Marc gave it another go. He tipped his hand forward. The silver patty rolled off him, dropping toward the cave floor.
It stopped short of hitting the path. The shiny disc halted in the air, dangling at the end of a thin white line.
He watched the small wheel spin. It might have been the most fun he’d had all year. Even more fun than that mud puddle he’d found the other day.
How does it keep going? Marc thought to himself. And without any power??
Marc assumed the disc was some sort of technological marvel from the past. But the Archives had little information on it, only a name. It was called a “yo-yo.”
They all must have had one of these, he posited.
As Marc walked down the stone ramp, he cast the yo-yo again. The toy’s quiet spin was the only sound in the cavern. The soft hiss of string versus metal reverberated gently in the spacious cave.
Marc focused all his attention on the little gadget. He was determined to enjoy every last minute of the universe, no matter what. And that evening, the yo-yo more than accomplished that goal.
The shimmering yo-yo, however, couldn’t prevent the world around him from crumbling. The ground started to rumble. The rest of the cave shook with it. The underground city shook as the plasma storm above battered it—and the rest of the planet.
Marc’s home broke down. Cracks appeared in the ceiling. Waterfalls of dust poured out of them. It wouldn't be long before the whole thing collapsed. That is, if the plasma storm didn’t swallow it whole first.
Whatever.
A few clumps of dirt wouldn’t ruin Marc’s fun. He pulled the hood of his shawl over his head and extended his ragged sleeves toward each hand. His clothes shielded him from the falling dust; the gritty particles made themselves at home on his messy shawl. And Marc was free to perfect his newest trick.
The rumbling died down though as Marc descended the ramp. The yo-yo string didn’t wobble so much, and he didn't have to watch his steps as carefully. He just hoped the quaking wouldn’t come back to ruin his event.
Speaking of which, Marc glanced ahead toward his destination below. What he saw rocked him even harder than the earthquake had.
What in the sinkpits…?
Marc stopped in his tracks. He even started to reach for his knife. All because he’d detected a speck of something suspicious. Something he didn't see much of every day: color.
Showy landmarks weren’t something endemic to his home. The Outpost was more of a dusty gray-and-brown sort of place. The walls were sandstone. The floor was sandstone. And the ceiling? …Granite?
No, sandstone. All under the faint glow of a string of depressed lightbulbs.
The intriguing blip in the gray-and-tan collage was farther up the path. Ahead of the ramp, on Level 8, Marc saw the same three steel doors he was used to seeing. The front doors of underground homes, lined up in a row, each closed into the cave wall.
However, there was something different about the third door. It looked… alive. Like it didn’t belong in a dreary place like the Outpost. But it was too far away to tell what exactly had been done to it.
Marc squinted at it suspiciously. The third door happened to be his destination. And now it was weird.
He considered waiting and observing the mutated door. A child of the Outpost, Marc had developed a healthy fear of the unusual.
These habits, along with his instincts, kept him safe. They’d specifically preserved him while the rest of humanity perished.
But he shrugged off the instinct to wait. Something new and “different” was ahead, and he wanted to see it.
But just as a precaution, it was time for his yo-yo’s last trick. He got in one final throw then placed the toy into his satchel. He dropped it on top of his arsenal of cables, wrenches, and screwdrivers.
And by the time he’d snapped the satchel shut, the long ramp had bottomed out. He’d made it to the next level.
To his left, the wall had been spray-painted. Scrawled-out black letters stood against the sandy background. They stated, “Now Level 8.”
Marc followed the sign. He stayed close to the wall, crossing to the stone pedestrian path. He passed one untouched steel door with a dusted-over mail slot in the wall beside it. Then he passed a second home—abandoned like the first. And finally, he arrived at his friend’s place and the mysterious blip on Level 8.
To his surprise, the steel door elicited a flush of emotion. His heart floated upward. And the portrait before him drew his focus in like an otherworldly beacon.
How did it get so…?
Marc pulled back his hood. The ground popped with the sandy grains he released.
He could hardly believe the difference. The door used to blend in with the others: another ridged steel face that spent most of its time rusting or collecting dirt.
But it was no longer muffled by the dust and dirt that had built up over the years.
Today, it sung. Paint streaks flew across its visage. They swirled and spiraled, forming stars and other shapes. Where previously gray and rust dominated, colors sprang forth—colors that Marc didn't even have the names for. They were many, and they were warm, like the evening sky just after sunset. Marc could hardly wrap his head around the entire image.
He swelled with gratitude.
Only you could have pulled this off. He thought of his friend, the painter. The one person in the colony who’d ever been any fun. The one other person in the colony who was left…
The artist had done the unthinkable. Foraging the garden below for something other than food. Spending work time measuring and concocting the perfect blends of paint. And then slathering their fingers across the giant door, until its old face was but a memory. And all that effort for only a single other person to appreciate.
Newly inspired, Marc searched for an unpainted space on the metal canvas. He found one and knocked on the door.
He took a step back and waited. The outside of the Outpost was lively. Excited wind rushed through the canyon.
By contrast, the Outpost itself was silent. If there was anyone left to say anything, they may have even called it “dead.”
Or nearly dead, anyway. The last morsel of it came to life as the door in front of Marc groaned.
It floated off the ground, inching upward. On the other side, Marc could hear a hand crank clicking away.
Ktch… ktch… ktch… ktch…
The corrugated door lifted, and the door rolled up. The tip of the artist’s painting started to slip from view.
Ktch… ktch… ktch… ktch…
Behind the door, chains reeled at a slow clip. The heavy curtain was halfway up. Marc could now see his best friend's lower half. Buff Lenorkian legs pumped back and forth with each crank.
The door unveiled even more of the owner. A torso in a metal suit appeared. Four ripped arms stretched out of it. They rotated, moving to the clicking beats of the door.
Ktch… ktch… ktch… ktch…
The door raised a few inches further, uncovering the bottom half of a cobalt blue face. Two rows of razor-sharp teeth smiled from ear to ear. A few inches more, and Marc could see the whole of the Lenorkian’s face.
Sid greeted Marc as the last of the door raised.
“Finally!” he said.
Marc didn’t get a chance to respond. His body lurched forward involuntarily. He slammed into Sid’s metal suit.
Crrrrrick!
The armor squealed as Sid’s upper two arms squeezed him tighter. The lower set of arms had reeled Marc in.
Marc hated hugs. Stupid mushy emotional wraparounds. But just this one final time, Marc returned the gesture. He squeezed Sid back.
“Happy Worlds’ End!” Sid said from the other side of the embrace.
“Yeah,” Marc replied, “Happy Worlds’ End.”
The two separated.
“Cool painting, by the way,” Marc said. He pointed at the rolled-up door. “I didn’t think you’d top the one in the garden.”
“You think so?” Sid sheepishly smiled. “Well I’ve had more time to practice since… you know.”
“Yeah, I get it,” Marc said. “Me too. That’s how I actually got you something.”
Marc swung his heavy satchel around. He rifled through it, squeezing through cables, knocking handles and parts out of the way. And then—ah.
He fished out a crumpled rag. Holding it in one hand, he began to gently unfold it.
“I found this a few days ago in the garden,” he said. The edges of the cloth fell. They revealed a small, glass object. It sparkled.
Marc continued, “I think it fits your style—I mean, I know it’s a little smudged and chipped but...”
He swirled the crystal trinket around. The cavern’s incandescent light flittered across its clear edges.
He touched it too, tracing the slender portion of it with his thumb. It was the neck of the crystal swan.
“It’s yours,” Marc said, offering up the bird.
Sid cupped two shovel-sized hands and accepted the gift.
“It’s beautiful…” he said, examining it. “I can’t believe anything like this could have survived this long.” He looked up at Marc and smiled, “Thank you so much. I just wish I had a little longer to could enjoy it.”
They chuckled lightly about their impending obliteration.
“Well, come on in,” Sid said. He extended both of his left arms. They gestured toward the cave interior. “We’ll finish off this universe how it started,” he said. He mashed his upper two fists together. “With a bang!”
“I hear that!” Marc nodded. He crossed over into Sid’s house.
As Marc passed Sid, a wave of discomfort hit him. Sid had switched out his usual t-shirt and jeans. He wore old armor instead. And the metal plating taunted Marc.
Marc’s next question came out more accusatory than curious.
“So… a Lenorkian throwback, huh?” he asked Sid.
Sid had just finished finding the perfect home for his swan. He left it on a shelf next to the front door.
He turned to face Marc. He hid his embarrassment behind a jagged smile.
“Oh!” he said. “Uhhh…” Three of Sid’s arms disappeared behind his back. The cone-shaped cuffs at the end of each wrist clanked against the back of his chest armor. The fourth arm nervously scratched his blue head. “I don’t know,” he said. “It's stupid, I guess. I can take it off… if you want.”
Marc didn’t want to address the topic head-on. He stopped in the cave’s entry. He pretended to admire the walls—as if he’d never seen sandstone before.
“No, leave it on,” he said. “You look… like a true Lenorkian.” He turn around and forced a smile.
It wasn’t enough.
“Okay, let’s get this out of the way,” Sid said. He marched up to Marc.
Sid took a deep breath before he spoke.
“Tonight's really important to me,” he continued. “This is the last impression anyone’s going to make on the universe. So I need you on board.” He continued staring down at Marc. “Can you do that? For me?”
Marc didn’t see what the big deal was. It was just a couple of best friends hanging out.
“Yeah, why not?” he shrugged. “End it the way it started.”
The exchange turned into awkward silence. Neither knew what to do next. They had never been in a situation like this before—never attended such an event. What the Archives called: a par-ty.
Sid shook off the figurative mask he’d been wearing—one that was uncharacteristically dour. His eyes lightened, and he bobbed his head knowingly.
“I went through the Archives to see how this works,” he said. He walked toward the long horizontal counter against the wall—the kitchen.
On the counter, chaos ran wild. Bowls and kitchenware spread across the surface. And the insides of his pots and pans resembled the dirty mouth of a garbage chute.
Marc wasn’t sure what to think. Was cleaning the host’s kitchen a staple of ancient parties?
Sid too seemed a bit confused. His next words came out robotically, as if he was practicing a new word he’d learned.
“’Can-I-offer-you-a-drink?’” Sid asked. He stood nervously in front of the counter.
Looking closer at it, three unusual objects stood apart from the kitchenware mess. It took Marc a while to remember what their outdated, bendy material was called.
Plastic. Three pink and plastic cups sat equidistant from one another.
“I got these from here,” Sid reached under the counter and pulled up some sort of transparent bag. Pink cups just liked the others were stacked on top of each other inside.
Sid packed the bag back under the counter.
“So?” he asked after he finished. He held all four hands together in anticipation. His smile may have looked like an industrial-grade rock shredder, but it was hard to resist his innocent blue face and big wide eyes.
Marc eyed the pink cups one last time.
“This better not kill me,” he said.
Sid wasted no time. He excitedly grabbed a cup and walked over to a large pot sitting on the counter.
Using a nearby ladle, he plunged into the vat. An unappetizing sloshing sound resulted. And Sid, as strong as he was, seemed to struggle with scooping out some of the mystery liquid. But in the end, he pulled back the ladle and unloaded an opaque, muddy liquid into the cup.
“It's a homeworld classic called fludge,” Sid said as he finished pouring.
He treaded over to his reluctant friend and handed off the plastic cup.
“Did you say ‘fludge’?” Marc asked. He swished the cup around cautiously. The earthy liquid hardly budged.
“Yeah, fludge! Us Lenorkians invented it. It’s kind of the only tasty thing we ever bothered to make.”
Marc sniffed it. It smelled… burnt? Maybe a little dusty, too? But he could have just been smelling the cave.
Sid left Marc alone with Marc’s questionable new assignment. He returned to the pot to pour himself a drink.
“Just try it!” he said.
Marc looked down again at the dark soup. It could kill him. Or maybe it wouldn't.
Either way, it was his last drink.
He took a timid sip and waited to be repulsed. The fludge trickled to the back of his tongue. As it hit, Marc’s eyes widened. But not with regret.
He swallowed.
“Now wait a minute…” he said. He smacked his lips together. Then he took another, larger sip.
This curious dark liquid had a unique taste to it. The taste was earthen—but unoffending. It also had a subtle undercurrent of sweetness to it, combined with a spicy kick. It was delicious.
“This might be the best drink in the entire Outpost!” Marc exclaimed.
Pure joy bloomed on Sid’s face. “See! I told you: the greatest thing we ever made.”
He held his own cup above his open jaws. The falling fludge was no match for the alien. He guzzled it down, licked his lips, and then went back for more.
As Sid fashioned himself another drink, Marc noticed something a tad unsettling. A third pink cup stared back at him. It prompted an uncomfortable thought, but he shoved the thought back down.
The Lenorkian carried back his second drink. Though this time, he took it in small, human-sized sips.
But he quickly reanimated. In the middle of a sip, Sid got a wild look in his eyes. His irises turned from their natural violet to scarlet. He yanked the cup from his face and swallowed.
“Argh, how did I forget?” he said. “I got music!”
Marc cut his sip short too. “No way. You got music?”
“I think so!”
Sid did an about face. He slammed the half-empty cup on the counter. Then he shuffled toward a giant metal column protruding from the far wall. Four ink-blue hands wrapped around the cover of the vent. And he went for it.
Sid struggled to pull off the cover of the vent at first. His armor ballooned around his biceps as his muscles bulged outward. Yet the cover wouldn't budge.
But it seemed like an important part of his evening plans. He scolded the stubborn vent, banging on its top.
“Oh, you’re gonna get it now!” he said. He latched onto the vent again.
This time, he put even more effort in. To the point where Marc sensed that Sid was losing a grip on his own body. Out of his forehead, two thumb-sized cones began to rise. His breathing turned low and raspy. And his whole body seemed to expand as he repositioned himself for leverage. Then with one final pull, like a wild beast, he let out of a deep, guttural roar.
“HAWRRRRRRRRRRRGGH!” The roar echoed off the cave walls.
And with that, the stubborn vent cover finally popped off. A breath of wind pulsed through the room as the air pressure equalized itself.
But the wind wasn’t finished. After the initial pulse exited, a mighty gust picked up where the original pulse left off. The vent shot more wind into the room, but rapidly, like a storm. Tiny coarse particles rattled inside the duct. And in the room, a rush of wind whipped past Marc’s face. He felt little nips across his exposed skin as it passed him.
Both partiers shielded their faces from the most direct blasts of air. Sid smiled nervously as he looked to Marc. He raised his voice over the whining airstream.
“It’s from the sandplains above!” he said in an elevated voice. “I thought we’d use the sandstorm for music! Do you like it?”
Music… Marc wasn’t exactly an expert. Even though humans were said to be naturals at it, not much on the subject had made it into the Archives. The Outpost didn’t have much of it either. The closest he got was the occasional chant, stray birds twittering about, or maybe someone banging on rocks.
But Marc did know one thing on the subject. Where there was music, there was dancing.
That said, he had never danced before either. But a long time ago, his parents told him it was something all humans could do. It was something they carried in their blood. Once humans found a pattern in music, they could match it to their body language. And once they’d synced melody and movement, they could ride that wave to a whole new experience.
Might as well give it a shot, he thought. Marc too put his cup on the counter.
With his hands free, Marc backed up toward the middle of the room. He closed his eyes, felt the wind. It filled his ears with its gusty energy. It hit him in pumps as the storm raged above.
Though not totally predictable, the wind did hit him consistently. There was some sort of kinetic pattern to it.
Yes, a pattern.
Well actually, he’d heard it called by another name. What was that word his mother had used? He opened his eyes when he remembered: rhythm.
Marc stretched out his arms. He relaxed his hips. He felt the wind’s whips and waves across his arms. He let his arms follow them, swaying with the current. Not long after, his hips joined in. They too gyrated, trying to match the energetic gusts. He kept at it. And the first time Marc felt both himself and the wind moving together, he grinned.
“This is amazing!” he said. Around them, the wind crooned.
Sid was entranced. He nodded back while staring at Marc’s strange movements. He’d never really seen dancing either. But he figured he would give it a shot too. He loosened up his arms and walked onto the dance floor with Marc.
Before dancing himself, he studied Marc first. He watched how the scavenger moved his arms—and when the scavenger moved his arms.
Sid’s limbs followed. Four muscular arms rose in the air, like fighter jets on their way to a dogfight. And on a one or two second delay, they swayed after Marc’s.
For a while, they followed Marc completely. Then Sid went down his own path. The Lenorkian’s movements grew aggressive and battle-like. He punched at the wind swiping across him. He shuffled his feet as if swapping battle stances.
He caught Marc’s curiosity. Even as a novice, Marc could tell Sid’s movements weren’t traditional by any means. But to Marc, it was dancing all the same.
The two danced to the chorus of the air above. They laughed occasionally as changes in the rhythm of the wind tripped them up. In his head, Marc compared it to the painting on Sid’s door. The colony had never seen anything like this either.
Then something interrupted their dancing. The ground beneath them shook, throwing them off their feet. Heavy gray dirt trickled from the ceiling as the entire cave rumbled. And outside, the distant sky flashed and crackled. Its light illuminated the cave in violent spurts as the boys struggled to stand back up.
Eventually, the violent quaking and frightening flashes died down. The plasma storm held its breath once again.
The boys got back on their feet, but all the joy had seeped out of Sid’s face. He just stared at the floor in deep contemplation. Even as the windy music started back up.
Marc figured he would rescue his friend from whatever dark thoughts had turned up. Naturally, the end of the universe was a real bummer.
“End of the world got you down, huh?” He tried to laugh it off. The whole situation was pretty sad. Especially when they were having so much fun. But it was best to end the universe on a high note, right?
Nevertheless, Sid seemed dejected. He mumbled something inaudible.
“Dude, I can’t hear over the song!” Marc said in an elevated voice.
Sid spoke up over the wind. “That’s not what I’m upset about,” he said, his voice still fairly low.
“Then what are you upset about?”
Sid blurted out his response. “Because I invited Tōn-E, okay?”
He couldn’t bring himself to look Marc in the eye. Because he knew what was coming.
“YOU DID WHAT?!” Marc shouted over the music. Marc himself stomped over to the vent. He picked the cover off the floor—though he struggled quite a bit with it. It was heavier than Sid made it look. But he hoisted it back into the mouth of the vent. The music shut off. The steady drop of sand on the cave floor ceased.
“Say that again,” he leveled in Sid’s direction.
“What was I supposed to do?” Sid remade eye contact. “Not invite the only other intelligent being to the last party the universe will ever have?”
Marc needed no time to answer. He nodded insistently. “Yes. That was exactly what you were supposed to do. What the hell, Sid?” Marc would have continued, but there was another disturbance outside. He caught a glimpse of movement in the doorway.
--
Thanks for reading some of my words :) I’m trying stuff out, so let me know what you think.
The rest of the story is here
Based on a prompt by eithrotaur

For background my friend and I applied for a position in our city. Once we were accepted to take the exam we were given a lottery number. We both ended up passing however it took a while to receive the results. In an email they said those chosen based on the lottery will receive an email with the next steps in the hiring process. After a few months my friend received an email saying that he failed the drug test even though he had not taken one yet. He then reached out to them and they said the email should have stated that his was in the first hiring group. However, I am still worried that they can say he failed the drug test when he actually takes it. I have known him my whole life and I know for a fact that he does not do any drugs. The reason I’m worried is because the entire hiring process has not been transparent at all. The initial website was hard to find and they did not provide much information for each step. If they were to falsify the drug test would he have a case if he took one somewhere else before and/or after their drug test on the same day? Even if there is a case it seems impossible to go up against the city unless the same happens to others.

So, I use adjustment layer mask for shading, and it kind of falls apart (looks like oil on water surface) on white semi-transparent backgrounds. Doesn't seem like any fixture coming soon... Any ideas, notes?
https://ibb.co/cQGDbwc

​
Hello, I am Arpan, and I specialize in Clean and professional-looking original logos for new startups.
I am experienced in Adobe Illustrator and vector graphics. I can create an original & creative minimalist logo for a low price. I will provide you with multiple concept sketches to pick the best fit. They are minimalist, clean, original, modern, and scalable to any size without any quality loss, so they are perfect for any project you may encounter later.

• Direct link to my Logo designs: Logo Portfolio

• What you will get -

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• Features 🗲 Packages	• Package Details
Concept sketches	2-3
Delivery time (days)	1-3
Color variations	2-3
Revisions	1-2
High resolution	✔
Transparent background	✔
File Formats	SVG + PNG + JPG + PDF + AI ( Vector )
💲 Total Pricing 💲 ( USD )	$30 USD only + PayPal fees

• Other services: Banner Design

• Please comment $bid here before contacting me via PM, Chat, or website.

• I take 50% of the payment when finalizing the concept sketch.

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If you are interested, please Comment $bid here first and then send me a chat or PM with the details of the work after you $bid. I will reach out with a Google form that you will fill out with company or project details. Communication is the key here, so the more information you give about your company, the better the results will be. I will reply as soon as I can. If you have any questions, feel free to reach out. I have a quick turnaround time.

I've been using the 1st gen pros daily for about 3 years. I quite like them, and they're still working adequately (on set 4 or so with the crackling issues). Since I use them daily, I thought the 2nd gen would be a worthwhile all-around upgrade, especially considering battery degradation and that I wirelessly charge.
I love everything about gen 2 and there are a bunch of really nice quality of life improvements. However, there are a couple of quirks I can't get over:

• Microphone echo while ANC is on. I make calls with these things every day with ANC on. The weird microphone echo that some have posted about here and elsewhere is an absolute nightmare for me.
• ANC drift. I don't know if this is due to the adaptive transparency feature (which wouldn't make sense), but I've noticed that ANC drifts in and out on these. E.g., TV is on at a constant volume in the background and all of a sudden the ANC cuts by about 30% and I can suddenly hear more of what's on the TV. Easily remedied by cycling transparency on/off.
• Connectivity issues. In random situations I've taken my 1st gens through countless times, I get odd connectivity issues which manifest in the form of hissing/unpleasant feedback. For example, walking up the stairs at home. Absolutely no clue what at home might be causing this that it didn't on my 1st gens.

I did buy AppleCare, and given these issues I called and got a replacement pair sent out after the first 2 days and after resetting them several times. They did not solve these issues (have only had the connectivity issues on the replacement pair), so I can only assume that this behavior is just inherent in the 2nd gen. I am a bit sad.

The morning of October 17th 2019 was a cool and bright autumn day, two words rarely used to describe the treacherous Hanoi’s weather, when Lê Hải An arrived at his workplace, the Ministry of Education on 35 Đại Cồ Việt street, Hai Bà Trưng district, Hà Nội. Normally, he would have had a big breakfast at the office canteen then head off to his office at the second floor where he would spend the rest of his day trying to solve the numerous problems plaguing Vietnam’s education.
At 7:10 AM, someone spotted a figure falling from the 8th floor. There was a blood-curling smash; the figure was declared dead on impact. It wasn’t hard for people to identify the man.
In just a few hours, public media across Vietnam would declare that Vice Minister Lê Hải An had died. The reason?
He slipped and fell off the balcony.
The story I am about to tell you is not just a simple fall.
The story I am about to tell you sounds like something out of a conspiracy theory, the one spewed by tinfoil hat wearers on the street, the one peddled by shock websites and fringe extremist forums, the kind that would make you think it was a rejected Hollywood script and not real life. And I must admit, I have to work with secondary foreign sources with many being biased and some outright spewing baseless conspiracy theories. Many original sources had been removed or edited, forever lost into a memory hole resembling that of 1984. In trying to be faithful, I've removed a lot more "fantastical" elements that have no proof to be cross-checked; I will do my best to paint a complete picture of not only who Lê Hải An was, but the treacherous world around him, a nightmarish jungle of political infighting.
To those who don’t believe, I ask you to just give me the benefit of the doubt and remember this one thing:
“This is Vietnam.”
PART 1: The model teacher
In Vietnam, we have this saying: “Tôn sư trọng đạo” meaning “To worship your teachers and to respect your study.” A teacher was not simply a teacher; he/she was the paragon of society, the enlightener, the one who upheld all the virtues of society, who embodied such virtues, and who passed on such virtue to younger generations.
Lê Hải An was one such man.
Born in April 1st 1971 in Hà Nội, An was the son of Lê Hải Châu, a famous educator whose mathematics book was once the golden standard of Vietnamese mathematics education. In fact, if you were in Vietnamese highschool in the 90s to early 2000s, you would have used one of his books. For his contribution, Châu was awarded the title “The People’s Teacher,” a once highly prestigious prize reserved for the most devoted teacher. Given his family’s background, An was said to be set for life.
But An did not take the easy way. He challenged himself continuously, was handpicked as a government-sponsored student to study Mining and Geology at Moscow State University of Geodesy and Cartography. Even late in his career, he still pursued his passion for the mining industry, successfully defending a thesis on the application of neural networks in the oil industry at the Heriot-Watt University.
Given his background and training, Lê Hải An was made a professor at the Hanoi University of Mining and Geology. At first he was a teacher at the Petroleum department, but rose steadily through the rank. To his students, he was a knowledgeable yet compassionate teacher who never sought to exert his authority; to his colleagues, he was a man of honor, of dignity, representing the paragon of teachers thought to have been lost. Nobody complained when he was made the University’s principal; nobody complained when Prime Minister Nguyễn Xuân Phúc appointed An to be the Vice Minister of the much troubled Ministry of Education.
Well, maybe not nobody.
PART 2: You have to go to Hà Giang and take the national exam
For every Vietnamese students, nothing struck the fear of God in them worse than the word "National Exam." Not as competitive as the Chinese Gaokao or the Korean Suneung, it is the stuff of nightmare that have made and broken life. Students competed for the sweet sweet spot at the Police Academy and Military Academy (It is in fact more difficult to become a cop or an army officer in Vietnam than to become a doctoteacheengineeIT technician); parents wait anxiously for their children's performance to show off to friends and families; educators wait for the top scores to make their annual achievement look good so they can attract better students to their high school.
Exam season rolled around, and the results were released by July 11th 2018. As soon as the scores came out, all of Vietnam was shocked.
Of all the 64 cities and provinces, Hà Giang scored the highest in the national exam, with the highest number of “Thủ Khoa” or “The top scorer.” This, to many, was a surprise: not only Hà Giang was the poorest province in all of Vietnam, it traditionally had high illiteracy rate, high dropout rate, low graduation rate, low university admission rate, and so on and so forth. The fact that during the same year Hà Giang had the highest rate of failure to graduate from high school also raised eyebrows.
And Hà Giang was not the only province. Sơn La and Hòa Bình, two other terrible performers, also scored suspiciously well, outmatching province such as Thanh Hóa-Nghệ An-Hà Tĩnh who have been known as "Đất Học" or "The land of the studious."
Immediately, people began to cry foul. There was a lot of anger: a lot of students who had worked their whole lives were in danger of losing their spots to some “irregularities.” A common saying began to emerge: “Em phải đến Hà Giang thi đại học” or “You have to go to Hà Giang and take the national exam.” Investigations were launched into the Ministry of Education just one day after the score was released.
Quick investigation revealed that this was not just some "irregularities" but a systematic scheme, raising scores for test-takers: some exam takers received a nine points out of a total of ten points boost for individual exam, and some had their total points raised by thirty points out of a total of forty. Not only that, the exam-takers who benefitted from this were some of the most powerful people in Vietnam. Take the case of Hà Giang: one of the person whose scores were raised was Triệu Ngọc Mai, daughter's of Triệu Tài Vinh, General Secretary of Hà Giang. The Triệu clan ruled Hà Giang as a fiefdom of their own, holding most important positions; they had strong ties with the Minister of Education Phùng Xuân Nhạ, a widely-hated and despised figures for his bare-faced corruption and mismanagement, and the President of Vietnam Trần Đại Quang. People were expecting the investigation would go to nowhere - afterall, who dared to incur the wrath of the President of Vietnam?
Then, out of nowhere, Trần Đại Quang died.
On September 21st 2018, the fit and healthy Trần Đại Quang suddenly passed away from “a rare and unknown virus which he contracted during his trips.”
No more explanation was given. One month later, on November 3rd 2018, Lê Hải An received Decision 1475/QĐ-TTg from Prime Minister Nguyễn Xuân Phúc himself, making him the Vice Minister of Education and in charge of the National Examination scandal
PART 3: His final moment
For the next year, An worked with diligence, doing his best to hold the perpetrators accountable. By the numerous newspaper articles, it was clear he was the one leading the charge while his superior, Nhạ, kept a low profile and only appeared on the media every now and then to make some empty speech. He worked hard, showing up at his office early and having breakfast in the office’s canteen to save time, then immediately dived into work in his office on the second floor. His work yielded results: 16 bureaucrats were arrested, 222 exam takers were exposed, large sums of bribes were confiscated. To many, perhaps An included, it wasn’t enough. Everyone knew the big fish Nhạ was still out there, and everyone was itching to see him fall.
It was on the morning of October 17th 2019 when Lê Hải An arrived at his workplace, the Ministry of Education on 35 Đại Cồ Việt street, Hai Bà Trưng district, Hà Nội. We had little idea of what had happened on that day, but what we knew painted a very strange picture.
Normally, An would go straight to his office on the second floor, rarely having any reasons to go anywhere else. And, given the early hour, most other offices would be empty.
Yet, on that day, An seemed to have gone to the eighth floor. There was no record of what he was doing there or who he was meeting; the floor also had no camera. Photographs of the crime scene showed a table which supposedly An had sat - this table had an almost empty glass of cold tea, a cigarette pack, and an ashtray with ash in it. Another table was photographed with an old red gym bag and a nylon bag containing non-descript items; next to this table was a chair with another plastic bag containing non-descript items on it. All the tables were seated next to a balcony which was about 80 centimeters tall. An was described to be 180 centimeters tall, and when his body was discovered it was lying parallel to the building from which he fell from next to a tree but seemingly did not hit it.
Given all the evidence, by 8:30 AM it was concluded that An slipped and fell. No more investigation was made
PART 4: The truth won’t set you free
Of course, the conclusion did not satisfy anybody.
On one hand, there is very low trust for the Vietnamese police who have shown their ineptitude and willingness to fake evidence time and time again. With miscarriage of justice cases such as Hồ Duy Hải and Huỳnh Văn Nén fresh in every one’s mind, the police’s conclusion lost even more credits. The fact that the police quickly concluded An slipped and fell only at most two hours after they were notified of the accident and refused to investigate any further reek of a cover-up.
But, even with the benefit of doubt for the police, the idea of An slipping and falling was deemed unthinkable to many. For one thing, people did not understand why An went to the eighth floor when his office was on the second floor. If he was there on business, what business could it be at such an early hour (government offices in Vietnam often begin work at 8:00 AM if not 9:00 AM.) If he was there to meet someone, who was that someone and why was he not investigated? No investigation was made into his phone or email either.
Then there was the balcony.
The balcony was described by some to be eighty centimeter tall, which would make slipping a feasible case for someone 1.8 meter tall like An. However, images from the crime scene show a police man standing next to the balcony and the balcony reaching his chest. Given that the minimum height to be accepted to the police academy is 1.64 meters, we are looking at a 1.2 meter tall balcony at the very least. It will be very hard to slip and fall over, unless someone was leaning over it. But why would anybody do such a thing? Some suggested he was drunk and tired and this could have been the case, but with no toxicology report done on him there was no way to make sure.
Some commentators also pointed out that even if An leaned out and fell, his body would have landed in a perpendicular angle with the building block he was falling out from. Yet, in the crime scene image, he was shown lying parallel to the building, as if he had rolled over on his side. There were no obstacles on the way down so his falling body could not have hit anything. The only thing in his way was a tree, but the branches were very frail and images did not show any conclusive evidence that he hit the tree on his way down.
So, if he did not slip and fall, what else could have happened?
Suicide was also suggested and has remained a strong contender. It must be remembered that An was an important man being surrounded by enemies. He had a very heavy burden to shoulder and had to endure political shenanigans from all sides. Perhaps, the pressure had broken the hitherto earnest teacher who had not had a taste for the wild political arena. So, he decided to go to the eighth floor, climbed over it (which could have required him to drape over the balcony, explaining why his body was found parallel to the building) then let himself fall.
Of course, some don’t agree with the idea. They pointed out he was a very happy, very respected man with a long and promising career, a loving family, and a dedication towards a higher calling. Men like him, they said, rarely killed themselves. While this could be true, this “proof” is very weak as many successful men have committed suicide. Perhaps, he was only showing himself to be happy; perhaps there was something else going on with his life that we would never know.
Finally, and perhaps the most pervasive, is the idea An was killed. Of course, given that this theory was born out of circumstantial evidence not any real evidence, this belongs more to the conspiracy theory bin. The temptation was there: An was leading the crusade against some very powerful individual, many of whom had both the power and desire to get rid of someone like An. If the former President himself could die so mysteriously while in office, who was to say An was safe? The police’s quick conclusion and refusal to investigate any further as well as the image of a supposedly official letter from his wife begging for police protection (now scrubbed off the internet) only added more flame to the fire.
So, assuming An was killed, who had killed him?
The obvious answer to many would be Nhạ: he was An’s boss, he was investigated by An, he could’ve lost his power and friends and influence. He wanted An dead, had the means to do so, and was therefore the prime suspect. The many clans whose children’s road to power An had dashed such as the Triệu clan also had axes to grind with An.
However, there was another suspect.
Prime Minister Nguyễn Xuân Phúc, the man who had appointed An to the position himself.
Before this all happened, Phúc was rumored to be in a power struggle with President Trần Đại Quang and the Ministry of Public Security. After Quang’s death in 2018, Phúc was trying to court Quang’s Department of Public Security to his side. The new head of this Department was Tô Lâm (The man who was videoed eating at Salt Bae’s place in London while Vietnam was under lockdown and starving.) Perhaps, as a gesture of peace, Phúc sold out his subordinate as an “apology.”
Ultimately, given that these theories are born out of the lack of evidence and the coincidence, we cannot accept them as “reasonable.”
PART 5: Farewell
On the 21st of October 2019, Lê Hải An’s funeral was held. It was a simple affair and yet it attracted thousands of mourners, ranging from the Vietnamese elites to his students. To many, the loss of An was a great loss to this world. Even without his work to clean up the Ministry of Education, he was an honest, hard-working, humble man who had always tried his best to live up to the image of the model teacher that had become so rare in modern Vietnam. The fact that such a good man had to die so early only rubbed more salt into the open wound.
But time will fly. Life will move on, heals will wound, stories will be forgotten, people will forget. Lê Hải An will one day fade into obscurity, and with him the question:
“What happened to Lê Hải An on October 17th 2019?”
Source
[1] https://canhco.net/lo-hinh-anh-hien-truong-tang-8-va-loi-khai-nhan-chung-khi-ong-le-hai-an-nga-xuong-tu-vong-p329165.html
[2] https://tuoitre.vn/thu-truong-bo-giao-duc-dao-tao-le-hai-an-qua-doi-vi-nga-tu-tang-cao-20191017084152884.htm
[3] https://kienthuc.net.vn/xa-hoi/su-that-ve-thu-truong-bo-gddt-le-hai-an-nga-lau-qua-doi-o-tru-so-bo-1291388.html
[4] https://nld.com.vn/thoi-su/dieu-tra-nguyen-nhan-tu-vong-cua-thu-truong-bo-gd-dt-le-hai-an-20191017102746586.htm
Shameless self-promotion
In the next episode of "The Mysteries of Vietnam," we will return to a re-write and updated version of the first case I wrote about years ago: did Hồ Duy Hải murder two innocent postal workers at Cầu Voi post office, or was it the work of a serial killer on the loose? And why is the Vietnamese government intervening in the case?

Background:
Now I'm 29. I didn't finish university and started working at 22 (although you could say that I've been juggling work and studies since I was 18). Throughout my life, I've always dedicated myself to helping those who ask for my assistance.
In 2018, I was conscripted into the army when I was 25, despite my mother being disabled and unable to leave the apartment on her own. This period was very traumatic for me, as I lost my job and didn't know if I would be able to find something else afterwards. After my service ended, I decided to take a couple of months off to recover mentally.
In the spring of 2020, my grandmother's neighbor called me and said she couldn't reach her for several days. I immediately responded and went to her apartment, but I couldn't get in because she had left the keys in the lock. We called the fire department to help us enter through the window. They found my grandmother on the floor in a delirious state. As I was later told by the orthopedics department, she had a fractured shinbone. The ambulance brought her back home on the same day. After some thought, I decided to take care of my grandmother until she recovered.
At first, everything was going well, and I easily took on all the household chores at my grandmother's place, while also helping my mother, who lives in the neighboring house. I helped my grandmother with bathing, kept the apartment clean, and my mother assisted with cooking for her.
By autumn, things became much harder as my grandmother's dementia started progressing, although everyone vehemently denied it. She couldn't remember recent events and confused me with my father a couple of times. Also, on her birthday that autumn, I lost my temper when she accidentally spilled food, and I yelled at her in anger. Looking back, I realize I was emotionally and physically exhausted, and I shouldn't have done that because she was unwell.
As for work, things were worse because the COVID-19 pandemic hit, and no one was responding to my resume or willing to hire me. During the time I was taking care of my grandmother, we lived on a portion of her pension, some of which was sent by her nieces, and also on my mother's pension. The nieces kept half of my grandmother's pension for themselves, as they didn't want me to rely on her, even though I asked for financial help to buy medication to improve her blood circulation and more food.
In the spring of 2021, my grandmother and I had a major argument, and in a foolish act, I left her. My aunts (my grandmother's nieces) pushed me to that point. They considered me an enemy to my grandmother and constantly threatened to leave us without support if I did "anything to her." This was despite her being able to walk and go outside. They decided on my behalf that the care of my grandmother would be entrusted to the neighbor with whom they had been in contact all this time. I agreed and went home. A couple of times, I tried to visit my grandmother, but she refused to let me in.
A couple of weeks later, my aunts contacted me and accused me of stealing electronics and food. I managed to enter the apartment and helped find the modems and routers that my grandmother had damaged with a knife and thrown onto the balcony. No one ever apologized to me. I stopped visiting my grandmother altogether, only making calls once a week to check on her well-being.
During the summer, I found a great job, and things started to improve for me. In the fall, I was able to fly to Russia to obtain citizenship and find a better-paying job. My mother was alone, but I arranged for a friend whom I paid to visit her and deliver groceries. I had less frequent contact with my grandmother, almost once a month. While in Russia, I sorted out my thoughts and finally came to the realization that I shouldn't take the words of someone suffering from dementia to heart. By summer, everything worked out with my job and documents, but returning home became more difficult due to... yes. Only by fall was I able to save enough money for a return flight home, working double shifts of 12 hours each (alternating between night and day shifts).
End of the backstory.
Upon returning home, I started visiting my grandmother, but I was always accompanied by the neighbor, as if constant supervision was required. Later, she explained that my grandmother was afraid of me. A few months ago, I was completely barred from seeing her, with the explanation that my grandmother didn't want to see me.
I couldn't sleep for a week because I faced incredible stress again. One day, unable to handle the pressure, I went to the Russian police to file a complaint against my aunts for not fully sending my grandmother's pension. I also sought help from the local police to retrieve the keys. Our local police refused to assist me, citing that I wasn't registered at my grandmother's apartment, and they didn't know my intentions.
A couple of weeks later, I was advised to contact the prosecutor's office, which I did. Now, I'm waiting for a response.
I apologize for the lengthy text, but I'm currently struggling to understand my own life. What would you do if you were in my shoes?

Today's games repulse me with their copycat, timid and shallow character. Though it seems like there is a variety of concepts flashing around, in practice games revolve around the same half-dozen tropes. Their hallmark sign is that it is nothing that is not seen on TV. If the game's idea is not a reflection of the modern world from someone who, by all appearances, has never read a real book or has experience to share, then it's Pirates in Some Carribean, or the Victorian Age When Jack the Ripper Roamed in a Black Cab, or the Middle Ages with Standard Treachery, or Abstract Space Exploration. I was sick and tired of this a few years ago, now I have all but given up on this art form. Even when the concept is interesting, it is rarely taken far or with force. Neutered developers are afraid to give offense and as a result make bland, short-breathing stuff, but I think the sharp edges are never there to begin with anymore. I don't know anybody who sets out to defy the world, stand apart from its simulations and blandishments and spit a good gob in its ugly square face.
I have never had an opportunity to make a game of my own (it takes a team besides everything else), but I have made mods for a very old RPG for years - new mechanics, plots, magic, quests, effects, scripts, writing and so on. I have more or less put that old engine on its head, though I know hardly anyone will ever find out about my efforts. This is to say that I am not a pure theorist. Some time in the winter, bored and exasperated, I decided to do a quick marathon of game ideas - for RPG, quests, simulations, something in-between - and see how many I can whip out on the run. I would like something from here picked up by a company, but I am not advertising. I realize that is probably not something that might happen. It was a good exercise for me, however. Here are the results for all to see. I did ten first, then three more occurred to me.
1 ) Circa Caotica
You play the role of Jabsh, a clown of a traveling circus, who suddenly discovers that he is no orphan but the son (Raka, daughter for female players) of the director, Maestro Leotardi. Minutes later after making the sobbing confession the boss is swallowed by the Crocodile Man in a suspicious accident. You have to own up to the unexpected legacy and step into the tight and tall boots of the director. Your responsibility is to keep the circus going by fine-tuning and inventing acts based on ideas solicited over regular all-troupe brainstorming sessions despite little starting respect from the others, who have decided to unionize as well (the mentalist takes notes). You must keep drawing in crowds to avert the bankruptcy, earn respect and manipulation points and find the truth behind Leotardi's death and the disappearance of the Big Green cashbox with everyone's last year salary and the medallion that supposedly bears the face of your mother the same evening. All the while you still have to perform in regular clown acts with your partner. You can play as a red clown or a white clown, and the other type will be your foil.
2) Nachtwaffe
"Ah, count. Decided to join me for a walk?" Vampires steal planes from the Nazi airforce to zoom through the dark skies over the Balkans and turn humans to make more of their own. You start out as a single nosferatu, converted from an arrogant German, and must find and raid small airports and landing strips across the forests and mountains of Roumania, impersonate a living officer to get supplies and fuel, avoid communist guerillas, find and build places to hide during the day and choose which humans to turn to expand your force. Naturally, it is all quite a dead end, as the war is bound to finish sooner or later, which radio broadcasts confirm, and what then will happen to the vampiric empire? But this is something that the gameplay begins to convey to the player gradually. Hopefully the fate of someone who has no future but still does his all will touch some dormant strings in players' hearts.
3) Yuck!
The sleepy Tibetan village of Dongtso is unaware of what lurks in the bushes and the mountains: you, the desperately lonely yak-man. Born with a big head and two horns, you have only one connection to civilization: the gold ring in your nose. Squinting cross-eyed, you can just make out some kind of symbols on it, and a banner over the village shrine features ones like them. This must be the key. You have to lurk about the supersititious hamlet, helping the folk at night and out of sight with small chores and evesdropping on their reactions and conversations until you can pick up a few words, including, at some point, "Hello." Since this is a game about Tibet and shaping up something rebellious, let the tongue be one of Tibet's many and accompanied by Tibetan script. You can train to pronounce the words when you dare show yourself to children, old people and widows, to improve from mooing to legible speech, but until then you have to dodge men's hunting parties and survive. With enough good deeds and a few friends, you might win the folk's confidence and stand before the village council so that someone might teach you to read. The quest becomes complicated, however, by the appearance of the army of People's Republic of China that establishes a base in the village in its push to subdue Tibet. The year is 1952. One of the newcomers is a local - a renegade llama who, the villagers say, has been on many supernatural journeys in the mountains, even to Shangri-La, but is now wearing the uniform of Tibet's conquerors. The writing on the ring, deciphered, identifies him as your father. What will happen next?
4) Footlocker
This is a soccer-themed RPG, but you view the sport from the point of view of a bookie besieged on all sides by mafia. To pay back his debt he resolves on a colossal set-up: first get control of an underdog team, then bring them at least to the regional semi-finals and, with the bets in their favor, make them lose in a big way. The thugs are ready to provide cash handouts, leg-breaking, knuckle sandwiches, addictive opioids and more to get the right people on the team and stubborn elements out, but at the cost of increased control and cut of the profits. You must balance their appetities with placating sports authorities, the press, sponsors and police. In the final match a dilemma presents itself: go through with the plan and ruin the team or defy the gangsters and take your chances on the right side of the tracks?
5) And See It Again For the First Time
Starting out from your homeland on three caravels, you unfurl the sails and set out to circumnavigate the world. The globe is randomly generated every time and rolls away at the horizon, with the map, continents and straits unknown beforehand, in the manner of River Raid. Your characters are the three ships and their crews, condition and supplies are their stats. Dropping anchor at strange shores and dealing with natives will be necessary but dangerous as they fight with each other, shuffle and migrate like microbes. Loss of crew can't be repaired. At least one of the ships must find the passages and make it to the fabulous Gate of Makhamedi, enter it from the far side and begin the journey home.
6) The Person and the Essence
In the beginning chapter you play Sauqin, second-in-command to general Varziranga, head of the army of the Arcolan Empire sent to quash the rebellion of Panlaa, who has tried to bring his province to secede. The imperial army has crushed Panlaa'a troops a fortnight ago and has got him shut in the Ravine of the Gold Specks. Complete victory is near, but the commander has been acting strangely since the battle. On this decisive night his behavior spins out of control just as Panlaa makes a sudden sally from his trap, causing great confusion. As his lieutenant, it falls to you to maintain order in dealing with the various officers as well as the clerics of the One, who insist that Panlaa, a lapsed pagan, be given to them for execution once he is captured. The ending of the chapter will determine whether Panlaa ends in the emperor's prison in the capital, Hotharsoom, alive or dead at the clerics' hands, whether Varziranga will be simply demoted or disgraced.
Chapter two will take place in the capital city. You will have been promoted to a top military command for your performance, only to become embroiled in an intrigue involving the emperor's controlling mother, a consequential schism in the church of the One over whether the head of state is eternally the same person reincarnated or a series of persons, demagogues in the public and lurking pagans with unclear motives. Other chapters will follow, and the endings will determine who sits on the throne and who stands behind it, whether state policy is in principle subject to revision and criticism or not and whether the pagan faiths are crushed without mercy or adopted into the church of the One. The material here is Byzantium, Egypt with the notion of the pharaoh as incarnate Horus and the empires of southeast Asia. Some early Christian heresies also deserve to be revivified.
7) Of Rats and Men
You are a rat trapped in the gears of the Trumpet of Doom, the hugest, heaviest and most advanced steam ship ever to paddle the Grumuous Sea. This basin is famously salty enough to let even an iron float for a time, which, the public money finally gathered, made it the perfect road to carry the 25-inch-gunned ("24 + 1 for Paterland!") Trumpet to the shores of Festaly and at last give those Festalians what for! The citizenry is cheering with patriotic joy, the brass bands are blowing. The ship rats are less happy, especially you, who were captain Reissenpouf's pet before you managed to scramble through a porthole and below the desk as he was buttering a toast. You are nearly panicky with fright. Unlike the locals there, you have spent time locked with the diagrams in the captain's safe and know that the battleship is very weakly armored below the waterline. Someone must have made a good bit of business during the construction selling the metal. When the Trumpet comes up against the Festalians with their triton suicides or their rumored counterpart ship, the Rough Musician, not even the Grumuous Sea will keep it from ending up as a gigantic, barnacled wreck on the ocean floor.
To avoid this fate you only have so much time to organize the other rats for systematic sabotage. The game's world is the enormous ship below and above the deck. The humans of the crew are, of course, adamant in their resolve to get themselves killed, so they will repair the servos, the cables turning the massive gears, the ball bearings, the hydraulics and the rest almost as quickly as those are destroyed. This effort will be headed by the near-transparent, monochrome spindle of a man, Admiral Hel, the leader of the expedition, always of his private high deck, sipping his black milk and staring through his spectacles ahead to where TOD's fate awaits it. If all of you ratfolk together gnaw through and spoil enough of the ship's devices, however, the captain might just have the authority to radio Kaiser Walzer of the decision to turn back... though you personally may also have to sneak back into his cabin to sit on his pillow and intone suggestions as he sleeps. The fact that you are an albino rat and at first come across as a crazy visionary doesn't help, and neither does being a female rat and having to give birth to a litter every so often. The current mate can be deputied on tasks while lactating. Other ships may sometimes be encountered in the sea, with different results, and you may improve your reputation in the murine community by predicting these encounters, if you check the looking glass often enough. The length of the game, and hence the difficulty, depends on the distance to Festalian waters - from two weeks' journey to three months.
8) Cosmic Choir
You play as one of the planets of the solar system. The other actors and your partners are the thieving and scurrilous Mercury, the lusty and sly Venus, the militant braggart Mars and so on. And you are the meh-in-the-middle Earth, and in this group of strong personalities stand out with your unique ability of Rational Decision (it would be nice to get Woody Allen for the voice acting, were he younger). Other planets have other powers, and all of them certain characteristics and appetites (for tasty meteorites, for more intimate or more standoffish orbits and so on). The plot revolves around the announcement of the Sun that it has had enough of burning hydrogen and wants to retire, going immediately into the red giant phase, which would, of course, burn up all of the inner planets and kick the outer planets way out. For this the star has recruited a planet-sized asteroid, large enough to pull most of the star fuel away so that the moribund transformation may be set in motion. The euthanatic dark planet is whirring ever closer. Before it gets on a near enough orbit to disrupt the Sun the other planets must find out what caused this sudden depression and persuade their ruler and source of life otherwise. (The answer is that the Sun has always dreamt of going nova but lacks substance.) Playing as the only inhabited planet, you must also keep the life forms on you alive through all of the maneuvering. If you can get Mars to cooperate, however, you may shorten the distance enough for humanity and some of the ecosystems to make the leap and found Musk City there, and then you won't have to care about your surface anymore.
9) Paris, 1245 A.D.
A meticulously researched simulation of the criminal underworld of medieval Paris and the worlds that abutted on it: those of the church, guilds, city watch, the university, lepers, the court and so on. No shortcuts and simplifications for babies who can't tell a Benedictine from a Cistercian. A dynamically filled encyclopedia may be included, though, and remain permanently unlocked for later replays. The main character is a vagrant and a thief. This may be a persistent sandbox, possibly a multiplayer RPG, or it may have a plot, but strictly within historical realities.
10) The Last Supper
You play the role of Jesus, son of God, in the company of the twelve disciples. The game should probably be in first person. (The Sermon of the Mount and such may be shown in cutscenes, or they may be challenges in quiz form.) The time period is your wanderings in Judea after the baptism and until the last night before the arrest. The background is the Judaic society at the time and its Roman controllers, somewhat historically accurate. This is a detective story, a wholldoit where you need to figure out who is best suited to betray you in due time so that you may prep him for the job and finally give him the impetus to "do it quicker" at the Last Supper. For Christ certainly needed someone to betray him. It's not always Judas: the identity of the potential traitor, along with his motives, will vary randomly between playthroughs. Incidents and encounters along the road, both recorded in the Bible and invented, will liven up the experience and better inform you about the personalities of the disciples, building on but going beyond what is known (Peter with his short temper, the lofty John an so on).
11) Cuadrophobia
Ships and the sea again. This time you are a typical sailor with an atypically strong survival instinct on one of the vessels in a colossal game of Battleship between Our Guy and the Other Player. Accordingly, there are two grids firing at each other: your side's and the enemy's, though you only get to travel across your own. The ship you begin on is chosen at random: it may be anything in size from a single-squarer to a five-squarer. Smaller ships are less likely to be hit, of course, but when a ship is finished, it sinks, and you with it. The purpose of the game is to survive until Our Guy's victory, which programmatically is likely but not guaranteed and happens about 70% of the time. To do this you must desert on a regular basis, setting out in a dinghy to a ship more favored in the current situation. However, the dinghy only travels three squares per turn, and you can only spend two turns in the open sea before dying. You also need time on board ships to access their radio broadcasts, which, besides playing some inspirational propaganda, update the picture of the grid as the battle rages. Without it you are limited to paddling to vessels that you can directly see. The role-playing element comes from dealing with ship commanders, who all take their duties and titles - captain of Cruiser! captain of Battleship! - very seriously, from picking up supplies in floating debris and from acquiring special abilities that let you, for example, paddle an extra square farther. Is war evil? Is it to be hated, or is our side to be cheered on? After all, if Our Guy loses, this will all have been in vain.
12) Standardom
In this game of life, dedicated to the International Organization for Standardization (ISO), you must pass through all of the Gates of Conformity to win your ultimate prize - death from old age, as opposed to suicide. The option to kill yourself is always available in the menu. Being the hero and chickenshit that you are, though, you are determined to submit to every humiliation just so you can press forward. The world of the game is a vertical platform that moves with you along the Y axis, which represents time from some random year forwards: you may begin at 100 B.C., 1824 A.D., 12749 j-Spec and so on. It is really all the same where on the timeline you are dropped off. As with other platformers, once the screen has moved, there is no going back. You can walk freely to the left and right, however, pick up bonuses, disarm threats and converse with characters. Going up, every so often the screen is intersected by a wall with a gate in it. Your character's silhouette must either match the cut of the gate or be smaller to pass through. You start out small as a baby, a little circle, but very soon handicaps such as Discovery of Talent, Unusual Upbringing, Independent Spirit or Love of Sex will begin to rush at you to complicate your silhouette with Г, & and other such protrusions. You will also grow in size until your late 20s. Luckily, opportunities will also present themselves to prune some of this exotica: Family, Steady Job, Political Engagement, Puppy, Human Interest and other bonuses can be found or obtained from conversations to simplify your puzzle to a manageable cut until such time as the years pile on and the worst is behind you. You will become smaller and smaller and able to rush through the checkpoints one after the other to the finish line.
13) Six Handshakes to Liberty
The country is suffering under a cruel dictatorship. Ar-Parason, the president-for-life, has wrung the last of resources from the nation and has now thrown it into a disastrous war. In his palace he is surrounded by guards armed to the teeth and without a shred of conscience to shoot the bastard. What can you, a humble microbiologist living in the suburbs, do about this? Nothing, it seems, until you discover a strain of bacteria that is absolutely deadly within weeks and immune to all known antibiotics except one, still not fully developed. The microbe is passed along by touch. Alas, you discover it when you become infected with it. You still have the resources to finish the research on the antibiotic and save yourself, but now you realize that you possess the perfect secret weapon to rid the country of the tyrant. Although you can't get so close to Ar-Parason in person, someone must enjoy that intimacy...
Every day you do your research at the computer, look through the press, then put on gloves and go out in search of people in contact with other people who will, you hope, ultimately carry the strain to its target. You have to follow news to figure out whose hands to shake and who to sleep with - secretaries, daughters of generals, corrupt officials - and many times the scheme will fall short of success. The chain of handshakes will terminate early somewhere, and these intermediaries will just die. But all those sacrifices are worth it, aren't they? You keep several intrigues going at once, determined to see one of them to the end. Meanwhile an epidemic is beginning in the country, Ar-Parason is starting to take precautions, and your own remaining time that could be spent on finishing the antibiotic is also running short. What is more important: life, revenge, justice, survival, honor? Your actions will be your decisions.

Hello all,
I want to put a small tattoo just below the eye. I have an image of the face and one of the tattoo (png with transparent background) Is there any way to inpaint this particular image as a tattoo onto the face? I have played around with Controlnet's "Reference Only" option (and other options) without success. It either painted in a totally different tattoo or just a small fraction of the desired one. Is there any way or do I have to resort to editors like GIMP?

In a world that is rapidly evolving with technology, even the most traditional aspects of our lives are being revolutionized. One such aspect is the age-old practice of matchmaking, where individuals seek suitable life partners. My Sambandh is leading the way in transforming the traditional matchmaking system by combining the power of technology with personalized matchmaking services. By leveraging innovative approaches and advanced algorithms, My Sambandh is bringing a fresh perspective to the process, offering an enhanced and efficient experience for individuals seeking their life partners.
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My Sambandh's Marriage Bureau in Ahmedabad is at the forefront of revolutionizing the traditional matchmaking system. By leveraging the power of technology, maintaining an extensive database, providing personalized attention, prioritizing privacy, and security, and offering additional services and support, My Sambandh has redefined the way individuals seek their life partners. Through their innovative approach, My Sambandh is making the process more efficient, accurate, and enjoyable, bringing people closer to finding their perfect match. As the world continues to embrace digital transformation, My Sambandh as a shining example of how technology and personalization can revolutionize age-old practices and lead to successful and fulfilling relationships.

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BACKGROUND INFO (if too long skip to TLDR sorry)
I'm a MA graduate (English Literature) based in the UK and currently seeking doctoral funding - I've already got offers from two institutions to study my proposed PhD topic/thesis. As we all know AHRC funding is the holy grail and I wasn't successful for either of the two studentships I applied for in 2023/2024, but was told the panel assessed me highly for one of them and encouraged to reapply. I've deferred both of my offers and am planning to reapply for funding later this year for 2024/2025. I may also apply to another institution, although I haven't found one that fits yet.
One of my potential supervisors already reached out to me when my funding application was unsuccessful to let me know she'd be willing to work with me on a reapplication and that she didn't think I should be discouraged by the outcome (which was really kind and unexpected). I haven't heard from the other one and didn't immediately reach out as I'd been told that he was extremely busy, although I now know it's probably time for me to email him myself to check whether or not he'd still be okay to work with me on a second funding application.
I also know that I should reach out to my two reference/LoR writers from my former university to let them know that I was unsuccessful and plan on reapplying next year. Both knew me well as a student and have worked with me recently (one taught me on two MA modules, the other taught me on several undergrad modules and supervised my MA dissertation), and both were happy to support my applications first time around.
I am definitely working on strengthening my applications and my research proposal this year through further independent research, refining my pitch, attending intensive courses and lectures in relevant topics and skill gaps when I can get the time off work etc etc...so I'm not too worried about seeming like I'm doing something futile or haven't thought things through. I will of course mention when emailing that I am strengthening my proposal before I reapply.
However, since months have now passed since I saw or spoke to any of these people, I'm overthinking a lot of stuff related to the academic etiquette of it all. I'm autistic and due to mundane personal circumstances have been quite isolated and have had to spend a lot of time alone recently so I feel stuck in a real rut RE how to socialise, especially since I've now been out of academia since late last year.
​
TLDR;
My questions are as follows, if anyone has the time, knowledge or experience to answer them...
- Do PhD supervisors get frustrated or fed up with correspondence from prospective students who might not even end up working with them? Do they start to feel like it's a waste of time?
- Do lecturers get sick of supplying references for former students, especially if it's the same former student reapplying to the same studentship?
- Is it best to email in advance of requesting references/reapplying, or should I wait until it's closer to the actual application period in the autumn?
​
Obviously I know all of this stuff is subjective but I mostly want to know if there are any absolute NOs here or anything that would be considered broadly rude or bad etiquette - I'm aware that I'm not a current student or supervisee of any of these people and that they're all busy, so I don't want to be overly intrusive or entitled, but at the same time I don't want to be uncommunicative or unhelpful to them.

Greetings!
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Greetings!
Do you have an idea for an app, but don't have the technical know-how that would allow you to make it? That's not a problem! For a reasonable price, I will do it for you, as well as keep you updated with each and every important step! Transparency guaranteed!
For my background information: I am an experienced developer in languages such as:

• C/C++, for when speed and contact with the machine really matters
• Python, for all of your web-scrapping and autonomation needs
• Dart, for any and all mobile applications
• HTML/CSS/JS, for all of your web needs

If you have any need for a developer, be sure to pitch your idea to me and I'm certain we'll make it a reality ASAP!
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I’ve seen people use them in videos, and I need one! Just a video of water pouring, but the background is pure black. Either that, or an already transparent video of water pouring. Thank you! :)

I use a few scripts that depends on scroll-list.lua.
How can I add a transparent background (curtain) to the text in scroll-list.lua module?
The draw_playlist() function in playlistmanager.lua includes this functionality, but I don't know how to modify the scroll-list.lua module to make it work.

The pharmaceutical industry in Germany is one of the leading pharmaceutical markets in the world with a total turnover of around €50 billion in 2016. The German pharmaceutical industry comprises about 400 companies employing around 110,000 people. The industry is dominated by a small number of large companies such as Bayer Boehringer Ingelheim Merck KGaA and Sanofi-Aventis.
The German pharmaceutical market is the third largest in the European Union and the ninth largest in the world. In terms of value the German market is the fourth largest in Europe and the tenth largest globally. The German market is also one of the most innovative and research-intensive markets in the world.
MBA pim
The MBA pim in Germany generated around 35.8 billion euros in revenue in 2018 making it the fourth largest pharmaceutical market in Europe. The German market is expected to grow at a compound annual growth rate (CAGR) of 2.5% between 2019 and 2025 to reach a value of approximately 43.5 billion euros by 2025.
The German pharmaceutical industry is characterized by a large number of small and medium-sized enterprises (SMEs) which account for more than 90% of all companies in the sector. The top 10 companies account for approximately 60% of the total market value. The largest companies in the sector are Boehringer Ingelheim Bayer Merck KGaA and Sanofi-Aventis Deutschland.
The German pharmaceutical market is highly regulated with price controls and reimbursement policies that limit pricing flexibility and profitability. In recent years the government has
Pharmaceutical Management
Pharmaceutical management is the scientific discipline concerned with the discovery development regulation and marketing of drugs. It includes all aspects of the therapeutic use of drugs from their discovery and development through to their manufacture packaging and distribution as well as their clinical use and efficacy.
The pharmaceutical industry is a highly regulated sector with strict rules governing the manufacture distribution and marketing of drugs. In order to be able to sell their products companies must first obtain a licence from the relevant authorities. This process can be lengthy and expensive and often requires the submission of extensive clinical data.
Once a drug has been licensed it must be manufactured to strict quality standards and packaged in a way that meets all legal requirements. It must then be distributed through an authorized network of wholesalers and pharmacies. Finally it must be prescribed by a qualified healthcare professional and dispensed by a registered pharmacy.
Pharmaceutical
Germany is one of the world’s leading pharmaceutical markets with sales of around EUR 34 billion in 2017. The country is home to a number of large multinational companies as well as a thriving sector of small and medium-sized enterprises (SMEs).
The German pharmaceutical market is highly regulated with strict controls on pricing and advertising. This has resulted in a relatively high level of price transparency which has put pressure on companies to compete on quality rather than price.
As a result of these factors the German pharmaceutical market is highly competitive and companies are continually innovating to try to gain an edge. This has led to a strong focus on research and development and Germany is now one of the world’s leading centers for pharmaceutical R&D.
An MBA from Cambridge Judge Business School will equip you with the skills and knowledge you need to succeed in the business world. The programme is designed to challenge you academically while also providing opportunities for personal and professional development. You will learn from a world-class faculty and benefit from the unique insights of your classmates who will come from a variety of backgrounds and cultures. The programme is also highly flexible allowing you to tailor your studies to your individual needs and interests.

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The Cambridge MBA is a world-renowned business degree offered by the University of Cambridge. The program is highly selective with only the top applicants being admitted each year. The curriculum is very demanding but provides students with an excellent foundation in business and leadership. The program also includes a number of unique features such as a mandatory international study trip and an optional work placement.

I copied an image 5 times on a sheet. The top 2 images cut properly, but thr middle and bottom 2 cut way off of the transparent background of the png file

I have my old employer listed on my resume and LinkedIn, even though we were acquired a few months ago by a competitor. My job and title stayed the same, the main difference for me is payroll. I did not change my employer on my LinkedIn/resume because I didn’t want it to seem like I recently changed jobs, and I currently do the same exact job with no differences. I am new to the workforce so I am nervous potential employers will think I’m “job hopping” if I put the two separate roles on my LinkedIn. Yes, I know I can put my new parent company on my LinkedIn, but that would be misleading since I do not work with their software, clients, etc. The merge of clients is only now starting to occur, and I won’t have different job duties/clients for at least a few more months.
I have a second job interview next week and I’m nervous about how I can bring this up/if I should bring this up. If I am hired and they do a background check, I don’t want them to think I lied to them. Should I mention the acquisition to maintain complete transparency, or will that hurt me in the interview process?