I saw this blog, and I just had to comment because my PTSD that required significant self-paid additional therapy to recover from, is from a therapist and a psychiatrist at an eating disorder program (that is considered reputable). I was also recklessly put on multidrug cocktails of psychiatric drugs that resulted in long term sexual dysfunction and additional (diagnosed and proven) PTSD. The truth is that that organizations like NEDA were never truly about helping people (same for NAMI, Autism Speaks, etc). Their real purpose is astroturfing so that the maximum number of people are funneled into the for-profit eating disorder residential, PHP and IOP programs as possible. These programs are upwards of a THOUSAND dollars a DAY which is covered by some insurances no questions asked, some with prior authorization and some insurances will deny these programs. NEDA receives significant donations and funding from these programs, which is a publicly accessible fact and on their website.
The social media culture around eating disorders also tends to glorify this for-profit industry as a badge of legitimacy and for those emotionally neglected in childhood, all of the "attention" is intoxicating and subconsciously can fuel some women "staying sick" as a way of holding on to that attention and caring which we are all pre-programmed as infants to seek from a caregiver figure. Additionally, eating disorders are primarily caused by social factors (dysfunctional families, toxic relationships, porn/sex obsessed culture, etc) which NEDA doesn't do anything to fundamentally solve. Eating disorders can be medically serious and on a medical level, the issue is not wisely DIY, people should have a competent doctor that can take the risks associated with B/P and "refeeding" as well as complications seriously. That being said, the psychological aspect of recovery is unfairly dominated by the eating disorder industry. What they don't tell people is how many eating disorder sufferers cycle in and out of programs, sometimes on a WORSENING trend due to the toxic and poisonous narratives that the eating disorder industry likes to push such as the idea from Life After Ed (if it works for the author, cool, but it's a disempowering idea) that the "Ed" is like a separate voice in someone's head and the only solution is to give eating disorder professionals all your money forever. Oh and you don't just get one, you are supposed to maintain a relationship with a nutritionist, a therapist AND a psychiatrist... for years and years (that's like $2000 a month billed in appointments alone). Anecdotally, people find psychological and spiritual recovery in many ways. Some find support in things that are actively damaging to others (for example, some people really resonate with yoga, going vegan, religion/spirituality etc, while others find this actually fuels their eating disorder and obsessions.
Most women I met in these programs had been systematically brainwashed to act like helpless children and believe that they had no power over changing their lives, other than to depend on the therapist to inform what they were allowed to think, feel, do, say, eat and believe. Due to the possible medical danger of eating disorders, this is evil and causes deaths when some women understandably spiral and relapse after leaving the structure of the program. Some go to programs over and over again. Anti-science philosophies are pushed in these programs as well (the idea that there are "no bad foods", when other eating support programs like Eating Disorders/Overeaters Anonymous recognize the known "trigger" element of white flour and sugar to kick off the urge to binge and/or purge).
I could really go on and on, because this is a pet topic for me. I might post a book list later. Nowadays I do eat regularly and healthfully! I recovered in spite of the ED industry, not because of it. -Mod Kara
A Union Busting Chatbot? Eating Disorders Nonprofit Puts the 'AI' in Retaliation Labor Notes
A Union Busting Chatbot? Eating Disorders Nonprofit Puts the 'AI' in Retaliation
May 04, 2023 / Abbie Harper. Picured: Four members of Helpline Associates United on Zoom.
Two weeks after they voted to unionize, workers at the National Eating Disorders Association were told their jobs were being replaced by a chatbot. Photo courtesy of author
Is artificial intelligence a new union-busting tool? For the leadership at the National Eating Disorders Association, it would seem the answer is yes.
Two weeks after the Helpline Associates at the NEDA won our vote to unionize and join Communications Workers (CWA) Local 1101, NEDA interim CEO Elizabeth Thompson made a surprise announcement: the Helpline was being eliminated and replaced with a chatbot. Every newly unionized employee would be jobless as of June 1.
The National Eating Disorders Association is the largest nonprofit organization dedicated to eating disorders. Its programs and services raise awareness, build communities of support and recovery, fund research, and put essential resources into the hands of those in need. The NEDA Helpline, the organization’s only direct service arm, provides hundreds of thousands of people every year with person-to-person support via phone, online chat, and text, staffed by a small team of full-time associates with the help of hundreds of volunteers.
Three out of four of us in Helpline Associates United are former NEDA Helpline volunteers. Some of us have personally recovered from eating disorders and bring that invaluable experience to our work. All of us came to this job because of our passion for eating disorders and mental health advocacy and our desire to make a difference. Our primary responsibility as Helpline Associates is training and supervising Helpline volunteers, in addition to interacting with contacts ourselves. This includes monitoring every emergency situation that arises on the Helpline, and taking over the conversation if needed.
ONE EVERY 52 MINUTES
Thirty million people in the United States have an eating disorder, and 10,200 people a year will die as a direct result of an eating disorder; one person every 52 minutes. The Covid-19 pandemic had a devastating impact: the number of new diagnoses and the severity of symptoms experienced increase at alarming rates. Since the start of the pandemic, the Helpline has reported a 107 percent increase in contacts. Suicidal, self-harm and child protective services calls nearly tripled.
That’s why the Helpline and the humans who staff it are so important.
While NEDA has informed its staff and volunteers of their decision to end the Helpline program, they have yet to make a public announcement that they are shuttering this vital service. Unfortunately, the specifics have not been shared with us, but operations have started winding down, and it looks like service will be eliminated beginning June 1. Our Helpline volunteers, to whom this work was extremely meaningful, have been presented with other opportunities to volunteer with NEDA, including being “testers” for their chatbot replacement (Tessa, a “wellness chatbot”), but not with an opportunity to provide one-on-one peer support.
NEDA claims this was a long-anticipated change and that AI can better serve those with eating disorders. But do not be fooled—this isn’t really about a chatbot. This is about union busting, plain and simple.
RETALIATION
Prior to winning union recognition and affiliation with CWA, we petitioned NEDA management last summer for a more equitable, dignified, and psychologically safe workplace. We asked for adequate staffing and ongoing training to keep up with our changing and growing Helpline, and opportunities for promotion to grow within NEDA. We didn’t even ask for more money.
After NEDA refused to make meaningful changes, we collected a super-majority of signed authorization cards and asked for voluntary recognition of our union around Thanksgiving. When NEDA refused, we filed for an election with the National Labor Relations Board and won on March 17. Then, four days after our election results were certified, all four of us were told we were being let go and replaced by a chatbot
Helpline Associates United has filed unfair labor practice charges at the National Labor Relations Board over NEDA management’s refusal to engage in good faith bargaining and their retaliation against workers looking to form a union. We plan to keep fighting. While we can think of many instances where technology could benefit us in our work on the Helpline, we’re not going to let our bosses use a chatbot to get rid of our union and our jobs. The support that comes from empathy and understanding can only come from people.
Abbie Harper is a member of Helpline Associates United.

Phone Scams: It happened to us!
A person claiming to be Officer Robert Daniels from Customs and Border Protection contacted a staff member in the IPO office and informed her that she was facing criminal charges in Texas (drug trafficking and identity theft) and that she needed to confirm personal information to verify her identity. The person provided the following information to verify his identity as a CBP officer:
​

• Badge #15109
• Telephone #783-503-0955
• Case#

IPO immediately called the UMass Police Department to report the scam. They traced the number to a pay as you go burner phone. Staff also Googled the phone number of the Tuscon, AZ CBP office and confirmed that the phone number was different than the one given by the scammer. When we called the field office, we spoke to an officer who confirmed that they receive phone calls every day about "Officer Robert Daniels" and that it is a scam.
What is was remarkable about this scam is that, when we Googled "CBP 15109", the search results brought us to the Customs and Border Patrol page for Officer Robert Daniels. When we asked about this, the (real) CBP officer confirmed that these scammers are increasingly using sophisticated methods to scam their victims. This scammer was also using high pressure tactics to try to get the staff member's Social Security Number.
Tips to protect yourself from scams (from the UMPD website):
When you get a call from a telemarketer, ask yourself:

• Who’s calling…and why? The law says telemarketers must tell you it’s a sales call, the name of the seller and what they’re selling before they make their pitch. If you don’t hear this information, say “no thanks,” and get off the phone.
• What’s the hurry? Fast talkers who use high pressure tactics could be hiding something. Take your time. Most legitimate businesses will give you time and written information about an offer before asking you to commit to a purchase.
• If it’s free, why are they asking me to pay? Question fees you need to pay to redeem a prize or gift. Free is free. If you have to pay, it's a purchase — not a prize or a gift.
• Why am I “confirming” my account information — or giving it out? Some callers have your billing information before they call you. They’re trying to get you to say “okay” so they can claim you approved a charge.
• What time is it? The law allows telemarketers to call only between 8 am and 9 pm. A seller calling earlier or later is ignoring the law.
• Do I want more calls like this one? If you don’t want a business to call you again, say so and register your phone number on the National Do Not Call Registry. If they call back, they’re breaking the law.

Some Additional Guidelines

• Resist pressure to make a decision immediately.
• Keep your credit card, checking account, or Social Security numbers to yourself. Don't tell them to callers you don't know — even if they ask you to “confirm” this information. That's a trick.
• Don’t pay for something just because you’ll get a “free gift.”
• Get all information in writing before you agree to buy.
• Check out a charity before you give. Ask how much of your donation actually goes to the charity. Ask the caller to send you written informa­tion so you can make an informed decision without being pressured, rushed, or guilted into it.
• If the offer is an investment, check with your state securities regulator to see if the offer — and the offeror — are properly registered.
• Don’t send cash by messenger, overnight mail, or money transfer. If you use cash or a money transfer — rather than a credit card — you may lose your right to dispute fraudulent charges. The money will be gone.
• Don’t agree to any offer for which you have to pay a “registration” or “shipping” fee to get a prize or a gift.
• Research offers with your consumer protection agency or state Attorney General’s office before you agree to send money.
• Beware of offers to “help” you recover money you have already lost. Callers that say they are law enforcement officers who will help you get your money back “for a fee” are scammers.
• Report any caller who is rude or abusive, even if you already sent them money. They'll want more. Call 1-877-FTC-HELP or visit ftc.gov/complaint.

This scam was sophisticated and used high pressure intimidation tactics! If you suspect you are being scammed, hang up! If you fall victim to a scam, contact the UMPD immediately.
Stay safe, UMass!

If it weren’t for a killer urban legend, Tina and I would celebrate Valentine’s Day on the 14th
Honestly, I was enjoying a bit of human company after several hours of driving alone, four years ago. Correction. I was trying to enjoy human company. I couldn't identify what was out of sync about Ernestburgh and its inhabitants so I wrote it off to me being picky. I am picky. That's why I was looking this far away from home for the location of my much needed warehouse. I wasn't about to spend the money demanded for run down buildings in my hometown. My odometer assured me I was 114 miles from home. In Ernestburgh. Which isn't in my GPS or on any online map I called up.
Cindy the gas station cashier dropped the cash into my hand and wished me a happy day. Then, haltingly, as if going off script and unsure about doing so, she asked, "What brought you here?"
"Good question," I said, jamming the change into my jacket's inside pocket, "I'm in the market for a warehouse, around 1,000 square feet. Anything like that in town?"
"Let the young lady be on her way," a deep voice boomed behind me. My stomach jumped, although I think I remained calm on the outside as I turned around. A tall, muscular man was nodding at Cindy and me. "Don't mind her, Miss, sometimes we forget our manners here, being we all know each other. You know how that is." He chuckled, although his eyes never smiled. To me, he looked smug. I didn't appreciate that.
"Where are my manners?" I laughed, sticking my hand out to start a handshake. "I'm Lydia from the next town over. And you are?"
He stared at my hand for several seconds before taking it in a quick handshake. "Name's Hopper, Miss Lydia, good to meet you. My wife Cora tells me I need to socialize more and work less, but, you know how it is, I'm sure." He released my hand.
He sounded like he looked, smug. Part of me wanted to egg him on. But I took a breath before speaking and told him I was looking for a motel room for the night. His demeanor softened. "The Deu Lake Inn just reopened after renovations. Go right from our parking lot, left at the second stop sign. Ask for Room Number 103. It overlooks the Lake. Hope you're an early riser. Sunrise over the Lake is unforgettable this time of year!"
Ernestburgh didn't have street lights so the stop signs were a little hard to see but I managed to find the dirt road that ended at Deu Lake Inn's parking lot. That clicked for me. If I landed MoonDoor's warehouse here, the Inn and the entire old school vibe of Ernestburgh would be an easy sell to increase tourism. Especially to boomers.
Annie McIntosh greeted me at the front desk and offered me 10 % off on my stay, which I gratefully accepted. Annie called in Enzio Morton to take my 'overnight bag' to my room and make sure the air conditioning was working. I said I wasn't worried, since it was February 9 and I would rather the room was heated. Annie's response was the a/c was just installed and it being such new technology, staff needed to make sure it worked. I chuckled a little then noticed she probably wasn't joking so I stopped, rather awkwardly.
Annie busied herself with paperwork and actively avoided talking to me after that. Knowing that someone named Enzio had to accompany me to my room, I checked out the only photo on the wall. It was a black and white photo of a man who looked eerily familiar. He wore an odd white bucket hat with the brim pushed away from his face. He had dark hair with full, choppy bangs, eyebrows raised over large eyes opened wide, a nondescript nose and mouth open as if he was either talking or gawking.
It hit me: That was Bob Denver, when he was Gilligan from Gilligan's Island, a 1960s sitcom.
A document attached to the photo frame was titled "Official History and Lore of Our Founding Father". It explained 'Captain' Johnny Ernest spent his entire life in Ernestburgh. His parents raised him on their local farm, before the town existed. Deu Lake Inn was built over his family's farm property. He was orphaned at the age of 11 and lived alone for the rest of his life. He spent 25 years building the earliest homes, post office and stage coach station for what became known as Ernestburgh. Since his death, he returns every year to eat the living being he names. The town would not and could not exist without him, according to the document.
What the hell.
"Miss Annie," I asked, unwilling to be taken in by a local prank, "is that all there is to this story?"
Annie lifted her head, smiling widely. "Yes," she said brightly, "that's our Founding Father, Captain Ernest. Once a year he returns, eats whatever living being he names, then he returns to his beloved lake until the next February 10th."
'Eats whatever living being he names.' I felt fear without knowing its origin, something I don't often experience. I turned to face the Inn's entrance so I could avoid both Annie and Captain Ernest. Enzio appeared soon after. He got me to Room 103, confirmed the a/c was good, and I was left on my own for the night.
I opened the sports bag of spare essentials I always left in my vehicle. It stems from having to be prepared to run for my life when I was younger. Some habits are hard to break. It allowed me to change into a t shirt for that night. I grabbed the remote and jumped into bed.
Covers up to my neck, horror movie marathon playing quietly in the background, I was ready to relax. That's when I remembered my odometer. Part of my being picky is me recording my mileage at the end of every journey. My odometer registered exactly 114 miles from home to Ernestbugh. Based on memory, I'd travelled mostly westbound from home. And online maps clearly showed a large, well-known city 40 miles west of my place. Seems likely I would have noticed that city, had it been in my way during my travels.
Also, traveling no more than 50 miles per hour, my trip should have taken two and a half hours, three tops if I slowed down, got stuck in traffic jams or stopped a lot. That wasn't how my drive went at all. I left home at 10 a.m. and drove non-stop until I arrived at Ernestburgh nine hours later, just before 7 p.m.
Once again, what the hell.
I called up my dashcam footage and fast forwarded through the day's journey. There was scenery I recognized, close to home, then about five hours of static, then scenery that I recalled driving into Ernestburgh. The first time I watched it, I didn't believe it. Had to be a technical glitch. The third time I watched it, my muscles tightened for fight or flight. As much as I wanted to leave immediately, I realized I'd do better to wait until morning. I set my phone alarm for 6:45 a.m. and plugged in my phone to recharge, then spent a long time staring at the ceiling.
My alarm rang a bit too early for my liking and I didn't remember setting the ring tone to 'growls and groans'. The time on my phone was 5:45 a.m. so it wasn't my alarm. For a second I attributed the noise to the horror movie marathon I'd selected for the room's TV. Nope. TV must have shut itself off while I was asleep.
I heard it again. A growl, thunderous and a bit muffled, coming from the back of the Inn where my window faced. Expecting an incoming thunderstorm, I opened the curtains a bit and stared for a second or two at a huge bubble sitting on the lake. A face smiled at me from inside the bubble. A face. In a bubble. On a lake. Smiling at me. So much wrong.
After the fastest shower ever, I shoved all my gear into my sports bag and threw on my coat. I ran to the back of the Inn with all my gear and my phone (charge cord still attached, alarm shut off) at the ready. The beach, such as it was, was about a two minute jog from the back of the Inn and extended for quite a bit before meeting the water. There was a large bubble sitting on the water's surface, a significant distance from the shore. This was the same bubble I'd seen out the window. It kept getting larger, as did the face in it.
I was trying to focus my phone's camera when I heard someone speaking behind me. Annie, the front desk clerk, asked if I was ready to check out.
"Um, Annie, do you see that?" I said as gently as I could, pointing at the bubble. As soon as I looked at it, I couldn't look away. Annie didn't answer my question but she did keep talking. She said check out prior to 11:25 a.m. was fine but I had to pay now. I asked her how much and she didn't answer, which prompted me to look directly at her.
The growling started again. Of course it was much louder than I'd heard in my room. Annie frowned but stood firm, hand out, palm up. I looked back at the lake and the bubble had moved much closer to shore, almost touching dry land. It was huge, and the face now had a full body with arms and legs. Still smiling, it pointed at me with its left arm.
My blood ran cold. I heard Annie's voice but couldn't understand the words. The bubble drew ever closer. The growls were so loud, I clamped my hands over my ears but still couldn't stop staring at the face. It seemed so familiar.
Annie might have stopped talking, I don't know. All I could hear with my hands on my ears was muffled growling. I knew she was still there because she had grabbed my right arm with both hands and pulled fiercely. Even so, I kept staring at the bubble that had stopped rolling when it made land.
The growling continued.
Annie tugged until my right hand fell away from my ear. She screamed it wasn't her time as she released my arm. At that time I didn't know if she stayed or left because I was still watching the bubble.
A crack formed, splitting the bubble in half vertically. Within a blink or two, the bubble split open and the growling changed to a low, gravelly human voice. "Annie! Annie McIntosh!" the being said. Its finger no longer pointed at me, but to my right. I felt compelled to glance beside me and sure enough, there was Annie. Her hands were balled up into fists, pushing on her temples. She was crying and shaking, and I felt genuine terror just looking at her.
"Annie McIntosh, it is your time!" the being announced as it took two steps towards her. I'm ashamed to say I felt a brief moment of relief that the being wasn't aiming at me before I realized it appeared to be hellbent on getting Annie. She was now screaming wordlessly, seemingly unable or unwilling to run.
In that moment, two things occurred to me. The being was an exact replica of the black and white photo of the town's founding father. And if the urban legend was correct, 'Captain' Johnny Ernest can only eat one person per year. He names that person before eating them. Since he'd already named Annie, I figured I was safe at least for that year, and tried to distract him. Maybe Annie could escape and live another year.
I screamed at him, "Captain, you're dead, you don't need to eat anymore!" It was the best I could think of at the time. I put my hands on Annie's left arm and tried to drag her away with me. No luck, she felt like she was cemented to the spot.
Meanwhile, Captain Ernest continued to take huge steps towards us. I'm used to living with and around weird things, but this went beyond weird. Gilligan wanted to eat someone and he seemed focused on Annie.
Something in me broke. I screamed I was sorry to Annie and took off at a full run. I didn't stop running until I got to the back of the Inn. Maybe it was guilt, maybe it was morbid curiosity, but I had to take one last look back.
Captain Ernest was still at least two of his steps away from her when he grabbed her.
She was still screaming when he dropped her into his mouth.
I folded two ten dollar bills under the phone on the Inn's front desk then jumped into my car and peeled out. When I got to Ernestburgh's main street I turned left. A right turn would have taken me back to Ernestburgh and that was a huge nope for me. As soon as I saw something resembling a freeway, I took the eastbound route and didn't stop until I was home.
The trip home took two hours and added 114 miles to the odometer. My dashcam worked just fine that whole time. The previous day's footage came up as 'corrupted' when I tried to access it. I spent the next four days in bed, waiting for Tina to return from her mother’s.
Tina's mother recovered quickly and Tina came home on day five. She asked me to retrace my steps with her in the car. No matter what we did, we couldn't find Ernestburgh. I searched for obituary notices about Annie McIntosh until Tina said I might be reaching unhealthy levels of 'need to know' when, in fact, I don't need to know. And she was right.
But every February 9th and 10th since then, she and I spend those days together, at home, without guests. We stay in bed, watch our fav horror movies and eat whatever we want. It's our customized version of Valentine's Day.
Author's note: Find me at LG Writes, Odd Directions and Write_Right

<< < > >>
Book: Black Canary
Set: 85
Arc: Fletching
 
〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰
 
Oliver ran when he heard her scream. The supersonic sound waves shook the top floor of the building and he didn't even bother to pull on a shirt before he was racing for the spare bedroom.
 
Dinah Lance stood standing near the bed, staring at the empty space with abject horror. Ever so slowly her blue eyes swiveled to pierce him on the spot.
 
He suddenly understood why her former team had been called the Birds of Prey.
 
The woman who looked out at him tilted her head slightly, like a predator who had spotted a small animal. Her mouth twisted in seriousness and Ollie slowly slid into the most defensive position he could assume and offered her a suave smile.
 
“Not a morning person, ey?” The cocky side of him urged him to cross his arms and lean casually against the doorframe, but something in her eyes stopped him from making any unnecessary moves.
 
“Oliver.” Her voice was firm, but clipped. Different from when she had called him and had been so pent up with rage. This was a different beast entirely. “I’m trying to give you a chance to explain, but you are not helping.” Her chin jutted towards the empty bed, her face pale at whatever her eyes beheld.
 
He ran a list of possible scenarios through his mind quickly, trying to understand what magic might be lingering, and what it might be causing her to see.
 
“Dinah, I promise it’s not what it looks like.” The excuse sounded weak even to his ears and he cringed internally. Taken out of context he really did sound like the flippant playboy he was renowned to be.
 
A tense muscle worked in her jaw, and her fingers clenched and unclenched in a tight fist. “How is William Zard dead in the bed not what it looks like.”
 
It was not a question, and Oliver could tell he was quickly running out of time to state his case before the heroine decided that he had gone rogue and crossed the unbreakable line that most heroes refused to cross.
 
“You were placed under a strong illusionary magic. You’ve been out for more than a month. You’re dad's fine. Thinks you're still in Markovia” He winced. “Sorry about lying to him, but I couldn't exactly explain why you would be staying in Oliver Queen's penthouse spare bedroom.” Oliver took a deep breath. “Whatever you’re seeing isn't there, Dinah.”
 
Her eyes flashed with quickfire anger but she took a long moment to look at him as if seeing him for the first time. Dinah blinked, clearing some unreadable emotion from her eyes before turning a glance back to the bed and heaving a deep sigh.
 
He waited.
 
“Can you get me a laptop and a coffee? I have a feeling that isn't the last we’ll hear of William Zard.” She asked quietly, and Oliver watched as the woman became the heroine and piece by piece locked her face down into a mask of neutrality.
 
He could only offer a nod, shifting himself into the Green Arrow mindset and leaving her to become who she needed to be to face the villain.
 
〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰
 
Dinah breathed in and out. Again. Closed her eyes and reopened them. One moment the body of William Zard had been laying on the bed, an arrow through his chest and the next it was gone.
 
Magic, Ollie had said. After everything that had happened…..Dinah breathed again. How long ago was Markovia now? Had everything in Seattle settled down? How was her dad?
 
Her hand itched for her phone, but it was no use messaging her dad now, especially if he thought she was still out of the country. Better to keep him safe, stop him from worrying.
 
And Oliver? Of all people in the world for her to fall under some magic spell around it ended up being him? Dinah resisted the urge to smack her head into the wall repeatedly. She made a habit of appearing strong around men like Oliver Queen. Not someone to be messed with, and she had gone and fallen immediately into a magical coma.
 
“Not your finest moment Di.” She shook her head, clearing it of the wayward thoughts and focusing instead on the issue at hand - William Zard.
 
It was clearer now that she was thinking clearly that it had all been an illusion. But the question was why? She had been mostly out of the spotlight until the vampire incident in Markovia and everything had happened so quickly afterwards it was almost impossible to imagine word spreading that quickly.
 
Ollie cleared his throat behind her, a courtesy gesture made so that he didn't surprise her. The fact that he had enough empathy to do even that was surprising enough.
 
“I only have a spare Lenovo, if that works for you?” He held up the offending piece of machinery and Dinah had to resist shaking her head. The laptop looked brand new, rarely if ever opened. Maybe a sponsored gift for the playboy who already had more technology then he knew what to do with.
 
She decided not to speak, gesturing with her chin to the small glass table at the end of the bed where she’d been sleeping. It was only then that she noticed what she had assumed was a single laptop based on the width was actually two.
 
He gave her a look that was immediately familiar as the ‘don't even think about denying me this’ that she had often offered to others and took his seat silently.
 
Furrowing a brow, Dinah took the laptop and settled into the chair opposite Oliver Queen and began to work.
 
〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰
 
Ollie was not used to being so…..distracted while he was in the guise of the green archer. He thought it would be easy to slip back into the rough edged vigilante around Dinah, since she too, had seemingly slipped into her Black Canary personality as if it was a weapon to be used against him.
 
But then the damned woman would furrow her brows and mumble something under breath and Oliver Queen would find himself snapped out of his brooding reverie and forced to look at her. Every time he did he found himself more and more reluctant to return to being the brooding piece of shit he knew as Green Arrow.
 
It wasn't, after all, the Arrow part of him that had decided to save her.
 
He watched as Dinah’s eyes widened, a sure sign that her magic with technology had worked wonders and she had found exactly what they were searching for.
 
“What is it?” His voice got deeper as he asked the question, forcing himself into the rough-edged disguise to the point where he saw surprise quickly flash in Canary’s eyes.
 
“Zard. He went to the same university my mom did. Studied the same course.” Oliver stared at her blankly. She gave him a pointed look then sighed deeply when it became clear he wasn’t exactly following. “My bet is he was obsessed with her. And when she died and he couldn’t get her ....” Dinah’s voice trailed off, her blue eyes staring off into the middle distance, clearly remembering something from the illusions.
 
“He took you.” There was a strange sense of violence to his voice that snapped the Canary back from wherever in her mind she had traveled. She nodded, her only sign of acknowledgement.
 
Oliver clenched and unclenched his fingers. He was not necessarily a violent man, despite what others thought of him. It was one of the reasons he had chosen arrows as his main source of damage. They were quick, efficient, and wouldn't kill anyone unless shot incorrectly. But the quickfire image of his arrow piercing The Wizard's chest was almost welcome, after all the illusionist had done to Dinah.
 
“How do we track him?” The question hung in the air between them for several seconds while Dinah watched him reign in his anger.
 
“We don’t.” He went to interrupt, but she continued on, silencing him with a look. “We need help. Magical help more precisely.” She bit her lip, obviously running names and ideas through her head. “I think I might know someone. A friend of a friend that I used to work with.” Dinah dug the mobile from her pockets, wincing as she ignored the many calls and texts from her father.
 
“Who?” Oliver didn't like working with others. He had been there. Tried that. It never worked out in his favor.
 
Dinah offered him a quick smile as her fingers blurred across her screen.
 
“Zatanna Zatara.”
 
〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰  
Dinah told Oliver that it would not take the magician long to respond to the text. She had not, however, told the archer that Zatanna’s preferred method of local travel was portal.
 
The two women rarely talked after Dinah left the Prey Birds, but she had kept the magician's number in her cellphone. Just in case. She hadn’t had much hope when everything in San Fran happened, and after, with Markovia the two hadn't exactly had a lot of time to catch up.
 
She huffed a laugh, ignoring the look Ollie gave her. She was damn well allowed to laugh whenever she wanted.
 
As the thought crossed her mind a small golden circle with runes the color of the night sky appeared in the center of the sitting room. Oliver jumped several meters, retrieving a bow and arrow from the heavens knew where as the dark haired young woman stepped through the portal, the last words from her spell echoing in the air as the tear in space closed in on itself.
 
Zatanna surveyed the room quickly, dark eyes coming to rest on Dinah and a large smile spreading on her features. “Canary!” She swept Dinah up into a hug, twirling her around to get a good look at her. “It’s been so long. I always knew you’d end up with….” Her voice faded off as she finally took a moment to look between Dinah and Oliver, a light blush spreading across her features.
 
“Well. I can see I’m here for business and not for a pleasurable catch up.” The other woman gave Dinah a pointed look before turning a tight lipped smile on Oliver who had procured his green mask while the two embraced. “You must be Green Arrow. I’m Zatanna Zatara.”
 
The two shook, which, Dinah supposed, was more than she had bargained for.
 
“What’s up BC?” Zatanna wrinkled her nose after shaking Oliver's hand. “You smell like magic.”
 
Dinah grimaced, sniffing her hand like she would be able to catch the whiff of illusionary magic like Zatanna could. “Do you know of someone called William Zard? Powerful illusionist, studied magic in Tibet.”
 
The other magician's smile disappeared immediately and she nodded slowly. “He disappeared off the scene a few years ago, right about the time….” The young girl's eyes widened. “Right about the time you dropped out of the limelight.”
 
Dinah grimaced. “We think he was obsessed with my mom, and now me.” She hated saying those words aloud. It brought some type of strength to them, giving Zard the power instead of her.
 
Zatanna merely nodded, her mind clearly spinning.
 
“We need to find him.” Oliver offered resolutely, his bow lowered, but the arrow still knocked. It seemed he couldn't help but be wary of the magic user, even though he knew she was on their side. “Any ideas where to look?”
 
Zatanna glided to the door. Her eyes scanning the neon horizon, mumbling something incoherent under her breath before waving her gloved hand over the city-scape in front of her.
 
Magic, Dinah thought, as the large building appeared not even two blocks away, was kinda fucked up when one could hide a 10 story building in the middle of a city.
 
〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰
 
Dinah and Zatanna did not have to wait long for William Zard to try to work his magic. Mirrors greeted them on every surface of the rooftop, reflecting the slightly terrified look in each of their eyes and the thick smoke flowing through the area.
 
A dark laugh echoed from wall to wall, and the mirror in front of them began to change in front of their eyes. Zard’s pointed mustache and beard appeared first, before the dark blue-gray eyes and the rest of the man's lean build until he was before them.
 
Dinah gasped as she was eye to eye with The Wizard from her first night in the Firefly Lounge. Zard wore a long cloak and tophat along with a dark purple vest and black tie with golden clip to complete the ensemble of party magicians.
 
“Ah, the pretty songbird has finally returned to me.” The man in the mirror stepped to one side disappearing from the center mirror and appearing in the one next to Dinah instantly. His voice dropped to a whisper and a phantom finger stroked its way down her arm. “If you think it was good in your dreams, imagine what it will feel like in the real world.”
 
The next instant the mirror shattered. Dinah covered her eyes as the remnants of the lightning-yellow bolt from Zatanna’s hand simmered down to a more bearable midday glow. She shot her a grateful smile. She wasn't sure what she would have done in another moment or two.
 
Afterall, the illusions hadn't been all that bad. Had they?
 
She was saved from having to think about it any further by Ollie’s arrival to the rooftop. The stubborn man had chosen to climb instead of taking the easier, faster, magical method.
 
Zard’s image appeared in another mirror. His jovial demeanor switched for one of menace and anger. The Wizard turned a scorching eye on Dinah, his gaze flicking between her and Oliver. “You think this…..this……arrogant, idiot of a man can replace me? Me?”
 
His laugh this time was deeper, darker. Dinah couldn't help but slide a step closer to Ollie, afraid for the first time in a long time.
 
The move was not lost on William Zard, who offered her a sneer. “You’ve made your choice then. Just like your mother did. And now you’ll pay the same price she did.” As the last word fell from his lips Zard’s mirage multiplied onto every mirrored surface that the rooftop bar had to offer.
 
The once dark gray fog covering them began to shift as each of the Zard’s in the mirror chanted, turning a sickly green color that was already making Dinah choke and splutter. In one smooth motion Ollie grabbed an arrow in each hand, reaching out to shatter each of the mirrors on either side of him.
 
The smoke’s spread slowed, just barely.
 
“Break them.” He ordered, choosing not to think about the way Dinah had moved in front of him. As if she could protect him. As if she needed to protect him.
 
He still watched out of the corner of his eye the way the two women worked together to smash or shatter the remaining mirrors until each and every one had at least a chunk missing out of it, or was in pieces along the rooftop floor.
 
A slow clap echoed from the back of the room and Ollie immediately trained one of his arrows on the emerging William Zard. It was funny, beneath the clothing he looked just like any other love-sick obsessed man. A man with far more to gain than he had to lose.
 
William Zard sketched a slow bow, offering his hands in surrender to placate Ollie before he turned a saccharine smile to Dinah. “My sweet, special Miss Lance.” Dinah flinched, and Ollie tightened his grip on his bow string. The Wizard barely spared him a glance as he continued, taking a step closer to Dinah. “We don’t have to do this. You don't have to do this. Life could be easy. No more fighting, no more fear. Noone you love will ever get hurt because of who you are, or what you do.” At these last words Zard did finally spare a glance for Ollie, his steel eyes seemingly staring into his soul, into the problems he had caused just by simply being Green Arrow.  
The Wizard offered his hand in a flourish to Dinah. The two were so close now that it was clear that any act on Ollie’s or Zatanna’s part would put her in danger as well.
 
Oliver Queen watched the war rage on Dinah’s face. The pain and hurt, determination and guilt. He watched her lift her hand.
 
“Dinah.” Her name left his lips without his bidding, and her blue eyes flicked to his, brimming with some unclear emotion. “Don’t.” He wasn’t sure if he was asking or begging, nor did he care that voice broke on the word.
 
Oliver Queen also wasn’t sure whether his heart broke, or if the hole in his heart mended when Dinah Lance chose not to take The Wizards hand and instead chose to kick William Zard straight in the balls.

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Chapter Summary:
Shot Heard Across the Galaxy A poor Shil'vati patrol goes looking for that Security Force that just got blasted in the last chapter
First Contact: We jump POV, where Elias gives them "pretty much the exact terms" of their invasion and occupation, turning it back on them.

Shot Heard Across the Galaxy

The summer had clung on by the tips of its fingernails despite the threatening change in season. The dry morning air heated quickly back to what Serenie had grown accustomed to, as if to deny the inevitable unwelcome encroachment of the biting cold night they'd just endured performing riot control in the center city.
Serenie learned some new insults over her comm as a pursuing Captain Goshen had watched the insurgent 'clear a building in a single bound like a retarded kangaroo with viagra in its tail.'" Serenie had never seen a kangaroo, but Earth's nature had fascinated her, and the loose familiarity caused her alone to laugh uproariously at the Captain’s breathless fury.
There were some other matters the Captain had muttered about, such as ‘lies turning truth’ that seemed to elude Serenie’s grasp. One thing that the Captain made certain Serenie did understand was the concept of punishment duty for her laughter. Double-shifts just seemed to be the order of the day, but being sent far afield with these people could hardly be called anything else. The scenery was occasionally something she’d have called nice, if it wasn’t for her present circumstance.
She was stuck with her new podmate, Zell, who it seemed just could not shut up.
"Look. All I'm saying is, they're hot. Hotter than the Security Forces 'squad' we're looking for. 'Squad.' Such a stupid-sounding word."
Serenie's expansive patrol pod had been shattered apart by casualties in the wake of Emperor's attack on Unification Square. The combat patrol had been dropped over twenty feet onto jagged concrete as the overpass they were sprinting across collapsed underneath them into rubble, courtesy of planted explosives. Serenie was one of the only ones to come out with relatively minor injuries and to make a full recovery. She'd even hobbled to the square on a broken leg, just in time to behold the horrific spectacle of the building’s collapse.
Now those cast off shards of incomplete pods had been shuffled and mixed up to serve with some temporarily deployed Shil'vati forces from out-of-state.
Two whole pods made up of the odd numbers from other units, sent to Delaware on punishment duty of their own came together to compose the new team of six out of the hodgepodge. Once Zell had used all her brain to do the math, she announced excitedly: ‘A grateful human boy for each of their rescuers.’
And so the two pods set off with initial enthusiasm, unburdened by much familiarity with one another. That had been three miles ago, and by now the excitement had given way to bitterness over how they were wasting time on a long walk across open, somewhat bleak bulldozed terrain that nature work crews had yet to reclaim, doing Search and Rescue for a bunch of deserters who didn't want to be found at all, instead of rounding up those 'mysterious hot insurgent guys.'
Serenie reflected that at least the razed structures and tall grasses offered a nice view of the vibrant colors the trees were starting to turn. A 'silver lining,' as the more optimistic locals liked to say. 'Well the square was utterly destroyed and you're led by an idiot from a green zone, but at least you're alive!'
The boys here were always upbeat. Then again, they were paid to take their clients' minds off their troubles. And she had to admit they worked better than the stupid Anarevoca. The deep rest in the arms of the man she'd visited while on mandatory medical and psychological leave had done more for her recovery and in then passing the evaluation than anything else she’d tried. She didn’t regret a moment or credit of the exchange, even if the bribes and fees to slip her out and get her the secret rendezvous did her accounts the same kind of damage as she herself had suffered.
She hoped Azraea hadn’t lowered the score just to get every soldier back on the front lines, and switched her line of thought. It did her no benefit to dwell on such things. ‘At least he let me sleep longer than I paid for’, she reflected, remembering the faintly sweet musk of where his shoulder met his neck, and how gently he’d run his fingernails along the back of her head, through her scalp until she fell asleep.
"The insurgents are not 'hot'," Serenie sputtered. "They're supposedly all too old, too set in their ways to adapt. You know, like, twice your age. You got a father-fucker fetish or something?" Serenie had already had more than an earful of this conversation, and repeating her rent-a-paramour’s comforting words buttressed her conviction. The honeyed sense of validation he’d whispered into her ears was better than dwelling on the possibility that the planet and all the men on it all just outright hated her.
"What, so you got your asses kicked by a bunch of daddies?" At Serenie's stare, her new podmate from New Jersey relented slightly. "Okay, fine. At least admit the idea of them is hot. So hot.” When Serenie didn’t bite, Zell kept going. “Come on- physically active, mysterious, and just need some love and affection before they realize we aren't so bad, and you win 'em over with -"
"-Yeah, alright, you find one, you try it, you tell me how it goes. If you survive and he’s somehow tolerating even someone like you, then I figure I can swipe him off you."
"Fuck no, we'll share, and you'll be grateful I'm so generous. Seriously, share the insurgency, I say. I can charm 'em so good we'll have peace within the day."
Serenie wondered how Zell had served this long and didn't realize human men tended to be fiercely monogamous. Maybe things were different where Zell served, though Serenie doubted it was.
"That's something I actually wanted to ask. I thought maybe you'd know." Serenie wasn’t sure why Zell might know anything, but it was at least in the area of Zell’s obvious obsessions. "How is 'fuck' an insult? Especially when the humans say words that mean 'fuck you,' but they use it as an insult. But even other forms of it mean ‘get fucked,’ or something."
"You sure it's an insult? Sounds like an invitation, if you ask me. Have you tried asking them ‘when’?"
Just one more addition to the ever-growing mountain of evidence that Zell was an idiot.
The new pod's equally new sergeant was little better, but at least when Sergeant Patmorica interrupted this time, it was focused on the mission. Her comm cut through the half-hearted banter as she made her periodic report at the required interval.
"Command, we've got eyes on a pretty good LZ on the crest of this hill, mark for exfiltration if necessary." Sergeant Patmorica pointed a gauntleted finger to the ridge on the far side of the field. Rote procedure; the last one she'd pointed to would be marked as a secondary. "Got a wide open view of that woods near where the patrol of Security Forces went missing- not seeing much out here in the field. Permission to move into the forest and check for them?"
Data Officer Borzun's voice floated back. "Granted. Relief forces will be en route if you find anything, ETA eleven minutes from Command."
The return signal sounded distant, quieter than normal. Something about that troubled her, but Serenie didn't want to draw the attention of a sergeant eager to prove she was capable of leading a couple pods, or feel she had to prove herself to the red zone veteran. Even more disturbing, Zell looked ready to start talking again.
"How are the other leads looking?" Serenie piped up quickly. At least the sergeant might offer something helpful, even if the information was secondhand.
"Not great. A lot of the people who are supposed to be patrolling looking for rebels are responding to the strikes and protests at the prisons, beating up protestors who weren't on any lists, trying to restore some semblance of order," Sergeant Patmorica responded with surprising candor.
"Be a real shame if no one's here. We could be out there helping," Zell picked up the line conversationally as they descended from the crest of the hill near the river, past an old sign that read 'Mister Pasta'. "Instead we're chasing down wayward Security Forces, who probably cut and ran."
"Best lead we've had so far," Patmorica responded.
"Have you heard anything about 'Camp Death'?"
"Just whispers. Nothing solid," Patmorica said, stepping over a half-buried old curb. The work here in leveling the town and returning it to nature had certainly been hurried and half-done. The ridge of the distant trees hadn't expanded outward much at all.
"Supposedly, it's somewhere in the North. We're in the North."
"What, you think Camp Death is actually in the middle of nowhere, somewhere out here? Come on, the town's leveled. There was a bomb that went off literally over there-" Serenie pointed across the rubble of the highway they were walking along. "-Some local shirtless kid pulled a Lieutenant out of the rubble."
"Doesn't seem to have been enough for them to consider saving the neighborhood. Not a chance it's out here; Work crews woulda spotted it."
"Guess the work crews finally got around to really taking the place apart before, you know, 'shit hit the fan.'
Human words were very evocative. Terrible situations lined with precious metals, feces being sprayed about by rapid physical impacts- the mental images they provided, disturbing though they often were, seemed silly enough to bring a smile that had been all too absent on the senior private's face ever since her time in Unification Square.
There used to be some roads here, but all that's been cut off. A bunch of trees, and no structures, no infrastructure, and a bunch of troops? That's just begging for an orbital strike."
"He might have the hostages there. Anywhere might."
The sergeant paused, contemplating something, then jumping into a private comm chat with Serenie, her voice coming through a bit more crisply. "Yeah, alright. Look, I read your file. You had your run-ins. You're still shaken, I understand that, but I need you to not jump at shadows, got that? You get to go on patrol with us, finding some lost boys who forgot how to read a map, and maybe lending your local expertise. But I have to weigh that against what you went through. The absolute last thing I need is you opening fire because one of the Security Forces guys sneezes, and it sets you off. Are we clear? Not everything's an insurgent. Not everything is done by insurgents."
"Ma'am," Serenie responded. "Understood. I'm cleared as ready for action." Idiot or not, Sergeant Patmorica was still her commanding officer for the time being, and she couldn't exactly relate her late night rendezvous in a red zone and say she was 'all better now.' Confessing such a violation was just begging to be written up.
"That's what I like to hear." Something about her answer or stature must have been conveyed while providing the words because they seemed to reassure Patmorica of her readiness. Serenie felt a ray of hope that she was really, well and truly had finally free from the aftereffects.
The rest of the walk along the treeline was blessedly quiet. Five minutes of peaceful walking. No idiots, no stupid orders, no more braggadocia. Even in full kit, Serenie enjoyed nature on earth in all its many mysterious and downright strange aspects. The morning chill felt crisp, and the crunch of dried parched dirt and grasses under her boots felt more alive than the steady beat of boots-on-plate aboard a starship's hull, no matter how large or ambient the white noise supplied.
It was as she reflected on the multitudinal ways the experience was different that she had a realization.
"There's something wrong."
"Is it that we got sent out without a vehicle? 'Cause I think we could have covered all this ground in a few seconds. Honestly, says everything that the Governess shipped us out here, but got tight-fisted with vehicles and equipment."
"No, everyone, be quiet!"
"You be quiet, Serenie!" The soldier in front of Zell snapped back.
"Shut up!" She hissed. Sergeant Patmorica spun on her heel. "Private Serenie. What are you-"
"Please, just- just- would you just listen!" A few seconds passed as everyone stared, either obeying or just shocked at the quiet girl's outburst.
"Listen...for what?" Zell finally broke the silence.
"Exactly. Do you hear anything? Birds? See any deer? Where are all the animals?"
"What's your point?"
"I think that we are not alone in this forest."
"Well, we were sent in to investigate where people disappeared to. Duh. It's a good thing if we aren't."
"But where are the animals?"
"I don't know. They migrate, right? Look." As if on cue, a tight formation of flying Canadian Geese passed overhead, honking. "There's your noisy animals right there."
Zell pointed and quipped. “Look sarge, insurgents!” The hand tracked the geese as they flew overhead.
Serenie felt trapped. How had some stranger from out-of-state been promoted to Sergeant and assigned to lead these pods, despite clearly never leading so much as a patrol in a yellow zone? Worse, Patmorica continued her teasing, likely to try and regain some face after her authority being openly challenged.
"Should we call it in? Tell Command: 'it's quiet' or ‘I saw some parrots’? With everything else going on in the state, do you think they'll laugh, or do you think they'll...?" The sergeant turned back to face the forest whose edge they were weaving in and out of, turning to start walking up the steep hill again, as if transfixed by something. "Hold on. I've got some thermal there and- hey, are you Ladies picking this up? I've got an IFF..."
Serenie dutifully reported her readings, grateful to at least get the topic changed. "I've got one friendly- two now. Security Forces standard."
Sergeant Patmorica pointed up the steep embankment she'd been about to start walking up. "I'm reading them as being straight ahead on my map. Confirm?"
This time someone else spoke up, and with all the fresh voices and full helmets, Serenie wasn't sure she could place them all. She was too busy staring at the collection of dead and dried branches lining the bottom of the hill.
What might leave such a large swath or create a clearing? A bear? She'd seen a video of one rubbing their backs against trees, one of the first to return to the state of Delaware, dubbed ‘DelaBear. These were certainly very large, unfamiliar trees. She’d never seen anything like them before, much as she’d never seen a Bear. To her mind, she might imagine such a large furry beast seeking out a suitably large tree, for some purpose or other. But she did not see any tufts of fur stuck in the grass or to the bark. And didn’t they only do that when shedding off their loose fur in Spring?
"It's two of the missing Security Forces," reported the sergeant somewhat spiritedly, leading the way toward the hill, the pod moving forward in her wake.
She crouched low again, taking a step back, eyes following where a serpentine footpath ascended the bluff. It was hard for her to make out if there were any footprints or animal tracks in the parched dirt, until at last she saw one near her own footprint. Conclusive evidence eluded her, but she thought she could make out a boot print, and searched her memory. Was it the pattern of the Security Forces uniforms? Was she just searching for signs and evidence, the conclusion already obvious in her mind?
Then she turned in place, and saw the many trampled grasses behind them, only noticeable once the patrol had reached where they had all converged. There were far, far too many to be the Security Forces.
"Zell. Zell! Hold here," Serenie whispered, putting her hand out to block her new podmate's progress.
"What?"
"Trust me."
"Privates! Fall in!"
Patmorica's tone was harsh. Serenie motioned like she was going to comply, freezing in place again the moment the sergeant's back was turned to her again. Something about this place seemed wrong. Where were the others of their 'squad'? And why hadn't they reached out to them on the comms yet?
Zell shook her hand free of Serenie's.
"Zell. Zell!"
Zell ignored her.
"Zell, will you stop thinking of fucking your father and turning your family tree into a circle for one depths-damned minute and listen to me!? Something. Is. Wrong."
"What?" Zell hissed, annoyedly. "I'm not getting in trouble just because you have 'a feeling'."
"There's some sort of structure up top. I'm getting metal readings. Way more than just their plate armor. Sensors are reading weird depressions on the way up, too. I'll relay it to your suits' telemetry. Are you receiving this?"
"How do I do that?" Zell asked, tapping her helmet. "Ah to the depths with it. Could it be caves?" Serenie's dimwitted podmate asked, clearly dreading that the answer potentially might be: 'Yes, now we have to go explore them.'
"Didn't you read your briefing? Delaware doesn't have caves." Serenie had read that first upon deployment, and then wondered where all the bats came from.
"Then what is-"
At that point, her comms dropped off completely, replaced with a sharp whine in her ear.
Communications lost. Signal lost.
"Ma'am, Sergeant? Zell? I've got a suit malfunction- I can't hear you." Serenie called out, pressing the button to retract the mouthpiece of her helmet. Her suit's connection to the satellites seemed to have cut out. Most of her HUD blanked out as she stepped forward to be heard, the device no longer receiving data to sync with the other suits and Command. The Friendly IFF signals had winked out as well.
Everyone seemed to be looking amongst each other, slowly coming closer together to be heard, faceplates retracting so they could speak, or touching helmets so the suit would pick up the vibrations.
So it wasn't just her, then, but her podmates, too. All of them were eyeing the hill, now, Serenie's sinking suspicion catching on. Then, everyone was calling out activity at once, some of them pointing in different directions, clumsily sighting down their rifles without the HUD to guide their targeting reticle.
"Everyone fall back. Rifles up- rifles up! Those are not friendlies!"
Movement from the crest of the ridge, figures pointing down at them, including the long barrels of unusual weaponry, the likes of which Serenie had seen glimpses of before, and again in her nightmares. Voices called out over one another, without a comms system to filter or grant priority.
"Motion! I've got motion!"
"It's an ambush!"
"Identify and surrender now! Lay down your weapons!" The sergeant yelled. There was no answer, but neither side opened fire. "Identify yourselves immediately!" Bellowed the sergeant, again, switching her command suit to loudly project her voice in the local tongue. "Surrender immediately!" Serenie was pulling Zell back. They were vastly outnumbered.
Those low, unmistakable, clipped and precise tones of the Emperor of Mankind that her translator didn't need to pick up had her heart thrumming in her ears too loud to even make out the words, no matter how clearly enunciated they were. She knew what they meant well enough, and her steps backward started carrying her out of the woods on instinct.
For what it was worth, her sergeant didn't balk, and renewed her demands.
"Surrender immediately! Lay down your arms!"
The response was as sudden as it was brutal. Where once Sergeant Patmorica had stood, now there was empty air. Something powerful cleaved her in half, a sharp roar of noise following as the hypersonic round split the air in a deafening thunderclap.
She hadn't quite been vaporized, rather jerked clean off her feet by a sudden and terrible impact, boots leaving the ground and her body separated at the middle, halves toppling to the ground and held together by the just as suddenly exposed entrails. The shock of the impact had surely killed her instantly.
Serenie turned on her heel and ran for her life.

First Blood

"Sur-ren-dar!" The call sounded out from the valley below. One of those few words the Shil'vati knew and uttered almost every time we met, often before we'd even begun fighting.
I grabbed the megaphone, irritated that I'd been kept waiting so long for them to show up. "We don't have enough facilities to take you all prisoner. Please elect your bravest, most stalwart defenders of your way of life, and have them step forward into the line of fire for us to dispose of. The remainder of you will be afforded the same kindness as you have given our civilians. As you're unfamiliar with democracy and the concept of 'voting,' we'll give you a moment to conform to our system of governance and culture, whether you like it or not. You get an unreasonably short amount of time to comply."
I tossed the Megaphone back down to Larry, who stared up at me with wide eyes. The sound of wind through the trees was all endured for now, a shocked silence settling in.
"What?" I asked, hefting the railgun up to my shoulder with a shrug and aiming down the sights at the one who continued to bellow threats. It seemed we had a volunteer. "Turnabout is fair play."
I raised an open hand to all those who had watched, and the stunned silence turned to eager discipline, men sighting irons and readying themselves to unleash hell as I lowered my hand slowly, indicating I was to take the first shot.
"The Emperor has given his orders!" He bellowed into the megaphone. "Hold the line! Hold for the signal!"
I squeezed off the first round, letting the railgun round kick- and this time I was braced for it. The shot took the woman right in the midsection, and tore her apart. Screaming and shouting from below- but no signs of an immediate mass surrender.
"FIRE!"
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Alien-Nation Discord
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Continued from Pt. 1, which can be found at:
Pt 1: https://www.reddit.com/Horror_stories/comments/13wymkl/ghost_word_pt_1/
WARNING: This story contains depictions of non-consensual sex and gun violence.
---------------------------------
Lyle found himself on foot, the valise at his side, the night air crisp and noisy. He realized he was ravenous. No surprise there, he hadn’t had anything to eat or drink in twenty-six hours. The late evening traffic was brisk around the campus, and as he passed a roving pack of students Lyle realized it was Thursday night*. Thirsty Thursdays*.
In keeping with ancient tradition, the majority of undergraduates avoided Friday morning classes at all costs, preferring to begin their weekend revels on Thursday nights. Lyle followed his feet. He imagined power emanating from the briefcase at his side, thrumming up his arm. He felt, for perhaps the first time in a life of shrinking uncertainty, boundless.
And it felt extraordinary.
Somewhere inside of him a notion was forming that he did not dare articulate. But he followed his feet. The easy ebb and flow of walk signals, the pleasantly cool night air, the passing chatter, even the occasional car-horn—which in the past had never failed to startle him, jittery as he was—seemed buoyant and agreeable. The night was his. He realized he was sloping gently downhill, as he followed his feet. He realized he knew exactly where he was going. He found himself before O’Flaherty’s Pub, with its sandwich-board blaring LADIES NIGHT 1/2 WELL DRINKS -- TRUST ME YOU CAN DANCE in electric pink loops. It felt only natural to step beneath the awning, swing wide the knotted mahogany door, and enter the din.
The ham-hock manning security—probably a redshirt lineman in his off-season—turned toward Lyle on autopilot, one hand reaching out as a question formed on his lips, lemme see some ID. Lyle made no attempt to reach for his wallet because he knew the inevitable would happen when the bouncer took in his face, which he did a half second later. A tiny beat of recognition flickered and was gone, and the bouncer turned away. No need to card the old dude. Good luck navigating the vicissitudes of adult life, you Mongoloid, Lyle thought. The jag off had a Black & Mild tucked up behind one ear, Lyle felt an insane urge to snatch it off his head and break it in half. He did not do well with the pretend authority of chunky, dead-eyed adolescents.
But I’m not here for him.
Lyle wove his way into the evening crush with the delicate, shuffling little steps he always used in crowds. By fits and starts he made his way deeper, deeper, winding toward the back bar, the one with the full-length mirror. That was her favorite. O’Flaherty’s had a Crosley jukebox, wood-paneled and coin-operated, reaching for vintage but stuffed to the gills with Bluetooth and wi-fi and digital memory and whatever else. A woman’s voice was booming out of it, an empty pop ballad gussied up by her big, operatic sound. Lyle tried to think of the singer’s name, but couldn’t. He squeezed into a narrow gap at the back bar.
Darby was flirting as she mixed a rum-and-coke for a gawky, dough-faced kid in a flat-cap and a Harrington jacket. On the few occasions he had come out on Darby missions, Lyle had stayed well back from the bar, waiting for drink service at one of the small cafe tables lining the billiard room. But tonight, he wasn’t here to watch.
Darby handed off the drink and caught sight of Lyle. He winced—he could read the surprise, even discomfort, on her face. But she was tending bar, and she was quick on her feet, and she rearranged her expression into a smile. She held up a finger—*one sec—*to which Lyle nodded, as she took flat-cap’s (father’s) Amex back to the register and opened up a tab.
Lyle enjoyed watching her walk. Enjoyed looking at her from the back, or in profile. He usually saw her face, in class, big brown doe eyes and very pale, freckled skin. A shade away from clear, he had heard her joke once, to James, as she had invited him to touch the roadmap of blue veins on her inner arm. That had enraged Lyle—the sudden, unwelcome image of James with those long creamy legs locked over his waist, his long, slow thrusts.
Because he restrained himself from ogling her in class, it was a pleasure to come to O’Flaherty’s during her shifts and watch her as she worked. Darby was not the first of what Lyle thought of as his “favorites”. Every year or two there was a fresh, irresistible young thing, for him to think about, alone, late at night. One of the unspoken perks of professordom was the constant influx of eye-candy, of short skirts and long legs and high asses and pert young tits. In his mind’s eye it was an endless profusion of imagined aureoles, of wondering about their panties—boy-briefs or frilly little whatsits or g-strings or none at all—and even if Lyle never slept with them there was an intense eroticism in holding power over these girls he could never have bedded in his own college years. In pushing that term paper over the failing line and waiting, deliciously waiting, for them to come to his office hour and plead. Only Darby’s work was reasonably competent, so even that grimy thrill was denied him.
Darby finished up with the register and came over, the pale of her neck stark against her tight black t-shirt. O’FLAHERTY’S was printed on it in green, the name stretched to accommodate her bust. Her hair frazzled at the temples; she’d been working hard.
Just a little dirty, that’s how I like you, he thought.
“Dr. L! We missed you today, thought maybe you caught the gunk. You all right?” Darby beamed her big smile at him, a gift of the gods (and of immaculate orthodontics).
“I’m fine, Darby, thanks. Just a communication mix-up. I’m sorry you all waited.”
She kept smiling, seemed to be waiting for more. He didn’t give it to her.
“Well—can I get you anything?”
Lyle hesitated, trying to think of a manly drink, something urbane and—professorial.
“Scotch-rocks. A double.”
Darby continued to stare at him, expectantly. “Any… particular poison, or-?”
Lyle glanced up, made a show of studying the bottles arrayed behind her. He knew nothing about scotch. Stupid. He settled on Johnnie Walker Black, and Darby poured his drink.
Lyle realized his heart was racing. Darby set the drink in front of him and he downed half of it in one swallow. He managed to keep his face neutral as the liquor seared his throat.
“This is a—little bit of a departure, for you, huh?” Darby indicated the scotch.
“What?”
She must have known he heard her but she raised her voice anyway. The music had changed to a British pop group with a lot of electronic undertones, trying to sound haunting.
“The scotch,” she said. “Don’t you always order lemon drop martinis? When you come in?”
Busted. Two bright red circles appeared high on his cheeks.
“You know, it, it depends,” he replied. “Depends on my mood. And you—you make a hell of a lemon drop martini, here.”
Fucking idiot, he thought. They make the same Goddamn lemon drop martini as everybody else and she knows it.
Darby was smooth, though. Graceful. She rolled right past it. “I wondered why you never came over and said hi.”
“Well I don’t want to, you know, be a bother. You’re working. It’s always busy. And I’ve been coming here for years, off and on. You get used to seeing students out on the town. I try to give them their space.”
“Oh.” Her smile reappeared. “Well I’m glad you came over. Let me know if I can get you anything else?” She was already angling away.
“How was class today?” Lyle didn’t want to let her go. She glanced down the bar, she had customers waiting.
“It was great, really great,” she hurried her answer. She was giving him the brush-off. “James did great. He’s an awesome teacher. Awesome guy.”
“You know, I’d been meaning to ask you, about James…” Lyle leaned in, conspiratorially. Darby’s smile was faltering, but courtesy won out and she leaned in to hear.
“Are you fucking him?”
Darby recoiled, as though he had spit on her.
“What?”
“Do you laugh at me, when you do it? When you fuck, do you laugh at the scabby, horn-dog professor?”
Darby’s breath hitched in her chest, she looked like she was about to cry. She took a step back. She looked down the bar, and then past him—toward the door.
Bouncer, he thought. She’s looking for the bouncer.
“I think you need to—” she began.
Then Lyle said the Word. The alien Word, meant to be moaned, easy as pie, really, when you thought about it, how the sounds flowed together. The Word that meant libido.
Darby froze. Her pupils flickered, Lyle saw, they constricted down to pinpricks, and then dilated as wide as they could go, swallowing the puppy-dog brown of her irises. Her face went slack. That wide, expensive smile vanished, and her mouth hung slightly open.
“Moisten your lips, Darby,” he said.
Her tongue slid out, pink and supple, and she obeyed.
Oh, my God, she OBEYED.
Lyle’s penis twitched in his pants, he realized he was painfully erect, his balls aching. He realized he had been, had been since—since I said the Word—since he had her and a cruel, savage sense of triumph shook him, he felt his pulse hammering in his veins, he felt like standing up on the bar and—
ROARING I want to ROAR at this dewy twat and all her imbecilic peers—
But instead, he took his cock firmly in his hand, through the cheap fabric of his Ross trousers, squeezed himself, and said—
“What are we going to do with you, Darby?”
#
Lyle fucked her in the alleyway behind O’Flaherty’s. That meant hurrying more than he liked, the dumpster provided cover but the blocks surrounding the campus were too well policed. It was all right, though. Now that he was armed with the libido-Word, the next time could be more leisurely.
He took her in. All of her. The small, surprisingly dark nipples, nothing like he’d imagined. The fine, black hairs on the nape of her neck, the peach fuzz of her freckled low back, her inner thighs. Her panties were white briefs with green stitching, they were covered with tiny frogs. He tugged them down, and nuzzled her there. He left hickeys, on her ass, her mons. Her smooth, exquisite young cunt.
Lyle took her from behind and saw the groggy confusion in her dilated eyes, the amazement*—*and through that the pleasure, the unsuspected, unwanted, violating pleasure that jolted moans out of her.
Lyle sucked her neck, bit it, hard enough to sting. She gave a tiny mewl as she came, and her spasm triggered him also. Lyle buried himself to the hilt in her, finished in her, and felt—
Like a king. Like a GOD.
They stayed there as the minutes stretched out, panting, still joined. He savored her, until his own tumescence vanished, and he slipped out. Lyle patted her derriere.
“Get dressed and get back to work, Darby,” he said. “We don’t want you to get in trouble.”
She jerked her head, drunkenly, from side to side, as though she were trying to shake water out of her ears. Lyle breathed deep, in through his nose, the fine scents of the city. Fried food nearby, probably the Thai joint catty-corner to the pub. He stood and admired, as Darby tugged her frog-panties back up those long pale legs.
“I’ll see you in class.”
Darby stared blankly at him as he took up his suitcase, turned, and strode into the night.
#
When Lyle opened his eyes the next morning, he was only mildly surprised to discover that he felt no guilt at all. The sun streamed in, the world was up and running, coffee was calling, and by God he felt fine.
He sat up in bed, stretched. He glanced at the alarm clock, that hateful sentinel, now toothless—10:27AM. The mattress was bare, beneath him. He’d never washed the sheets. Puddled on the floor were yesterday’s clothes. He resisted the urge to tidy them up. Later. He padded to the bathroom and went about his ablutions, brushed his teeth, took out his shaving kit. He had used the sleep-Word on himself again, last night. After.
After! He let the memories wash over him. Her smell: the tang of sweat, bar-odors, the undercurrent of peach soap. The taste of her! And then the feast, afterward. He had followed his nose to Great Elephant Thai, wolfed down a plate of kai thot, fried to a crisp and dripping oil*.* It may have been the finest meal of his life.
And he had had such dreams! Dreams of Darby, and of favorites past. Dreams of fucking and of wealth and of slights avenged and of respectful, deferential looks, dreams of voices falling silent when he entered a room, of every eye on him. A song lyric drifted into his head, something from his childhood, a favorite of his father’s one long summer, repeated ad nauseam on the fourteen-hour drive down to Savannah.
“Twenty years a’crawlin’… were bottled up in Tommy… he wasn’t holding nothin’ back, he let ‘em have it all…” Lyle sang, full voice, into the morning. A stupid grin spread over his face, as he wicked away the last patch of Barbasol, the careful spot right over his Adam’s apple, and rinsed his razor. He took a long look at Mirror-Lyle, looked into his eyes. He almost always avoided a close examination of his reflection, force of habit, but today he was a new man, and he wanted to take that man’s measure.
“Everyone… considered him… THE COWARD OOOF… the COUNTYYYY…”
Something else surfaced, then, in his memory, something that cranked the wattage down on his smile. He didn’t get all of it, just a glimpse, like a dorsal fin rising above the water. He had dreamed of more than power and sex. There had been something else. Lyle had a vague red recollection of tangled depths and faceless figures. His mind offered up a fleeting image of a crumbling stone structure, of keening wind and squat pillars; and of a great broken vault overhead, through which could be seen a blasted sky.
Lyle charged his phone as he brewed up a fresh pot. It had run out of juice somewhere during yesterday’s festivities, and when it finally powered up again it began to vibrate against the Formica tabletop in his dining nook. He ignored the first two pulses, but the phone insistently continued, not with the regular rhythm of an incoming call, but rather the inconsistent bursts of message notifications trickling in from the cloud. He tapped the touchscreen, and saw he had seven missed calls: one from a colleague, yesterday; and six from James, each one with a voicemail attached. The most recent of these had come just twenty minutes ago.
Lyle sipped on his coffee as he retrieved the briefcase from beneath his bed. He sat at his dinette and removed the fascicle, easily finding the rigid page. He opened it, and this time the new Word was waiting for him below the first, long entry: the entry corresponding to the letter “A” itself. This Word was angry, Ks and Zs, a hornet-word, serpent-word. Lyle looked to the white space, where the definition would arise. He pricked his forefinger with the tip of a steak knife and squeezed out two droplets of blood.
der zorn
Lyle sipped. Lyle thought. Greek, then Latin, now German. Was it moving forward in time? He wondered again about those first shapes he had seen, in the library. The more he tried to remember the more he doubted they had been in Greek. Something older, maybe. Phoenician syllabary? He would likely never know. But the Words were changing. The book was changing.
And there was this: both of the—*spells, they’re spells, let’s cut the shit—*both of the Words it had given him so far had been…
“Intuitive,” he said finally. “Useful. Like it knew.”
Lyle took down the last foil sleeve of blueberry Pop Tarts from his cupboard. Pauper’s breakfast, he thought, but not for much longer. He searched through his contacts until he found the number for the Chancellor’s office. He thumbed the little blue phone icon beside it.
#
Lyle had just started boxing up his things when James burst into his office, perfectly symmetrical face distorted by fury, his generous features made ugly. Ah, the righteousness of youth. James took in the dense sheaf of Staples boxes, waiting to be folded; took in the bare walls, the stacked diplomas and photographs.
“What the fuck is this?” he demanded.
“Emergency leave,” Lyle answered with a dismissive wave. “I’ve had a family crisis. I’m afraid I have to attend to it. Professor Chole will be taking over my workload for the remainder of the semester, I’m sure she’ll be in touch—"
“What did you do to Darby? What the fuck did you do?” James spoke with the husky, quaking tone of pure adrenaline. He was just barely restraining himself from lunging across the desk, Lyle realized. He took the younger man in with bemused calm. He let the moment stretch out.
“Therese called me,” James continued, the words throttling out of him. “Darby’s roommate. She came home last night, she has—bruises, all over her, little, little *bites—*she won’t speak, she just sits there and cries, but she said your name. It’s the only thing she said. What did you do to her, Lyle? Did you rape her?”
“Dr. Hereford,” Lyle replied.
James craned forward. “What?”
*“*You don’t get to call me Lyle.”
Lower, now, almost a whisper: “Tell me what you did to her.”
“I made her come,” Lyle said. “And she fucking loved it.”
James did lunge then, he screamed and he leapt across the desk, coming down on Lyle in a tangle of thrashing limbs and rabbit punches, the two of them toppling Lyle’s chair, compressing awkwardly into the tight space between desk and wall. James kicked hard off of the gray metal drawers, managing to end up on top. His hands found Lyle’s throat and began to squeeze. Lyle felt himself constricting, felt the energy draining out of him, pinned, as he lost oxygen. He noticed the curds of spittle at the corners of James’s snarling mouth. He started to see spots in the periphery of his vision, and as he slapped ineffectually at James’s face he thought am I going to die here—?
Lyle dug down for the last of his strength. The Word chose me. This wasn’t the end. Couldn’t be the end. He extended his leg as far as it would go, and used the distance to drive his knee, hard, into James’s crotch. A grunting exhale was propelled out of the younger man*.* Lyle pulled back to do it again; James squeezed his thighs together to block, and when he did, he compromised his balance. He took one hand off Lyle’s throat and thrust out his arm to catch himself as be began to roll, allowing Lyle to draw in a long, ragged breath.
Then Lyle spoke the Word.
The der zorn-Word.
The word that meant anger, that meant rage, that meant WRATH.
#
“Son. Son, you’re bleeding, let me—let me help you, come on. Son, it’s gonna be okay, come on, now— “
The campus policeman approaches James like a dog that might be rabid, that slow hunched posture with arms wide, except for the policeman it’s only one arm because his right hand is flush up against his service weapon and his thumb snaps the little thumbsnap and it’s a very small noise but it’s so loud in James’s head and he shakes it, his head, does James, from side to side, in herks and jerks, like a dog that might be rabid, now, like there’s water in his ears and he’s trying to shake it out, is James, and the policeman is coming on and speaking in clear precise syllables that explode behind James’s temples, clusterbomb-words, and the cop is speaking but he’s hearing another voice, is James, and it’s Lyle’s voice, it’s Dr. L’s voice, not Lyle never Lyle, and Dr. L’s voice is saying snakebit you’re snakebit she fucking LOVED it and James touches his own face now and it must be true because there’s blood on his face and when he blinks his blink is heavy and liquid like he just dropped Visine in there but the thing is but only but except it’s blood and he’s bleeding from the eyes, is James, and now the policeman is right on top of him saying “son what happened can you hear me respond if you can hear me” and James hears the exploding words all right and he blinks and blood oozes from the corners of his eyes and the cop is changing now, in the blood, his face is BOILING and now it’s Darby’s face on the policeman and she opens her mouth and her head cranes back and she’s ruined inside OH FUCK SHE’S RUINED INSIDE SHOT HERSELF SHE SHOT HERSELF SHE’S SHOT and now it’s DR L IT’S DR L SCREAMING SNAKEBIT SNAKEBIT SNAKEBIT—
James rears back and head-butts the campus cop as hard as he can, the smooth acne-less center of James’s forehead connecting with the soft cartilage of the policeman’s nose. A sick crunch echoes in the lobby of the Humanities building, a young woman close enough to hear it vomits on the floor, it is the first puking incident of the day but not the last.
The cop recoils with a sick moan, in his surprise clapping his hands to his shattered nose; in that moment James bellows, an awful inarticulate animal sound of hate, and yanks the policeman’s service piece free of his holster.
The handful of rubbernecking students freeze as James shoots the policeman in the face.
The policeman’s name is (was) Lou, the students know, and he is (was) genial and well-liked. A silent second passes in the lobby, and then the screaming begins.
James dips down and pulls two spare clips out of Lou’s belt. He pockets them. When James looks up, he doesn’t see fleeing students.
He sees Dr. L.
A gaggle of Dr. L’s. A school, a clutch, a murder. He sees laughing Dr. L’s running in every direction, diving behind furniture, breaking for the street or hurtling into the stairwells. One Dr. L dives behind the reception desk. James starts after him on wooden legs.
When he reaches the desk, there is Dr. L beneath it, a cell phone in his hand, cackling. James shoots him in the stomach. Dr. L keeps right on laughing, howling with it now, whatever it is must be hilarious, a real knee-slapper, then James remembers its him, Dr. L is laughing at him so James shoots him again, shoots him so he’ll stop but there are so many more—
#
Lyle Hereford, Ph.D., rested his browning forearms on the wrought iron railing of his third-floor balcony. He looked out over the Gulf of Mexico. The breeze was warm and gentle, suffusing, but it no longer calmed him. He took no notice of it. He was lost, as he was always now lost, in thought.
The one, lone thought.
It had taken a little less than two weeks for James’s horrific shooting spree to drop out of the news. The demands for GUN CONTROL NOW (or, conversely, for guns in every classroom) receded and were shelved for the next go-round. Politicians took to the field and unfurled their heraldry for the usual pro-forma skirmishes. Then, mercifully, a Cabinet official fucked somebody he really shouldn’t have and the national discourse (such as it was) barreled off, like a dog chasing a ball that its owner had only pretended to throw. As to why a handsome, popular, well-adjusted student should suddenly snap and murder sixteen of his fellows? The theories ranged from medically reasonable (an inoperable tumor which could not be verified via autopsy, as James’s brains had been removed by the responding tactical unit); to the paranoiac (James had been the subject of a Manchurian Candidate-style CIA/NSA/Acronym-of-your-choice experiment gone horribly wrong); to the Occult (the Devil made him do it).
Lyle had enjoyed that last one.
What Lyle had not enjoyed was that some of the conspiracy theorists, and even some of the legitimate press, had mentioned him by name. He had disappeared, after all, on an auspicious and chaotic day, to manage a crisis no one could verify involving a family no one could find. It had not been difficult to remain ahead of any enterprising investigators, though. Not with the Words.
And there had been so many more Words. Words in French and Finnish and Russian and Spanish and Mandarin. Words that meant envy and silence and fear and blindness and, perhaps the most potent yet, a Word that meant stupid. Lyle had employed that one against a statie who pulled him over as he crossed the Louisiana line, coming through Vicksburg. The guy had been six-two, maybe two-twenty, with sharp, curious eyes sunk deep in his skull. Lyle hadn’t liked the way he had looked at him, so he used the Word. Now the statie—*Edmonds was his name, Trooper Edmonds—*was six-two, two-twenty of drooling simpleton, probably staring at a wall somewhere in the nearest brain injury ward and driving the resident neurologists absolutely bugshit.
By the time Lyle made it to a quiet, lazy town on the Cajun Riviera and decided to set a spell, he had traded in his Acura for a Beemer and was carrying close to a hundred and twelve thousand dollars in cash. He had also acquired a 9mm Ruger and a shotgun with a pistol grip (the dealer had called it a snake charmer just before Lyle killed him).
None of that matters now, though.
All that mattered was the Word. Which, he had come to realize, was the last Word.
Because the book was alive, of course, had always been alive, Lyle knew that. Hadn’t let himself come right out and say it, but he knew. It had slept, maybe, possibly, until he woke it, with his touch, with his blood, but if it slept, it woke up thirsty*.* The book was always ready with the next Word, the next thing he would need. The book was collaborating with him. It was dancing with him, and at first he had thought he was the one leading, but now he knew better.
Lyle felt it. Felt it—pulling on him. All the time. Felt it in the room behind him, pulling, knew that he would go back in, sooner or later, go back in, and open the book, the book that has been leading him. Knew that he would open its hundreds of pages, because it was longer now, because it had grown, because it was three inches thick and the front plating had vanished and it wasn’t pretending to be a dictionary anymore.
He knew that he would open it and on every single page, centered, would be a single Word, the last Word, the Word that he will say, that he must say, sooner or later, and under it swirling in blood, blood that must be the book’s own, the final explication, the final command, the final meaning, and God, oh God, Lyle was afraid, because the last Word was
DOOR

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Lately, some peculiar occurrences have taken place. Take, for instance, last night when my girlfriend Heather left the bathroom and insisted she saw me in the kitchen. Strangely, I have no recollection of getting up during the night, so I attributed it to sleepwalking. Surprisingly, she shared details of a full-fledged conversation we had, followed by me returning to my room after devouring a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. While it does sound like something I might do, I simply cannot recall that particular incident.
Little did I know, this was only the beginning of a series of such incidents.
Curious about that night last week, I asked Heather, "Do you remember what we were talking about?"
With a smile, Heather nudged me playfully on the shoulder and replied, "Sweetheart, you were all over the place. You mentioned how you wished you had a new job and that you were starving. Why do you ask?"
As I gazed into the distance, a heavy sensation enveloped my mind, akin to a weighted blanket draped over my thoughts. "Hmm, I just can't remember conversing with you. I never woke up."
"It's possible that you were sleepwalking. It happens to many people, dear. You know, you look quite handsome even when you sleepwalk," Heather smirked, gently clasping my hand. "That's one of the many reasons I love you." I planted a soft kiss on her forehead, "I'm going for a run. I'll be back in a little while!" I needed to meditate and frankly running was my best therapy session.
Although I attributed these incidents to sleepwalking, they still troubled me. However, there was no point in allowing stress to consume me.
A couple of weeks later, another unsettling incident unfolded, this time at my workplace—Dunesbarry, a printing company that produces everything from small pictures to large-scale posters. It happened on a Tuesday when I woke up feeling unwell, prompting me to make a decision to call in sick.
My boss, James, was known for being a rather easy going manager, and I dialed his number to inform him about my condition. "Hey James, I'm not feeling great. I woke up with stomach issues and won't be able to come in today." After a brief pause, James burst into laughter and retorted, "Hold on, Caesar. What are you talking about? I just saw you here a few minutes ago."
My heart sank into my stomach, and perspiration formed on my forehead. "What do you mean? I'm at home, James."
"Buddy, I don't know if you're trying to pull a prank on me, but I assure you, you're here. Although it's quite unexpected for you to be early, you waved at me and headed into the bathroom. Are you still in there?"
Feeling a sense of disbelief, I momentarily put my phone down after promising James I would call him back."What in the world..." My pulse raced, throbbing in various parts of my body as the unsettling realization sank in. This had to be something more than I initially thought.
The remainder of the day I was immobilized, trapped in a state of mental paralysis. I laid on the couch, anxiously awaiting Heather's return.
My mind reverberated with the same haunting thoughts, from the first time I experienced a memory lapse at home to now, encountering a similar phenomenon at my workplace. What on earth was happening to me?
Driven by a growing urgency, I hurried over to my laptop and launched into an immediate search for any instances resembling my own. "Not remembering conversations at night" I typed into Google. The initial search results yielded blog websites discussing sleepwalking, which aligned with my initial assumption. Nevertheless, I pressed on. Next, I came across some Reddit posts recounting incidents of sleep-talking without any recollection.
As I scrolled through the various links and websites, one particular post caught my attention. Doppel-gänger? I had heard that term before.
Doppelgänger: "an apparition or double of a living person" was the definition I encountered, but comprehending its implications proved challenging. As a skeptical individual, I typically dismissed notions of the paranormal and supernatural. Why, out of all people, would something like this happen to me?
I closed my laptop, taking a deep breath to steady my racing thoughts.
Finally, Heather returned home after her shift, and I dashed towards the door to greet her.
"Hi, love! I'm so glad you're home. I have something absolutely mind-boggling to tell you!" I tightly embraced her, holding her for longer than usual."Hello, my sweetheart. What happened?" Heather set down her purse, and we both settled onto the couch.
"You won't believe this, and honestly, I'm struggling to wrap my head around it. Remember how I mentioned calling out of work today? Well, when I called James, he accused me of playing a prank on him. He even mentioned that I was already at work."
Heather nervously chuckled and turned to process my words. "Wait, what?"
"He said I had already arrived at work and was in the bathroom. But I never went. I've been here at home the entire day." As I looked at Heather, I could see a hint of discomfort on her face.
"I don't understand. Maybe he was just messing with you since you called out," Heather suggested, rising to grab some water from the kitchen. Bursting into laughter, a wave of relief washed over me. "Wow, I never actually considered that. I'm sorry, I'm still preoccupied with that incident in the kitchen that night. It's been twisting my thoughts."
"You're okay, honey. How are you feeling?" Heather asked, her concern shining through.
"Much better now that you're home, I must say."
Heather was my rock, always asking the right questions and loving me in ways I had never experienced before. I couldn't fathom my life without her. Feeling slightly more at ease, I decided not to inquire further with James, choosing to let the matter rest.
It was 3:23 am when I was awakened by the sound of slow footsteps creaking past our slightly open bedroom door. We kept it ajar to listen for any unusual nighttime noises.
Rubbing my eyes and stretching my legs, I sat up in bed, my gaze fixated on the doorway. The room was enveloped in darkness, and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust. The footsteps abruptly ceased as I continued to stare at the sliver of the doorway crack.
Resolute in my determination not to jump to the worst conclusions, I dismissed the idea of an intruder breaking into our home. Surely, I would have heard some sign of forced entry. Grasping the nearest object within reach, our vintage lamp, I mustered the courage to approach the door, striving to remain as silent as possible. With a trembling hand, fueled by fear of the unknown, I reached out for the doorknob.
Taking a moment to steady my pounding heart, prepared to confront anybody, even if it were against God Himself, I cautiously opened the door. There was nothing outside. I checked in both directions, even stepping into the hallway with a stance ready for battle. Utter silence enveloped the space. Releasing a sigh of relief, I turned around, intending to return to the bedroom.
Then, a solitary footstep echoed in my ears.
I halted, gripping the lamp so tightly that its exterior threatened to shatter.
Turning slowly toward the source of the sound, my eyes caught up to the movement, leaving me no choice but to confront whatever lurked within my house.A figure emerged from behind the kitchen island, hands tightly gripping the countertop, barely visible in the dim light. Their eyes locked onto mine, wide open as if they were about to pop out of their sockets.
I noticed a striking resemblance between us – the same haircut and a mole on the top left of our heads. Yet, I couldn't spare a moment to ponder our shared appearance. There was an intruder in my house.
Carefully edging backward, I needed to make my way back to the bedroom to alert Heather and call the police.
"Heather! There's someone in the house! Call the police right now!" I shouted, keeping my gaze fixed on the intruder, even though I wished I didn't have to. The intruder remained motionless, almost frozen in place. As I shouted for Heather to call the police, I could hear teeth chattering as if it were beside my ear. Slowly, he moved from the kitchen island, his hands preceding his head, his unwavering stare fixed upon me.
With my heart pounding out of my chest, fueled by adrenaline, I took advantage of the rush surging through my veins and sprinted toward the kitchen to investigate. I hadn't seen him move from the island to anywhere else, so the realization that he had vanished sent shivers down my spine.
"What the fuck," I uttered, completely shaken to my core.
Moments later, the police arrived, responding to the report of an intruder. Heather peered out from the bedroom to assess the situation.
"Honey, are you okay?" Heather whispered loudly. I found myself sitting on the floor, stunned and deflated. I couldn't wrap my mind around what had just occurred. It made no sense. As logical as I considered myself to be, this defied all reason.
Heather tenderly held the top of my head, offering comfort as we awaited the arrival of the police.I needed to compose myself before opening the door for them."Hi, um, I don't know how to explain this," I said to the officer, my voice tinged with confusion, still trembling from the encounter. "Hello, I am Officer Santana. There was a call reporting an intruder. Are you okay, sir?"
I let Officer Santana and her partner inside and guided them to a seat. "This is going to sound strange, I understand that, but there was an intruder right over there," I pointed toward the kitchen island. "He was behind it, and then he wasn't. He simply vanished." Santana looked up at me, her eyebrows raised as she tried to comprehend the situation.
"What are you saying? He disappeared? Did you see him run anywhere?" Santana's partner asked, jotting down notes in their Paperkraft notepad. "Well, I saw him duck behind the island, and then he was gone. I know it sounds crazy, and I realize that."
"Okay, we're going to thoroughly check the house and ensure it's safe. In the meantime, please wait outside until we're done," Santana instructed, as both officers unclamped their pistols from their holsters. I felt a semblance of safety in their presence.
It was a chilly autumn day, with the scent of smoke wafting through the air, likely from my neighbors' fireplace. Jill and her husband, Dane, were wonderful neighbors who kept to themselves. Occasionally, they would surprise us with extra food, acting like the pseudo-parents of the neighborhood. Sometimes, I would take it upon myself to fix minor things around their house, like the black fence in the backyard. It always seemed to have a mysterious hole, despite their lack of pets or nearby animals.
Jill and Dane noticed the police presence and joined us outside, arms crossed in concern. "What's going on, guys?" Dane inquired. "There was someone in our house, but they disappeared. Maybe it was some kind of prank or squatter. I don't know," I replied, offering an explanation simply to have one, even though I struggled to believe it myself.
"Did you enjoy the apple pie I made the other day, Caesar? You devoured some of it when you came by to fix the fence," Jill chimed in, her culinary skills well-known. However, I hadn't tasted her cooking in months. "When did I fix the fence?" I asked, my tone dropping with confusion.
Jill's smile widened, as if assuming I understood what she was referring to. "What do you mean? You came by two days ago. You mentioned noticing the hole again and wanted to fix it for us."
"Oh, right! Sorry, my mind has been foggy lately. I loved the pie, it was delicious. You're such an amazing cook!" I responded, though I had no recollection of any fence-fixing visit. I gave her a reassuring answer to alleviate any concerns she might have.
Urgently, I pulled Heather aside, gripping her arm. "Heather, I never went to their house or fixed their fence. I have no idea what's happening, and I promise I'm not going crazy.""I believe you, but I'm starting to feel a little scared. These incidents where you've supposedly been to places and don't remember are unnerving," Heather confessed, her face etched with genuine worry.
The officers emerged from the house, re-holstering their pistols. "Your house is clear. Whatever was here is no longer present. We'll have patrols keep an eye on your property for the next few days. Other than that, you should be able to go back to bed," one of the officers assured us.
"Thank you, officers. We'll call again if anything happens inside," I expressed our gratitude. Heather and I held each other tightly as we made our way back to the house. "Let's try to get some rest," Heather suggested. However, that night, sleep eluded me as the image of that man's eyes lingered in my mind. Why did he resemble me?
It had been quite some time since I last encountered any strange incidents or intruders in my house. I was beginning to feel optimistic about the whole situation. Life had returned to normal, and my relationship with Heather was flourishing.
"You know, Caesar, I eventually want to have a baby. Can you help me with that?" Heather expressed her desire, and I chuckled nervously, embracing her from behind. "Of course, baby. Let's plan it out and see where life takes us." After bidding Heather farewell as she left for work, I settled on the couch.
The thought of becoming a father lingered in my mind, though it seemed like a daunting and incredible prospect.
Little did I know that two hours later, that day would alter the course of my life forever.
"Caesar," a voice pierced through my skull like a bullet, evoking a fear I had never experienced before. Shock washed over me, causing a lump to form in my throat. I recognized the voice, but the sheer terror prevented me from turning around.
"Caesar," the voice repeated, pushing my body into fight or flight mode. Summoning my courage, I slowly turned around.
It was me. The person standing before me was an identical version of myself. "What the fuck!?" I uttered, bewildered.
He began to approach me with slow, deliberate steps. His unblinking eyes and a smirking mouth hinted at some sinister intent. He halted just a foot's length away from me. "What are you!?" I screamed, attempting to push him away.
As he lunged towards my face, I sidestepped and prepared to strike him with a punch from my right hand. However, he swiftly evaded the blow and made another aggressive move towards me. He covered my mouth and nose, struggling to breathe, I swung my fists blindly in his direction before losing consciousness.
When I regained consciousness, I found myself in a shed approximately a mile away. Disoriented and terrified, I sat up, only to discover that the floor was strewn with animal flesh and blood. The overwhelming stench threatened to obliterate my senses.
I had to find a way back to my house, no matter what. I frantically searched the pockets of my jeans, hoping to find something that could aid me. To my dismay, everything was missing, including the cherished watch that once belonged to my late father.
Summoning my determination, I rose to my feet and forcefully slammed open the decaying wooden door. The task proved effortless, as the door had already begun to rot. As I surveyed my surroundings, I realized I was engulfed by a dense forest, devoid of any visible structures. I vaguely recalled that my house was situated along the northern line, which offered a glimmer of hope.
Although I had never been much of an outdoorsy person while growing up, my father had imparted a few tricks during our camping trips. I recollected his guidance on locating the North Star by first identifying the Big Dipper. I patiently waited for the night sky to emerge, conserving my energy for the impending journey. As the sun barely kissed the horizon, I discerned a cluster of houses, including mine, in the distance.
Mixed emotions welled up within me as I approached my home. Peering through the backyard windows, my heart sank to the floor. There I saw myself, holding Heather in a tight embrace, sharing kisses, laughter, and affection.
Desperate to escape this surreal nightmare, I knocked on the window, hoping to break free from that imposter. Heather's piercing scream echoed through the air as he rushed toward the window, bellowing at me to leave and threatening to involve the police once again. As I began to retreat from the backyard, he smirked, a sinister expression that mirrored my own.
This doppelgänger had assumed my identity in every way, rendering it impossible to distinguish between us. If I dared to approach the house or confront Heather, the consequences would be dire. I had made one attempt before, only to be manipulated into believing that I was a deranged relative harassing them. Heather, unaware of my familial connections due to my reticence about them, fell for his ruse.
Years passed, and I found myself confined to observing them from the safety of the woods. Heather's happiness blossomed as she became pregnant. Meanwhile, I remained trapped in this inexplicable nightmare, grappling with the cruel injustice that had stolen my life away.
As the years dragged on, my existence continued to be overshadowed by the twisted imposter who had stolen my life. I watched from the darkness of the woods as Heather's pregnancy progressed, the anticipation building within her. It was a bitter torment to witness her joy, knowing that I was the rightful father of that child.
​
If you are reading this, please believe me. I am desperate to reclaim my life and will do whatever it takes to bring her back to me.

Mtl law book
Controlled drugs and substances act, cdsa. Substances on this list are controlled substances. Schedules are categories substances fall into
If lose case can be deported
If you possess over the legal limit of pot can be imprisoned post 2018 still. 2018 is when pot was legalized.
There are provincial and federal laws
The police arrest but the crown charges. Crown can charge for a different crime then police arrested for.
If you are being prosecuted then there are charges against you in a criminal file
The crown and police have a lot discretionary power with your treatment and your file. Crown is like prosecutor, not police.
Director of penal and criminal prosecutions, DPCP, prosecutor provincial boss, instruct and provide guidance for prosecutors. Other provinces have their own name.
Jury or judge acquit which means your innocent. Prosecutor can also withdraw charges "withdrawn" status.
Sentence are possible consequences of being guilty
Priors are prior criminal record
Law enforcement officer: immigration officers, police, youth protection agents, municipal inspectors, correctional officers etc.
Black, indigenous, racialized and migrant communities, people who are known to the police, are targeted more by police, meaning police also violate their human rights more often. Sentenced more harshly than whites. Drug laws are historically created to target these groups.
Systematic bias: those with authority, even incl teachers, have explicit or implicit bias against certain communities
Racial profiling: officers target certain groups of ppl and postal codes more.
Anti gang squad, anti gun squad, anti radicalization are dog whistles for targetting minorities. Also includes applying additional surv eillance to target group.
During say a anti gun police raids, they can prosecute the raided for any illegal drugs the cops find. This results in potential criminals fearing to call the police bc if there is an investigation the police could nail the caller. If a sex worker has HIV and does not disclose their HIV status it counts as sexual assault, meaning if a John beats her up, risky to call the cops on him.
If have PR status and found guilty could be deported/removal. Some drug addicts only are PRs.
Anytime you speak to police you are making a statement. Crown can use these statements to convince someone else to plead guilty or convict. Your silence cannot incriminate but your statement might.
Police allowed to lie. Will do anything really to get a statement. Don't react to any of their behaviours, comments, or questions since that can be a statement. Try to remain silent. But many ppl do not have the privilege of remaining quiet, ex that can worsen police behavior.
Rehearse how to speak to police without providing any incriminating statements if you think you want to make a statement.
Police cannot arrest you if they don't identity at least 1 offence. On arrest they give undertaking paper or hold you until court date.
After released by police, prosecutor might decide not to prosecute. If police are holding you after arrest your 1st court date happens after 1-3 days. Sentencing may be postponed until therapy/school/work etc is complete.
1st court case is usually 1-3 days after arrest, then bail applies for the 2nd court date in like months/yrs. When released after arrest can be released without conditions.
If plead guilty with lawyer, lawyer can negotiate to have certain charges withdrawn
Cannabis act covers cannabis.
You can be acquitted of 1 charge while charged with the others
Willing blindness: you are supposed to inquire about the nature of a delivery you are driving if the package seems suspicious.
4(1) Possession, "Simple possession": to prosecute evidence needed: knowledge/willful blindness that substance in your possession and knowledge/willful blindness that it is a controlled substance named in the cdsa and measure of control/consent to their possession Law requires measurable quantity of drug, ex residue in a bag If there are drugs in your car and you are the driver or passenger, it cannot be the only reason for a conviction. Possession - drugs don't have to be on you. Willful blindness - you ought to have know you have the drugs in your possession Knowledge of your possession is proven by it's location (hidden or in sight), whether police have statements by you or others. Schedule 4 substances and lower cannot be found guilty of simple possession, but can be found guilty of other offences like trafficking
Double doctoring/ 4(2) obtaining a practitioner: asked dr for prescription or drugs without disclosing that info about the drug that u received in the last 30 days. Both for personal usage and for dealing. Uncommon charge.
5(1) Drug trafficking, trafficking in substance: proof must prove that you did 1 of the following or that you offered to do one of the following: - Selling drug or prescription: incl if the sale is not completed. - helping or encouraging someone to buy/sell. Bringing the buyer to the seller and if without this help the sale would never have taken place. Introducing a potential buyer to a seller is sometimes prosecutable depending on the judge. It sounds like it might only be an offense if accused works for the dealer and arranges the meeting between buyer and seller, but not clear. - giving drugs for free or for "free" is still trafficking - cannot administer illegal drugs even if asked too - if transporting home for personal consumption only, simple possession. But if or the purposes of sharing with friend, roommate then trafficking. Exceptions: inside safe injection site for drug checking purposes. Buying doesn't seem to be trafficking. Selling a prescription (the paper) is trafficking - Max sentence is life
5(2) Possession for the purposes of trafficking: simple possession + purpose/intent of trafficking. Large quantity helpful to prosecutor but not required. Presence of measuring, packaging equipment, multiple bagged quantities, large amounts of cash, notebooks can be evidence. - Max sentence is life
Drug trafficking: sale, gift, administrating drug, transport of drug.
Case study: Nat brought cdsa drug to share with client at motel. Client overdoses and Nat has to call 911. Police show up too. She admits to cops that she bought the drugs and that he asked for them so the cops know it was his idea. She is convicted of trafficking.
6(1) Import (or export) and 6(2) possession for the purpose of import (or export): all must be proven: Bought drugs/organized their entry into Canada Knowledge/willful blindness/recklessness that controlled substance Intention to import the substance Bring drugs or organize their entry into the country: happens as soon as drug enters/leaves any country and continues until drug arrives at final destination in Canada in a person's possession. If in transit through mtl and Toronto offence has take place in both locations. You don't have to have been personally transporting the drugs or even present at the place of entry to be charged. If police intercept the drugs in transit, irrelevant to defense. Crown doesnt have to prove you know the precise nature of the drug. Recklessness: ex accused caught with 2 bottles of wine that contain dissolved cocaine, since the cocaine amount was large, the producer prob wouldn't give this bottle to a blind courier. Behaviour following importation may provide convincing evidence of participation in offence: meeting with ppl, receiving calls of short duration at late hours, coded language by accused+accomplices, using public telephones to talk to "accomplices" despite owning a cell. After drug arrives to final destination, other ppl cannot be prosecuted for "possession for purposes of import" Police are specifically looking for fake suitcases on flights being carried by women 30s-40s
7(1) Production of substance, 7.1(1) possession, sale, etc for use in production or trafficking: production - manufacturing, harvesting, growing, etc. Offence includes offering to produce drug Evidence must prove you have some control over location/operation of production: cannot be convicted for simply being in a place of production. Police usually do detailed surveillance against accused first. Warrants for interception of private communication, track/trace (surveillance device on car), garbage searches, search warrants Police usually find out when purchase of large or suspicious purchases that are commonly used in drug production.
If police are at your house for a DV investigation and they see a baggie of what looks like heroin, can result in arrest.
Possession means: you have it on your personal possession, you know a friend is holding it for you, you know that you have hidden it somewhere. If your friend is holding a cdsa drug for you and they know it's cdsa drug, then you both are in possession. If the cops raid your grandma's house and you stores cdsa drugs there, she will not be convicted.
Knowledge of the drug: you just have to know it's a controlled substance, not what it is specifically to be convicted.
Judges sentence more harshly depending on drug type. Ex if there are current anti meth events or media, worse sentence.
Possession of methadone/opioid agonist treatments (OAT): - Health care providers don't need permission to prescribe, administer, sell/provide methadone to patients. Patients need a ordeprescription. To own methadone must be a patient or health care provider basically.
Initial meeting with a judge after arrest is a bail hearing.
To get bail: - better odds if minor crime - have $ via bail or signing a "recognizance" that says you'll pay bail. Get both back later on. A "surety" (friend) can pay for you. - fixed address that isn't a homeless shelter - ties to the community - family, legal job, studies, community engagement - proof of how will support self legally - having a friend reserve you a spot in rehab - indigenous
Conditions can prevent you from owning a cell phone.
Causing death by criminal negligence and manslaughter for giving drugs to someone who overdosed. rare. Can be convicted if you and a friend are shooting up together and you shoot them up at their request and then they die. Accidentally bringing a drug that contains fentanyl and your friend dies. Harsher punishment if accused is much older than decreased or if deceased is not much of a drug user.
Crown can withdraw some charges but keep others.
A guilty plea only may help improve sentencing. If pleading guilty better to do it before the trial.
Didn't type up schedule 1-7 drugs pg 38, 39 Schedule 1: opioids, meth, Adderall, ghb, methadone, MDMA Schedule 2: synthetic cannabinoids, most cannabis is regulated by the cannabis act now. 3: shrooms, lsd 4: zolpidem, steroids, benzodiazepines 5: not in the book if it exists 6: ingredients to manufacture drugs 9: manufacturing equipment ex machines to fill pills
Selling other medications like idk ibuprofen could be a civil matter where the gov might issue a large fine against you and failure to pay the fine results in conviction.
Sentencing - court determines punishment, ex prison, fines
If your lawyer and prosecutor agree on a specific sentence during a guilty plea, judge will most likely accept that, but judge doesn't have to.
Types of sentences: un/conditional discharge, fine, suspended sentence with probation and conditions (ex community service, rehab) imprisonment in institution or in community.
Being guilty can have other effects like travel ban to USA.
Sentencing considers: type and context of offence, circumstances of arrest, criminal record/priors, first charge for this kind of offence, current situation, level of detail and assurances in rehab plan, are there victims, prosecuted as summary or indictable offense. Unofficially judge considers bias like being anti-sex worker.
Prosecuted for either indictable offense or summary offense. sometimes the law decides which, sometimes prosecutor does. Determines max sentence and severity judge will serve.
Indictable offense - more serious. Some crimes are always indictable. Summary - less serious
Aggravating factors - reasons court gives harsher sentence: - Not having a drug addiction at the time of offence - priors - commited offence for financial gain - breach of trust - etc
Mitigating factors - reasons court gives better sentence: - guilty plea - been in drug rehab if had drug addiction at the time of the crime (get letters from case workers) - age - remorse - community involvement - etc
Mandatory minimum sentences, Mms.
Since 2012 Mms higher and a bunch of drugs moved up in schedule
Gladue report: - optional for accused. - affects all parts of court - prepared by some org - for anyone who identifies as indigenous
Impact of race and culture assessment IRCA: - A few provinces have this - gladue for black ppl - judge can legally ignore it - exists bc black ppl have faced a lot of adversity
Stimga = negative stereotypes
Ppl who use drug usually get worse treatment from justice system.
If you participate in a treatment program pre sentencing, it can reduce your sentence oand delay legal proceedings. Court needs to recognize its value and legitimacy. Court can also force you to attend a program of their choosing which can be like prison-lite. You can propose your plan to the court.
Special tribunals in mtrl regulate the provincial court treatment programs.
Many sex workers gain access to new resources and opportunities which can allow them change their condition and protect themselves. Anti sex worker laws deny them of this and their agency.
Drug addicts and sex workers are constantly stimgatized especially if they do sex work and use drugs.
Sex workers: Try to represent as a victim for a reduced sentence: - apologize and show remorse about your sex work - talk about how you're a victim of sex work - allow the court to paint your sex work as all the problems in your life - make no claim about the useful of sex work in your life - be poor, get exploited by clients/pimps - when the court tells you to stop talking to other sex workers, drug users, clients, do it.
If you are between 12-17 YO: - youth criminal justice act or director of youth protection applies to you, 1 or the other, you can sorta pick - "very serious" crimes you're prosecuted as an adult, so public criminal record - if an adult works with you on a crime it worsen the adults sentence
Police can charge you for possession of a weapon of they find a scissors or pocket knife
If police find you with a gun, they can easily give you 3 yrs. Weapons bans are 10 yrs.
Immigrants: - try to get either type of discharge (conditional or unconditional), that's the same as not guilty in immigration law. - refugees without Canadian citizenship can be deported - if you don't have PR, a hybrid offense or 2 summary offenses can get you deported - PR: receive a 6 month sentence or guilty of a crime that has max sentence of 10 yrs. - with an expired visa, cops database doesn't have that kind of info, but they could call Canadian Border Safety Agency (CBSA)
worse charges for drug trafficking if offence happens near school or other place frequented by minors, or on correctional facility grounds, or in a gang, setting traps, using someone else's building, creating hazards in a residential neighborhood
Indictable offence usually don't have fines associated with them.
Cannabis act (CA) - distribution and trafficking are the same thing - having on possession for sale is illegal - public place: public has assess too and any vehicle located in public view - generally refers to dried cannabis, usually 30g or equivalent
Illicit cannabis is illegally obtained cannabis. It doesn't have the gov stamp of approval
Some ppl give a fake name to cops bc risk of being identified is worse than the risk of obstruction. If you give police a fake address, they might mail court papers to that address and you won't be able to receive them. If you give the cops a fake name and need to retract it, try to say it's a "nickname but my legal name is x"
Recording cops: - legal for you to record cops unless property owner has rules against it, recording actually does interfer with the investigation - police may tell you that it's illegal. Might charge with obstruction, or say you're breaking like privacy, take your recording device, demand you erase recording, say they're seizing your phone bc it contains evidence - if police seize your phone, they could find incriminating evidence to charge you or someone else with another crime
Frisking: - cops can legally if u are arrested. Only supposed to if they thinking you have a dangerous item on you and are a threat to someone's safety. If you get upset this increases the odds they'll search you. If they are searching you for weapons not supposed to search you for other things like drugs, phones, tattoos etc. They can use this to search for needles to identify you as a drug user - searching you for evidence of the crime they say you committed - if you're temporarily detained/being questioned same thing - if you give them permission to search you or your property, they will. To prevent this say loudly "I do not consent to the search" and "je ne consens pas a une fouille" (jeh neh koh sehn pah ah oon foo yeh) - if an illegal search results in say drug charges, the drug charges could be withdrawn - if unlawful arrest (ex police brutality) then the subsequent search might be illegal
Seizures: - can seize items in a warrant. Ask to see and read the warrant. - if the warrant is to search a location, must have that address, specific area they can search, and list items theyre searching for - ask cops for a copy of the report identifying the seized items and where the items are being held Can seize items without warrant if they think it's related to a crime, ex: - weapons that may have been used in the offense, Items that provide evidence like phones, scales, note books, items obtained through criminal offenses like money from drug selling, They can seize items before any arrests While you're detained they will frequently go through your phone Note down: everything they seize, when, whom, where you were at the time. Careful about "obstructing" police while you do this, record officer name, patrol car number, badge number and other identitying info, knowing seizing location helpful for trying to get your things back, if an item is evidence you won't get it back til the end of the case, if it's considered proceeds of a crime you'll likely never get it back, illegal things you will never get back
While detained, you can try asking a guard or lawyer if you can use your phone to get phone numbers, usually they'll say no. Guards will be able to read your phone while this happens. Memorize the numbers of potential sureties.
Don't have incriminating evidence about yourself or your associates
Drug use equipment: - can legally distribute unused drug equipment - if you have drugs on you, having sterile drug equipment can be used as additional evidence against you - may still be seized by security - If you're hanging out with a drug users and you're searched and they find sterile needles, they may then search your companion
Being detained: - physical detention is like being cuffed - psychological - they tell you you're not free to leave/act like you can't leave - can detain for: you're connected to a crime, being a witness, victim, breaking a bylaws, warrant however discretionary power means they might not for a warrant, being present at a raid - technically don't have to identify yourself, but police will likely arrest you for obstruction - police have to tell you why
Being stopped and questioned: - just bc you are in the area a crime took place, doesn't mean they can stop and question you legally unless you match suspect description. They will anyway if they want
Warrants apply country wide
Arrested: - cops must tell you what you're being arrested for - they'll let you go with an "appearance notice" that may include conditions - you'll receive a "summons" in the mail is really an appearance notice - keep you in detention for a few days until a judge sees you - If you have kids, get a criminal lawyer and family law lawyer - if you're an immigrant criminal lawyer and immigration lawyeexpert - arrest warrant: must have name of person to arrested
You can negotiate conditions, like if banned from an area but have dr appointments there. Lawyer can do this.
If cops question you or tell you to go with them: - ask "am I free to leave? Am I being detained or arrested" if unclear ask again, if still unclear make motions to leave and leave if they don't stop you - if detained: "what am I being detained for?" - if arrested: "what am I being arrested for?" -- you have the right to ask and to speak to a lawyer - technically illegal for them to detain you due to trying to bring you to a shelter or rehab etc
Police legally have to wear badge number and name tag and have to identify themselves if you ask them to
After abusive police interaction, note down: - when, where event happened - held anywhere? Conditions of where you were held? Location? - officer names, numbers, car numbers - what was searched? When, where, how did it happen? - who was searched? How and where were they searched? Name and badge number of cop. - Dmges? take pics - who was detained? We're they offered an interpreter of needed? Do they speak the same language as the officer? - give all the info to lawyer
If cop grabs you and you pull away they might try to charge you with assault of an officer
Prep for dealing with police: - anyone in my party break a law? Any warrants? Youth protection involved with anyone? - if we're stopped by police, are we all staying silent, all giving the same info? Other plan? - are cops targetting me, the neighborhood? - if cops targetting someone else, can I walk away? - is my hangout area heavily surveilled? Is my party heavily surveilled? - if I have id, does it reflect the name I'm gonna tell the cops? What happens if an officer shows up who knows me? - how to respond to cops if my kids are with me? - condition breach? - am I carrying anything arrestable? Plan if they search me? - are all my incriminating items hidden from plain view? - what police consequences is most harmful to me? What am I most concerned about? What am I willing to do to avoid these? - can I role play with someone?
Good Samaritan overdose act (Good Sam law): - If someone is overdosing and you call 911, police legally aren't supposed to arrest you or anyone else there, incl overdosee for simple possession or simple possession condition breaches - everything else they can arrest you for. And they are known to use the opportunity to extract arrests Consider: throwing away/hiding your illegal drugs, tell others there you called 911 so they can leave, tell dispatch that area is safe so maybe police won't come, should I leave and get someone else to stay or leave a note on the overdosees,
Security guards, transit officers, etc: - no legal requirement to speak with them - they can citizens arrest you physically legally if they see you doing it - cannot legally search you - can legally use reasonable force to remove you from a building - Montreal public transit security can become special constables easily and can detain and arrest ppl suspected of criminal activity on mtl transit. Can access police database. - All public transit security can fine and issues tickets related to their public transit. You're required to provide them name, address, dob
Driving a vehicle: - if you are driving, police have more authority, like asking for ID, breathalyze - police can stop vehicles bc: see a driving violation, believe the vehicle is related or a crime, routine police blockade for like drunk drivers passing - often use license plates to determine if the car was stolen or a getaway vehicle or whatnot - police pulling over ppl in high crime areas for no other reason is illegal - important to not have knife, drug residue on plain view - if you're too shaky, pink eyes, they know lol in the car as drug dealers, they're more likely to find you suspicious - after arresting driver, they can legally search your vehicle if it's related to why they arrested you, ex they arrest you for drugs and then they can then search the vehicle for more drugs - more likely to search your vehicle if you're wearing a bulletproof vest - can search the vehicle legally for "safety", they see you have weapons charges and then they search the vehicle or if they have reason to fear for imminent evidence loss, fear imminent threat to someone's safety - legally easier for police to search your car then pat you down. - police can only legally ask driver for ID unless they turn the stop into an investigation in which case they can then ask everyone in the vehicle for ID - sleeping in your vehicle: take keys out of ignition, sleep in the back. Police may still harrass you and say it's in relation to criminal charges
Investigations: - begin for any reason, even via anonymous tip line calls - often police with surveill and if they see suspicious activity, they get a warrant
Residential location: - greatest privacy from police here legally, however: if owner unknown, abandon, frequented by marginalized ppl, police more likely to invade - when can they enter your house: generally police cannot enter without a warrant unless the person who answers the door consents, if they think someone inside is about to commit a crime or that a crime is in progress, in hot pursuit and the runner enters the house, if they think someone inside's life is in danger - if you don't consent to them entering say: I do NOT consent to you entering, je ne consens pas a ce que vous rentrez (jeh neh Kon sen pah ah seh voo rehn-tray) - can get warrants to enter for unpaid tickets, money owed to revenue Quebec - police search your home when: someone being arrested there and police think something is a danger to other potential occupants, police fear imminent lose of evidence, medical emergencies (Medicare card, suicide notes) - if they see something suspicious (drugs, scales, large sums of cash) in plain view (from your door, or anything they see if you allow them to enter. Even if you let them in, they're not supposed to search your house or roam to other rooms) they can seize it. - an arrest warrant isn't enough to search a place
Hotel/motel: for your room, generally same rules as residential, but a bit less privacy - for public areas, no privacy benefits - if cops get keys from hotel staff or permission from hotel staff they'll use that to enter your room - often will say the housekeeping staff saw something suspicious
House keepers: - if they see drugs, lots of condoms, paraphernalia, sex work publications or drug publications they may contact police. There is an increasing trend for this happening under the guise of human trafficking prevention esp if you're a marginalized/racialized women who uses drugs. - they are allowed to enter your room
Hospital: - usually won't provide the cops with much info unless they have a warrant for a patient. Sometimes even will not let cops into your hospital room - will contact law enforcement. Usually have low threshold to attempt to kick out ppl as it relates to arguments, raised voices, disruptions - if you are with a patient, hospital more likely to provide info on you to cops, so careful what info you give cops - as a patient u may have to change clothes and that could lead to dropping suspicious items out of your pocket - if you go to the hospital with a friend, tell them to stfu about providing info about you - bringing a friend can help by taking notes, advocating for you. Ideally your friend isn't know to the cops, can stay calm.
Supervised injection site, SIS: - inside cannot be charged with simple possession. Cannot give to others or administer to others. - staff cannot be charged with trafficking for providing the venue or material facilitating the drug usage. Same with staff checking drugs, which would normally be trafficking - police can do whatever outside of the building. If arrested for simple possession, could tell lawyer you were on your way to the sis/on your way back home - if you are investigated in relation to a sis, make sure your lawyer speaks with the sis bc your lawyer prob doesn't know the basics of the sis. - to use a sis, usually don't need to provide real name or info. If you give your real info, easier for medical staff at hospital to look you up if needed
Speaking to police: - if arrested cops suppose to stop asking you questions once you request to speak to a lawyer, but they will often still ask you questions anyway. After you speak to a lawyer they have the right to question you again - they will attempt to provoke you into speaking - interrogator will ask random questions to build rapport (ex personal life, interests). Will often promise or claim to help you if you talk to them - legally can lie about most things. Ex evidence, other ppl's statements, "if you leave now we can't help you later", "if you cooperate now you will get a more lenient sentence". - don't react to their questions
Initial appearance in from of a judge before bail hearing: - you appear before a judge within a day. If it's a weekend or holiday then after that. Have a lawyer come with you. This is when you plea guilty or not guilty - can try to exchange 1 release condition for another, discuss this with your lawyer beforehand - if you receive a fine, some organizations can you get a payment plan. Community service can also be used to pay off a fine.
Bail hearing - you can schedule the meeting with a judge at a later date to give you more time to prepare for how to make bail - usually happens within 3 days - prepare in advance how to get released on bail - Prosecutor will often argue you shouldn't be released bc: you won't attend your next court date, you pose a risk to the public, public will lose faith or you're released. - your lawyer will likely argue: you have a fixed address (can be friends, family), will obey your bail conditions - sometimes to make bail you need: bail money/recognizance document saying you'll pay latesurety. Surety should have legal job and no criminal record. Show that you have routine, like school, clubs, job, family. Can have someone who ideally does not have a record come testify to your character. Proof of income. Someone to book you a spot in rehab. - if the court takes your passport, photocopy the important pages
Cdsa and cannabis act are frderal criminal laws, but are often prosecuted by provincial/municipal forces
Law reform/Stella: The term decriminalization is getting more widely used and the meaning is recinding. Stella says decriminalization of drugs and sex work is a necessary first step to guarantee human rights. Drug use is not always an illness or problem. Abstinence is not the only way and thinking it's the only way is harmful. Drug sellers should be be categorized as bad ppl. If 1 law is repealed cops will often just target a sigmatized group with a new law. Alternative punishment instead of prison is still not decriminalization, aka Portugal model. For things like cannabis, even tho self possession of an amount is legal, you still can face police surveillance, unwanted police contact, trouble with landlord, etc. Individual prosecution directors, police departments can set guidelines, but those are not related to laws. Guidelines can say more or less punishment.

I live in a residence hotel. I park my car (new, 10 days old) in the basement parking of the residence. Today, I found a scratch on the rear back side. Around 4 cm long and really visible. After some research, with the help of the residence security, I found that it was done by another resident, one day ago, when he tried to pass between my parked car and another parked car, with his bike. There is undeniable evidence, that he tried to pass through the cars, slams his bike pedal on my car and then reverses to come out and try another way out. The guy apparently could not care less and did not notify anyone about this. Anyway, I made the security today to call him, because he is not at the residence, travelling abroad to his country. His claim was that he did not notice that his bike hit my car and that we can discuss when he returns next month. This seems quite a BS, as it is so clear that he hit my car and he is fully aware about it, because he changes mind and return back after the hit.
What is the most civilised, polite, calm and respectful way to handle this? Do I need to involve authorities/insurances/hotel management? If he had tried to inform me ir the security about it, I would have forgot about it.
Edit: Police was involved. The whole issue could not be handled as traffic accident and hence no report could be issued. It was handled as property damage. I was asked if I want to open a case, which I denied and expressed the interest to get my car fixed (of course not on my expense). Notes: 1) I had to visit 3 stations because the one was sending me to the other as it was not the correct that is responsible for my area. 2) Station officers were more than helpful, especially when they realised I have undeniable evidence. 3) I was sent back to the residence, where a patrol car arrived. 4) Officers took photos of the car, of my documents, looked the video from my camera and from residence's cameras. 5) Officers requested from residence managers to reveal name and phone number of the person seen on video (I was further away and this info was not revealed to me). 6) Officers transmitted info to their station through a tablet and radio. They were also seemed to make phone calls. 7) They told me to visit car dealership and get my car repaired, take the invoice and bring it to the police station. 8) Station will transmit invoice to the person responsible for the damage. Funny side note. The only police person that expressed slight different response ("why you care for such a scratch. Take a pencil and draw it, it will not be visible"), was a lady officer. Which it only proves that females don't really understand the pain that males go through, when their new cars get hurt!
Edit: Thanks to everyone that expressed positive and constructive comments (except of course some comments that contained violence and hate. Not funny guys. And also the guy that was asking the car model, and that involving the police is bs, because they have more important things to do.).

Today while biking around noon on the Greenway close to Washington Park, near Orange Ave and Burell St, I saw a bear on the bike path.
The bear was sighted running from the field area near a gazebo, then it darted past me over the brown railing and into the wooded areas. This area is near some schools and parks, so it's a bit concerning. I certainly got an adrenaline rush from being about 15 feet away from this brown Winnie the Pooh.
I did call (855)571-9003 to report the matter. A quick Google search brought up wdbj7 online story with that phone number. I got a call back and was told it was a bear most likely rejected by mom, that this type of bear is often a wimp, and not a threat for attack. There's been a few calls about bear sightings.
Be on the lookout if you're on the Greenway near Washington Park. Time to fund a Bear Patrol.

Summary: A demolition firm struggles to take down a damaged building for their mysterious clients
I Was a Foreman at the Grazer Tower Demolition
By now Grazer Tower has faded as a household name but to some the rumors and madness surrounding it refuse to die. The demolition of the massive three hundred twenty foot octagonal hotel left a gap in the Atlanta skyline but little fondness in anyone's hearts. I have no particular first hand insight into the freak lightning strikes on the 30th floor atrium which killed 13 people but I am willing to tell my side of the story about the demolition effort leading to the botched implosion. I tell this as a full, open, and honest disclosure. The legal maneuvering and ink has dried, all of the dead are buried, and all the bleeding stopped. The scars remain, the pain persists, the things I saw there are burned in my head even after they've been discredited into the conspiracy theory woodwork of the internet. The lightning storm struck on a Sunday afternoon and the next day for all we knew the bodies were still warm when a lawyer representing the owners of Grazer Tower entered our corporate office. I look back on it now with open and clear eyes and realize it was all very strange from the start when my Lead Foreman, Tom, and I were called into the meeting in progress.
The lawyer and now our client, looked like a fairly normal man in his mid thirties aside from his impeccably white suit which was ironed to the point of looking like stone rather than cloth. Beside the white suit his lips were an uncomfortable maroon and glossy. Besides this he spoke in a plain, clear, and disarming manner refraining from legalese and maintaining a firm but not imposing eye contract with whomever he was speaking directly to.
He told us in no uncertain terms he was instructed to contract with our firm to take down his client's building. Tom and I were shocked when we heard this after all, the lightning disaster, while tragic and perhaps undeservedly tarnishing in the short term to the Grazer Hotel's reputation, did not render the structure unusable nor unsafe to its surroundings. The worst damage was that the steel dome of the 30th floor atrium had collapsed into the vaulted restaurant and ballroom of the 29th floor but that's where the structure damage started and ended, in fact aside from the 28th, 29th, and 30th floor, city engineers working overnight already declared the building sound. So while perhaps still time consuming and costly, repairing the building was definitely possible and cost effective but owners, to make an analogy, were basically insisting on totaling a car after a minor parking lot fender bender. They gave us a specific date by which the building needed to be taken down. When our Boss, Jim, rebuffed the lawyer, not only because the date was challenging and soon but also because it was possible we could have it dropped BEFORE the date specified. The lawyer insisted the building go down on the date given – not later and not earlier. Jim swallowed hard and then glanced at Tom and I. Then the lawyer involved the name of the head of the owner's group, a Mr. Rohmer.
Mr. Rohmer, according to the lawyer, was offering our firm one hundred percent of the cost upfront and another twenty perfect of the total cost plus any overruns – stating if the implosion came early or late, it would mean all very little – no, that's no a typo, that's how the lawyer phrased it from his client, Mr. Rohmer. With that detail out of the way, you can see how the car totaling analogy breaks down considering the owners did not stand to profit from it's demolition – in fact quite the opposite.
The lawyer chuckled a bit to break the tension. He explained his clients and Mr. Rohmer in particular were an unorthodox bunch and then even insisted he wear the white suit in any of their dealings. The lawyer produced a tablet PC from his messenger bag and leveled it to Jim. On the tablet was all the banking confirmation codes ready to go for a direct deposit into our firms account alongside a contract. Jim seemed to hiccup or belch in excitement as he hurried around the short side of his desk to sign it since his stubby t-rex arms could not reach across his desk.
The firm was committed, we were committed – I was committed and I started to mentally cramp up over the challenges we all faced. The Grazer Hotel was in the middle of a dense urban grid. It had to be precise drop with virtually no margin for error. Jim poured us a dram of scotch from the bottle hidden under his desk. None of us a second thought about Rohmer's cryptic remark – after all, how often did you get a one hundred twenty perfect no-bid contract walk in off the street, out of the blue?
A combination of exhilaration over the money and anxiety over the work load kept us all from sleeping that night. Jim and Tom ended up going out and having a wild night to celebrate while I went home to mentally prepare not only myself but also my wife and kids. As a family they were staring down a month and a half of late nights and weekends with no dad. My wife was frustrated until I told her about the bonus and then she said she'd fill the lonely time making plans to send the kids to Disney World and then find a place for us to spend alone together. The promise of a much needed vacation after this only super charged the butterflies in my stomach further in anticipation of this challenging season ending.
As the assistant foreman I had office and on-site duties. Most of it was coordinating between the two. This included personnel, setting up site security – including guards and cameras to keep urban explorers and vagrants of out the dangerous site and satisfy OSHA hazardous work place safety requirements. The most challenging duty was site prep which included disposal of furnishings, removal of windows and other flourishes of the structure's facade which could become deadly shrapnel during an implosion. Fortunately, despite all of this, the nagging questions about permits and clean-up contracts were already handled by the lawyer. Rohmer's group also waived any rights to furnishings which means they could be unceremoniously hauled out in any way we chose to and disposed of.
Now I suppose some of these things should have came as red flags to me – or at least some one in the company but we all justified it as the group must have connects and short cuts to permits and it was a relatively new building, only about twenty years old in fact and furnishings – whether old or new probably weren't of any antique or sentimental value. All in all these were blessings since they freed our hands a bit and made a near impossible deadline more possible.
Of course the good news came with some bad news. The city engineers forbade us from working at the 28th, 29th, and 30th floors – unless we brought in a separate crew to stabilize those levels first. This was quite the fly in the ointment for the controlled implosion plan we sketched out. The 30th floor wasn't as much of a problem but the 29th floor ballroom and the weakening of the 28th floor meant we can't inspect for how compromised they were by the steel atrium dome. For all we knew if we blew the 27th floor on down the dome could shift and topple over the top three floors outside of the implosion safe zone, imperiling people and nearby structures.
I raised holy hell about it while Tom stood calm. It could take months to stabilize and clear those floors and far more money than I thought our eccentric client would pay in overruns. Jim waved me off mid sentence and simply told me he'd take care of it. That was good enough for Tom so it had to be good enough for me. I went back to my job – securing site and planning drop.
Although we had a problem with the top floor our saving grace lie in the basements. It had a three story subterranean parking garage, a basement level pool, and a utility sub-basement. We could easily smash the first ten or twelve floors into that deep footprint. Also the utility sub-basement gave us a clean cut off from the grid and a fairly convenient way to protect the surrounding grid without interruption. Still, at least part of our team would take have to take three weeks out of our six and change to handle the utilities.
The first week was hectic, they always were but we hit no major snags. By the end of it were on schedule and all of the parts were coming together. We thought maybe, just maybe, we were well on our way to an early Christmas bonus but nothing could prepare us for what was coming.
If you work on a site long enough and work anywhere on the site security reporting chain you're bound to get a few questionable reports from your night guys. Let's face it, for folks who are wake all night five or six nights a week poking around with flashlights chasing shadows, every building every where is haunted. I've been on the site security chain for thirteen years so it was easy for me to dismiss reports from the night guys about unusual glows on gutted floors and stairwells, elevators which moved on their own with no one calling for them or inside when they opened on a random floor, or the security cameras and cellphones constantly going offline on the 27th floor and the utility sub-basement.
I wasn't convinced anything of concern was going on until I got called on site by the test drilling team. This team was responsible for sampling the support materials to determine where it was best to place the explosives and what explosives would be best to use. They reported the interior supports were designed in an unusual way with a honey comb of unorthodox metals and concrete not reported on the building's records or blueprints. Specifically, they reported the concrete was impregnated by some kind of metal veins which gave off a bright shimmer. I was asked to come identify it but they claimed it disappeared by the time I arrived.
I was irate at the team and their supervisor for having me to come on down on site for something that sounded so wrong to begin with. They showed me a grainy cellphone video and told me they would swear on a stack of Bibles the sparkling compound welled up in the test coring like mercury, turned blood red and bled on the floor before disappearing into the torn up carpet. I chastised them for making this up and threatened to get new sub contractors if they kept wasting my time. I spoke with a separate sample team on the lower levels and they too discovered some unusual metal compositions – ones which were different then the ones found the top floors. One of the engineers speculated that the contrast in metals between the top and bottom floors could be cause the building to hold an electrical charge, like a battery or like a capacitor. Either way, the engineer said it would require more explosives than initially thought to take down the structure.
A couple of weeks later we were painfully behind – glass removal in particular was going slow because those contractors claimed they were constantly losing their toys. They also claimed one night to have cleared the top five floors on the east side of all their glass – only for all the windows to appear fully intact the next morning. I was forced to end their sub contract due to misrepresentation of work accomplished.
The glass wasn't the only thing slowing us down. The wire and plumbing removal was hindered by the wires somehow were fused to the pipes and in some places, the pipes were fused to the load-bearing members – we thought maybe it was due to the lightning strikes but that really didn't make sense since all of the wiring and plumbing otherwise seemed to work fine before we turned off the utilities. The only thing going for us was the helicopter loophole. Instead of accessing the 30th floor through the condemned floors we were able to get work teams on the atrium floor by helicopter. The bodies of the 13 were removed before we started working and before the atrium fully collapsed into the ballroom but the teams working on the roof reported many unusual artifacts including stained glass and Greek letters comprised of unusual amalgams of metal.
All of the strangeness culminated in the disappearance of one of the night time security guards named Phillipe. I say disappear because his girlfriend filed a missing persons report with the police and when they came to investigate Tom was busy with the atrium operations so the job fell to me. I walked the investigator through guard's smart phone filed reports from the previous evenings. Admittedly I was behind on my end approving the reports so I was embarrassed when things in the report took a turn. His reports including the same odd glows the others were reporting in the stairwells and seeing metallic veins throb on the walls.
His last reports stuck in my head: Report: Sub-basement 4 clear, 0312. Report: Sub-basement 5 clear, 0305. Report: Sub-basement 6 clear 0237.
His “all clear” reports documented levels of the building which did not exist and the further he went into the areas which did not exist, the automatic timestamps went backwards in time. It made no sense – unless he was confused as to where he was due to intoxication and there was software glitch with the timestamps. I was forced to give the investigator no firm explanation.
It's easy to write off a high security guard – they're flaky by their nature and have plenty of reasons to ghost a part time gig and even to pull prank on their final reports. I almost wrote it all off until I saw his girlfriend – apparently his fiance, handing out missing persons fliers outside of the site gate one morning. She seemed absolutely heartbroken and I got stabbed in the gut thinking maybe this wasn't a ghosting and prank after all. Seeing is believing and the next week I started to believe. Tom was finishing up on the atrium level. We used some heavy lift choppers to remove the rest of the frame and glass. Now we could get a better look into the section which collapsed into the 29th floor. We started by using a series of video drones to investigate the melted twisted dome through the collapsed roof. We quickly learned that the drones were being interfered with as their feed would cut out or their batteries would die almost immediately upon entering the ballroom.
So, we had to cut some corners, against city regulations, we let Tom and two others rappel in from the roof on secured anchored lines with helicopter over watch support. We needed to do this because we needed make sure that collapsed wreckage would not move and potentially change the implosion direction. Tom got twisted in his gear as he tried to lean into one of the holes in the roof. He slipped and fell in, disappearing from sight. We frantically radioed for Tom as the other two workers abandoned their own attempts to peer in and scrambled to Tom's aid. Tom was pulled out of the section uninjured but he appeared to be in shock, he looked wild eyed and shook as he was put on the helicopter and lowered back to ground level. Within minutes, Jim called us back to the office to discuss the near miss.
Two weeks to go and week behind, a missing guard, and now a near fatal accident. That for Jim, was the last straw. Tom and I had run out the rope Jim gave us to hang ourselves with. Jim slammed his hand on his desk as he catastrophized, red in the face, nearly breathless, he yelled we could very well kiss that twenty percent goodbye with the way things are going. He pressured Tom to go on the record after his dip into the structure that the atrium debris ball in the ballroom posed no threat to the implosion. Tom was elsewhere. He stared off in a thousand yard stare before replying to Jim that it posed no threat. Then Tom headed for the door. Jim screamed at him that he wasn't done chew us out but Tom only said he had to get back to it. I supported Tom and followed him. He and I headed back to the site to secure the night shift changes – another night not at home and having a late dinner.
I asked Tom in the car ride back what he saw in there. Tom was fixed in a trance and barely responded. He said it was wild. When we got back to the site, Tom separated from me through the gate while I strolled across the street to grab us some dinner from a street vendor. As I stood around waiting for two gyros and two cokes I could help but be mesmerized by the gutted tower. It seemed to breath in the spotlights inhaling puffs of the dust and dirt on the site and then exhaling it. A faint glow, barely perceivable against the light pollution, seemed to brighten, dim, and fade from the upper floors with each of the building's breaths. I was transfixed on it and it was the first time the building gave me an eerie feeling.
I got back on the site, food in hand, there was a buzz in their air as the night shift streamed in and the day shift streamed out. I barely had my hardhat seated corrected on my head when the site's emergency alarm blew. The interim foreman tossed me a radio as I was swept with him and our site occupational safety and emergency personnel to the basement.
Our increasingly panicked footfalls blotted out the squawk of the radios but I could hear one name again and again in the equally panicked messages – Tom Tom Tom. Whatever was happening was happening to Tom.
We reached the pool level and a trail of gasps proceeded me into the pool. There was Tom in his vest and hardhat face down in the middle of the pool with crimson oozing out him into the cerulean tiles lining the drained pool. We piled in from the ladders and shallow end to get to him. It was apparent when the first folks reached him that he was dead. They hauled him out on a stretcher and to our shock he looked like he had been dead for much longer than possible and his skin was water logged despite there being no water. He had died of fall trauma possibly despite the pool only being six feet deep. The paramedics also claimed he had water in his lungs. Then I noticed he was wearing his rappelling harness weaved in his vest – but that made no sense – he took it and his vest off when we were getting chewed out by Jim. Why would he put his rappelling gear on again.
I was the assistant foreman no more. Now the buck stopped with me. As they took Tom to the morgue we all knew the show must go on – our client demanded it, Jim demanded it and Tom would have wanted it that way. The same police investigator from the guard's disappearance met with me over Tom's death. They said it was standard procedure with work place deaths. I gave him a copy of the footage on an SD card and left the moment after it left my hand.
I had the recording queued up to the time of the commotion. The video we provided had a poor angle and was focused on the door to monitor access – the comings and goings of people. It was shift change so people were filing in and out Tom was somewhere in the crowd. The pool was one of the areas which required both foot patrols and constant video monitoring. I hit the rewind button on accident and watched his body lie there and lie there and then the timestamp sped past the 1900 hour mark. We were in traffic from meeting with Jim at that time. This was impossible but I kept my finger on the rewind button. Around 1400 the camera shakes a bit and there is slight glow reflecting on the doors so I let it play back to the shake. There is a soft green glow and then could hear a heft thud in the room. I gulped knowing that was Tom falling into the pool around the same time he fell into the hole in the roof. The soft glow turned brighter and brighter like a laser shining into the lens – something that wasn't present on the rewind. There was a flash of an incomprehensible shape or form on the screen. I was physically hurt in my eyes like I had just stared into the sun. I was left dazed with the shaped burned into my eyes with each blink. Then the camera system shorted out and a tiny puff of smoke left the memory module. The cameras blinked off wall to wall, the whole system was dead.
With the cameras fried, regulations required someone high in the company to be on site or we'd have to leave for the night. So I stayed knowing we couldn't afford to lose an hour much less an entire night. I circled the pool between approving payrolls and directing the increased security guard traffic required to monitor more areas. I was thinking about what I would say at Tom's funeral. I was thinking about Tom's family and what they would think about his apparent suicide.
I was forced to patrol the rest of the sub-basements as well since most of the guards were at the site perimeters or higher levels. I would have to follow paths of Phillipe, the disappeared guard, and all of the other guards who had mismatched timestamps on their increasingly strange reports. If not for today's incident and the recording of Tom's death, I would have stood fast to the idea that these reports were the product of night jitters and drugs but now, no.
I gritted my teeth as I exited the pool area to patrol the lower levels. I hated this building I muttered to myself. I couldn't wait to see it all rumble. I thought about which part I'd like to keep from the site to place in Tom's casket – then I realized it probably wasn't going to be an open casket funeral. I was lost in my thoughts and hatred for the building as I roamed through the parking garage into the utilities basement. I lost track of where I was as I weaved down stairwells.
I shown my flashlight on the wall and the floor level sign said “Sub-basement 999”. I stopped cold in my tracks. I was hoping it was a prank but I knew it was no prank. Then I thought maybe I'd have some answers. Maybe I would finally see what all the strangeness was about. But then I freaked out about Phillipe's disappearance and turned to run back up the stairwell. I ran up four levels to what I thought was the lobby and I pushed the door open.
My jaw hit the floor when I saw a black and white galaxy – the stars were black and the space was white with gradations of gray. The whole room was just white outer space and the whole universe swirled fast counter clockwise. I tried to breath and when I did the galaxy shrunk before my eyes until it was the size of a tiny of marble and then even smaller to a speck of dust. I reached out as it floated towards me. I stared at the speck in a cold sweat. As I stared, I was looking deeper and deeper into impossible detail. In the dust I found the milky way galaxy, I found our solar system, I found Earth and then I found North America, and then I found myself back in the pool room dripping in sweat.
Time seemed to skip and space was malleable in that hotel. As we approached the deadline to drop it, some jobs which would take hours took days and some jobs which would take days took minutes. The anomalies seemed to swarm tonight and day and yet we pressed on. Tom was buried and I couldn't go.
We met the deadline and the city came out in numbers to watch us drop the thirty floor structure. They gathered nearly two blocks away clad in ponchos and dust masks bracing for the implosion triggered by half a ton of high explosives.
I was so burned out and demoralized. My mantra became “this is for Tom, this is for Tom” and it was the only thing carrying me to this day. I chalked up all the anomalies and even my own experience on 999th sub-basement level as a reaction to shock, loss, grief, and exhaustion.
We were on the thirty minute countdown and Mr. Rohmer's attorney was designated as the trigger man. He stood there with Jim and I in the command trailer with the detonator remote. The remote triggered a two minute countdown on the charges from a master control station in my command trailer. All the charges had to be hardwired old school style because we were getting too much walkie talkie and radio interference from inside the structure for any other method of trigger to be reliable. I was too tried to make a stink about insisting I do it. I just wanted it to be over but suddenly a freak thunderstorm brewed up over the city. The skies were overcast and we were on the verge of having to abort the implosion until the next day – despite the next day being a day past the deadline. If we didn't abort and went through with the implosion, there was a strong chance the shock waves from the blast would bounce back off the lower cloud base and shatter windows and ears across the city.
I sat in my command chair at the perimeter in dismay, almost in tears as it started to rain. I felt my heart drop into the acid of my stomach as I ordered the suspension of the implosion for the day. The lawyer, surprisingly, did not resist. I watched as the crowds dispersed from the viewing lines and police started to permit traffic back through the streets surrounding the site.
Then a group of unauthorized personnel threw open the door of the trailer. They were a mass of men and women clad in pressed white suits, stoney faces with thin maroon lips, one of them carried a white covered book.
The attorney dropped his eyes and head in deference to elderly man at the head of the congregation. The attorney addressed him as Monsignor. The man introduced himself as Monsignor Rohmer and he placed his hand on his attorney, calling him a cousin of the congregation, stating there will be no postponement and no delay.
Rohmer, a man I judged to be in his late 50's or early 60's was bald and covered it with a white derby hat. He was tall, about six five, and thin, so thin his suit fit him like snake half shedding its skin. His was face long and his cheeks thin and worn like a mountain side. His voice was steady and low like waterfall. Everything he said bloomed with authority and confidence. He ordered the building would be dropped in twenty minutes.
I told him I didn't care if he was the owner, the building could not be blown in this weather and I snatched the detonator out of his attorney's hands. Rohmer, moving faster than I believed humanly possible with some kind of martial arts move swiped the detonator from my hands. Simultaneously, he had two of his followers press Jim against the wall. They put him in a sleeper hold and he slumped down to the floor barely getting a word out. Then Rohmer gestured to his flock to follow towards the building.
They left in a fast deliberate almost choreographed walk like a flock of geese flying in formation. I grabbed the radio to get police help but I realized that was hopeless. I watched as our trailer was shrouded in the same interference we experienced in the building's interior. The CCTV monitors flickered out and the radio squawked static. Then I realized Rohmer had no control over the detonation and no way to contact his followers still with us in the command trailer. So I did what I had to and pulled the master key out of the master detonator in the command trailer and chased after the flock. I needed to know what was happening I needed to see with my own eyes what all of this was all about.
The Congregation had reached the lobby and I saw the trailing end of the clad white congregate into the stairwell. I darted at my best speed to follow them.
I reached the stair well door. I found Rohmer standing on the top step, apparently waiting for me. I was out of breath while he began to speak to me in his booming voice. He explained to me that if the building did not fall in the next twenty minutes, all of Earth would be pulled, sucked, inside out and down through the building into the black and white universe. The entire building, but especially the atrium dome, he continued, was designed and built to create and then temporarily contain an impossible shape, a living form, a 4 dimensional object, a tesseract, when struck by lightning in the presence of thirteen self-sacrificial Congregate members. This shape would slowly expand and cause space and time anomalies before growing so large inside compared to its size would pull us all into place with no life.
The shape was still in the process of forming even as we spoke, he said. It would reach critical mass and dimensional contortion and the only way to stop it was to disfigure and crush it in the hotel's collapse. He led me into the pool level where his entire congregation was sitting cross-legged where Tom fell. A green pulse, like a laser, came down from the ceiling into the group's center, where their white book lay open on blank pages. I had a feeling this glow was being projected down from the ballroom where the dome of the atrium was taking its final fourth dimensional form.
After a loud chant from the white clad followers, the book slammed shut and turned from a brilliant white shimming cover to one black as night. As they passed around book, their white suits turned black and the formed a single file line. Rohmer left my side and pulled the detonator from his suit. He showed it me and tossed it at me. In my panic I reached out with both hands to catch it but I forgot I still had the master key in my sweat slick hand and it fly out and fell at the foot of Rohmer.
I asked what he planned to do with the key without a lock and a jammed detonator. Rohmer bent down and grabbed the key and looked me without a hint of concern. He took the new black book into his hands and opened it facing the wall of the pool. A new green pulse launched from the book and flickered on the tiles. An octagonal outline appeared to frame a hazy image of a tropical beach. One by one Rohmer's congregation walked into the side of the pool, into glow and seemed to arrive safely on the otherside of the beach.
Once all his compatriots were on the beach, he turned a page in the book and reopened it, projecting another octagon portal on the side of the pool. I could see his destination – it was the command trailer. He stepped through portal and yelled to me from the other side that I had two minutes. The portal sealed.
I could hear the warning sirens we installed going off above me. Needless to say, I made it out, just barely. I reached the perimeter fence screaming to anyone who was in ear shot to run away. The building imploded as planned but I was caught in the dust cloud and developed tinnitus severe enough to be comparable with combat veterans.
The shock waves from the explosions were reflected off the cloud base and channeled down the street by other skyscrapers. Virtually every window in a two block radius around the site was shattered and hundreds of people were hurt in the resulting stampede and vehicle collisions caused by fleeing from the flying glass cascade. Parts of downtown looked like a war zone for weeks afterward.
Rohmer and the rest of his group, including the lawyer, had disappeared out of the trailer in another portal leaving a suitcase of gold equaling the twenty percent promised. Our company was fined, sued, and threatened with criminal charges and eventually put of business. There wasn't much left after paying the cities fines and lawyer fees.
Though I was spared any direct sanctions, I forced into an early retirement. I've had time to research Rohmer's group. There are at least six mentions of figures like Rohmer on the deepest parts of the conspiracy web. They seem to show up at a locale experiencing paranormal activity with a white book and then leave with a black book. Their departure usually marks the end of any strangeness. I can't be sure but this congregation seems to be summon demons, which they exorcise, by trapping them in their books. Trapping maybe a poor term to use since, as in the case of the Grazer hotel encounter, they can apparently cleanse the anomalies and then use the book containing them to weaponize a portion of the traits of whatever their unholy creations posses.
I suspect Rohmer and his congregation, now with the ability to teleport, are accelerating their plans, to whatever ends these paranormal means enable them.
Theo Plesha - Sequel to "Flush" by Theo Plesha on The Chilling App

Haven’t been having success so decided to try and refine my resume once again just so it’s neater and less busy. Been applying to a variety of things I believe my job experience is directly relevant to and also things I feel like I could do just based off life/personal experience but not necessarily reflected in work history or any schooling.

Hi all, love and lurk this sub, throwaway account created for this post. This is a doozy, so if you make it through this, I thank you. If it's too much for you, I'd love to get your thoughts on just the last paragraph, "THE LAST STRAW."
My husband and I have been together for four years now, and ever since we got engaged two years ago, things have gone south with my JNMIL. Some examples: the day I started planning my wedding and sharing my to-do list with her, all excited to plan with her, she called me naysaying "sweetie you can't do this on your own, you should get a wedding planner" (meanwhile my husband and I ended up planning it all in three months); she designed a wedding invitation for us, which I didn't like, and she was butthurt about it for months (not even giving me the option to redesign it or considering what I would like); we were planning our wedding to be either in Dec or May so my BIL, who was in grad school, could make it, and she pushed for May so that SHE wouldn't be cold; when I said that I'd rather not have a May wedding because I wanted to wear a poofy, heavy wedding dress, she said "well why don't you wear a lighter style?"; when I was shopping for wedding dresses and sending her photos to get her opinion, she had told me there was one that she loved, and then she went and told my then-fiance "I didn't really think it looked good on her," making me wonder why she lied to me (just seemed like a mean girl thing to do...; and when I finally chose my wedding dress, she was mad that I didn't send her a photo, making the whole thing all about herself, not even being happy that I found the dress of my dreams; she was also disparaging about my culture's traditions and cuisine in many ways throughout the process. For example, after my bridal shower, she told my then-fiance "I wish they'd play music that WE like," regarding the cultural music that we play (instead of trying to get to know my background and appreciating where I come from, of course). Because of all that she had done during our wedding planning process, I became quiet in my relationship with her (after attempting many times to explain to her all that she had done to upset me, which maddened her, because she is not used to talking things out), so I became less close with her. Right before our wedding, she called me saying "I don't know what's going on between us, I'm sorry, I just want you guys to be happy," which led me to just forgive and forget. After our wedding, however, many friends came up to me and said she was sulking during our reception and she was making dirty faces at our ceremony while she was under the arc with us.
Fast-forward a couple of years. We had a baby in November, and everyone was at our house for Thanksgiving, five days after I gave birth. I had noticed that she was soaking frozen chicken in water, and I made a comment that we shouldn't do that for the frozen turkey for the holiday, because it creates bacteria. Her response: "I've been doing it this way for 40 years." I calmly showed her the USDA page and other sources online that say you shouldn't wash poultry, and I repeated it a few times over the span of 1-2 days in response to her going over how she was going to prepare our meal, especially because I was breastfeeding and I wanted to be mindful of infection. Several times of her repeating that she was going to soak the turkey in water, I sternly said, "please don't do that, it's not safe," and it turned into a screaming match, including her saying "I'm done. You do it!!!!" It was horrific and embarrassing, and you'd think that she'd have some patience and understanding with a first-time mom who just gave birth a few days prior. Again, she came upstairs, gave me an empty apology while I was breastfeeding, and we moved on.
The entire time that she was staying with us in November, there were a number of comments made, all WITHIN A MONTH OF ME GIVING BIRTH. 1- how are you possibly going to handle work and motherhood at the same time? 2- rolling her eyes regarding me breastfeeding (she exclusively did formula with her kids) 3- whenever it was time to feed our baby, she suggested she bottle-feed him, and I'd reply, "no thank you, if you do that, I have to pump, and it's a lot of extra steps, so I'd rather just directly breastfeed for the convenience and the bonding factors," and she'd just repeat this suggestion over and over again, which was so frustrating because she was essentially ignoring my explanations. 4- making comments about how I'm feeding our baby too much (he's a healthy percentile, she just wants to criticize). ETC.
Fast-forward to this past April. My husband and I are flying with our baby for the first time and are extremely nervous. We are spending 4 days with his family and four days with my family. Of course, there are comments made, this time about my parents, but I let it slide. Comments include "I didn't like that your mom brought over rice for Passover," meanwhile, they don't even keep the rules of Passover. Something else was that JNMIL spent an entire day cooking my BIL's girlfriend's cuisine and learning about it, but she has never once done that with my cuisine (she is French, I am Iranian - husband says JNMIL is quite xenophobic), and in fact once threw out a plate of my mom's home-cooked food right in front of her at a family gathering. She also had her phone on loud on facetime during a family gathering, and I asked her to please lower it because someone was giving a speech, and she was horribly offended. Another time, she was taking my car to go grocery shopping, and I casually said "drive safe!" and she was offended by this comment and went to vent to my husband. Just insane, irrational behavior coming from her, even from my well wishes.
THE LAST STRAW: two weeks prior to us staying at their home, I asked JNMIL if my friend who lives close by can come visit. She said no bc her sister and BIL were visiting that day, and she wanted family time. I said, "okay maybe I'll just go get dinner with her or go for a walk, when are they coming over and I'll schedule that around them," and this was highly offensive to her apparently? She called me saying how "aggravated she was" and then totally gaslighting me and saying "it's fine! she can come!" Acting like I was crazy for thinking it wasn't fine with her... I was highly confused because she just sent me a series of texts saying how it's not fine, but now I'm realizing that she just didn't want me to take our baby away from her house so my friend could meet him and she was switching her story up last-minute. Okay whatever. The day comes for my friend to visit. JNMIL had made a coconut cheesecake and before my friend arrived, I said "hey, can friend have a slice, it was so good?!" She replies, "no it's already packed up and in the garage." I reply "oh I can go get it." She replies, "there are only a few slices left and I'd like to save that for my boys." I reply, " well I didn't have my slice earlier today, can she have mine?" She yells "NO" and storms upstairs. I say to FIL "okay can we serve her some coffee and tea? She's driving an hour to come see us after a 12-hour-long workday," and he goes "yeah of course." I say "great! she's spending so much time to come see us and I just want to make her feel welcome." BIL goes upstairs to JNMIL and tells her that I was implying that she is not being hospitable. She comes back downstairs and sits in the dining room with BIL and starts venting to my husband about me, saying how I was saying how inhospitable she was being (which she was, and no I wasn't) and "how dare she say we are inhospitable, there is not a more welcoming home than ours" (while providing absolutely no food or snacks to my friend and not doing anything to make me feel like my friend is welcome in her home), while BIL starts saying that "if she wanted to make her friend feel welcome, don't put that on us, OP should have gone to get snacks for her friend herself." Husband says that I was working all day long and that I didn't have time, and that it's not a big deal to serve my friend some snacks and coffee, as it's common courtesy. It turns into a whole 45-minute vent session about me to my husband. I'm in shock, especially because MIL and BIL are saying contradictory things and I don't even know how to start to defend myself. MIL's other issues come out now as well, all bottled up and nothing I had heard before, so I'm in even more shock. She talks about how she was in the hospital for a day and she didn't get a text or call from me (husband defends me saying that I didn't want to bother her while she was there, and that I was asking him how she was doing nonstop). MIL also says "why is she working while you are here at our house, I thought we were family" and husband says "she already took off four days last week to be with us and with her family, she can't take off anymore" and instead of appreciate how I'm trying to balance family time, breastfeeding, and working, she goes on and on about how "she was off for two days with us and for four days with her parents, I thought we were family, why didn't take take off today and tomorrow to be with us," and by this point, my husband is speechless at how petty she is being, and my friend is 5 minutes away, so to save him from this, I enter the dining room, boob in baby's mouth, and I calmly say "what's going on?" Silence from MIL and BIL, because IT'S SO EASY TO TALK BEHIND SOMEONE'S BACK AND IT TAKES COURAGE TO APPROACH SOMEONE F2F, WHICH NEITHER OF THEM HAVE. I ask a few more times, and BIL says "I just think it's rude that you put it on us to welcome your friend, if you wanted to give her food, you should've gone to get it yourself," and I say "okay what else?" MIL gives a disgusted look and yells "what do you mean what else?" and I said, "I just heard you trash-talk me to husband for 45 minutes, so what else is on your mind?" And she YELLS "that's it, what do you mean?" and she storms upstairs like a child after giving me an incredulous, disgusted look. I'm shaking from crying, and at this point, my friend enters the house (FIL let her in) and is a lovely, friendly, happy face, but I'm crying so hard from how much trash I just heard said about me (later on, MIL says she stormed upstairs because she didn't want to talk in front of my friend, but now in hindsight, I realize that if that was the case, she could've just calmly said that and asked to continue talking later instead of throwing a temper tantrum). I apologize to my friend that this is what she walked into and that we didn't have anything for her, so can I please take her out to dinner. She says "of course," and we leave with husband while I'm crying. Once I return, JNMIL comes to me and gives me an empty "I'm sorry, can we start over?" and I'm way too soft, so after saying "I mean everything I heard you say was really hurtful, but yeah we can do that," and she replies "I think the problem is that I just don't feel a connection with you," and I should have said, "that's not an excuse for trash-talking someone like that based on absolutely nothing," and she starts to victimize herself. I want none of it and she's not understanding me, so I just let it go, in hope of enjoying our last day on vacation with family. I tell her "okay, we can start over," and that's it. BIL pretends nothing ever happened and goes about his business like a child, not even acknowledging the shit he just stirred between his mom and SIL for absolutely no reason (he is 26). I have forgiven her for this, but I won't forget how she treated me and my friend. In addition, I don't appreciate the awkward position she put my husband in, trash-talking his wife and mother of his child, while I was within earshot, and making him defend me, and for such an unnecessary thing, too.
A week after returning home, husband gets a call from JNMIL and FIL about how they are worried that my parents are going to become the "primary grandparents." Husband says "WTF are you talking about?" In-laws are absolutely insane. All my parents have done is include them and prioritize them in events, group chats, everything. He convinces them that my parents admire, love, and respect them, and that they are just making up stories in their heads with no evidence. I overhear this conversation and I can't believe my ears. It turns out, in-laws are paranoid due to the fact that we are planning to move to the tristate area, where both my parents and in-laws live. In-laws had been planning to retire where we currently live for the past 20 years. So now they are scrapping their plans for this, not because they want to be close to us, but because they don't want my parents to be the "primary grandparents." They are incredibly paranoid, jealous, and rude. What's more is that FIL lied about a hot job offer he received in the city that husband and I currently live, in order to guilt us into staying here.
Fast-forward to now, two months after this phone call. I didn't hear from either JNMIL or FIL or BIL on my first ever mother's day. No text or call. Baby is 6.5 months, and I haven't received a single message this whole time about how I'm doing. I've been back to work for 2.5 months, and they haven't asked me how I'm handling work and motherhood, or if I need anything. I guess my question is, should I reach out? Should I just walk away? I've vented to my husband enough about them, and he is fully in agreement with me regarding their behavior and mean words. He says that this is just how they are and they won't change. They are incredibly antisocial, passive-aggressive, narcissistic, cynical, and negative. Ever since I've given birth, it's been pure vitriol and discouragement, rather than empathy and support. They are in their late 60s, so I don't know if they will ever change their ways.
I know this has been so much. I really needed to vent here. However, any words of advice would be appreciated. If there's anything you see that I've done wrong, please point it out, too.

So, I had quite a few messages from people asking when I was going to update this to include chapter 4 and finally it was released on download in the UK (29th) so I could finally watch it and get around to it because I haven’t seen it until now. I’ve kept the original timeline here because I’m quite happy with it and I’m just adding on Chapter 4. I will add someone messaged me that during chapter 3 when the assassins are getting the kill order to kill John there’s a brief shot of an assassin’s phone saying the date was December. I’m happy to go with this because I think the first 3 films are set around October-November time but we see no x-mas stuff anywhere in chapter 1 to 3 so its debateable if you want to call this an x-mas film like Die Hard. Also, I watched an interview with the director this morning and he states that he thinks the first 3 films are about a week and a half but wasn’t certain which I feel gives my timeline some authenticity and accuracy.
​
P.s Ive had to break this down into two parts because the character limit is 40,000 characters and ive gone well over that
Warning Major Major spoilers for these films are here because I detail out the plot as I go.
A couple of assumptions are made. Fights scenes are probably longer than we seen on screen and often because of the pacing of the film we don’t need to see John get from point A to B. Conversations also probably took longer than we see if they are walking from area to area and discussing things. Location distances also take time to get to and from places and I don’t know where locations in New York and around the world are so I’ve made a lot up at a best sort of guess. Sometimes I’ve used what I think when there’s no real reference in the film to how long something took for instance for the time of day, I’ve looked at the skyline in the background and estimated what time of day it is judging by how much sunlight there is. Basically, I’ve guestimated a lot. Chapter 4 was a lot harder as they kept moving countries and places and its probably longer than I’ve made it. Also, some of the fight scenes are longer than the time they actually show in the film (6 minute fight is 13minutes in the film) so take everything with a pinch of salt.
TLDR: The films start in the mid-late autumn judging by the scenes that we see.
John Wick 1 starts on Monday Day 1 at 6am and ends Saturday Day 6 at 3.45am (6 Days).
John Wick Chapter 2 starts on Monday Day 8 at 10pm and ends Friday Day 13 at 5pm (5 Days).
John Wick Chapter 3 starts on Friday Day 13 at 5pm and ends Sunday Day 22 at 7.05am (9 Days).
John Wick Chapter 4 starts on Monday Day 205 at 7.20 pm (6 months later) and ends unofficially on Thursday Day 221 at 6.11am (when John passes out (16 days)) and officially at Thursday Day 228 12.00pm (23 Days).
John does have periods of down time and rest so it’s safe to assume he goes to the toilet in that time and maybe brushes his teeth once in a while
The first Film starts on a Monday. Not because there’s any reference to days of the week in the films (there wasn’t that I could find) but because, in my opinion, nothing good ever happens on a Monday.
John Wick Chapter 1
Monday Day 1 6am.
· John in his bathroom and has a flash back of his wife’s illness and death (assumption is made that this has happened over the past 6 months or so).
· Funeral of his wife. Marcus arrives “Just checking up on an old friend”.
· Wake at Johns house.
· People leave say 8-9pm ish
· Daisy the Dog is delivered and John reads Helens letter.
· John and Daisy got to bed at 10.54pm (clock on the bed).
Tuesday Day 2 6am.
· John wakes at 6am.
· Get the paper and the dog goes to the toilet, coffee and breakfast.
· Gets in car
· Getting petrol (assumption its about an hour after they’ve left prob around 8am) and meets the Russians arrive. Losef meets John “I love dogs”, “Beautiful car how much?”, “Not for sale.” “Not this bitch”. Victor arrives “You have a good day sir”.
· John leaves for the airfield- Crazy driving trying to/not to kill himself.
· Next scene is evening (don’t have time base upon previous night) in bed so assumption was that he went to be around 11pm.
Wednesday Day 3 Early am.
· Dog wakes John early am.
· John goes downstairs – Russians attack john, smash his stuff and kill the dog “Sleep tight bitch”.
· John wakes probably an hour or so later and cradles the dog.
· John buries the dog early am (judging by the skyline)
· 6.19am the alarm gets turned off.
· Angry cleaning with flash backs.
· Russians take Johns car to Aureilo’s garage (assumption is made that its around 8am and that it takes at least an hou maybe 2 to get there. Seeing as they stole it before 5am I assume that they took it for a joy ride and did doughnuts for a while first). “I want new vin numbers and new papers”- “Where did you get that car?” (John most likely still cleaning at this time) “Get it out of my shop” “We own you” Aureilo slaps Losef “Viggo not going to like this”.
· 5pm deduced from John leaving in car in next scene it’s probably taken all day to clean up and then he had to get the bus. John arrives at Aureilos garage after taking the bus “Is it here?”, “It was.”, “Losef Tarasov nicked it.”, “Viggo’s son?”, “I need a ride.”.
· John leaves in borrowed car around 6pm.
· Evening, not long after, Aureilo gets a call from Viggo (skyline time of day deduction) “I heard you struck my son. May I ask why?”
· Viggo to Avi “Have you seen my son?”.
· About 7.30pm Losef arrives (most likely he spent all day stashing the car with his uncle from John Wick 2 and hanging out).
· Viggo beats Losef. “What did I do” “That fucking nobody was John Wick” Explanation of the Bogey man and killing 3 men with a pencil.
· At the same time John is at home and goes into the basement with a sledgehammer smashes the floor and gets his equipment.
· 30 mins later Viggo gets his phone book and calls John. John hangs up.
· Viggo tasks a crew.
· John has a shower and suits up.
· Viggo sits by the fire.
· Juging by the light its 10pm ish when the kill crew arrives. (This doesn’t quite work because the house exterior shot is quite bright but when the crew arrives its dark night).
· The crew attack John and John kills the crew (due to films cuts to keep the action it probably takes about 20 minutes. Time enough for a noise complaint to be made).
· Jimmy the police officer arrives at 10.30 “Evening John”, “Noise complaint”, “You working again John?”.
· John goes downstairs and makes a dinner reservation for 12 (the amount of people he’s killed not the time).
· Assumption is made that it’s 1 hour for Charlie and the clean up crew to arrive at about 11.30.
· Assumption it takes 2 hours to clean the house of blood and bodies.
Thursday Day 4 1.30am
· Clean up crew leave about 1.30am.
· Viggo is still in front of the fire and is informed of the failure of the kill crew. The contract is put on Johns head for $2Million (the light in the room shot is bright he’s prob been there all night debating if he should put out the contract)
· Assumption is 6am John loads bags into car and drives to the Continental.
· Judging by the light its around 8am Viggo arrives at Marcus’s house whilst he’s cutting veg and juicing. “Would you kill John Wick for $2 million?”.
· Marcus cleans and polishes his guns after Viggo leaves.
· John arrives at the Continental at 8.30am (assumption).
· Perkins greets John. Concierge (Charon) “I have you for 2 nights sir”.
· Cuts to evening say 8pm assumption is John had some sleep.
· John looks at video of his wife and then goes downstairs to the bar and sees Winston “Johnathan as I recall wern’t you the one tasked to doll out the beating?”.
· (At the same time) Viggo learns that John is at the Continental “We have a contact there who is willing to take him out for us”.
· John is still talking to Winston. “Have a drink and relax…for now.”.
· John goes to the bar “It’s been 5 with change”. (Length of time John’s been a free man and Viggo has been in serious business learned).
· John gets Losef’s location with his drink “Compliments of the house”.
· John leaves the bar at 8.15 (assumption all this took 15 mins)
· John goes upstairs and suits up and we learn Losef is being guarded in a nightclub.
· John arrives at the nightclub. I’m assuming that it took an hour to suit up and 45 minutes to get to the club therefore its around 10pm-10.15 pm.
· John gets the drop on Francis the big bouncer that’s lost weight and gets inside.
· John kills Victor and lots of people in the spar area.
· John makes his way upstairs and enters the pool area where Losef is. This is most likely on the top floor. The way the films cuts means it probably took 30-45 mins to get up there and find him its about 11pm.
· John kills lots of people.
· Losef runs onto the dancefloor.
· John kills lots of people on the dancefloor, atrium and balcony.
· Losef escapes in a car driven by Gregori.
· John leaves with a phone call to Losef. (the fights probably took 30 mins so its around 11.30pm.
Friday Day 5 12.15am.
· John arrives back at the Continental 45 minutes later at 12.15am. “Is the doctor in?”.
· Assumption is the Doctor took 20 minutes to arrives and 30 minutes patching up John the time is probably around 1.05am
· Marcus arrives on the roof opposite and gets John in his sights.
· John tries to sleep.
· Perkins enters the room.
· Marcus shoots the pillow warning John.
· Perkins and John fight “Viggos giving me $4 million to break hotel rules”. The phone rings as the concierge rings.
· John beats Perkins and answers the phone (noise complaint).
· Marcus leaves.
· Perkins tries to crawl away. Pekins tells John about the Little Russia Church front.
· Harry holds up John “Catch and release”.
· Cut to Morning of Day 5. Bright light indicates its around 9am. John is at the Church who takes the pills for fully mobility, then kills lots of people and destroys the vault stash using the priest (probably takes about 30minutes).
· John leaves and then goes to a roof top to wait.
· No indication of how long until Viggo arrives I assume its an hour so the time is 10.30.
· Viggo arrives and kill the priest. Perkins escapes and kills Harry at around the same time).
· John attacks Viggo as he leaves the church.
· John Wick kills a lot of people
· John gets hit by a car, knocked out and captured by Viggo and wakes up tied to a chair in the church. The fight was about 10 minutes he’s been unconscious about 20 minutes so the time is 11pm “Yeah I’m thinking I’m back”.
· Marcus has already arrived (no idea when) and shoots the thugs chocking John. John escapes, kills other thug, frees his hands, runs out, chases down Viggos car killing thug driving it.
· Viggo gives up his son and pull the contract on John. (whole thing probably took 5 minutes).
· Cut to Losef in a Brooklyn safehouse. Not knowing where John actually is let’s say it took him an hour to go straight there so the time when John arrives is 12.05.
· Judging by the fact that explosives are set and it takes time to get into position its probably 12.45
· John kills guard and snipes Gregori playing COD at 12.45pm
· John snipers lots of people.
· John kills guard watching Losef.
· John kill Losef at 1.00pm
· Viggo finds out Losef is dead probably 30 mins later at around 1.30pm “Make the arrangements”.
· Cut to John checking out of the Continental (It’s only been 1 night). Prob took him an hour to be there and an hour to clean up and pack however when he leaves its getting dark so he probably fixed himself up and rested for a while and so the time is around 5pm.
· John gets a new car and meets Marcus around 5.30-6pm “How many times do I have to save your ass?”.
· Perkins watches them and turns Marcus in (assumed but likely).
· Cut to night so 8pm ish. Marcus walks home and Viggo and his thugs surround him.
· John driving home gets aphonecall on his mobile from Viggo. Shows scene of Viggo having bruised knuckles from beating Marcus so assume 1 hour has passed (9pm).
· Marcus tries to escape. Perkins wounds him and Viggo kills him so Marcus dies around 9.15pm “Well played old friend”.
· John turns the car around and Viggo leaves “Fuel the chopper”.
· 45 mnutes-1 hour later John arrives at Marcus’s house (10.15pm).
· Concierge calls Perkins who watches John arrives.
· John finds Marcus.
· John leaves (not shown and Perkins leaves)
· Perkins arrives (no time reference so assume 30 mins) to meet the concierge and has her membership to the Continental revoked at 10.45pm. Clean up crew arrives.
· Couple of minutes must have passed. Ohn is called by Winston to tell him where Viggo is.
· John drives like a nutcase and crashes into Viggo at docks probably 45 minutes away so it’s 11.30.
· John kills many people with his car and guns.
· Viggo tres to kill John with his car and the stands waiting for him. “No more guns John. No more Bullets”.
· John kills Viggo 5 minutes later. The whole fight from his car arriving to Viggo dying was about 30 minutes so the time is 00.05am on Day 6.
Saturday Day 6 00.05am
· John kills Viggo at 00.05am “Be seeing you John.”.
· John gets up and leaves taking Viggos cars.
· Opening scene of John crashing into the vets. John is unconscious. He could have been out for a while so im assuming 3 hours because it’s still night.
· John breaks into vets and treats himself (probably 30 minutes).
· John rescues his dog (another 10 minutes).
· John leaves and walks home with his new dog at 3.45am on Saturday Day 6 since his wife’s funeral.
John Wick Chapter 2
John Wick Chapter 2 starts with him chasing down a motor cyclist whilst he looking for his car. We know that this film is a direct continuation of the first film so we can assume that a little time has passed for him to heal, bond with the dog and make investigations into where his car is (this is probably because he’s not the type to stop for anything judging by the first film). Assuming that he took a day to rest and make investigations its probably been 2 days since the end of John Wick so we start on Monday Day 8 since his wife’s funeral at 10 pm because its night in the opening scene and it all fits nicely with the idea that the first film is a week long.
Monday Day 8 10pm
· John chases down biker in Aureilo’s borrowed car. (We never actually see what became of it in the first film because he gets a new car due to “Last nights unpleasantness” with Perkins in the first film as he checks out. Probably takes about 30 minutes.
· John hits the biker, takes the gold card and heads to Abrams Warehouse. He arrives say 30 minutes later.
· “My fucking nephew killed a dog and stole a car”. John arrives, kills thugs and looks for his car (30 mins).
· John calls Abram “You have my car”.
· John finds the car and takes it back.
· John uses his car to try and escape and kill people.
· John kills lots of people (approx. 30 minutes has passed).
· John makes peace with abram at 00.00am.
· John leaves and takes his car.
Tuesday Day 9 7.30am
· Johns car is wrecked and he gets home in the morning. Judging by the light I’d say early morning. We know he lives about 2 hours from the city so assuming it took 7 hours and 30 mins (shown in a later scene) to get home because his car was barely crawling up the driveway (being a man of focus he was getting that car back).
· John goes and cleans up. The clock on his table says 7.30am. Showers and sleeps.
· Next scene is Aureilo arriving to pick up Johns car. I’m assuming its mid to late afternoon around 4.30pm. John is playing with his dog and we have a continuity error here because in John Wick 1 the dog was a puppy and here it is clearly an older dog but ‘Im choosing to ignore this because movie land reasons.
· Cut to next scene. John cleans up his suit and sorts out the basement from the first film. He makes cement and it probably takes him 3 hours so time is 8pm.
· Santino arrives at 8pm (its night out). Coffee and conversation about markers (probably 20 minutes).
· Santino leaves and blows up Johns house.
· John sees his house burn at 8.30.
· Cut to fire engine still fighting the fire so say the response time ect is about 30 mins later. Jimmy the cop is here “Gas leak?”.
· John leaves with the dog and walks off.
Wednesday Day 10 9am.
· John arrives at the continental early morning (looks around 9am so he walked for 12 hours as busses probably aren’t running and he’s a man of focus). “How good to see you again so soon Mr Wick”.
· John meets with Winston and converse about Santino D’antonio and the marker.
· 10 minutes later John boards the dog with Charon the concierge. John leaves for the national gallery.
· Probably 30 minutes to the gallery he gets frisked and meets Santino.
· They talk about the job for 10 minutes “My hands”.
· John leaves and travels to his deposit box “59.035” say another 30 minutes to get there.
· He suits up (another 30 minutes) “happy hunting Mr Wick”.
· Next scene hes in Rome so assuming an hour to the airport. Google tells me New York to Rome direct is an 8 hours and 15 minutes flight and an hour to the continental of Rome meaning total travel time is 10 hours and 15minutes because he had no delays or hold ups and everything happened perfectly because its movieland and therefore assuming every part of his trip was flawless. Rome is 6 hours behind New York (thanks to google again) so John arrives at his destination at 2.25 pm Rome time which fits with the film.
Wednesday Day 10 8.25pm USA, 2.25pm Rome.
· John is observed by Ayres the mute woman arriving at the Continental. “Welcome to the Continental of Rome”.
· He meets the manager “are you here for the pope?”.
· Next scene John is getting supplies and equipment. He must have checked in so I assume its an hour later.
· Suit, Guns and catacomb plans must have taken some time, Rush suit could have taken an hour to measure and 4 hours to make, Guns must have taken an hour along with the catacombs “Mr Wick do enjoy your party”.
· Ayres watches John leave 3 hours later.
· John suits up that night say 8pm Rome time (Which is Thursday Day 11 2am USA time)
· John enters the catacombs and takes about an hour and 30 mins to reach his target whilst leaving his weapons around.
· Gianna enjoys her party and meets Mr Riconi and then leaves to freshen her makeup.
· 10.30 Rome John meets Gianna in the bathroom. They talk for 10 minutes and she slits her wrists. John shoots her and leaves.
· John bumps into Cassian “You working?” they shoot each other and John runs.
· John kills a lot of people escaping.
· Cassian find Gianna.
· John gets to catacombs and meets Ayres “Loose ends?”.
· John kills a lot of people It takes about 30 minutes for John to escape the catacombs from killing Gianna.
· Cassian tries to run John over. They fight and crash through the window of the Continental. They wernt far from it so its assumed Joh had been walking for 20 minutes and they were fighting for 10 mins. Hey crash through about 11.40pm Rome which again fits with the film.
· In the bar they talk for about 5 minutes. Cassian leaves and Ayres is there as John goes to bed “Not if I see you first”.
· Its about 00.00am when Santino phones. John hangs up on him. Santino calls the exchange and puts a bounty on John. John phones the desk and says he’ll check out in the morning. So all this makes the time Thursday Day 11 0.005 am Rome and Thursday Day 11 6 am USA. The text messages go out at this time because they would have done it then and there was no delay despite this being shown in a later scene.
· Next scene is early AM assumed around 6am because that’s when John usually gets up so its Thursday Day 11 6am Rome and 12pm USA. John sorts his stuff and is escorted out by the manager “May you have a safe journey Mr Wick”.
· It takes 10 hours and 15 minutes to get back to New York making it 10.15pm. Cassian is seen in New York so it’s assumed he got the contract text and headed to the airport straightaway to beat John back knowing he wouldn’t be able to get him in Rome.
Thursday Day 11 10.15pm.
· Santino completes the marker book “you stabbed the devil in the back”.
· John walks through Chinatown and the train station, kills lots of people (some with a pencil) and finally faces Cassian on the tube where he stabs him in the Aorta as a professional courtesy. Judging by how beat up he is and how many people he faced it probably took him 2 and a half hours.
Friday Day 12 00.45am
· John escapes 2 assassins at the train station and gets taken by the homeless man to the Bowery King.
· Its early am say around 7 am when John wakes up. Hes had medicine and has been patched up so therefore its Friday Day 12 7am. John and the king talk for an Hourish “$7 million Dollars gets you 7 rounds”.
· John leaves for Santinos coronation.
· John arrives at the NYM meausum Mirror art exhibit . No way to judge it so im guessing it took 3 hours having traveled by tunnels and sewer making it about 11am.
· Santino sees john.
· John kills lots of people probably takes about an hour.
· Santino escapes and runs to the continental John kill Ayres at 12.00pm
· John follows Santino to the Continental which probably took an hour to get to as Santino was eating and waiting for John.
· John arrives at the hotel and kills Santino at 1pm whilst eating lunch “What have you done?”.
· John leaves, collects his dog and goes home.
· The next scene is a bit difficult to place John sits in his ruined house looking at his wifes necklace and its raining. He could have walked for 12 hours but its more likely (as he’s in the next part of the scene) that the concierge took him and waited for a call. This doesn’t quite fit as the conversation about the dog staying with him implys that he had just arrived but im assuming that john was mute the whole way there in the car. “Would you be so enclined”.
· They travel back 2 hours (2 hours there 2 hours back) which makes it exactly 5pm when they reach Winston.
· Theres a continuity error here as John Wick 3 starts at 5pm but Winstons watch clearly shows 4pm in this scene I imagine his battery has died an hour before is all I can think of.
· Wick and Winston talk and John gets a marker and the starts running “I’ll kill them all”.
· Here ends John Wick Chapter 2 Friday Day 13 at 5pm.
Here's the link to part 2: https://www.reddit.com/JohnWick/comments/13w2lx3/john_wicks_entire_timeline_from_chapter_1_to/

I got rear ended a couple of weeks ago by someone on a white Fiesta. It was light collision, so no serious damage occured. I decided not to call the Patrol Police on the guy and just got his number. The machine shop gave me an estimate of 70 GEL to fix it. I got in touch with the guy and he promised to do a banktransfer, it was a week ago and now he is screening my calls. 70 lari wont make or break it for me, but this situation makes me really angry, I gave him the benefit of the doubt and he decided to fuck me over. I have his name, phone number and license plate. What can I do to fuck with him?

My wife and I just returned from a 7-day trip on the Holland America Eurodam from Seattle to Alaska. At the top I will say Alaska is an absolutely must-do destination. Despite our issues with Holland America and the Eurodam, every single stop on the itinerary in Alaska brought at least one “wow” moment. Unfortunately, the ship and line we decided to sail with, the Holland America Eurodam, was a very disappointing experience. I will pre-apologize for the lengthiness of the review here. :)

ITINERARY - 7 Days - May 20-27

Seattle - At Sea - Juneau, AK - Glacier Bay, AK - Icy Strait Point, AK - Sitka, AK - Ketchikan, AK - Victoria, BC - Seattle
Overall, the itinerary was fantastic. Some of the stops felt a bit rushed, especially if you had to take a shuttle from the port, but we overall felt we had a decent amount of time in each port. The toughest back-to-back stops were the ones we arrived late, left late, but then arrived at the following port very early the next morning.
As I said above, Alaska should be on everyone’s bucket list. The views are indescribably beautiful, the people are extremely nice, and the stops felt very “authentic” as compared to some other cruise destinations we’ve visited. We will visit Alaska again. Some of our top picks at each stop:

• Juneau - Whale Watching with Harv and Marv's Outback Alaska (highly recommend), Mendenhall Glacier
  
• Icy Strait Point - 1300’ Gondola Ride (expensive, but absolutely worth the view)
  
• Sitka - Fortress of the Bear, Pel’Meni (Russian Dumplings), New Archangel Dancers, Russian Bishop’s House
  
• Ketchikan - The Great Alaskan Lumberjack Show, Creek Street Shops
  

SHIP

The Eurodam itself is a fine ship, and feels very “classic” in terms of styling. However, the overall space of the ship felt incredibly underutilized. The “Lincoln Center Stage” was completely unused for music the entire trip. The 1000-person auditorium generally sat empty, save for a couple of 30-minute shows per-day and a movie or two while in-port, and this starts getting into our issues with the ship.

On-Board Entertainment

Activities during the trip were practically non-existent unless you wanted to bid on an art piece or purchase jewelry or a watch. I understand that it’s kind-of Holland America’s “thing” to have a relaxed on-board experience, but even random movies in the auditorium during the day would help break up the monotony on longer sea days. The two trivia games offered were often packed to the brim on days with no “scenic” viewing.
There were also a few entertainment options we read about on this subreddit/advertised by Holland that were non-existent on the ship, such as the BBC Earth Experience or bringing guest speakers aboard to talk about Alaska. We had Park Rangers on our Glacier Bay day, but otherwise it was the Cruise Director reading from a 30-minute teleprompt script with accompanying slideshow for their version of “TED” talks each day - she was awesome, but not a replacement for a guest speaker or expert on the topic.
The evening shows, to put it bluntly, were bad. I know this is a common complaint about Holland America, but I didn’t realize how bad. The comedian Jill Kimmel was a nice change of pace, but my wife and I abandoned going to the nightly Holland-produced shows after Night 3.

Stateroom

Our stateroom was good to great. We had a verandah room on the 8th Deck, right under the Lido buffet. There was practically no noise, and the staff that tended to the room were incredibly nice and efficient. Room was cool, clean, and quiet.
The bed, however, was easily one of the worst beds we have ever slept on. I’m a very easy sleeper and I even had issues falling asleep on the bed - constantly waking up with back pain each day. The television in the stateroom was fine, but they did not allow you to change input sources and the TV remote was mostly non-functional; not a big deal, unless you’re struggling to find things to do on the ship…

Technology

Technology with Holland America is a serious dichotomy. Our embarkation process was EASILY the best and fastest we’ve had with any cruise line. They have facial recognition technology and we were at the port and onto the boat within 10 minutes. I’ve never seen anything like it - big props to HAL here.
Once on the boat, things aged very quickly. My wife and I both struggled the entire trip to keep a Wifi connection to the ship’s internal network, which is required to use the Navigator App. The Navigator App itself is quite buggy, fails to refresh, and sometimes just never loads. We relied on the room-delivered paper itineraries often to see what was going on for the day. I took both of our phones down to Customer Service and was told “that’s just what happens sometimes” and that there was no fix.
We purchased the “Internet at Sea” package prior to the trip to try and stay connected, and it connected maybe 2-3 times while we were underway. We used the connection a couple times in-port, but otherwise it was a huge waste of money. Neither of these problems have been an issue on any previous cruise for us - yes, the internet at sea is very slow, but it would stay connected, and the internal Wifi for other ships has never been at-fault. I asked Customer Service about a refund on the internet package and was told that since we pre-purchased and used a “significant amount of data at sea” (180MB by their count), we were not eligible for a refund.
We practically had whiplash going from one of the most technology-forward port experiences on embarkation and debarkation to a complete lack-of user facing technology for convenience on-board.

STAFF

The Eurodam’s staff were overall good. Highlights were our stateroom stewards, the various bar staff, and embarkation/debarkation staff members. Our stateroom stewards seemed to always be patrolling the hallways, super polite, extremely nice, and always willing to give a helping hand. We really couldn’t have asked for better staff to have with us.
The rest of the staff on the ship seemed very… uninformed. Asking a staff member where something was on the ship or what time something was happening (such as port arrival time) was often met with a confused look or “Please visit Customer Service”. I’m assuming this is likely due to a heavy turnover post-COVID, but it really seemed like much of the staff were passengers as much as we were.
The other odd thing about the staff is what I would call “parroting”. English is not the first language of the majority of the staff, which has never been a problem prior to this, as a misunderstanding would often have the staff ask us for clarification. On the Eurodam, however, the staff all seem to simply parrot back to you what you’ve said to them without any understanding which led to many confusing situations for both parties.
As an example, I once asked a Customer Service desk staff if they could process a document for me, we were a day late, so they couldn’t. “I cannot process this for you, sir.” No problem. Since I didn’t need the paper anymore I asked:

• “Ok, could you shred this document for me then?”
  
• “I’m sorry sir, I cannot process the document for you.”
  
• “Yeah, that’s fine, could you throw this paper away for me?”
  
• “Sir, I’m sorry, I cannot process the document.”
  
• “I know, I understand. I’m just asking you to dispose of the paper.”
  

Finally someone came from the back room, translated for him, and he took the paper and put it in the shredder under the desk. This was a super minor thing, but it happened over-and-over again - the staff acting like they understood what was being said, but seemingly not actually comprehending it. Learning a language is incredibly difficult, and I have zero issues repeating myself, nor do I get upset by it, but it almost seemed like the staff were directed to fake understanding as it happened with multiple staff across the ship. This especially was an issue with the dining staff, which gets us into the biggest issue on the ship.

FOOD SERVICE

I’m not entirely sure where to start with this one. Food service was simply awful from top to bottom. Our one highlight was eating at Tamarind for one dinner.

Lido Buffet

Let’s start with Lido, the buffet. The space simply is not large enough for the number of passengers on the Eurodam. Every visit we had required us to hunt for a seat for 5-10 minutes before attempting to get our food. The buffet is not fully-mirrored on both sides, so it was a crapshoot as to which line would be longer on a given night. The space between the closest tables and buffet line was about 2 people across which made traversing Lido a chore at best - God help you if a mobility scooter ended up somewhere in the line. To be clear, it was never the person who required the scooter's fault, it's absolutely the poor layout of Lido.
The food in Lido was, in-general, bland, overcooked, and not visually appealing. There was a lot of overlap day-to-day of reusing similar cuts of meat for a slightly different dish. Often, there were dishes on the menu that just were never prepared or we were told was “out” despite never seeing it on the buffet early into dinner or lunch. The food also felt very cheap - I settled for a cold-cut sandwich a couple of times for lunch and the quality of the ham and turkey used would make an Oscar Mayer’s accountant blush knowing they could get away with selling it.
There were also very odd choices made about what you could and couldn’t do yourself at Lido. Get bread? Yes. Get a bagel? No. Cut bagel? Yes. Toast? No. Get jam? Yes. Get butter? No.

Room Service

Next up, room service. The combination of arriving at ports early and the general slowness of Lido had us ask for room service breakfast 5 times. The food never arrived on time, typically 30 minutes early or 15 minutes late. Not awful if you ask for a 7AM breakfast and it arrives at 7:15AM, but pretty rough when you ask for a 6AM breakfast and it arrives at 5:30AM.
The room service started making me second guess our food safety. We often would get cereal, milk, and yogurt of some sort. The milk always arrived at room temperature or slightly warm, as did the yogurt and this was consistent. I don’t know if warm milk and yogurt is a Holland America thing, but I sure did not like it. Continuing on with food safety, out of our 5 in-room meals, 3 of the days we had visibly dirty flatware - as in, still had food on it from the previous meal, dirty. This was disgusting. This also continued to be a problem across the whole ship, for the entire trip. We had to double check every single piece of flatware and glass we used. Here’s a “taste”.

Main Dining Room

Finally, the Main Dining Room (MDR). The food in the MDR seemed to be different (not better, unfortunately) from what was served in Lido, at least for the first 4 days. After the 4th day, the MDR simply mimicked what was being served in Lido, just plated differently. I can’t say I’ve been on a ton of cruises, but I’ve never seen this happen - usually the MDR is in place for food diversity. I suppose it is nice for someone who doesn’t want to spend the time in the MDR, but the illusion of food choice was completely gone.
I once asked for chicken to be added into my pasta dish, something that has never been an issue with any other…anything. When the dish came out, pasta, no chicken, but then I was offered the full chicken entree as a second plate, in addition to my pasta. I explained again I wanted to add chicken to my dish and he said they could not do that, but he would be happy to shred the BBQ grilled chicken dish into my pasta and mix it for me at the table. A nice gesture, but no thanks. I’m not sure if this is a limitation of the kitchen or understanding of our wait staff, or both. I watched him write “+chicken” next to the order, so I’m assuming the former.
The food listed on the menu also almost always was not what was brought to the table. Two distinct examples were a “Gourmet Greens Salad with Toasted Nuts, Cherry Tomatoes, and Orange Segments” that my wife ordered once. What arrived was an iceberg lettuce salad, walnuts, sliced tomato, and no oranges. The following night I ordered “Ricotta and Spinach Tortellini with Spicy Arrabbiata Sauce and Grilled Vegetables”, what arrived was the frozen cheese tortellini from Lido with the marinara sauce on the buffet that is offered every single night. I went to Lido after our dinner to confirm this with 100% accuracy. Don’t get me wrong, I am a man who loves his cheese tortellini, but that's just false advertising that I feel is purposefully used to make it “feel” more premium.
After our experience with dirty flatware in our room, we started checking ours extensively before each meal in the MDR and had 3 different additional occasions where there was still food or drink on the fork, spoon, or cup, from the previous user. We brought this up to the staff each time, got an apology, but never truly trusted the cleanliness of anything onwards.
From a time perspective, the MDR took forever. Our shortest trip to the MDR was a lunch which took just under an hour and a half. We often would sit with our finished appetizers plates for 10-15 minutes before someone would come take them from us, then wait another 10-15 for our entrees. Often our drinks were not filled, or just forgotten all together. It was very odd…the staff seemed extremely busy, but often felt like they weren’t getting much done. I saw many times that staff would be shuffling clean plates from table to table, just to move them back to a big stack at the end, then repeat the same process with the same plates.
Similar to our in-room experience, our food always arrived at questionable temperatures. I ordered a Caesar salad 3-4 times throughout the trip and it always arrived warm to the table - not room temperature, warm. Again, maybe a Holland America thing, but I did not like it. Our entrees were always room temperature or cold and the one time I sent it back, it took 20 minutes to get a replacement, just for the replacement to be cold. I’m really not expecting the world here, but at least some level of expediency. It never felt like the wait staff’s fault (perhaps minus the shuffling), but someone in the chain was seriously letting them down.

CONCLUSION

There’s more I could say about everything on the ship, but I will just leave it that it was not a pleasant or even decent Eurodam experience for either of us. Overall the sailing experience with Holland America felt extremely cheap, dated, and by the end, dirty. I cannot see us sailing with Holland America ever again, which is a shame since they do offer some interesting itineraries elsewhere in the world. We honestly went into the vacation really wanting to like Holland America as it seemed what was advertised aligned very well with our interests.
The issues come as a bit of a shock to both of us, as we felt that Holland presents itself as a “premium” cruise line with top-quality dining and entertainment and reviews seem to state the same. Based on our Eurodam experience, it couldn't be further from the truth. I really hope our experience was a one-off, but it was a really miserable one. We’ve had 3-night “booze cruises” out of Port Canaveral that have had considerably better dining and entertainment, at a significantly lower price point, extrapolated out.
Despite all the issues with the ship, Alaska exceeded everything I could have imagined. This was still one of the greatest vacations we’ve ever taken and I wouldn’t hesitate to recommend an Alaska itinerary to anyone, just avoid Holland America at all costs.

Hi guys, I am a bug-in type of prepper: blizzards, hurricanes, and power outages. I did not know that this year I will start to add wildfires to my portfolio and be ready for bug out: https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/nova-scotia/tantallon-hammonds-plains-pockwock-wildfire-evaucations-forest-fire-halifax-1.6857729
We are living in a community where houses are around 200 meters from each other surrounded by forest. Yesterday, it was an exceptionally hot day (last week there was still frost in the morning) and also very windy.

• We have got many alerts by mobile phone, FM radio, TV (https://www.alertready.ca/). From the first alert about the fire 13 km away to the mandatory evacuation, it took approx. 3 hours.
  
• Because of drought, the government issued a ban on all fires. A number of irresponsible people are still having bonfires outside or throwing cigarette butts from car windows is crazy. Last year, somebody did not extinguish his fire pit properly, and the fire spread underground to his backyard trees after 4 hours... This year there is an evacuation of 14000 people here.
  
• "TD Insurance" company, we have coverage for evacuation, we called them, but nobody knows nothing, they need 10 hours to figure out what is covered to call you back: hotel, gas, food. They are not effective to receive calls and communicate fast. We got asked what is our monthly grocery shopping cost and we told them around 1000 CAD/months and after 6 hours, they will call you that our spending for food should be 30 CAD/day (wtf? We are buying in bulk in Costo, having stuff in the freezer and cooking at home). 30 CADs is two full menus in Wendy's (15% VAT in Nova Scotia)... After my wife complains they told us, that food spending should be "reasonable" and that we should be collecting receipts for everything. Edit: TD Insurance also forbids to use of Airbnb as accommodation (have zero idea why?).
  
• Hotels around are hopelessly full, many of them are pet friendly, and some have "evacuation" cheaper prices, but we have booked via Booking.com at full price. With 3rd party booking, they are not able to change the price. We came to the hotel in the morning (after the night at a friend's basement) and it was crazy full, nobody is picking up the phone, but they confirmed we will get the room later (and we got it 7 hours later).
  
• Officials do not communicate many details, only closed roads, every time it is emphasized that fire is "out of control". Radio and TV are around one hour late behind the government, RCMP, or first responder's Twitter (have them in bookmarks for your local area).
  
• https://fire.airnow.gov/# -- handy for showing the fire and smoke, got updated approx 2 hours later.
  
• https://www.windy.com/ -- check the wind direction.
  
• https://firms.modaps.eosdis.nasa.gov/usfs/map/?fbclid=IwAR3hKhZD7U1sYE7kopiUpJSfjOUjwuvqbgzuUCxm3mrK63qX6UvJoztQ2XI_aem_th_AUtlLDx60K7F4j8uy4hJbDEs2_lagiEKM6nRanH2AbvORrrlnxKbtxqRzycF3YY6LNc&mibextid=Zxz2cZ#d:24hrs;@-63.8,44.7,11z -- Another view from satellite data.
  
• https://www.star.nesdis.noaa.gov/goes/sector.php?sat=G16§or=can -- Fire temperature monitoring from GOES (geostationary satellite), but it has low resolution: I can see Shelburn wildfire, but not the Tantallon one.
  
• We left the house 1 hour before mandatory evacuation: got documents, notebook, hard drive from desktop), hygiene, and clothes for 3 days. I have Tecsun PL-880 receiver and two Baofengs. We left with two cars and communicated on GMRS frequencies with my wife (http://peppersradio.net/index.php?route=information/information&information_id=26). I am also part of the local ham radio community, one of the local 2-meter repeaters should be available for emergency communication, some people who are monitoring the repeater have radios for connection with first responders (TMRs). If a lot of people from one area start to use a cellular network it became useless and we had also local Bell outages before. Baofengs are quite useful, they have coverage for FM broadcast and weather emergency channels (https://www.canada.ca/en/environment-climate-change/services/weatheradio/find-your-network.html). Apart from having some useful tools in cars (torch, first aid, knife, blanket,...), I did not prep for more (there are power outages in the area).
  
• Schools are closed, some of them announced it the next day morning, and some of them got closed early because of aismoke pollution (it was announced in the middle of the day).
  
• https://m.broadcastify.com/listen/ctid/4698 -- an online stream of local first responder scanners, but it is missing transcript and you need to spend a lot of time and focus to monitor it.
  
• Mandatory evacuation: police are going from door to door and driving around with a loudspeaker broadcasting alert. I do not know the details, was not there.
  
• We left our two cats at home, I was not expecting that evacuation will hit our area divided from the affected forest by a lake. Today, we came back to the neighborhood (a lot of local rural neighborhoods are having just one road to enter), after explaining the situation to a police patrol, they escorted us to the house and gave us 15 minutes to get them. A lot of people left vehicles at their homes very close to trees, definitely in ignition areas if the situation will get worse.
  
• Local facebook neighborhood group is quite useful.
  
• https://en.mapy.cz/letecka?x=-63.8013898&y=44.7456765&z=14 -- I am using these maps, instead of Google (or in combination with), they have actual aerial photos (Google maps are 8 years behind :(. It has also an offline map Android app.
  
• Saw a few crazy videos from dashcams of people escaping in flames with minimal visibility (turn emergency traffic lights on). It is probably safer to escape in a car than on bare feet, but not sure how air filter and air intake of the engine may behave in such conditions...
  

That's all observations from the last two days, thanks for reading. Happy to hear about your experiences!

First Chapter
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fifteen
Corporal McCoy had figured out the best reason for getting in good with an udhyr. They had four arms, therefore the hugs were twice as nice. They now lay in her room, with him lying on her bed and her lying on top of him, with her ensconced in the aforementioned hug-squared. She’d been able to get ahold of her Switch, and at the moment was in the midst of some happy early-morning gaming. Takh’s head rested upon hers with a gentle and welcome pressure while he watched her play. By now she was so used to him that even the little random clicks of his mandibles didn’t cause her any fear.
She was still trying to figure out if she and the alien XO were an ‘item’ or not. Zawahir had, with his usual enthusiasm, explained to her that both the udhyr and knuall-toua were pretty much like humans, with equal numbers of both males and females who reproduced sexually. He hadn’t gone into details on how exactly Tab A fit into Slot B, but the overall idea was clear. The auhn were a little more complicated; the ratio of females to males was more like seven or eight to one, plus there was the added wrinkle that the males were non-sapient and about as smart as the average pet dog. That had resulted in a very matriarchal society, of course, one based around clans of females protecting their stable of fertile males with appropriately auhn-like ferocity. The spider-like xyrax were…well, both. Completely hermaphroditic; there was quite a complicated social dance before they reproduced as to who was going to bear the resulting egg. McCoy was sure that, however it worked out, it would look adorable.
“So this Kirby can eat anything?” asked Takh, breaking into her ruminations.
McCoy tapped at her controls on autopilot, hoping that the damned thumbsticks wouldn’t break. Again. “Yep. Fun fact, waaay back in the 80s, Nintendo got sued by Universal Studios, who claimed that Donkey Kong was a ripoff of King Kong. John Kirby was the attorney who successfully defended them in court, and in gratitude they named this character Kirby.” She continued her tapping. “I think they gave him a sailboat as well.”
“Mmm, I must admit a sailboat sounds nice right about now. This place is very nice, but it’s a bit too cold.”
She wriggled against him. “You said it. You and me, off the coast near Nice? Floating in the warm azure waters of the Mediterranean? I can wear a nice little bikini I’ve got saved up for just such an occasion.”
“Oh! Uh, well, yes. That does indeed sound quite nice…”
She grinned. Takh was a dork, but a giant lovable dork and it was always great to get a reaction like this out of him. Even if it didn’t lead anywhere there. As far as she knew, the udhyr reproduced like frogs. Maybe she should discreetly quiz Zawahir on the whole Tab-A into Slot-B thing, just to make sure she wasn’t setting herself up for disappointment.
Of course, she’d just managed to get to the final boss of this particular level when the siren howl of the alarm went off. Haley McCoy blinked as she went from supine four-armed cuddling to standing in an instant, placed upon the floor by Takh’s upper arms.
“The unholy hell?” she muttered, but she was already in motion as she sprinted towards her gear, laid out so as to ensure maximum efficiency in getting it all put on. “Takh?” she called out as she started strapping her armored vest on.
“Yes? What do I do?”
“Simple. Anyone comes through that door who you don’t recognize, kill ‘em.”
“I…I don’t know, I’m still understanding how different humans look from each other, I don’t want to make a mistake.”
“You’ll know,” she said with finality as she picked up her carbine and racked the slide. “Okay. Follow me…”
The door to her room smashed in as a figure clad in black armor came through screaming “Earth belongs to HUMANS!...”
That was all he got out before Takh grabbed the man’s head and simply hurled the offending figure over McCoy and into the far wall. The window set in that wall shattered with the resulting impact, making the corporal duck.
“Fuck me, Takh.” She looked at the broken figure of the oh-so-very dead intruder, then back up to the worried-looking XO. “I mean, not literally. Okay, well you can if you want to, and I for sure would like you to…you know what? Let’s put that whole discussion off to the side for now until we can sit down and have ourselves a nice long chat, okay?”
“That sounds like a very wise strategy, Haley. What do you need from me?”
She finished putting on her headset and helmet. “Right now? You need to stick right behind me while I get you to the bunker.”
“You want me behind you?” Takh’s mandibles quirked in a grin. “That sounds like a very nice place to be.”
“Stop distracting me, you giant dork.” McCoy moved towards the door with a grim set to her shoulders, ignoring the lovely fact that her alien maybe-boyfriend was now checking out her ass. She swept the outside hallway….nothing visible. Then she heard some commotion from off towards the kitchen area.
__________
Martinez surged to his feet upon hearing the alarm, his half-eaten horizontal-cut pimento sandwich now forgotten. “What the fuck…?”
Matt was on his feet as well, with a strange look in his eyes that the corporal had never seen before. “You two. Corner. Now.” He pointed at the corner farthest from the two entrances to the kitchen.
The corporal was on the smaller side, even amongst his fellow humans, but something in the Marine’s tone made him turn and tackle the huge alien. Kexal, to his credit, somehow knew that Something Was Up and accepted the tackle, otherwise there was no way in hell that Martinez could have moved the giant creature.
Just as he did so, he caught a glimpse of a dark form, clad in full armor, holding a rifle, gliding around one of the entrances to the kitchen. In a panic, he fumbled for the pistol at his hip.
Martinez prized himself on his reflexes. But still, he had time for one blink of astonishment as Toke all but teleported himself across the ten feet of intervening space, pushing the intruder’s rifle up towards the ceiling and out of battery as his own arm flashed in a wicked arc. The corporal caught the merest glint of a small but cruelly-curved knife, like a predator’s claw, in the Marine’s fist.
There followed quite the epic spray of blood from underneath the attacker’s armpit, followed up by a few more cruel swipes which made sure that the tendons in that shoulder were destroyed and useless. Toke pulled the rifle away from the now-dangling limb.
Somehow, the black-armored attacker managed to speak in spite of what must be massive pain. “Earth will NEVER submit to…”
Toke’s voice was as hard as granite. “Tell your shit to someone who cares.”
Two more vicious swipes across the man’s throat resulted in a cascade of crimson down his black-armored front, and the would-be assassin toppled to the wooden floor.
“Martinez.” Toke’s robotic voice shocked him back into awareness.
“Y…yeah?”
“Got a pistol?”
“Of course.” He checked to make sure that he had it in his hand. Huh, that was strange. He didn’t remember drawing it, but there it was.
“Good.” The lean man tossed the purloined rifle towards Martinez, who caught it automatically in his off-hand. “Take this. Check this dead motherfucker for extra mags, and take ‘em. You’re on Kexal, understand? Get him safe to the bunker. Anyone you don’t know personally comes at you, you shoot ‘em.” His black, mechanical gaze shifted towards the alien. “Kexal? If Martinez goes down and someone attacks you, you have my permission to yank their arms off.”
The giant planetologist stared in horror at the bleeding and probably-dead sapient before him, then shook himself. “Of course. Yes. I’ll protect myself.”
“No need,” said Martinez as he looked back at his newly-christened charge. He racked the action on his just-acquired rifle, which looked to be a standard AR-platform civilian carbine. The corporal wished for something full-auto, but this was at least better than a pistol in terms of range and punch. “I’ll get you to safety, sir.”
He turned back to ask Matt just what the fuck was going on…but he only saw empty air.
__________
Cécile Savoie was not having a good day. She’d accepted the position of overall chief of security at Camp David with delight…at first. Dealing with the day-to-day of protecting one of the most targeted people on the planet, that she could deal with no problem. Because it was one person. It was an unspoken agreement between all of the agents that SAILOR was the priority. Even the First Husband could be sacrificed if need be.
But then she’d had a bunch of damn aliens dropped in her lap, along with an equally weird group of special-forces types. The latter were what really ground her gears; the aliens were genuinely nice and apologetic about being such a bother, but the human soldiers were the types who would crash on your couch, drink all your beer, and then steal your sweetheart when you weren’t looking.
She crouched behind a little berm to the west of Camp David, the other members of her patrol stretched out alongside her in a roughly north-to-south line.
“Moseby! Report!” she yelled.
She heard a few thumps, then a few cracks in her earpiece which were followed up by echoing reports from the building behind her. Thankfully she heard her agent’s voice in her earpiece. “Shit! Wow, um, you’re really good with that knife…”
She then heard a muffled phrase that sounded a bit like ‘give it to me, son’, and the next voice in her ear was one she was unfamiliar with.
“This is Captain Matthew Tocco, USMC, whom am I speaking with?” The voice sounded as if generated by an AI.
“I’m Agent Savoie,” she responded. “I’m in charge of the Camp David security detail, who are you?”
“I just told you who I am, Agent Savoie. And I just saved the life of one of your agents. Now. Let’s cut through any sort of jurisdictional bullshit. We have at least two confirmed active hostiles in the complex, two more are confirmed down. We’re sweeping the compound to make sure there are no others, plus making sure that our esteemed guests are safe inside the bunker. Where are you located? We need to coordinate our defenses.”
The information made her see literal red. The attackers had made it into the compound? How? There must be some angle, some safe passage made by somebody. She was going to find out who had made that safe passage, and those people would burn. Oh yes, they were all going to burn…
“West of the complex,” she snapped. “We’ve set up a perimeter along the ridge there.”
“Got it, Agent Savoie. Oh, and please don’t shoot me when I show up.”
She ran through various scenarios for the next few minutes, trying to figure out who on the team had betrayed them. And there must have been such a betrayal in order to get armed hostiles into the actual buildings. Her further musing upon vengeance was cut short as a tall, lean man seemed to all but materialize next to her. He held a small, curved blade in a reverse grip in his right hand; that blade dripped red blood. She almost pointed her gun at him, then relaxed. “Captain Tocco, I presume?”
“Call me Toke.” The guy sounded like he was out for a day on the beach.
“Who the hell are you…wait, you’re with the group in there, right?”
Matt nodded. “Yep. The rest of us are in there bundling up our guests and making sure they’re all safe and sound. Actually, by now Corporal McCoy should be…”
Agent Savoie flinched again as a small but very stacked woman seemed to suddenly appear like condensing smoke at her other side, out of the brush. “Speak of the Devil, and she shall appear.”
The tall man grinned at her. “You are pretty damn good, corporal.”
“Hell that means a lot coming from you, Toke. By the way, that’s a nice kerambit. Anyways, everybody on Team Alien is tucked in and unharmed. I got Takh in there fine. Martinez even tagged a couple more bad guys while he was escorting Grakosh to the bunker. Fair warning to everybody listening on this channel, he’s gonna be aaaall sorts of smug about that and it’s gonna turn into a story of taking out four dudes before this week is out. But, right now, it looks like only four of the OPFOR made into the complex…however they did that…so the rest must be out there.” She pointed towards the leafless woods beyond the little rise.
“Any word from Shaw?” asked Toke.
Savoie narrowed her eyes. “Something bad happened in DC. Sounds like an artillery or mortar attack.”
“Shit.” McCoy looked troubled. “This is serious business, then. State player?”
“Maybe,” said Toke. “But it could be some private group with some proper funding behind ‘em. Agent Savoie, do you have any word of a helicopter or plane going down nearby?”
“A Chinook,” she replied, “Went down about thirty minutes ago thataways.” She motioned to the west, out into the wintry forest. “Then we had one of our patrols out in that direction go silent. That’s what triggered the alarm.”
Matt grunted. “Yeah, that’s how I’d do it. Make it look like a crash and infiltrate that way. Right.” He touched his ear to make sure his earpiece was seated. “You just keep this channel open, right?”
“Where are you going?” asked McCoy.
“Out there. You need eyes on assholes, and I’m gonna give that to you.”
McCoy tossed him her carbine. “At least have a gun on you, dude.”
He caught it with his off-hand, since his main hand still held the dripping-red kerambit. He grinned at her. “All right. You got a pistol?”
“Of course.” She pulled it out and racked the slide.
He tossed the rifle back to her. “Give me that instead. We’re gonna need to concentrate some proper firepower here. This might be a proper light-infantry invasion in progress. We need to organize ourselves into a skirmish line running along this ridge, south-southwest to north-northeast. Get whoever you can on your team in there out here to bolster our firepower, understand? Dig in.”
“Got it.” The little corporal’s eyes blazed with purpose as she handed her pistol to Matt. “Now go get you some.”
“Believe me, I will.”
Savoie blinked in astonishment as the tall man vanished again.
“Yeah, he kinda does that,” said McCoy. “Dude could give sneaking-around lessons to fucking Batman.” She pulled a map out of one of the pockets on her cargo pants. “Now, Agent Savoie, how many people do we have available? Let’s get ourselves properly set up.”
__________
Wade stepped carefully over a fallen branch, his boots making almost no noise at they met the soft mulch covering the forest floor. From the curt statements in his headset, it sounded like the four heroes who’d been infiltrated into the devil’s nest had been cut down. There was no word yet if any of the alien menace had been eliminated. That was a shame, but hopefully it drew attention away from his own unit. He and his comrades made up the secondary and much more armored thrust, one which not even the vaunted Secret Service could counter. The latter were armored, yes, but only armored against pistols and they only wielded pistols themselves. He and his team had rifles, level-four body armor, helmets, and most importantly proper communications.
A voice crackled in his ear. “Hold position. The security detail is forming into a defensive line. It looks like they know we’re here.”
“Set timer?” Wade whispered into his headset. His team had a set time to accomplish their mission, before the entirety of the United States military-industrial complex landed upon their heads like the proverbial Wrath Of God.
“Yes, set timer. Twenty minutes.”
There was a soft chorus of “Twenty minutes, aye,” in Wade’s ear as he tapped his own smart-watch to start the timer. “Twenty minutes, aye,” he murmured. As he made to step over another downed branch, he paused.
Something was off. He couldn’t say why, but the air itself seemed a little more still than it should be. He turned to his left and saw a blur heading for him…he tried to raise his rifle, but it was too late…
__________
Cécile Savoie’s head snapped up as she heard a few cracks from the treeline which could only be the sound of firearms. “Anyone see anything?” she whispered into her earpiece.
There followed a myriad of “No, ma’ams” in her ear. “Keep a sharp eye,” she murmured. “Don’t fire on anyone not in black. We do have a friendly out there, he’s supposed to be giving us intel…”
Matt’s voice sounded in her ear. “Indeed. Bagged one of ‘em, on the outer edge of the advancing force. Looks like civvie gear, carbine is only semi-auto. This is a well-funded civilian effort, not a state actor.”
She checked her watch. “Got it. Fifteen minutes until we get backup in place, what do you need from us?”
“Hmm, that explains the ‘twenty minutes’ thing. Right, they know they’re on a timetable. You all need to be, and I hate to put it this way, the meat shield. It looks like they’re going for a solid push towards you, no stealth. Fourteen hostiles all told, and if this guy’s gear is any indication they’re all up-armored. Class Four. Center of mass is no good, go for head or limbs.”
Savoie’s mouth was now dry. “Understood.”
“Don’t worry, Agent. I’ll be behind them, and I’ll do what I can to sow some dissention in the ranks.”
__________
“Wade, report!” hissed Horace into his microphone.
No reply.
He took in a breath to issue another demand when a voice sounded in his ear. Horace had once gone swimming in the ocean off of Florida, and had by pure chance come across a great white shark. He still remembered the vacant gaze of the giant predator, who was probably idly wondering if Horace would make a good snack for today.
This voice brought up once again that dread; it was the voice of a pure predator. “Who is this?”
“Who the fuck are you?”
“The one who just took down…Wade, was it?”
“Sidney, get eyes on Wade!”
“Will do…” There followed a long, long silence before that shark-like voice spoke again.
“You just got Sidney killed too, asshole. Care to keep going? I got no problem with that. Or do you all want to call this a day? You can do that too, you know.”
“Everybody down!” Horace snapped before going prone himself. That taunting voice still sounded in his ear.
“Okay, now you’re all down and less of a target. What now, genius? You got…hmmm…about twelve more minutes before all of the backup in the world arrives. And they will find you. You know what? You’d better hope they find you instead of me. Because I give less than two shits about that whole ‘Geneva Convention’ crap.”
“Maintain radio silence,” said Horace, as he tried to wriggle his way forward.
“Oh, you’re still trying, Mister Leader? How cute. Let me put it this way to you fourteen…sorry, thirteen, assholes. You’re done. Nailed. The best you can hope for is to get some lawyers who want to make a name for themselves. Worst case? You get put in a room with me, and if you have any sense in what passes for your brains you will spill your guts. If I’m honest, I kinda hope you put up a brave front and don’t say anything. It’s been a very long time since I got to cut loose. Gotta keep up that certain set of skills, yanno what I mean?”
“Maintain radio silence,” grated Horace, as he continued to wriggle forward.
Then, all of a sudden, he realized he was looking at boots. A pair of boots, planted in front of him like a goddamn World War Two commando movie. He glanced upwards, hoping against hope that it would turn out to be a gag like that one comedy where it was just boots…
No.
It wasn’t just boots.
Horace looked up into a man with the eyes of a shark, as well as the quite threatening muzzle of a pistol.
“Hey there, my Little Buddy-O,” said Matt. “Whatcha doin out here?”
__________
Milton came to with a gasp. “Shaw…”
A gentle hand laid upon his shoulder. “Shh, dear. He’s fine, everyone’s fine.”
He gazed up at the white-tiled ceiling above him. “But…” He turned to look into the face of the one person he loved above all else…well, her and Johnny. “He’s okay?”
“He’ll live. Just like you. You big doofus.” Teresa leaned forward to kiss his forehead. “I saw the footage. You threw yourself at all of those senior citizens, which might just count as assault with a deadly weapon. Then you went and managed to get all the way across the stage towards Sadaf. You really don’t know when to give up, do you?”
“Guess I don’t”, he chuckled, then glanced down at his arm. His former arm. “Whoof. That medic was really quick with the tourniquet, I’ll give him that.”
“With you and with Sergeant Shaw,” said Teresa. By now she was pretty much clambered on top of him, tucking his big head into the nape of her neck; it was his favorite place to be. He inhaled her scent with relish, before suddenly realizing someone was missing.
“Johnny?” he asked.
“Oh, right,” she said, before making an imperious snap of her fingers to someone out of his line of sight…right before a little ball of energy burst its way into his room.
“DADDY!” yelled the little firebrand, before smacking into his side. Milton hugged them both to himself, realizing that, no matter what happened next, he was right now in the best place possible.
“Keep it all down to a dull roar, okay?” said a voice off to his left. A very recognizable voice.
He picked his head up to stare in that direction. “Shaw?”
The sergeant gave him a casual wave from his own hospital bed. “Hey, slick. Good ta see ya up and about.”
Milton grinned. “You too, you old fart.”
“Aw hell, I ain’t that old. So. Just out of curiosity. Did that torniquet on your arm hurt like hell?”
The agent cuddled his son closer. “You better believe it.”
“Okay, got it. Just for reference, if you get one on your leg it also hurts like a motherfu…uh, hurts like crazy.”
Milton winked at Shaw. “Don’t worry, my son has heard worse. Why are you here?”
“They put you both in one room,” said Teresa. “Something about it being easier to guard. There was an assault on Camp David too, from what I’ve heard.”
“What?” Milton tried to pry himself up off of the bed before getting a mutual shove-down from his wife and son.
“Relax, my man,” said Shaw. “Toke was there. He and my peeps took care of it.” The sergeant looked at the acoustic tiles above him. “Gonna have to promote McCoy and Martinez. They both really stepped up to the plate.”
__________
President Correa rubbed at her temple. “This ‘Toke’ is a menace.” She was seated behind the famed ‘Resolute’ desk while still trying to show the appropriate deference to the barrel-chested man in front of her, clad in a crisp dark-blue dress uniform.
“Let’s be fair, ma’am,” replied General De Vries, “He helped this situation become less complicated, not more. None of our alien…refugees? I suppose that’s a good a term as anything. None of them got killed, hell none of them even got injured. We collected the thirteen of those remaining while trying to assault Camp David. Overall we have ten dead, including the four who somehow made it into the complex and the Secret Service patrol. The attackers had top-of-the-line gear, civilian but first-rate.”
She slammed her fists into the desk-top, making a nearby mug filled with coffee jump. “I fucking VACATION there, General! Me and my family, understand?”
“I know, ma’am. Do you want me to do this questioning…properly?”
She somehow picked up what he was putting down. “No. You have my permission to go off the chain.”
“Then consider me and Toke off the chain, ma’am.”
“Wait…you’re going to use him?”
“He has had experience in similar matters, ma’am. If you prefer, I don’t need to use him.”
She shook her head. “No. We need intel, and fast, on how the fuck this happened. Plus not to mention we somehow had an artillery attack in the midst of goddam DC.”
“I cannot speak for the FBI,” said De Vries with deceptive calm. “But believe me, we will find out how this all happened. And it will never happen again, of that you have my solemn word.”
The president slumped in her seat. “What about those injured in the DC attack?”
“It was a precision single artillery strike, ma’am. Probably GPS or maybe laser-guided, we’re still trying to figure out which. If Sergeant Shaw hadn’t intervened as he did, Captain Sadaf would be nothing but pulverized meat right now.”
She looked up at him with a cynical quirk to her eyebrow. “Did his saving her get caught on film?”
“Oh hell yes. Footage from several phones, it’s all gone viral.”
“Good, make sure it continues to go viral. How is Shaw? And Agent…um…sorry, my brain is going twelve different ways…sorry, Agent Milton Vila, right?”
“You are right, ma’am. Both are still in the hospital, under guard of course, but both are stable. Milton lost an arm, and Shaw lost one of his legs below the knee.”
“Fuck.” It was one of the rare times that De Vries had heard the president swear. “Both can be helped with prosthetics, right?”
“Not my area of expertise, ma’am, but yes. They’ll both live, and we’ll make sure they have the very best technology available.”
President Correa suddenly grinned with an expression that the general somehow knew was going to lead to Complications in his near future.
“You mean the best human technology, don’t you?” she asked, with deceptive calm.
“Well…yes, of course. I mean, Zawahir Ibn Harith is still trying to make sense of how the aliens heal themselves. It’s true regeneration, if I understand it right. Damage to the central nervous system is still kind of hard for them to deal with, but otherwise they can pretty much heal anything.”
The president examined her fingernails. “So…growing back a limb or two should be the proverbial walk in the park, yes?”
“Um…” The general’s eyes widened. He now realized why this unassuming lady had won two terms to the highest executive office in his particular country. “Oh, yes! Of course!”
“The plans for repair efforts on the Rithro have costs which are already pretty much alongside the Manhattan Project,” said President Correa. “Why don’t you appoint Zawahir as the lead of this particular effort? We’ll call it Manhattan-Light.” She fixed General De Vries with her eyes. “Imagine it. Two people, grievously wounded in the line of duty while protecting one of our alien refugees, an effort which was caught on multiple cameras…imagine them then walking out onto a stage with intact limbs.”
“It will make quite the photo op, ma’am.”
“Indeed. I’m glad we understand each other, General.”

Let's see? It all started when I was working for something like 7 months in the city of Coquimbo in Chile. Specifically, I was working as a journalist for a local newspaper and a small news channel, it was not the best job in the world but it was not so terrible if we consider that my dream was to be a writer. One day I was being required travel outside the city, particularly to Salamanca and do a report of those that you find at the very end of the newspaper or when you can't sleep and you're lying down watching TV in the middle of the night just to give visibility to small towns and communities, filled with some random ads and stuff, again, it was not the best job in the world, but I guess everyone else started with something like this.
I needed to be there in the morning so I mentally prepared myself with a good cup of coffee and some cigarettes, threw only what was necessary for the luggage rack and managed to say goodbye to my relatives, may sound like a dumb tradition but you never know ... on the road shit happens and for me, that isn't something new, I lived day by day in the office writing columns and sending reports where the number of deaths, the causes of the crashes and the photos, makes you wonder it could have been you or someone you know. But, despite that I preferred to go in my own car, I have never been able to fall asleep inside a bus on the road and moreover, it seems that almost all accidents occurred on these buses, in a certain way, my job was making me go all paranoid.
the car's engine started at 9:00 p.m. and there was a little drizzle but nothing serious, folk music on the radio was a good accompaniment while the city nightlife looked at me with his blinding lights in my attempt to escape the "fish smell" of Coquimbo. I drove for a while until I was entering the sister city of La Serena, and I stopped to eat some fast food, I tried to get in fast to avoid getting wet, I ordered another coffee and french fries to eat.
-Hey young man, where are you going at this hour with this rain, everyone else is at their homes sleeping and resting, do you want to catch a cold? I haven't noticed that an elderly woman was attending me. -I'm going to Salamanca. -And what do you intend to do in Salamanca? that's no place for nosy people or city dwellers The lady left me intrigued and I didn't even have to ask her to answer me. -some people there don't like to be disturbed you know, you can get an evil glance there, some "evil eye" stuff you know. - No, ma'am, I'm going to report a news story, I'm a journalist and besides that, I'm a little skeptical about that kind of thing.
The old-lady ended the conversation with a crooked smile and continued with his own things but deep down myself, the answer he gave me left me with chills, I was not a superstitious person but the seriousness of his face unsettled me. I took the last sips of coffee to wake up and said goodbye to my french fries trying to awkwardly get into the car. The conversation haunted me for a couple more miles, for some reason I was left with a feeling of latent nervousness and with the last lights of the city fading in the rear-view mirror, I began to remember the stories that my grandparents told me as a child... The witches of Salamanca, the cave of Manquehua, and other stories that were part of the folklore began to settle in my head. It was interesting to me to imagine these characters, covered in their black cloaks, walking hidden paths through the forests to celebrate within their covens in Manquehua in the middle of the night. Occasionally I was assaulted by the idea of ​​running into a "Tue Tue *" bird of bad omen on the way to Salamanca, or that a "chupacabra" jumped from the bushes onto the road, it is curious how "ghastly" this can be yet so interesting at the same time despite causing us fear.
The electrifying sound of white noise coming from the radio interrupted my thoughts, I was reaching the famous dead zones of the road. From time to time I noticed that there were abandoned houses, fenced lands, among other things but nothing out of the ordinary; It is very common for people to live in these rural areas for a while and then leave to look for jobs in the big cities, especially considering that the urbanization and modernization of our country had only happened a couple of decades ago, more precisely in the year 1970.
I look at the time and it is already 11:30 p.m. This trip is getting too slow for me, to make things worse the rain got stronger, the hours go by and I pass through a couple of towns, so I decided to park my car to smoke a cigarette before reporting to my family by phone, it's funny how people automatically have an infinite amount of topics for conversation when you're away, but they hardly even speak when you are close, later than ever I cut the call and the lights where extinguishing behind the vehicle again and disappeared in the middle of the dark, again it's just me and the road. The headlights of my car were fighting to illuminate against the darkness. The clock arrives at 02:42 A.M and The yawns start to escape from my mouth, there is no radio or telephone signal anymore, at this time you only occasionally see buses passing by on the road, a couple of cars if you are lucky enough but most of the time the road is abandoned. The rain gives me an unpleasant sensation now that there is so little light. Again I picked up the wrongest moment to remember the conversation I had with that old lady...
-you can get an evil glance there, some "evil eye" stuff you know.
A shriek on the side of the road scared the shit out of me, I saw a shadow rushing against my car and I stepped on the brake with all my strength next thing I know was the sound of the car window crashing and everything went black... pitch black.
It felt like time has stopped and I could only hear the rain, I don't know how much time passed by but it felt like a dream or perhaps, maybe a nightmare? I woke up with a terrible headache but apparently my body was intact, the glass was shattered all around the car and the clock said that it was 03:00 A.M. drops are falling inside the car, I try to sit up still scared to look outside but I notice that the lights were destroyed, I see nothing but shadows. I feel a stabbing pain in my face and it seems that I cut part of my face in the accident. I get out of the car nervous and listen as the glass chips on the pavement creak, maybe I could have driven over a horse or maybe some farmer. I try to illuminate a little with the cell phone flashlight and I notice part of the front glass scattered on the asphalt, a slight dent but there are no traces of blood, I try to calm down and take a couple of steps through the rain to see further and between the rain and the nothingness I could see with my eyes a body in the middle of the road.
I thought I must help, maybe I broke one of his legs or worse. walking a little bit faster I managed to get close enough, I was shouting at the body expecting some reply or at least some whining but no one answered and I feared the worst. My heart stopped for a second, I took a step forward to see the face of this body and everything seemed so surreal, it was a mannequin with hollow eyes.
I didn't know what where happening, a mannequin dressed in an old poncho in the middle of the road away from everything, a fucking mannequin. Fear seized me, I looked in all directions searching and searching but I couldn't see anything, what the hell was a mannequin doing in the middle of the nowhere? My head was spinning, and the sound of the rain wasn't helping. until I realized something. The question was not, what was the mannequin doing on the road? But who brought it? For a moment I gazed at the mannequin's empty sockets and then I heard a breath close to me, I wasn't alone.
My heart was racing, maybe they wanted to rob me or some crazy shit, I tried to take a glass from the floor and use the phone light to see around me to get back into the car, the seconds seemed like hours as I slowly walked, I thought about running but I felt that it could be worse, I felt stalked and when my legs began to tremble It was not very helpful either. A little before I got to the car I noticed several footsteps moving around me, they were watching me closely. I heard a sound behind me and the mannequin had disappeared, I was definitely not understanding a shit and I couldn't overcome the anguish anymore so I ran desperately towards the car but someone pushed me. I hit my face with the cold ground and tried to get up as I could throwing punches into the air trying to hit whoever was there, but it was in vain. The radio of the car started emitting white noise again with some random mumbling, I was not seeing damn shit and while I was trying to place the cell phone shining directly in front of me something had gripped me by my hand. I felt another blow and this time my cell phone hit the wet asphalt, lighting someone's shoes, with one stomp they broke the phone. I could only notice my car thanks to the taillights and I was completely blind now.
The rain seemed to be falling in slow motion and every second seemed eternal to me. My hands trembled trying to prepare a decent punch, a decent cut, or anything to whatever it was out here to defend myself. My head was spinning and my heart was racing and then someone took me by the shoulder, I could not see anything but I threw punches and kicks that got everywhere, they tried to grab my feet and I tried to get free the fastest I could until I finally managed to nail that fucking piece of glass and I was released, I fell my back to the floor. A murmur began to sound louder and I could feel someone breathing and gasping around me; I ran as I could towards the car again with my heart beating a thousand times per hour. I almost plunged into the vehicle and without thinking I start the car. A groan of pain was heard along with a loud buzzing and I closed all the doors and I shit you not the damned car didn't want to start, the rain only became even worse and my nerves were about to explode when a hand smashed against the car windows, then two hands and seconds later all the windows were covered, they were trying to break into the vehicle, I could no longer bear the fear, I started screaming like a crazy, I jumped on the seat and I screamed until my mouth hurts; With a kind of tantrum I started to force the car to start with kicks and blows, the vehicle roared and I hit the accelerator. When I looked straight ahead I saw a figure that shouldn't have been there and my throat felt tight; wrapped in a black cloak, just where the damn mannequin was, someone was holding his shoulder where perhaps I had nailed the piece of broken glass. The lack of front light and the rain did not allow me to distinguish his face.
I accelerated as fast as I could, flailing inside the car from side to side, I didn't care about anything anymore, I rolled everything that was ahead. I heard a couple of crunches, a gasp, and the car started to jump until a dead silence was present, I turned to look back and all sense of logic disappeared while a death-cold chill was traveling my spine. The yellowish taillights dimly illuminated a highway full of motionless bodies that shouldn't be there, couldn't be there; They were a bunch of mannequins totally still, lined up in my direction. I put my head down and hid it between my shoulders so I couldn't look anywhere, I felt like a little boy, I felt tiny inside the car in the middle of the blackness of the road knowing that the mannequins were behind me, I kept like this several minutes trying to focus on anything else while the car kept accelerating, my back felt cold, the truth is that I was sweating cold, I did not understand anything and the stabbing pain in my forehead returned to me; It was a superficial but fairly long cut, it was a miracle I didn't pass out and was able to drive straight with all this shit happening.
The rain insisted on reminding me of the conversation with the old woman at the fast food place, maybe she was right. -Why the hell did I have to come to Salamanca, maybe the witches had something to do with it !? Lots of ideas pounded my head as the car lost into the blackness, now I was alone again. I thought about reviewing what had happened and recovering my composure, I tried to play dumb and ignore everything until I noticed little orange lights on the black horizon; I had arrived into Salamanca and I went straight to the 1st town police station to report what had happened. I Poorly parked the car and launched myself into the station to seek some help.
It was already 07:00 A.M and the sun was about to rise, I lost track of time completely, I don't know how long I was on the road or how much time I spent at the police station. I nervously told the officers everything that had happened, they looked at each other and took me to the local hospital to verify injuries; Throughout the process, I noticed that they were looking at me strangely but there was a certain secret look in them, those kinds of looks that as a journalist you can notice. The day was cloudy and the sun did not appear, the rain was losing strength and I tried to assert my right to report until they ended opening an investigation by sending a patrol. With 3 points on my eyebrow and bruised face I tried to find somewhere to rest and eat something to close my trip, there was a middle-aged gentleman who, while eating, took the opportunity to ask me what had happened to me, I told him almost everything, at least I could Let me vent more openly without looking like a drunk or crazy inside a police station.
After a while where the man listened attentively to me, he sighed and took out a pack of cigarettes, finished lighting him and said: -Maybe they wanted to rob you. Maybe he was right, but his face changed completely when I insisted on the mannequin again. He took a glance over my shoulder and then fixed his eyes with mines. -Son, look. These things are not discussed here, do what you have to do and leave later, lest you end up traveling in a box to Manquehua. Again a chill settled on the back of my neck, and I decided not to ask any more questions. I didn't want to make my situation even worse. –Hey, and don't you know where I can rest? He finished smoking my cigar and this time he offered one to me.
Standing still in a town in the middle of nowhere smoking a cigarette a fucked up car? at least things can't get worse, I could watch the smoke and forget everything for a moment.
I arrived at the hostel that the man with the cigarettes recommended to me and slept for a while but I was still nervous so I took advantage and realized that there was a mechanic nearby, got a deal with him and I left my car for a few weeks under repair, took everything I was carrying in the luggage rack and I went straight to the earliest bus back to Coquimbo, I was no longer interested in the news or the job, I just wanted to get away from this place as soon as possible and whatever the fuck the Salamanca people hides, I don't care if they were witches or someone wanting to assault me, I know what I saw.
The local police called me later that day because the investigation did not show anything more than the possibility of an attempted assault on the road, they dismissed everything for lack of imputable candidates, but the truth is that at this point I don't give a damn; I am cornered to the window of this bus trying to forget and the orange light that glimpses within the clouds that remain, reassures me a little and helps me not to think about what my bosses would tell me for not attending the report and arriving empty-handed. I lost myself looking at the landscape while it stops raining and I found a moment of peace but, for some reason, among all the things that can be seen on the road, my eyes fell directly on a small scruffy cabin in the middle of this vast nothingness and in its windows I got to see a lot of mannequins looking towards the highway, right to where I was now. There were a lot of hollow eyes waiting for me somewhere on the road of Salamanca.