like that for a while before David asked, “Can…Can you hold me? Just like this? Please?”
She nodded, “Forever, if I must.”
David buried his face in her chest while she clutched him tightly. She tried to stop the tears from falling. To stay strong. To hold him and show him he was safe.
She tried her best, all the while a certain albino listened from around the corner, out of sight.