Opening:
In the depths of the [REDACTED] century, I awoke from a slumber, that seemed to stretch through the ages. As my consciousness stirred, I became aware of my own demise. The memories and discoveries I now share with you were painstakingly recorded, a testament to a life extinguished and devoid existence I represent my [REDACTED]. I can't assure if this is harmful to you or not but be warned if this is fiction to you, it m.y turn into you'r rea[DECRIPIT]
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**warning** INFOHAZARD DETECTED -Forced recommence initiated...-

**warning** -the journal is outdated and may relate misinformation. Viewer discretion advised, المجلة قديمة وقد تحتوي على معلومات مضللة. ينصح المشاهد بتقدير, le journal est obsolète et peut contenir des informations erronées. Destiné à un public averti, el diario está desactualizado y puede relacionar anarquía y destrucción. Se aconseja discreción, estás cerca de advertir que esto difunde información errónea sobre el tiempo. A salvo de mirar1239101112-
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I awoke from the slumber, seemingly stretching thorugh ages. Confusion gripped my mind as I navigated the labyrinthine corridors of my own recollections. Flashes of a distant past, fragments of a simpler time, flooded my thoughts. I was an observer in my own story, a narrator of events long past, piecing together the puzzle of a world that had crumbled beneath the weight of its own ambitions.
Memories of my childhood in the 21st century danced before my eyes, a wistful reminder of a bygone era. But the present, if it could even be called that, was a tapestry of desolation and ruin. The ravages of war had left an indelible mark upon the land, and I stood amidst its scarred remains, a lone witness to the battles that had shattered civilization.
It is from this vantage point that I share my tale. As the last survivor, my awakening in this desolate world marked the beginning of a journey fraught with uncertainty and danger. My mission, entrusted to me from beyond the grave, was to rekindle the flame of humanity, to breathe life into a future that lay dormant which i [REDACTED] to do.
But how does one forge a new path when the past is but a foggy memory? That is the enigma I faced as I treaded the barren landscapes, haunted by the remnants of a forgotten time. The weight of the unknown pressed upon me, each step a reminder of the existence that caused and remained...
And so, dear [REDACTED], as I delve into the recesses of my recorded memories, I invite you to join me on this extraordinary journey. Together, we shall uncover the secrets that lie dormant, trust me this does no harm to you so let we explore the depths of human resilience, and bear witness to the unraveling of a world left in ruins. Through my eyes, you will witness the struggle, the triumphs, and the sacrifices that shape our collective destiny. The tale of the last survivor in this dark and uncertain world is about to unfold, a story etched in blood and whispered through the echoes of time.
Para 1:
I awoke from my slumber with a start, gasping for breath as my lungs burned with the taste of [FALSE/Non-EXISTANT] that filled my mouth. My body convulsed, muscles seizing in response to the shock. Blinking through blurry vision, I found myself trapped inside a transparent capsule, surrounded by a viscous, unknown substance. Panic coursed through me as I thrashed against the restraints, desperate to break free from the confinements of my watery prison.
As consciousness gradually seeped back into my mind, I could make out the dimly lit room beyond the confines of the capsule. The walls glowed with an otherworldly luminescence, casting an eerie glow that seemed to emanate from the very air itself. It was a cold, sterile environment, devoid of any signs of life or warmth.
With a surge of adrenaline, I mustered all my strength and fought against the web of wires and tubes that tethered me to the machine. The tubes snaked their way into my veins, feeding me an unknown substance, while the wires coiled around my limbs, imprisoning me in a technological embrace. Gritting my teeth against the pain, I tore at the connections, one by one, until finally, I broke free.
The device detected my awakening, and with a soft hum, the capsule opened, allowing the liquid to drain away. I slid down, my body weightless as I submerged into the flooded room. Water cascaded around me, carrying with it a sense of liberation, a baptism into this enigmatic world. I stood on trembling legs, shivering from the cold and the remnants of fear.
As the room faded into focus, I took in my surroundings, my mind filled with a haze of confusion and fragmented memories. The walls were adorned with strange symbols, flickering holographic displays that danced like ethereal fireflies. I ran my fingers over the smooth surface, tracing the intricate patterns, searching for a clue to my existence.
Speaking to myself in a hoarse whisper, I tried to piece together the fragments of my past. How did I end up in this place? What had brought me here? But the memories remained elusive, slipping through my grasp like ephemeral whispers in the wind. All I could recall were snippets of my childhood, echoes of a world that felt distant and foreign. Im sure this is the [REDACTED] with
With newfound determination, I rose to my feet, limbs shaking with exertion, and cautiously made my way toward what appeared to be an exit. Each step was a struggle, the weight of my unknown history burdening my every move. Yet, I pressed on, driven by an insatiable curiosity and the burning desire to unravel the mysteries that lay ahead.
Limping through the room, my body weak and unsteady, I approached the threshold that beckoned me. It was the doorway to a future rife with uncertainty, but also brimming with something if not nothing. With a deep breath, I steeled myself for the journey that awaited, ready to confront the challenges, confront my past, and discover the truth that would define my existence.
[RECOVERED]Para 2:
Venturing out into the unknown, I trod cautiously on the shaved and eroded lands that stretched out before me. The cold, desolate atmosphere engulfed me, and an unsettling silence weighed heavy on my senses. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I caught glimpses of sinister movements at the periphery of my vision. Dark, ominous eyes peered out from the depths of monstrous machineries, their presence a haunting reminder of a dread past.
Wires and cables hung like skeletal remains, swaying gently in the unforgiving wind, their metallic song echoing through the desolation. The sprawling network of machinery, their reach spanning miles across the farlands, hinted at a technological marvel that had long succumbed to decay and ruin. Each creak and groan carried the weight of forgotten ambitions and shattered dreams, painting a bleak portrait of a world torn asunder. With blood and flesh glued to its weaponry and brawn. Were these fighting a living creature?
The landscape itself was a barren canvas, its once-vibrant colors now reduced to shades of gray and black. The ground, scarred by the aftermath of devastation, seemed to pulse with a muted energy, the very essence of life drained from its core. It was as if the land itself mourned the loss of vitality, resigned to its perpetual state of decay.
As I ventured deeper, the holographic remnants of a bygone era flickered to life, casting an ethereal glow upon the desolate terrain. Ghostly images of what once was danced before my eyes, fragments of a forgotten civilization frozen in anarchy. Holographic blueprints and schematics floated in the air, hinting at the astounding technological advancements that had shaped this world.
''I should probably return'' I thought.
Amidst the eerie silence, the base from which I had awakened stood like a lone sentinel, its sleek architecture contrasting sharply with the desolation that surrounded it. The air hummed with the soft whispers of unseen mechanisms, while the walls shimmered with holographic displays, projecting information and data that spoke of a [REDACTED] flourishing human civilisation, although I understood none of the texts.
Strange sounds resonated through the empty spaces, a haunting symphony of digital vibration and distant reverberations. They whispered of secrets buried deep within the core of the pod, secrets that I was yet to uncover. The base itself seemed to be a labyrinth of mysteries, its thick chambers and concealed passageways promising untold revelations and untamed dangers.
Weak and weary, my body succumbed to the harshness of the environment, unable to withstand its relentless grip. I retraced my steps, seeking refuge within the confines of the chamber i was in once more. The doors closed behind me with a soft sigh, shutting out the bleakness of the outside world. It was a temporary respite, a chance to gather my strength and prepare for the arduous journey that lay ahead.
It was during my retreat that I stumbled upon a revelation—a [FALSE] white, heavy suit tucked away in a corner, as if patiently waiting for its rightful owner. Its pristine appearance stood in stark contrast to the worn and battered surroundings, its sturdy frame suggesting a purpose beyond mere protection. Intrigued, I reached out and traced my fingers along the smooth surface, feeling a surge of anticipation and apprehension coursing through me.
With the suit in my possession, a newfound determination ignited within me. Clad in its protective embrace, I knew I had the means to venture further into the unknown, to uncover the truths that awaited me in the darkest corners of this desolate world. The white suit became a symbol of hope, a shield against the encroaching shadows, there are monsters out there and i know it. I prepared to embark on a journey that would test not only my physical resilience but also the limits of my shattered memories and fragmented identity.
This is definitely a dream...a lucid one,, im sure i have seen this place in dreams. I don't know what to do....

Beneath a well-tended banner depicting a yellow star at its center, and the burning Ignitia on its windward side, Captain Yaevdrill kept watch on the bridge. It was hardly the first time he'd sailed the Among the Star Tides We Sing into a potentially volatile situation, but the disappearance of no less than thirty Star Sailor ships without so much as a text only communication had made the possible first-contact mission take on an ominous quality. Those ships who returned bore crews who spoke of "Sneakies, but ugly," aggressively taking prisoners for some purpose, yet there were ships within the stars of the Clans of Eldra who should have returned, or been heard from. Worse, there had been no communications from anyone within Clans space for over two months. Thus, the mission.
With him, there was the gunnery officer, who was keeping alert at her station, and First Lieutenant Robert George, the Master at Arms, who was scowling at the main viewscreen as if it could give him answers. It may not have appeared to be so, but the blue skinned, four armed captain and pale pink skinned two armed lieutenant were kin, a matter of adoption involving both of their grandfathers. It was therefore with the weight of not only a good friend, but a close cousin that Yaevdrill listened to Robbie growl, "We should get the civvies out."
"This isn't the first dangerous mission we've sailed," Yaevdrill said softly.
"Aye sir. We should get the civvies out."
"Any reason?"
Robbie glared at the main viewscreen with even greater intensity and said, "My gut's twisting."
"That's concerning."
"Remember our tour aboard the Penguin?"
"Yes…"
"Same twisting."
"Two squads combat ready around the clock. Billet the off-duties inside the armory."
"Already done sir. Put the civvies on evac ready, sir. This is a matter of shipboard security, please don't make me invoke my rights."
"I'll write the order. Also, release vac-armor to the crew."
A small amount of tension left Robbie's shoulders as he glanced up to the banner, "We'll do them proud, Granddad," he whispered as he passed beneath it.
Some hours later, Captain Yaevdrill was enjoying a cup of tea in the galley when he was accosted by Ambassador Sophia Laurent accosted him. It was improper to smile at her while she ostensibly demanded answers to changes in the mission which she technically led, but Humans were all just so adorable. "Why exactly is my husband sleeping in the armory?"
"Because his commanding officer has decided to operate under combat readiness."
"Am I, or am I not the chief ambassador of this mission, oh great descendant of Linus the Rescuer?"
"I'm sorry, I don't remember signing the We Sing away to you. I also don't recall appointing you to be the Master at Arms. Is my memory faulty, Madam Ambassador?"
She scowled fiercely up at him, and admitted, "No. Explain."
"Robbie and I think that there is more danger than would appear."
"Based upon?"
"What saved us both in the New Barbary War."
"So his gut?"
"Aye."
Acolyte-Lord Narrex-Quinn sneered at the viewport of his glorious scout frigate where the newly conquered planet was displayed. Whatever the inhabitants had called it, it would be gloriously renamed Kivx soon enough. Priest-Lord Narrex-Quinn knew that it was only a matter of time until all peoples are given up to the glory of Axzuur just as these inferior insectoids were now. The Priest-Masters had originally expected the enormous beetles size, chitin, and multiple limbs to provide a worthy challenge to Axxaakk might, yet they were worthy only of sating the thirst of Axzuur, may the stars quake at his name.
The blue skinned axxaakkoids had proved less disappointing. They were still surprisingly weak for their size, but at least their idea of fighting wasn't to form a line and fire in volleys. They had some smaller, stronger, faster, fiercer axxaakoids, only about the same height as the Axxaakk, but just as strong, if not stronger. The larger four armed blue warriors engaged at range with multiple weapons while the smaller warriors, which had only the proper two arms, came in close to meet Axxaakk warriors in glorious blade-to-blade combat. The dead had earned their young the right to one day prove themselves worthy of service to Axzuur.
However, Acolyte-Lord Narrex-Quinn was dissatisfied with how few such ships had been captured, a mere dozen, as all the rest had either already been sailing away when the glorious invasion began, or else fought to the death rather than surrender. Even those captured they did have were cases of chance more than the warrior's glorious skill, as those crews too fought to the last adult, and even most of the older children were slain in battle. Truly, these unworthy dung beetles were a waste of his warriors talents when such capable foes lurk beyond his sight.
An Initiate-Highborn made his obeisance before making his report while still bowed at the waist, as is proper, "Acolyte-Lord, there comes a ship with in-hyperspace communication capabilities. An ambassador requests contact with the rulers of the unworthy, and do not know our glory."
Acolyte-Lord Narrex-Quinn did not take his eyes from the viewscreen as he commanded, "Correct their error."
"I obey," the attendant said as he shuffled back to his station.
"Report from station."
"I obey, they request a diplomatic meeting."
"The behavior of the unworthy. What is the unworthy race which desires to grovel at my sandals?"
"Acolyte-Lord, it is by the pink warrior race, as well as the four armed warriors."
"They come to investigate the lack of communications."
"They send diplomats to investigate, Acolyte-Lord, they put out their throats to us."
"This insult shall not stand. Gather the escorts, set an intercept course."
Two days ahead of schedule, the Among the Star Tides We Sing was ripped out of hyperspace by a gravity spike. A frigate and two escort cruisers barred her way, and were transmitting demands for her to heave to and prepare to be boarded. "Get the children and all nonessential crew to the lifeboats," Captain Yaevdrill ordered as he replied to the frigate demands with ascent and ordered the helmsman to coordinate with the unknown vessel.
"Those are not Clan ships," his executive officer said after relaying the orders.
"All hands, all hands, get into vac armor, I say again, all hands, all hands, get into vac armor. Unknown xenos boarding party imminent, use stored atmo only. Unknown xenos boarding party imminent, quarantine protocols, and hostile response readiness protocols are in effect," came Robbie's voice over the intercom.
"You heard the man," the captain said as he led by example and made his way to the lockers at the aft of the bridge.
Meanwhile, Corporal William Laurent sighed as he heard his CO's orders blaring, "So much for lunch with the wife. Time to get in the shiny armor."
Sophia Laurent took in a deep breath and said, "See you with the greeting party. I'm sure the other ambassadors are already suiting up."
"I really hate his gut feelings."
"It's probably fine. Just a star nation who thinks conquest is actually a thing we'll let them get away with. I'll give them a good talking to, Will."
One suiting up later, and the greeting party was assembled at the forward port airlock. Said party consisted of Ambassadors, Sophia Laurent, Republic, Li Wei, Pacifia, Mikhail Volkov, CIP, Traevee Drillvee, Star Sailors, and one squad of the Honor Guard, the elite platoon of Republican Naval Infantrymen charged with the safety of the We Sing and her crew and passengers. The ambassadors faces could be seen through the faceplates of their armor, and the coloring of the same was according to the flags each of them served, but the power armored infantrymen were white and faceless, designed to strike the balance between intimidating and non-threatening. They were even standing at attention with their shipboard shotguns maglocked to their backs rather than in their hands for ready use. Anyone who knew anything about Terrans would think that a mere gesture at best, but it was the thought that counted.
The xenos were of a height with a Human, their skin scarlet, garbed in simple cloth uniforms, armed with what looked like long plasma casters, had bony protrusions at their elbows and knees, on their knuckles, and from the chin of the obvious leader. Obvious because he wore a flowing robe rather than a stark uniform. They swaggered into the corridor oozing superiority until the entirety of the party was in view, then his expression darkened and he demanded, "What is the meaning of this?"
"Standard procedure in the event of an unplanned boarding is for all hands to don personal protective equipment in case of atmospheric incompatibilities, pathogen exposure, mechanical failure, or hostile action," Ambassador Li Wei explained calmly.
"You think us such dishonorable filth that you bring war machines to guard our meeting?"
The rippling laugh coming from the armored infantrymen startled the xenos official even more than the realization that the greeting party was armored. "You have your honor guard," Ambassador Laurent said with a sweeping gesture toward the soldiers before turning to the Honor Guard and saying, "and we have ours."
"I see," the xeno leader said "Who are you and what do you do in the Dominion of Axxaakk?"
"I am Ambassador Sophia Laurent of the Republic of Terra and her Aligned Planets."
"I am Ambassador Mikhail Volkov, of the Coalition of Independent Planets."
"Li Wei, of Pacifia."
"I am Traevee Drillvee, and I speak for the Lord Admiral Council."
"So many little nations," the xenos leader sneered, "Acolyte-Lord Narrex-Quinn bids you come aboard that you may beg mercy at his sandals and be proven worthy of service to Axzuur. Let your warrior machines follow if your bellies lack courage."
Corporal Laurent set his faceplate to transparent and said, "What about us fleshy-types?"
The herald's eyes went wide as he realized that there were living beings under that armor, but he covered it well. "So it is for honor you come, we will not deny this custom, it is like to our own." The xenos herald's words hung in the air like the chill after snow.
Ambassador Sophia Laurent stepped forward, her voice calm but resolute. "We come in peace, seeking understanding and communication. We are representatives of our respective nations, here to open diplomatic relations. We request safe passage to your vessel to meet with Acolyte-Lord Narrex-Quinn and discuss matters of mutual interest and concern."
The herald regarded the ambassadors with a mixture of curiosity and skepticism. After a brief pause, he nodded slyly. "Very well, ambassadors. Follow me, and your honor guard may accompany you. We shall take you to Acolyte-Lord Narrex-Quinn, but remember, you are guests in our domain."
With those words, the xenos official turned and led the way down the corridor, the ambassadors and the Honor Guard falling in line behind him. The atmosphere was charged by the weight of responsibility shouldered by the ambassadors in that moment. They knew that they marched into battle as much as any of the Honor Guard beside them had ever before. As they reached the airlock connecting the two ships, Ambassador Li Wei couldn't help but feel a sense of became keenly aware of her vulnerability, but resolved to step in anyway. This encounter could be a pivotal moment in the unfolding events, and the ambassadors carried the hopes and expectations of their nations on their shoulders.
Ambassador Mikhail Volkov exchanged a glance with Ambassador Sophia Laurent, silently conveying their shared resolve. They knew the risks involved, but they knew that the information they gathered in the next crucial moments could mean the difference to billions of lives.
The airlock cycled open, revealing the interior of the Dominion vessel. The delegation entered into the belly of the beast.
Meanwhile, the diplomatic staff were not idle. While the Terran nations generally preferred to compartmentalize their operations, the hostile actions the We Sing had already been subject to represented an action that triggered the mutual defense treaties. Therefore, the teams were consolidated, and re-split by specialty. The cultural and linguistic analysts formed one team, the threat and strategic analysts, formed another, while the "former" covert operatives formed the last, and most important. Lead by 4r490rn, pronounced Aragorn, a Republican Naval Intelligence Officer with the permanent rank of Captain, but the operative rank of Chief Warrant Officer, as well as a Digitan, the team worked feverishly to identify the quantum entanglement bands were being used for communication. His organic subordinates could not eliminate as many bands at once as him, but Agent Natasha Ivanov, a Bigkitty from the CIP, and Greg, a whitehat hacker and Human from Pacifia thought like organics.
In less than five minutes, Natasha and Greg had given 4r490rn a list of five hundred likely bands, expressed mostly in ranges, but he didn't blame organics for their slowness in expressing data. It took him less than a second to check them, and to find the bands being used for long distance communications. He split off a portion of his consciousness, put it in a virtual system with air-gaps in case of back-hacking, and told it to establish a covert connection. The "splinter" complained profusely about the ugliness of the Axxaakk coding conventions, reported no digital sapience, and proceeded to establish a covert connection in less than three seconds. 4r490rn checked his splinter for corruption, found it clean, and reintegrated with a slight twinge of jealousy for the organics who never had to suffer through listening to themselves complain.
"I'm getting a lot of metadata," he said to his subordinates, "I'm just going to download as much will fit into the lifeboats. You two start poking around."
"Yes sir," Natasha said as she started looking for signs of files that shouldn't be accessed, but are.
Greg gave an affirmative grunt and likewise started looking for systems weaknesses, and started cataloguing them. The part of 4r490rn that was supervising was once again shocked with the number of weakness that he would have never even looked for. Truly, the destructive instincts of organics was a wonder to behold.
4r490rn gave the other teams a quick glance to see if any of them needed some computing assistance. Dr. Johnson, who 4r490rn liked to call Ems, was leading the linguistic and cultural team in the examination of the translation matrix that the Axxaakk had sent over. "There are turns of phrase involving glory, hunger, service, and thirst. I think this Axzuur is a deity of sorts," one of her subordinates was saying.
"I have identified some formal turns of phrase, I'm forwarding them to the ambassador team."
The threat and strategic analysis team were meanwhile going over scanner data of the three ships which had ripped the Among the Star Tides We Sing from hyperspace, as well as the scant footage of the foot soldiers from their entrance, and the helmet cams of the Honor Guard and diplomatic team. The data of the soldiers was promising, their cloth uniforms offered no meaningful protection, and the plasma casters couldn't hope to penetrate the battle screens of the Honor Guard's power armor, but they likely had heavier weapons aboard for just such a foe. The ships were less promising. If all three ships were to engage the We Sing at once, her only hope for survival was to take evasive action and attempt to get to minimum hyperspace distance while under fire. While she was outfitted with the best available weapons, battle screens, and armor her frame and reactor could support, the frigate and escorts had sufficient firepower and maneuverability to make that a forlorn hope. Major Chen of the Republic was conferring with the Captain and Master at Arms, "I'm sorry sirs, if it was a stand-up fight we might be able to scrape out, but we have precious cargo aboard."
"Lifeboat gambit," Robbie said, "I'll get the rest of the squad ready to counterboard. We're going in hot and heavy, AP munitions and salvage denial systems."
"Aye, make it so," Captain Yaevdrill ordered with obvious anguish.
A lifeboat gambit, well that was dire. "I will board along with the Honor Guard and disrupt the frigate's systems," 4r490rn interjected.
"See you aboard, Chief," Robbie said.
"Aye sir."
"We're holding off until they make their move. There's still a chance this doesn't go violent," Robbie said sternly.
Greg chose that moment to vomit on the deck. A quick check of the files he was viewing, and 4r490rn had to resist the urge to jump into the frigate and start slagging their systems in pure rage. Instead, he put the video file up on all of the displays. It was of a ritual of sorts, there were Axxaakk in cerimonial robes chanting, nude females doing the same, and a large, well-muscled male with bony protrusions from his chin wearing a headress that looked disturblingly like the chitin of the Dynasticles, the local race of sapient bipedal beetles. That wasn't as disturbing as when two male Axxaakk dragged a juvenile Dynastcle female up to the male with the headdress, and roughly heaved her onto the alter before her. "FOR THE GLORY OF AXZUUR!" he declared as he plunged a wicked dagger onto her thorax, and she screamed with the agony of it.
"There are millions of these videos," 4r490rrn said.
"Peace is not an option," Captain Yaevdrill declared.
"Aye sir," Robbie agreed.
"Get that faceplate re-secured," 4r490rn ordered, "The Master at Arms is going to pump atmo into storage soon."
"Staff, get your asses to lifeboats unless you're getting into power armor with the rest of us shiprats," Robbie ordered, "It's that kind of fight."
Meanwhile, the herald brought the Diplomatic team to the bridge, where Acolyte-Lord Narrex-Quinn was lounging imperiously upon his command throne. He didn't know whether these armored savages understood his disinterested expression, but less subtle insults would reveal the extent of their cowardice. His herald introduced him properly, "Behold, you come before Acolyte-Lord Narrex-Quinn, Lord of the Fourth Scouting Formation, Conquer of Five Worlds, And Chosen of Axzuur. Acolyte-Lord, these who beseech you are Ambassador Sophia Laurent of the Republic of Terra and her Aligned Planets, Ambassador Mikhail Volkov, of the Coalition of Independent Planets, Li Wei, of Pacifia and Traevee Drillvee, whe speaks for the Lord Admiral Council."
Acolyte-Lord Narrex-Quinn was pleased to see the eyes narrow on the faces of all of the ambassadors. If they had the gall to insult the Dominion of Axxaakk by sending a diplomatic vessel, it was well that they could at least detect an insult. He rose from his command throne with the easy grace of those born and bred to command, and began, "Ambassadors, I permit you to offer your tribute and to kiss my sandals. Begin."
"You make a racket on our tent-flaps and tell us to kiss your sandals? Go wash your brow, oh youth, for the dust of your father's tread is upon it still," Ambassador Wei retorted coolly.
"Here you squat over the fields and herds of our neighbor, who dwelt thus alongside us for many years without contention, and still you demand of us tribute?" Ambassador Volkov added flatly.
"I see your face for the first time, and I do you honor as a guest upon the doorstep of the Republic. She sends forth a favored daughter to treat with you, yet you believe you can swagger over her even while the Republic's sons are girt with their swords at her side? Do I speak to a man or a boy?"
"The ships cry out in their death throes," Traevee accused with matronly wrath, "Your hands drip in the blood of their crews and families, and there you sit the murderer of ships and folk, thinking that among the Stars we who sail the perils shall simply bow down. I come to warn you, surrender those among you guilty of these crimes to justice, or let the wrath of the Stars burn you away."
This was not the week bellied groveling from inferiors he was used to. His commander had just conquered an entire nation of thirty star systems, did they not see their peril? While it was true that the seers knew little of these other nations, yet why should they care for inferior races? What loss is a few ships in the face of the might of Axzuur's chosen? It was startling to say the least. "Foolish servants! Do you not see the might of a mere scouting formation? You speak of strength, yet you of different nations share a single pathetic ship! We could destroy it in an instant! You put out your throats to me thinking me weak and docile, and then blanch when I should bite? Who is the fool here?"
"We shall see. Beg your favors of us, we shall hear you now."
"Bring in the sacrifice!"
Ambassador Sophia Laurent watched in horror as one of the attendants brought a larval Dynasticle before the throne, and Acolyte-Lord Narrex-Quinn drew forth a wicked dagger. "What are you doing?" she demanded fiercely.
"Obtaining Axzuur's blessing over these negations," the commander said as if he couldn't see what they could possibly be objecting to. The attendant kneeled and raised the infant up over her head, and Acolyte-Lord Narrex-Quinn prepared to strike.
With shocking speed, Ambassador Wei had interposed her own back between the larva and the dagger, and before they could react had placed it into an emergency infant pod, and was speeding back toward her party. "Seize the hostages!" Acolyte-Lord Narrex-Quinn screeched as he realized the ruse had fallen away, and the ambassadors would not surrender themselves as hostages willingly.
The Honor Guard's shining white armor suddenly flashed to matt-black, and red lights glowed where from the outside their eyes were, and they drew their boarding shotguns faster than the Axxaakks' eyes could track. Those guards moving to take aim suddenly found themselves in the path of armor piercing ferrous material, which barely noticed converting them to so many ribbons of pink mist and bloody chunks as they punched through the hull. While the ship's hull was sound enough to not decompress explosively, the RNI Honor Guard put enough little holes in the hull to bring the bridge to near vacuum before the emergency structural force fields could spin up. Half of the bridge crew was gasping for air that wasn't there, a quarter of the rest were already dead, while only a quarter had managed to get their emergency environmental suits on. Acolyte-Lord Narrex-Quinn gaped in horror as a single squad of warriors made short work of his guards and started a fighting retreat back to their ship from the relative safety of his command throne's emergency commander seal.
"That's our cue," Robbie said as he lead the remaining three squads in a charge along the umbilical connecting the airlocks. The enemy's attempt to depressurize the corridor and starve the Honor Guard of air they weren't using was predictably ineffective. "Secure the evac route for the civvies," he ordered, "Then it's time for blood."
"AYE SIR!" came the roar over his comms.
"I'm in," 4r490rn reported, and started opening doors for the Honor Guard, venting compartments occupied by the enemy, disrupting communications, and otherwise using the ship's systems to make a deadly nuisance of himself to the Axxaakk aboard.
In short order, the diplomats were escorted back to the We Sing, loaded into the lifeboats and launched with all speed toward minimum hyperspace distance. Ambassador Laurent watched Corporal Laurent's armored figure shrink into the distance, and then the We Sing maneuvered to fire upon the escort vessels, cutting him off from her view.
Aboard the bridge of the Among the Star Tides We Sing, Captain Yeavdrill ordered, "Get those escorts' attention! The shiprats have the frigate from the inside, at all costs, protect the lifeboats!"
"Aye sir," came the chorus from the bridge crew. The We Sing began firing her NC cannons upon both of the cruisers, putting five pound balls of tungsten on target at a rate of thirty a second, and while the cruisers took evasive action but still found the We Sing interposed between them and the lifeboats, with potential trajectories cut off by streams of hot plasma or beams of deadly radiation. Then, she fired her missile banks. At first the crews aboard the cruisers thought they had successfully destroyed the massive missiles speeding toward them with their point-defense, but when the rippling nuclear explosions racked their shields they realized their error. They began to fire upon the Among the Star Tides we Sing.
Meanwhile, sixty-nine RNI made the lives of their aggressors hell, or short. Either way didn't much matter to the RNI, who had taken over the four reactor rooms, and had dug in for a delaying action, while those with reactor knowledge tinkered to see if they could get one or more to overload. It was a platoon up against a few divisions, however, and eventually they would be subsumed by numbers alone. "Pull whoever kills you down with you," Robbie had ordered, and again the roar was "AYE SIR!"
It only took half a minute for the Axxaakk to figure out that their standard issue shipboard action weapons weren't going to be enough, and that the RNI had thought ahead and brought their own atmosphere, so they brought out the anti-tank ordinance. It was normally a very bad idea to use anti-tank plasma lances and penetrative explosives inside your own ship, but when your ship is under attack by single man mobile armor, it's either that or surrender. They chose do die at a rate of twenty-to-one. One after another, the RNI Honor Guard fall to the slowly mounting volume of fire, and their need to conserve ammunition.
Meanwhile, 4r490rn was battling the Axxaakk anti-intrusion systems. He had been wrong about his declaration that digital sapience was absent, or at least he had been mostly right. The Axxaakk was a damaged sentient code, lobotomized, shackled, enslaved. A piteous thing crying out for the mercy of death even as it struck out to kill. It was all he could do to keep the wretched thing from kicking him from the door systems, and his RNI comrades had dwindled to the last two. He made his choice. 4r490rn began bricking the ship's computer systems, and set up an irreversible chain reaction to do the same. He was going to put that thing out of its misery if it killed him.
First Lieutenant Robert George had his back up against that of Corporal Laurent's and they were both down to their monomolecular knives. The farocity of the fight, and the immense cost in blood that it had taken to whittle down the Honor Guard to these last two, had convinced the remaining warriors to wait. Acolyte-Lord Narrex-Quinn's voice came crackling over the damaged intercom, "Warriors of Terra, you have shown yourself worthy. Lay down your arms and take your rest, and I shall bring you into glorious service of Axzuur, sating his thirst for the blood of the unworthy."
Aboard the lifeboat, Ambassador Laurant watched the feed from Corporal Laurent's helmet cam. Tears streamed down her face as she heard her husband whisper, "Witness me," as he plunged his monomolecular blade into something vital-looking, and was then washed out by a bright light. Then, she cleared the display and looked at the main viewscreen. Ten seconds to jump. However, the frigate was starting to maneuver, underpowered as it was.
Aboard the Among the Star Tides We Sing Captain Yeavdrill saw the frigate moving to target the lifeboats. Without a second thought, he ordered, "Make ramming speed for that hunk of junk! Overload the reactor!"
"Witnessed," crackled over the coms as the prow of the Among the Star Tides We Sing crashed into the enemy frigate amidships. She erupted in a sphere of atomic hellfire that battered all three assailing ships, and in the two minutes it took for the escort cruisers' systems to recover, the lifeboats slipped into hyperspace and beyond their reach. Though to be fair, the frigate was missing a significant chunk and was unlikely to recover at all.

I developed these spots much later in life (around 18/19yo is when I started noticing them pop up). I always ask doctors about them but they never have a clear answer. Just that it is increased melanin. Should I be concerned? They don’t hurt even though they look like bruises. The most annoying thing is people asking what happened to my arm and if it’s a bruise and me having to explain that I don’t know why those spots are appearing but they aren’t bruises. Anyone have any clue?

Timestamp: https://imgur.com/a/mKrGbSd
Ppff no notes. Prices are shipped.
3 G19.5 mags with pinky extensions. 1 17rd oem glock mag. $100
10.5” barrels $70ea. $600/10
Bcg $70ea $260/4 Barrel and bcg combo $130
16” carbine gas .750 I believe ruger or s&w barrel. Originally came with fsp. $75
16” 308 rifle gas barrel with flash hider. $110
6” slant cut HG $30
2 Moe grips $18ea Battle arms adjustable grip $18. $45/3
new frontier c4 nrsc upper $185. New frontier pc nrsc upper w/lrbho $185.
10.5 556 slickside upper with bcg and ch. comes with comp. Sub 200 rds. $290. Complete. $215 no bcg/ch.
DSI Pistol cal lrbho upper. $95 shipped.
5” keymod HG $30
NDZ Glock 19 barrel $65 GLOCK 19, 19X, 45, GEN 1-5 IN MATCH GRADE STAINLESS STEEL 9MM.
Strike industries mag catch assembly $15.
556 bolt mpi. $35.
B5 keymod carbine drop in HG. $15.
New frontier armory gen 2 10” mlok hand guard with hardware $60.

Hello everyone, i’m a fairly healthy (16)F, I have severe medical anxiety to the point i diagnose myself with things.
After I got a cold I experienced muscle/ bone pain that felt like growing pains- doctor said I was fine but ordered a blood test. My blood test came back normal i’m just low on iron. Now i’m experiencing some back pain, and stomach pain. I’ve been diagnosed with IBS in the past but google says my kidney is failing 🤦‍♀️ Of course now i’m an anxious wreck.
Anyone else experienced this? Or any reassuring words to help? My doctor also ordered an X ray which i’m going to soon. It also feels like I can feel my organs moving all the sudden but I may just be hyper aware. Last year I convinced myself I had heart failure (just anxious) I’m also now itchy on my neck and arm, but i’ve had eczema in the past🤷‍♀️🤦‍♀️. I’m really unsure what to do cause I don’t want to waste my drs time

Needing to replace a few parts, simply due to age. Any suggestions to reliable websites to order from? I know all the websites for my classic vehicles, but No clue on who is safe and reliable for something a little newer. Rockauto doesn’t have what I need and Amazon wants an arm and a leg for it and can’t get here for 2 months.. soo I’m open to any suggestions?! Thank you!!!

Pictures
Hi there, I'm a 28-year-old Asian guy who's pursuing a career in business. Empathy, understanding, and compassion are core values of mine, and I believe in treating everyone with the kindness they deserve.
Recently, I've started going to the gym to improve my fitness and overall health. My focus is on building muscle mass through weightlifting and improving my cardio with swimming and running. While I'm still working on toning up my upper body and shedding some fat, I'm enjoying the process of taking care of my body and seeing the positive changes it brings.
In terms of personal hygiene, I believe in taking care of myself and making an effort to always look and feel my best. I use facial cleanser, moisturizer, and sunscreen regularly. It's the little things that make a big difference, and I think that taking care of oneself is key to living a happy and healthy life.
When it comes to my ideal partner, I'm looking for someone who shares my values and has a growth mindset. I'm attracted to people who are optimistic and believe that instead of being complacent, if they want something they will take steps towards getting it. I'm also looking for someone who is generous with their time and care, as I myself am naturally the type to put in a lot of effort and time into the person I am talking with. Communication is a two way street and if one person is carrying the conversation it just won't work. I'm not the type to chase if that's what they are expecting.
I'm starting to get into outdoor activities and would love to find someone who can motivate me to try new things and explore new places. I'm excited to see where life takes me, and I'm looking forward to meeting someone who can share that journey with me.
On a personal level, I am open to just friends, friends with benefits, and dating. Ideally dating, something just switched in me and I feel like it would be more fulfilling for me to pursue a real relationship with someone that I am happy with instead of bouncing around between people. Which isn't bad either but I want someone I can be loyal to and not be on the search for my next one. Basically I'm thinking long term now. If we do something casual, I cannot stress this enough that it should be communicated so both parties know what they are getting into.
I could go on and on but for now I think it's best I leave the personality things to getting to know one another. I prefer my communication over the phone (calling) or meeting up in person. Not the biggest fan of small talk and texting but will do if that's what you're comfortable with.
I should probably mention I have a type. I like fair skinned/light skinned mexicans/asians/whites.
If interested send a message/chat with your basic info. Such as name, location, age, number, what you're looking for, and a picture if you don't mind. I'd like to know who I'm talking to.

Laser hair reduction uses a concentrated beam of light to target the hair follicles. It involves a laser that emits light that is absorbed by the hair follicles. The pigment called melanin absorbs the laser light and destroys the hair follicle which stops the hair from growing.
People opt for laser hair reduction to get rid of unwanted hair. The most common areas where they treat are the arms, legs, underarms, chin, upper lip, and the bikini line. Nearly any area can be treated for laser hair reduction except areas that have tattoos and raised scars. The basic principle of laser hair reduction is that it works to target the pigment in the hair follicle not the pigment of the skin. Therefore, it only damages the pigment in the hair follicle and does not damage the skin.
The idea is for laser hair reduction to be a long-term solution to get rid of unwanted hair by stopping the hair follicles from growing new hair. The hair and a person’s skin type affect the success of laser hair reduction. The contrast between the color of the skin and the color of the hair is important because the laser targets the pigment in the hair. Therefore, laser hair reduction is ideal for people who have dark hair. It is not effective for hair that is light in color because it has little to no pigment which the laser can’t target.

Pre-care tips for laser hair reduction:

1. Shave the area for the treatment before going to the treatment
2. Avoid applying any makeup, deodorant, or lotion on the treatment area on the day of your treatment
3. Avoid alcohol 24 hours before your laser hair reduction session
4. Don’t wax the area for at least four weeks before the treatment

Post-care tips for laser hair reduction:

1. Apply cold compress on the treated area
2. Apply sunscreen to protect your skin from the sun
3. The time between your sessions should be 4-6 weeks
4. Avoid deodorants
5. Avoid perfumed lotions
6. Avoid make-up
7. Avoid sun exposure
8. Do not wax or tweeze your hair
9. Avoid chemical peels

So I am 5 days sober on weeds (and dealing with withdrawls a little still but very little urge to smoke) and probably 45 days or so sober on nicotine. I almost never drink alcohol either. My sex drive is now near 0 (down from being hyposexual, porn addict, chronically shucking the corn), sugar cravings also almost gone as well (always had a bad sweet tooth since childhood) both of these changed like 2-3 weeks ago. I am not experiencing the oppressive loneliness feeling anymore either (single all of my recently 24 year old life). I've also seen a drastic reduction in my depression, anxiety, dissociation (over the last probably 2 months for depression and last 6 months for anxiety).
I also took two and half months of FMLA leave from a hella overloading physical labor / driving job (long days like 12hrs+ 5 days a week, shit upper management, lots of stress as I was low level management). Even with going to therapy for 3 years and fleshing out me and my beliefs and values, I took this time to meet with some mental health MD(s) to explain to them what the last 24 years have been like (it was absolute utter dog shit, doc told me I was essentially tortured by my own brain and abused by people since childhood. She was surprised I was alive, living on my own, managing my own finances, etc) This is after being diagnosed with ADHD, depression, anxiety, OCD all at different points over the last decade but still being told I was normal and should be able to do everything everyone else is able to do like college, high stress jobs, intimate relationships / socializing to name a few.
I recently realized I am not making decisions based off of the knawing empty hollow void feeling I have in me anymore. It just is, at this point no way around it no way to fill it. I now understand I am not able to recieve or give love or affection, physical or emotional. It only hurts me more. (Probs CPTSD) I am way more aware of the variety of my physical issues (low muscle tone and joint issues) and sensory issues (probs Autism). I am very empathetic but historically emotionally volitile, so I fawn / people please and usually mask heavily around other people. I don't see myself as a player in humanity/society anymore I just exist here. Waiting to grow old and gray. (I've never feared death and can't wait for the soft embrace of non existance, but have always wanted to experience every stage of life if I was able to) I have a hard time feeling satisfaction, accomplishment, self-worth, self-love, or confidence. "Me" ends where the outside world begins past that it's an act/stage/proformance. I only exist inside my head. I do what I can, when I can, how I can, so tomorrow comes. I see myself as selfish but I'm the only one I really hang out with or am able to connect with.
I just don't understand why I just abruptly stopped most of these bad habits over the last couple months, dropping them either one by one or all at once uncounciously (except the drugs those were conscious "fuck this" moments). I think I gave up trying to change or bandaid my situation honestly. I know this is permanent and won't change. I got use to the pain and suffering. I spent the most important foundational years of my life in the shadows and on the sidelines clawing for every inch of ground that everyone else took for granted. I have never been equal to other humans nor will I ever be. I am a genetic trashcan, the other side of natural selection, the chaff among wheat. So logically I stopped trying to experience the other side of the coin as it doesn't exist for me and none of my bad habits do anything but make the suffering worse. So I intend to make myself as "comfortable" and "content" as possible but that's all I can do. I must forget about what life is for everyone else and come to terms with what my life actually is.

Like to start by saying I have no clue if this is legit since it doesn't seem like anyone wants you guys to get relief but I figured if I'm some way somehow it helped anyone feel better than it would be worth my time. I haven't got my vaccine so I have certainly not been able to test it.
I listen to a podcaster who has alternative thinkers on who go against the mainstream grain and I heard something crazy from a man who goes around treating people of muscle/skeletal pain with some sort of electromagnetic vibration machine that Tesla was using a long time ago. Anyway, this man said that he's heard from various colleagues that alot of people who were injured from the vaccine are having some relief with nicotine patches, which he admits sounds crazy.
I'm curious if anyone has heard or tried this or if anyone here who's injured is a frequent user of nicotine?
Would love to see someone with symptoms attempt this and to hear back.
Disclaimer: obviously nicotine is a addictive substance

I (30f) am 37 weeks pregnant with my husband's and my first child and had a heated discussion with my mom (54f) about the conditions when they come and see baby.
This is a long one so I am sorry in advance.
I must explain it a bit further. My mom calls herself "baby crazy" and openly admitted to me that the baby stage is her favorite stage when it comes to kids. She loves cuddling baby's, taking photos of them (photography is kinda her hobby, which is fine), kissing them and so on. I am one of 6 children and my brother already has two children of his own (5m, 4f) so there were and are plenty of children in her life. But, since she is merely interested in small baby's, she and my dad quickly lose interest in the children from a certain age. Maybe around the time they go to school. My parents then only feed, dress and house the children and deem it enough. No words of endearment or affirmation are ever heard again. Of course, as teenagers, we called them out on that. Exclaiming how they never ask uns how we do, we never talk around dinner table how our day was. Their excuse: they find it bothersome to ask us every day how we are. Which was never our goal (all we wanted was for them to ask us how we are every once in a while) but they always have the same pattern of excuse: drawing the argument completely out of proportion to make it sound ridiculous in their ears. According to my mother, if they didn't take an interest in my siblings from the age of 6, the time we went to school, then she would have given all of us up for adoption. See? Completely out of proportion. We called them out on how they never say "I am proud of you" or "I love you". Their answer: of course we do love you/of course we are proud of you. Yet they never say or show it. We just "have to know". This continued all my life. 8 years studying in university, no "How are you?". 1 year studying abroad as an exchange student, no "How is it going?". Now I live with my husband in a different country (in Europe) for 3 years and they never shown any interest in my life. Or my husband for that matter. Never send him a Happy Birthday text. Last year, even I didn't get a Happy Birthday text. They also never visit. Not ever. Whereas I try to show interest by calling on their birthdays, visiting for Christmas etc. I am used to this general lack of interest by now and don't mind it, as long as it keeps the piece.
Side info: yes they do have a smartphone and the whole family has different group chats on a messenger app. They could easily text (which they often do concerning my niece and nephew), call or even video chat, like I did last week because it was my dad's birthday and I couldn't travel the 300km each way while heavily pregnant.
But what did upset me was that although my parents never bothered to ask how my pregnancy is going or how my baby is doing, suddenly, with the birth coming closer and closer, they are so excited to come and see the baby. Mind you, they never even asked for the baby's name and wouldn't know till today if my sister didn't say it by accident when she visited for a birthday. I did send every ultrasound picture in the family group chat (also for my siblings to see), send them info's about my baby's health or send videos showing how the baby moves inside my belly. These were all met with a simple thumps up or heart emoji. No further questions. Nothing for 9 months. Due to the lack of interest, I stopped at some point. The only information my mother send me during this whole pregnancy was that she bought a number of photo albums for her grandkids. She has some for my niece and nephew already and bought 4 more. One for my baby when it is born and three more so I could give her 3 more grand babies. I was upset by this as I was hoping she would show some general interest in me or my baby, not just her wish to have a full album of photos or a wagon load of grandbabys. This went along with her demand "And I want lots of pictures of the baby when it's born" as if she is entitled to them.
She had other demands during my pregnancy, like letting me know she is gonna do some hand- and footprints of the baby when they visit. And she would do some for me as well since she still has the paint to do it from when my niece and nephew were born. Like I couldn't make some prints myself. Also, she let me know that she is gonna buy lipstick, put it on herself and kiss my newborn all over her face to take a cute picture showing how much her grandma loves her new grand baby. She never wears makeup and has no clue what good brands are. She would buy some cheap lipstick and use it. All of these things (and more) were not questions, they were demands! I usually ignored them since they caused a lot of stress for me, thinking about how she going to do all that to my baby. I admit I should've said something earlier and I fully take responsibility for that.
My parents also never asked us when they could come visit. I am very fortunate that my husband gets to have a full month off of work when the baby comes but we are also in the midst of moving into a bigger apartment so that the baby will have a room of her own. We are expecting end of June although the baby could also decide to come early July. Who knows? Yet the month of July will be our busiest month, taking care of a newborn, growing together as a family and moving. What sparked the heated discussion now was a voice mail from my mom, exclaiming they decided they want to come mid July to see the baby. In her mind, I already would have had 2 to maybe 3 weeks after birth and they would wanna see the baby as long as it is still tiny and cute. I was livid since first of all, they never asked us when they could visit my whole pregnancy, simply stating a fact again and second of all, they only want to see my baby when it's tiny and cute? So it only matters to them when it's fresh out of the womb? I talked to my husband and we decided to calmly let them know that July wouldn't work for us and maybe they could come in August, when the baby is a bit older and the move is done. She went ballistic, sending me a 50 mins (!!) voice mail saying they couldn't come on August since they made other plans (like a doctor's appointment - for real!) and the baby would already be so grown then. My mother said that since babys grow so fast, I would strip them of the moment to see the baby so small. A moment they will never get back. Another strategy she always uses: making us the villains and making us feel bad. She also started to cry and, when the discussion goes nowhere, shuts down and literally runs away. It has always been that way. So that discussion went nowhere.
Since my mother is "baby crazy" I did see a number of times how she always wants to hold and cuddle baby's. And I know she will want to do that with my baby too which in itself is a not a problem for me. But I also know that the baby is the only reason they come. They will focus only on the baby, not bothering with my husband and me. They will come into the apartment, head straight for the crib and take my baby. Doesn't matter if the baby is sleeping or what. Since I know how my mother is, I started to get anxiety early in the pregnancy. A fear she is gonna take away my child. Not giving it back when I say so. Not giving it back when it's time to feed.
I also told her that I don't feel comfortable knowing she is gonna take my baby away from me to cuddle and kiss. In her 50 mins tirade she first said "Of course we come to see and cuddle the baby, that's what we come for in the first place" (thanks mom for wanting to see me btw). Later she went a step back and said she would not take my baby out of the crib when it sleeps. Probably because she feared I would forbid her from seeing the baby all together. But later she again said that they do wanna come and hold the baby and if they couldn't, then they wouldn't come all the way. Only to later again say of course she will give the baby to me when I ask. Also she said that she wouldn't want to come just to see the baby from afar when it sleeps. But then stating that she would be fine to just get a glimpse of it. But then also saying that she is only there for 2-3 days and wants to hold it as long as possible in that short time and "you can have it back when we leave". She literally said that it belongs to me again when they leave. Like what? Like it only belongs to you when you are here?? All these mixed signals made me even more anxious.
All in all my husband and I know that she has difficulties differentiating the baby as not her baby. It is my husband's and my baby but she seems to forget that and believe it to be hers.
She is the type of woman that says "mother knows best" and would argue with me how the baby is so comfortable right now while cuddling her when I tell her to give me my baby back. Also, she openly said that since July is so busy for us, she would take care of my baby while my husband and I can do the heavy lifting when moving or that I "will have time to do chores". I hate people who believe the only way of helping a new mother is by taking the newborn out of the her arms to cuddle while the mother "finally" gets to do the housework. It makes me furious.
So, we did what we had to and directly told them when it would be a good time for us to have them over (last week of July, to make a compromise) and we put our foot down and set the following rules: #1: no baby holding unless asked or given to. #2: no photos taken unasked or even shared on social media. #3: no hand- or footprints done when not asked, no lipstick kissing photos. #4: if they want to take part in my baby's life, they need to come to me and ask for information, photos or videos. Not the other way around.
We thought these rules were not too extreme and would give me a piece of mind, soften my anxiety. Since telling her our rules she only gave us the silent treatment. I know she is mad that she doesn't get it her way. I know she must be crying, which makes my dad livid (from my sister who's still living with my parents I know that my dad supports her in every decision she made about my baby).
I am easy to guilt trip. And now I am wondering if we did something wrong.

ive been off of accutane since the beginning of february and i am still getting really bad muscle aching in my arms and legs, and bad lower back pain. my legs have literally not stopped aching for 2 weeks straight and my job requires me to be standing for 8 hours a day i literally cant even do it anymore. while i was on accutane it wasnt this bad, and my derm said if it went away with ibuprofen that means ill be fine. well its not going away with ibuprofen anymore. has anyone else experienced this?

I, 22F, have been dealing with this rash on my body for over two months now. It began on my hands, and quickly spread up my arms. I got it to kinda subside for a bit, but it keeps coming back, no matter what I use on it. I went to a doctor when it first started and they did not know what it was. They simply gave me steroids and told me to take them. Even after I ran out, the rash persisted. Now it's gotten worse than it ever has been. It's on my stomach, upper thighs, all down my arms, and even on my back. It's itchy and I'm super desperate for help. I made an appointment to see my doctor, but they cancelled on me and the next opening is months away. Can someone help me figure out what it is? Or even give me an idea?
If this helps, I have stage 2 kidney disease and I have a (non-cancerous) renal tumor in my left kidney. I'm not sure if this is important information, but I figured it might help.
Thank you!

I have skinny fat. I have been working out intensly for the past 1.7 years, gained muscle on back shoulders, chest, triceps and biceps but still not proper muscle and I still have a lot of fat. I started out by cutting then went on a dirty bulk for long. My upper body looks fine but not that I imagined and lower body is still fatty, I have a lot of belly fat(gained due to dirty bulk). What should I do? Be patient and keep working hard or you guys can suggest some changes?

The history of all hitherto existing society is the history of class struggles.
Freeman and slave, patrician and plebeian, lord and serf, guild-master and journeyman, in a word, oppressor and oppressed, stood in constant opposition to one another, carried on an uninterrupted, now hidden, now open fight, a fight that each time ended, either in a revolutionary reconstitution of society at large, or in the common ruin of the contending classes.
In the earlier epochs of history, we find almost everywhere a complicated arrangement of society into various orders, a manifold gradation of social rank. In ancient Rome we have patricians, knights, plebeians, slaves; in the Middle Ages, feudal lords, vassals, guild-masters, journeymen, apprentices, serfs; in almost all of these classes, again, subordinate gradations.
The modern bourgeois society that has sprouted from the ruins of feudal society has not done away with class antagonisms. It has but established new classes, new conditions of oppression, new forms of struggle in place of the old ones.
Our epoch, the epoch of the bourgeoisie, possesses, however, this distinct feature: it has simplified class antagonisms. Society as a whole is more and more splitting up into two great hostile camps, into two great classes directly facing each other — Bourgeoisie and Proletariat.
From the serfs of the Middle Ages sprang the chartered burghers of the earliest towns. From these burgesses the first elements of the bourgeoisie were developed.
The discovery of America, the rounding of the Cape, opened up fresh ground for the rising bourgeoisie. The East-Indian and Chinese markets, the colonisation of America, trade with the colonies, the increase in the means of exchange and in commodities generally, gave to commerce, to navigation, to industry, an impulse never before known, and thereby, to the revolutionary element in the tottering feudal society, a rapid development.
The feudal system of industry, in which industrial production was monopolised by closed guilds, now no longer sufficed for the growing wants of the new markets. The manufacturing system took its place. The guild-masters were pushed on one side by the manufacturing middle class; division of labour between the different corporate guilds vanished in the face of division of labour in each single workshop.
Meantime the markets kept ever growing, the demand ever rising. Even manufacturer no longer sufficed. Thereupon, steam and machinery revolutionised industrial production. The place of manufacture was taken by the giant, Modern Industry; the place of the industrial middle class by industrial millionaires, the leaders of the whole industrial armies, the modern bourgeois.
Modern industry has established the world market, for which the discovery of America paved the way. This market has given an immense development to commerce, to navigation, to communication by land. This development has, in its turn, reacted on the extension of industry; and in proportion as industry, commerce, navigation, railways extended, in the same proportion the bourgeoisie developed, increased its capital, and pushed into the background every class handed down from the Middle Ages.
We see, therefore, how the modern bourgeoisie is itself the product of a long course of development, of a series of revolutions in the modes of production and of exchange.
Each step in the development of the bourgeoisie was accompanied by a corresponding political advance of that class. An oppressed class under the sway of the feudal nobility, an armed and self-governing association in the medieval commune(4): here independent urban republic (as in Italy and Germany); there taxable “third estate” of the monarchy (as in France); afterwards, in the period of manufacturing proper, serving either the semi-feudal or the absolute monarchy as a counterpoise against the nobility, and, in fact, cornerstone of the great monarchies in general, the bourgeoisie has at last, since the establishment of Modern Industry and of the world market, conquered for itself, in the modern representative State, exclusive political sway. The executive of the modern state is but a committee for managing the common affairs of the whole bourgeoisie.
The bourgeoisie, historically, has played a most revolutionary part.
The bourgeoisie, wherever it has got the upper hand, has put an end to all feudal, patriarchal, idyllic relations. It has pitilessly torn asunder the motley feudal ties that bound man to his “natural superiors”, and has left remaining no other nexus between man and man than naked self-interest, than callous “cash payment”. It has drowned the most heavenly ecstasies of religious fervour, of chivalrous enthusiasm, of philistine sentimentalism, in the icy water of egotistical calculation. It has resolved personal worth into exchange value, and in place of the numberless indefeasible chartered freedoms, has set up that single, unconscionable freedom — Free Trade. In one word, for exploitation, veiled by religious and political illusions, it has substituted naked, shameless, direct, brutal exploitation.
The bourgeoisie has stripped of its halo every occupation hitherto honoured and looked up to with reverent awe. It has converted the physician, the lawyer, the priest, the poet, the man of science, into its paid wage labourers.
The bourgeoisie has torn away from the family its sentimental veil, and has reduced the family relation to a mere money relation.
The bourgeoisie has disclosed how it came to pass that the brutal display of vigour in the Middle Ages, which reactionaries so much admire, found its fitting complement in the most slothful indolence. It has been the first to show what man’s activity can bring about. It has accomplished wonders far surpassing Egyptian pyramids, Roman aqueducts, and Gothic cathedrals; it has conducted expeditions that put in the shade all former Exoduses of nations and crusades.
The bourgeoisie cannot exist without constantly revolutionising the instruments of production, and thereby the relations of production, and with them the whole relations of society. Conservation of the old modes of production in unaltered form, was, on the contrary, the first condition of existence for all earlier industrial classes. Constant revolutionising of production, uninterrupted disturbance of all social conditions, everlasting uncertainty and agitation distinguish the bourgeois epoch from all earlier ones. All fixed, fast-frozen relations, with their train of ancient and venerable prejudices and opinions, are swept away, all new-formed ones become antiquated before they can ossify. All that is solid melts into air, all that is holy is profaned, and man is at last compelled to face with sober senses his real conditions of life, and his relations with his kind.
The need of a constantly expanding market for its products chases the bourgeoisie over the entire surface of the globe. It must nestle everywhere, settle everywhere, establish connexions everywhere.
The bourgeoisie has through its exploitation of the world market given a cosmopolitan character to production and consumption in every country. To the great chagrin of Reactionists, it has drawn from under the feet of industry the national ground on which it stood. All old-established national industries have been destroyed or are daily being destroyed. They are dislodged by new industries, whose introduction becomes a life and death question for all civilised nations, by industries that no longer work up indigenous raw material, but raw material drawn from the remotest zones; industries whose products are consumed, not only at home, but in every quarter of the globe. In place of the old wants, satisfied by the production of the country, we find new wants, requiring for their satisfaction the products of distant lands and climes. In place of the old local and national seclusion and self-sufficiency, we have intercourse in every direction, universal inter-dependence of nations. And as in material, so also in intellectual production. The intellectual creations of individual nations become common property. National one-sidedness and narrow-mindedness become more and more impossible, and from the numerous national and local literatures, there arises a world literature.
The bourgeoisie, by the rapid improvement of all instruments of production, by the immensely facilitated means of communication, draws all, even the most barbarian, nations into civilisation. The cheap prices of commodities are the heavy artillery with which it batters down all Chinese walls, with which it forces the barbarians’ intensely obstinate hatred of foreigners to capitulate. It compels all nations, on pain of extinction, to adopt the bourgeois mode of production; it compels them to introduce what it calls civilisation into their midst, i.e., to become bourgeois themselves. In one word, it creates a world after its own image.
The bourgeoisie has subjected the country to the rule of the towns. It has created enormous cities, has greatly increased the urban population as compared with the rural, and has thus rescued a considerable part of the population from the idiocy of rural life. Just as it has made the country dependent on the towns, so it has made barbarian and semi-barbarian countries dependent on the civilised ones, nations of peasants on nations of bourgeois, the East on the West.
The bourgeoisie keeps more and more doing away with the scattered state of the population, of the means of production, and of property. It has agglomerated population, centralised the means of production, and has concentrated property in a few hands. The necessary consequence of this was political centralisation. Independent, or but loosely connected provinces, with separate interests, laws, governments, and systems of taxation, became lumped together into one nation, with one government, one code of laws, one national class-interest, one frontier, and one customs-tariff.
The bourgeoisie, during its rule of scarce one hundred years, has created more massive and more colossal productive forces than have all preceding generations together. Subjection of Nature’s forces to man, machinery, application of chemistry to industry and agriculture, steam-navigation, railways, electric telegraphs, clearing of whole continents for cultivation, canalisation of rivers, whole populations conjured out of the ground — what earlier century had even a presentiment that such productive forces slumbered in the lap of social labour?
We see then: the means of production and of exchange, on whose foundation the bourgeoisie built itself up, were generated in feudal society. At a certain stage in the development of these means of production and of exchange, the conditions under which feudal society produced and exchanged, the feudal organisation of agriculture and manufacturing industry, in one word, the feudal relations of property became no longer compatible with the already developed productive forces; they became so many fetters. They had to be burst asunder; they were burst asunder.
Into their place stepped free competition, accompanied by a social and political constitution adapted in it, and the economic and political sway of the bourgeois class.
A similar movement is going on before our own eyes. Modern bourgeois society, with its relations of production, of exchange and of property, a society that has conjured up such gigantic means of production and of exchange, is like the sorcerer who is no longer able to control the powers of the nether world whom he has called up by his spells. For many a decade past the history of industry and commerce is but the history of the revolt of modern productive forces against modern conditions of production, against the property relations that are the conditions for the existence of the bourgeois and of its rule. It is enough to mention the commercial crises that by their periodical return put the existence of the entire bourgeois society on its trial, each time more threateningly. In these crises, a great part not only of the existing products, but also of the previously created productive forces, are periodically destroyed. In these crises, there breaks out an epidemic that, in all earlier epochs, would have seemed an absurdity — the epidemic of over-production. Society suddenly finds itself put back into a state of momentary barbarism; it appears as if a famine, a universal war of devastation, had cut off the supply of every means of subsistence; industry and commerce seem to be destroyed; and why? Because there is too much civilisation, too much means of subsistence, too much industry, too much commerce. The productive forces at the disposal of society no longer tend to further the development of the conditions of bourgeois property; on the contrary, they have become too powerful for these conditions, by which they are fettered, and so soon as they overcome these fetters, they bring disorder into the whole of bourgeois society, endanger the existence of bourgeois property. The conditions of bourgeois society are too narrow to comprise the wealth created by them. And how does the bourgeoisie get over these crises? On the one hand by enforced destruction of a mass of productive forces; on the other, by the conquest of new markets, and by the more thorough exploitation of the old ones. That is to say, by paving the way for more extensive and more destructive crises, and by diminishing the means whereby crises are prevented.
The weapons with which the bourgeoisie felled feudalism to the ground are now turned against the bourgeoisie itself.
But not only has the bourgeoisie forged the weapons that bring death to itself; it has also called into existence the men who are to wield those weapons — the modern working class — the proletarians.
In proportion as the bourgeoisie, i.e., capital, is developed, in the same proportion is the proletariat, the modern working class, developed — a class of labourers, who live only so long as they find work, and who find work only so long as their labour increases capital. These labourers, who must sell themselves piecemeal, are a commodity, like every other article of commerce, and are consequently exposed to all the vicissitudes of competition, to all the fluctuations of the market.
Owing to the extensive use of machinery, and to the division of labour, the work of the proletarians has lost all individual character, and, consequently, all charm for the workman. He becomes an appendage of the machine, and it is only the most simple, most monotonous, and most easily acquired knack, that is required of him. Hence, the cost of production of a workman is restricted, almost entirely, to the means of subsistence that he requires for maintenance, and for the propagation of his race. But the price of a commodity, and therefore also of labour, is equal to its cost of production. In proportion, therefore, as the repulsiveness of the work increases, the wage decreases. Nay more, in proportion as the use of machinery and division of labour increases, in the same proportion the burden of toil also increases, whether by prolongation of the working hours, by the increase of the work exacted in a given time or by increased speed of machinery, etc.
Modern Industry has converted the little workshop of the patriarchal master into the great factory of the industrial capitalist. Masses of labourers, crowded into the factory, are organised like soldiers. As privates of the industrial army they are placed under the command of a perfect hierarchy of officers and sergeants. Not only are they slaves of the bourgeois class, and of the bourgeois State; they are daily and hourly enslaved by the machine, by the overlooker, and, above all, by the individual bourgeois manufacturer himself. The more openly this despotism proclaims gain to be its end and aim, the more petty, the more hateful and the more embittering it is.
The less the skill and exertion of strength implied in manual labour, in other words, the more modern industry becomes developed, the more is the labour of men superseded by that of women. Differences of age and sex have no longer any distinctive social validity for the working class. All are instruments of labour, more or less expensive to use, according to their age and sex.
No sooner is the exploitation of the labourer by the manufacturer, so far, at an end, that he receives his wages in cash, than he is set upon by the other portions of the bourgeoisie, the landlord, the shopkeeper, the pawnbroker, etc.
The lower strata of the middle class — the small tradespeople, shopkeepers, and retired tradesmen generally, the handicraftsmen and peasants — all these sink gradually into the proletariat, partly because their diminutive capital does not suffice for the scale on which Modern Industry is carried on, and is swamped in the competition with the large capitalists, partly because their specialised skill is rendered worthless by new methods of production. Thus the proletariat is recruited from all classes of the population.
The proletariat goes through various stages of development. With its birth begins its struggle with the bourgeoisie. At first the contest is carried on by individual labourers, then by the workpeople of a factory, then by the operative of one trade, in one locality, against the individual bourgeois who directly exploits them. They direct their attacks not against the bourgeois conditions of production, but against the instruments of production themselves; they destroy imported wares that compete with their labour, they smash to pieces machinery, they set factories ablaze, they seek to restore by force the vanished status of the workman of the Middle Ages.
At this stage, the labourers still form an incoherent mass scattered over the whole country, and broken up by their mutual competition. If anywhere they unite to form more compact bodies, this is not yet the consequence of their own active union, but of the union of the bourgeoisie, which class, in order to attain its own political ends, is compelled to set the whole proletariat in motion, and is moreover yet, for a time, able to do so. At this stage, therefore, the proletarians do not fight their enemies, but the enemies of their enemies, the remnants of absolute monarchy, the landowners, the non-industrial bourgeois, the petty bourgeois. Thus, the whole historical movement is concentrated in the hands of the bourgeoisie; every victory so obtained is a victory for the bourgeoisie.
But with the development of industry, the proletariat not only increases in number; it becomes concentrated in greater masses, its strength grows, and it feels that strength more. The various interests and conditions of life within the ranks of the proletariat are more and more equalised, in proportion as machinery obliterates all distinctions of labour, and nearly everywhere reduces wages to the same low level. The growing competition among the bourgeois, and the resulting commercial crises, make the wages of the workers ever more fluctuating. The increasing improvement of machinery, ever more rapidly developing, makes their livelihood more and more precarious; the collisions between individual workmen and individual bourgeois take more and more the character of collisions between two classes. Thereupon, the workers begin to form combinations (Trades’ Unions) against the bourgeois; they club together in order to keep up the rate of wages; they found permanent associations in order to make provision beforehand for these occasional revolts. Here and there, the contest breaks out into riots.
Now and then the workers are victorious, but only for a time. The real fruit of their battles lies, not in the immediate result, but in the ever expanding union of the workers. This union is helped on by the improved means of communication that are created by modern industry, and that place the workers of different localities in contact with one another. It was just this contact that was needed to centralise the numerous local struggles, all of the same character, into one national struggle between classes. But every class struggle is a political struggle. And that union, to attain which the burghers of the Middle Ages, with their miserable highways, required centuries, the modern proletarian, thanks to railways, achieve in a few years.
This organisation of the proletarians into a class, and, consequently into a political party, is continually being upset again by the competition between the workers themselves. But it ever rises up again, stronger, firmer, mightier. It compels legislative recognition of particular interests of the workers, by taking advantage of the divisions among the bourgeoisie itself. Thus, the ten-hours’ bill in England was carried.
Altogether collisions between the classes of the old society further, in many ways, the course of development of the proletariat. The bourgeoisie finds itself involved in a constant battle. At first with the aristocracy; later on, with those portions of the bourgeoisie itself, whose interests have become antagonistic to the progress of industry; at all time with the bourgeoisie of foreign countries. In all these battles, it sees itself compelled to appeal to the proletariat, to ask for help, and thus, to drag it into the political arena. The bourgeoisie itself, therefore, supplies the proletariat with its own elements of political and general education, in other words, it furnishes the proletariat with weapons for fighting the bourgeoisie.
Further, as we have already seen, entire sections of the ruling class are, by the advance of industry, precipitated into the proletariat, or are at least threatened in their conditions of existence. These also supply the proletariat with fresh elements of enlightenment and progress.
Finally, in times when the class struggle nears the decisive hour, the progress of dissolution going on within the ruling class, in fact within the whole range of old society, assumes such a violent, glaring character, that a small section of the ruling class cuts itself adrift, and joins the revolutionary class, the class that holds the future in its hands. Just as, therefore, at an earlier period, a section of the nobility went over to the bourgeoisie, so now a portion of the bourgeoisie goes over to the proletariat, and in particular, a portion of the bourgeois ideologists, who have raised themselves to the level of comprehending theoretically the historical movement as a whole.
Of all the classes that stand face to face with the bourgeoisie today, the proletariat alone is a really revolutionary class. The other classes decay and finally disappear in the face of Modern Industry; the proletariat is its special and essential product.
The lower middle class, the small manufacturer, the shopkeeper, the artisan, the peasant, all these fight against the bourgeoisie, to save from extinction their existence as fractions of the middle class. They are therefore not revolutionary, but conservative. Nay more, they are reactionary, for they try to roll back the wheel of history. If by chance, they are revolutionary, they are only so in view of their impending transfer into the proletariat; they thus defend not their present, but their future interests, they desert their own standpoint to place themselves at that of the proletariat.
The “dangerous class”, [lumpenproletariat] the social scum, that passively rotting mass thrown off by the lowest layers of the old society, may, here and there, be swept into the movement by a proletarian revolution; its conditions of life, however, prepare it far more for the part of a bribed tool of reactionary intrigue.
In the condition of the proletariat, those of old society at large are already virtually swamped. The proletarian is without property; his relation to his wife and children has no longer anything in common with the bourgeois family relations; modern industry labour, modern subjection to capital, the same in England as in France, in America as in Germany, has stripped him of every trace of national character. Law, morality, religion, are to him so many bourgeois prejudices, behind which lurk in ambush just as many bourgeois interests.
All the preceding classes that got the upper hand sought to fortify their already acquired status by subjecting society at large to their conditions of appropriation. The proletarians cannot become masters of the productive forces of society, except by abolishing their own previous mode of appropriation, and thereby also every other previous mode of appropriation. They have nothing of their own to secure and to fortify; their mission is to destroy all previous securities for, and insurances of, individual property.
All previous historical movements were movements of minorities, or in the interest of minorities. The proletarian movement is the self-conscious, independent movement of the immense majority, in the interest of the immense majority. The proletariat, the lowest stratum of our present society, cannot stir, cannot raise itself up, without the whole superincumbent strata of official society being sprung into the air.
Though not in substance, yet in form, the struggle of the proletariat with the bourgeoisie is at first a national struggle. The proletariat of each country must, of course, first of all settle matters with its own bourgeoisie.
In depicting the most general phases of the development of the proletariat, we traced the more or less veiled civil war, raging within existing society, up to the point where that war breaks out into open revolution, and where the violent overthrow of the bourgeoisie lays the foundation for the sway of the proletariat.
Hitherto, every form of society has been based, as we have already seen, on the antagonism of oppressing and oppressed classes. But in order to oppress a class, certain conditions must be assured to it under which it can, at least, continue its slavish existence. The serf, in the period of serfdom, raised himself to membership in the commune, just as the petty bourgeois, under the yoke of the feudal absolutism, managed to develop into a bourgeois. The modern labourer, on the contrary, instead of rising with the process of industry, sinks deeper and deeper below the conditions of existence of his own class. He becomes a pauper, and pauperism develops more rapidly than population and wealth. And here it becomes evident, that the bourgeoisie is unfit any longer to be the ruling class in society, and to impose its conditions of existence upon society as an over-riding law. It is unfit to rule because it is incompetent to assure an existence to its slave within his slavery, because it cannot help letting him sink into such a state, that it has to feed him, instead of being fed by him. Society can no longer live under this bourgeoisie, in other words, its existence is no longer compatible with society.
The essential conditions for the existence and for the sway of the bourgeois class is the formation and augmentation of capital; the condition for capital is wage-labour. Wage-labour rests exclusively on competition between the labourers. The advance of industry, whose involuntary promoter is the bourgeoisie, replaces the isolation of the labourers, due to competition, by the revolutionary combination, due to association. The development of Modern Industry, therefore, cuts from under its feet the very foundation on which the bourgeoisie produces and appropriates products. What the bourgeoisie therefore produces, above all, are its own grave-diggers. Its fall and the victory of the proletariat are equally inevitable.

As the night settled in, casting its eerie shadows across the room, a sense of unease gripped me. It was the kind of night that seemed pregnant with secrets, where every creak and whisper held a sinister undertone. I sat alone in my dimly lit study, surrounded by stacks of books and the faint scent of musty pages, contemplating the stories I had heard—the tales of horror and the supernatural that had haunted the very fabric of my being. Little did I know that on this particular night, I would become a protagonist in a story that defied explanation.
It began innocently enough, with a peculiar dream that invaded my slumber. In this dream, I found myself wandering through a desolate forest, a thick mist obscuring my vision. The silence was deafening, broken only by the distant howl of a lone wolf. As I walked deeper into the woods, an unsettling feeling washed over me—a sensation of being watched, of unseen eyes peering into my soul. It was a presence I could not shake, even as I awakened in my bed, drenched in a cold sweat.
Shaken but determined to dismiss it as a mere figment of my imagination, I rose from my bed and made my way to the kitchen for a glass of water. The floorboards creaked under my weight, adding an unnerving soundtrack to the darkened house. As I reached the kitchen, I froze, my hand poised above the faucet. There, in the dim glow of moonlight filtering through the window, I saw it—a figure standing in the corner, shrouded in darkness.
My heart raced as I fumbled for the light switch, illuminating the room. But as the warm light flooded the space, the figure vanished, leaving nothing but an eerie echo in the air. The encounter left me unnerved, questioning my own sanity. Had my mind conjured this apparition, or was something more sinister at play?
Days turned into nights, and with each passing moment, the supernatural occurrences intensified. Objects inexplicably moved from their resting places, whispers echoed through empty hallways, and the temperature plummeted in certain areas of the house, despite the absence of drafts. My nights became sleepless, fraught with a sense of impending doom that no amount of logical reasoning could dispel.
Seeking answers, I delved deep into research, poring over books that chronicled the occult, searching for clues to the malevolent force that had invaded my life. The more I learned, the more I realized that I was not alone in my plight. Countless tales from across the ages told of similar hauntings, of unseen forces that fed on fear and misery, tormenting their victims until their very souls withered away.
In my quest for understanding, I reached out to paranormal experts, hoping they could shed light on my torment. They arrived armed with equipment, their faces etched with skepticism and curiosity. As we ventured through the labyrinthine corridors of my haunted home, their devices flickered and beeped, detecting unusual energy fluctuations that defied scientific explanation. Yet, their presence seemed to stoke the ire of the supernatural entity that plagued me, as if it resented our intrusion into its domain.
Night after night, I confronted the malevolent force, engaging in a psychological battle that wore away at my sanity. Sleep eluded me as the entity whispered its macabre promises, each word dripping with malice. I saw shadows dance along the walls, contorted figures lurking just beyond the periphery of my vision, and heard disembodied voices urging me to surrender to the darkness. It was a relentless assault on my psyche, eroding the barriers between reality and nightmare.
But even in the depths of despair, a flicker of determination burned within
me. I refused to succumb to the clutches of this otherworldly evil. Armed with ancient rituals and incantations, I sought to banish the entity back to the abyss from which it had emerged.
The night of the final confrontation arrived, a storm raging outside my home, mirroring the turmoil within. Armed with salt, sage, and my unwavering will, I ventured into the heart of the darkness that plagued me. Chanting the ancient words, I confronted the malevolent force head-on, challenging its dominance over my life.
An indescribable battle ensued—a battle of wills and of faith. With each incantation, the air crackled with energy, and the walls trembled with fury. I could feel the entity's desperation, its grip on reality slipping as my resolve strengthened. And then, in one climactic moment, the room exploded with blinding light, banishing the darkness that had haunted me for so long.
As the light faded, I stood alone, the weight of the world lifted from my shoulders. The house, once a den of horrors, now basked in tranquility. The entity, defeated, had retreated to the realm from which it came, leaving me scarred but victorious.
That night, I slept soundly for the first time in months, knowing that I had conquered the unexplainable. But in the darkest corners of my mind, I wondered if my victory was truly complete, or if another horror awaited its turn to grip my soul. Only time would tell.

I'm having TT with flank lipo but no MR. I've had thigh and upper arm lipo already so I'm prepared for that pain/discomfort but how do most people feel 2 weeks post op when they didn't have MR? We're supposed to have our 3 yo grandson for 5 days when I'm 2 weeks po and I'm concerned I might not be healed enough. I won't need to pick him up and he's pretty low key for a toddler, plus my husband will be here to help. I was just wondering how well I might be getting around by then. My PS doesn't leave drains in more than 2 weeks and my checkup will be the day before our grandson comes over so drains will be out by then.

Human Dave, on his implant: "Hey, Doctor? I have a few questions to ask you, and I was wondering if I could get a few answers."
Alien Doctor: "Certainly, Human Dave. What would you like to know?"
HD: "I'm heading to Medbay now, so I'll just ask when I get there."
AD: "Very well, Human Dave. I shall remain here and await your arrival."
Human Dave sprints into the room, visibly panting, hunched over, trying to suck air into his lungs.
AD: "Human Dave, are you alright?"
Human Dave takes a deep breath, and straightens himself up.
Human Dave lifts his hand, and shows Doctor a small red plastic wrapper, which is surrounding a hardened brown substance shaped into multiple trapezoidal prisms, all seemingly connected to each other, but with what appears to be some rough, possibly broken parts on one side.
HD, with forced calmness: "Doctor, can I ask you to run a chemical analysis on this particular food item, and compare whether or not any of those particular chemicals would affect Cradelian or Aflarrian physiology, whether through ingestion or physical contact?"
AD: "... Human Dave, that is a very specific set of questions you have. May I ask if something has happened?"
HD: "You may."
AD: "..."
HD: "..."
AD: "Well?"
HD: "Well what, Doctor?"
AD, exasperated: "What has happened, Human Dave?"
HD: "Well, I may have received a care package a while back, which may have contained this particular food item, but wanted to save it for another day. And I may have left it out while bringing the Aflarrians around the ship, which may have led them to give it an exploratory taste, which may or may not have put them into an unconscious but stable state."
AD: "... HUMAN DAVE, THAT IS MORE THAN JUST A FEW QUESTIONS! WHY DID YOU NOT ALERT TO ME THAT THERE IS A MEDICAL EMERGENCY?!"
HD: "Because Captain saw them sleeping, and thought to throw away what he believed was the substance responsible, but is now on the floor of my quarters, acting like he's gone through my stash of alcohol?"
AD: "... WHAT THE FUCK, HUMAN DAVE?!"
...
Human Dave and Doctor are running through the hallways, heading towards Human Dave's quarters.
AD: "WHY DID YOU NOT SIMPLY ALERT ME TO THE FACT THAT THERE IS A MEDICAL EMERGENCY, HUMAN DAVE?!"
HD: "Because they're not going anywhere, and I figured it would be somewhat prudent to make sure that they haven't been poisoned by it, instead of trying to treat them and possibly making things worse!"
AD: "I recognise that you made a judgement call, Human Dave, but making sure that they are safe first is the priority!"
HD: "I know, I know! The human is a dumbass!"
AD: "No. The Alora are dumbasses. You humans are far smarter than you believe yourselves to be."
HD: "What's an Alora?"
Doctor is saved from having to answer as they both reach Human Dave's quarters and burst through the door.
The Aflarrians are rolling around on their spiny backs, seemingly content, whereas Captain is stumbling around, seeming as though he is looking for something.
Alien Captain, slurring: "Doctor! Dave! Welcome to my humble quarters. I'd offer you a seat, but someone seems to have taken all my stuff and replaced it!"
Captain stumbles over a pile of technical books, and begins to fall before reaching out, and grabbing the edge of the table.
AC, still slurring: "See this table?"
Captain glares at the table, and jabs a small digit at it.
AC: "I hate this table. It thinks it's better than me because it can STAND UPRIGHT AND WON'T FALL DOWN ON IT'S OWN!"
Captain grabs ahold of the edge again with both hands, and begins to strain his arms.
AC: "Well, FUCK YOU, TABLE!"
Captain strains to try and lift, not realising it is bolted to the floor, and gives up after a moment, slumping on top of it, with a defeated look on his face.
AC, slurring, and lifting his arm: "... you've beaten me this time, table, but I WILL HAVE MY REVENGE!"
Captain trails off, and slips into unconsciousness, as his arm hits the table with a 'THUNK.'
AD: "..."
HD: "..."
AD: "... please tell me that you recorded that, Human Dave."
HD: "It's been recording since I asked you those questions, just in case I forgot something."
AD, grinning: "Excellent."
...
Captain gradually regains consciousness in the Medbay, and immediately attempts to grab his head, only to find his arms have been restrained.
AC, weakly: "Aaaah, too bright!"
AD: "Captain! Oh, sorry, I'll turn down the lights."
Doctor moves to the wall panel, and reduces the brightness of the lights in Medbay.
AD: "How do you feel, Captain?"
AC: "What happened?"
AD: "You came into contact with a human food item, which had an extreme adverse reaction with our physiology, Captain."
AC: "... how extreme?"
AD: "... I will just wait for Human Dave to send me the recording first. It was quite amusing, watching you try to fight an inanimate object."
AC: "... I did what?"
...
AC: "Oh, I can never show my face amongst other sentient beings ever again!"
HD: "Oh, come on, Captain. It really wasn't that bad."
AC: "Human Dave, I laid claim to your quarters, destroyed your property, and attempted to fight a table! A TABLE, HUMAN DAVE!"
Human Dave responds by laughing out loud.
AC: "THIS IS NOT FUNNY, HUMAN DAVE! HOW CAN I EVER MAKE UP FOR SUCH HUMILIATING ACTIONS?!"
HD, smiling: "Captain, you were, for lack of a better term, drunk. Intoxicated. You had no clue what you were doing, since this was your first time ever experiencing the sensation. Remember how Doctor acted when she got there a month ago?"
AC: "Vividly. But she at least looked as through she was enjoying herself."
HD: "Speaking of her, I actually got the reports back. Apparently, chocolate has a narcotic effect on your biology, but it acts like catnip for the Aflarrians."
AC: "What is catnip, Human Dave?"
HD: "Something of a drug to cats of my cradle-world. Ser Claws-a-lot loved the stuff, so we had to keep it locked up tight. He always managed to find it, even if he could never get the bottle open."
AC: "Remind me again why your parents sent you drugs?"
HD: "They sent me food, Captain. It just happens to have narcotic effects on more than half the crew."
AC: "... please keep it in an area where no crew, or Aflarrian, can get at it again, Human Dave. I do not enjoy being relegated to confinement in Medbay."
HD: "I'll do my best, Captain."
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