Hey everyone. I was laid off from my prior job august 22 and recently got hired on remotely for a healthcare tech company as a customer service associate.
During new hire training (which lasted 6 weeks, technically 5, since week 6 we are by ourselves), we are told if we have to go to the bathroom, just switch the Salesforce status to "on break." We are also told that all company policies (PTO, break times, holidays, etc) would be reviewed at the very end during our meetings with our managers (technically week 7).
We are told we get (2) paid 15 min breaks and (1) unpaid hour lunch. Which is fine, my last job was similar. (But it was paid 30min lunch).
During the last 3 weeks (I'm in week 7 right now) I get a DM from my manager stating I've gone over my paid 30min break time like 3 times (at least once a week from him). Confused, I ask my trainer about this and she is not aware of going over as we are told in training not to worry about it.
I had a one on one meeting with my manager and he explains that if we go to the bathroom, anytime spend should be deducted from one of our 15 min breaks. So if I step away between calls to pee since I'm trying to stay hydrated, and am in the bathroom for 3min for example, my break is now 12min long. It is conflicting because I said I was trying to stay hydrated and he said, "oh well of course we want you to drink water and we're all human. So I don't want you feel like you need to keep a stopwatch when walking away."
HOWEVER the follow up after that statement is: "just deduct however much time you are away from your work station from your break. Don't go over your alotted 30min of break a day."
I lowkey had a little anxiety about it because in any previous position I've had, you could just go use the restroom and also have your regular breaks?
Additionally we were told if we have a tough call that "hey, were human go take care of yourself after." Which just happened for me for the first time today. But before I even thought about stepping away for a quick deep breathing session, I asked my manager if we had to deduct that time too and, of course, he said we do. So I was like "I'll just wait for my break."
This is all on top of the fact that they don't review any break, PTO, holiday policies until Friday of week 7. But I'm already being called out once a week on a policy that was never officially reviewed.
I'm not looking for any snide comments about how I could be a snowflake or anything. I'm honestly curious if anyone else has experienced this. If so, what did you do? Did you talk to the team? Did you quit? This just seems so micromanaging and fake to me. I get needing to police remote employees to reduce taking advantage of breaks. But I feel like there should be a better way to allow bathroom breaks and breathing breaks if needed. I'm also looking to get out of the customer service field. Any tips would be appreciated.....I'm just one person in a sea of millions looking for some kindness is all....it's been a rough couple weeks. Thanks for your time.

Just finished pipeline an hour ago and it was one of the hardest workouts I’ve done in a LONG time- Garmin backs this up with numbers. I don’t even have advice on what station to start on because it just went on and on and on without mercy. Our class didn’t have a hydration break and the trainer wasn’t sure if this was a mistake on the screen or if it was meant to be 4 straight laps no break. Here we are—- good luck fam .

Here is a listing of all the media articles, for the past 2 weeks on anything gun related that related to New Jersey:
Note: Articles on the recent PI ruling have been omitted as covered in separate post (Link at bottom)

1. Man Shot By Police After Firing Gun Near NJ Train Station: Mayor Wayne, NJ Patch
2. Prosecutor: 6 NY men posed as police in armed NJ home invasion (nj1015.com)
3. New Jersey police officer who authorities say shot and killed a 911 caller is charged with manslaughter CNN
4. Newark Sees 4th Multiple Shooting In A Month: 4 Shot, 1 Dead Newark, NJ Patch
5. Person With Gun Reported At Great Falls, Juvenile Charged: Paterson PD Wayne, NJ Patch
6. 13-year-old's shooting inspires anti-crime initiative in Newark, New Jersey for summer safety - ABC7 New York (abc7ny.com)
7. Analysis: Three experts explain America's gun politics CNN
8. NJ State Police seize guns from Paterson man and woman (northjersey.com)
9. NJ’s attorney general confronts gun violence, corruption, police reform — and a paradox - Gothamist
10. NJ Teen Charged With Attempted Murder In Shooting Near Carnival East Brunswick, NJ Patch
11. Pa. man charged after accidentally shooting himself at Wildwood Crest motel, police say PhillyVoice
12. Church member arrested in shooting death of Sayreville councilwom (nj1015.com)
13. Student Photo With Firearm Probed, 'No Imminent Danger': Brick PD Brick, NJ Patch
14. NJ road rage gunfire: 7 things to try when you’re this angry (nj1015.com)
15. Pleasantville, NJ, Man Facing Gun Charges After Foot Pursuit (wpgtalkradio.com)
16. DWI Driver Found With Loaded Gun After Crash: Montgomery Police Hillsborough, NJ Patch
17. Three Youths Arrested in Trenton After Bucks Gun Store Heist – NBC10 Philadelphia (nbcphiladelphia.com)
18. Mom says Newark police handcuffed 8-year-old daughter in search for big brother’s gun - nj.com
19. Hero N.J. police officer wrestled ‘ghost gun’ from suspect, saved bystanders - nj.com
20. Ex-Con Wanted In Edgewater Domestic Assault Caught Outside Cliffside Bar With Gun: Police Cliffside Park-Edgewater Daily Voice Serving Cliffside Park, Edgewater, Bogota, Fairview, and Ridgefield
21. Atlantic County Man Sentenced for Possession of Illegal Handgun (rlsmedia.com)
22. Shots fired outside a Paterson school over parking, cops say (nj1015.com)
23. Authorities identify 8-year-old, man killed by gunman in N.J. apartment - nj.com
24. Frackville man charged after gun discharges in Wildwood Crest, New Jersey, wounding him (yahoo.com)
25. Sen. Bob Menendez, Mayor Ras Baraka call for more enforcement of federal gun laws - CBS New York (cbsnews.com)
26. Murphy Announces Intention to Nominate Michael Noriega to Serve on the New Jersey Supreme Court - Insider NJ
27. Eunice Dwumfour murder: Arrest made in shooting death of New Jersey councilwoman - ABC7 New York (abc7ny.com)
28. N.J. attorney convicted of murder in shooting death of his longtime girlfriend - nj.com
29. Joaquin DeJesus, 53, of Atlantic City Sentenced to 8-Year Prison Term For Firearms Offenses - South Jersey Observer
30. AI may be the future of preventing school shootings PIX11
31. Chicago man arrested in NJ DWI with stolen gun from Alabama (wobm.com)
32. NJ Fugitive Joel Martinez Accused of Pistol-Whipping Transgender Woman, Shooting Others – NBC10 Philadelphia (nbcphiladelphia.com)
33. InsiderNJ's Fight of the Week: Platkin v. Bumb (and Guns) - Insider NJ
34. Worker Wrestles Gun From Gas Station Convenience Store Robber On Route 46 Saddle Brook-Elmwood Park Daily Voice Your Local News for Saddle Brook and Elmwood Park, New Jersey
35. Armed robber steals thousands in cash from NJ pharmacy (nj1015.com)
36. SEEKING PUBLIC’S ASSISTANCE: BERGENFIELD, NJ MAN SOUGHT IN ATTEMPTED MURDER INVESTIGATION - Bergen County Prosecutor's Office (bcpo.net)
37. Man charged in N.J. cold case killing was arrested with murder weapon a decade ago, cops say - nj.com
38. Two Atlantic City men arrested with drugs, handgun (pressofatlanticcity.com)
39. Atlantic County Man Sentenced For Handgun Possession Gloucester Daily Voice Your Local News for Gloucester County, New Jersey
40. Brattleboro man gets prison time as felon with a gun again Local News reformer.com
41. Southern District of New York New Jersey Man Charged With Gunpoint Robbery Of Manhattan Electronics Store United States Department of Justice
42. NJ man accused of leading PSP on chase along I-80 (yahoo.com)
43. Camden County Armed-Robbery Suspect Remains At Large: Police Collingswood, NJ Patch
44. District of New Jersey Essex County Man Admits Shooting of Former Federal Informant United States Department of Justice

Note: Articles on the recent PI ruling have been omitted as covered in separate post here:

https://www.reddit.com/NJGuns/comments/13k6wym/media_meltdown_media_coverage_on_judge_bumbs/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3

It blows my mind how blind some people are to how football works and it makes you wonder how truly out of touch people are who complain about scripting and the likes.
I just played a guy who did nothing just passed the ball around midfield doing pointless skill moves going nowhere. He scored two cross goal pass goals because he's got prime Eusebio and prime Pele up front and apparently they are impossible to mark. He had 6 shots in total.
I won 3-2. I had 20 shots, hit the crossbar 3 times including from a point blank range volley where the ball then came off the bar and his player tripped over the ball and scored an own goal. It was a lucky goal, but also unlucky as there's genuinely no reason the volley should hit the bar when I only tapped shoot...
Anyway to me, I've won the match fair and square and move on with my life. Then I receive this sarcastic message telling me how undeserved the win was (I translated the sarcasm) and that the game let me win.
I'm not sure what planet this guy is on but he concedes one unfortunate goal and suddenly the game let me win, despite dominating the game entirely. One of his goals came from my player I explicitly misplacing an easy pass too... Obviously he doesn't notice that!
So my overall point is that so many people bang on about how the game is unfair and scripted but I think a lot of people have their heads so far up their own arse they can't even remotely detect when they have been bested fair and square.
If I bombard your goal for 90 minutes I'm making my own luck, if every attacking chance has a 10% chance of something lucky happening as a result then I'm more likely to get that luck by having more attacking chances.
It's like how Lampard always scored deflected goals, it looks lucky but ultimately hes so effective at shooting players used to panic block his shots resulting in bad block attempts. You have to realise football is also about making your own luck. Conceding one lucky goal in a game you where dominated in is not the game hating you.

It blows my mind how blind some people are to how football works and it makes you wonder how truly out of touch people are who complain about scripting and the likes.
I just played a guy who did nothing just passed the ball around midfield doing pointless skill moves going nowhere. He scored two cross goal pass goals because he's got prime Eusebio and prime Pele up front and apparently they are impossible to mark. He had 6 shots in total.
I won 3-2. I had 20 shots, hit the crossbar 3 times including from a point blank range volley where the ball then came off the bar and his player tripped over the ball and scored an own goal. It was a lucky goal, but also unlucky as there's genuinely no reason the volley should hit the bar when I only tapped shoot...
Anyway to me, I've won the match fair and square and move on with my life. Then I receive this sarcastic message telling me how undeserved the win was (I translated the sarcasm) and that the game let me win.
I'm not sure what planet this guy is on but he concedes one unfortunate goal and suddenly the game let me win, despite dominating the game entirely. One of his goals came from my player I explicitly misplacing an easy pass too... Obviously he doesn't notice that!
So my overall point is that so many people bang on about how the game is unfair and scripted but I think a lot of people have their heads so far up their own arse they can't even remotely detect when they have been bested fair and square.
If I bombard your goal for 90 minutes I'm making my own luck, if every attacking chance has a 10% chance of something lucky happening as a result then I'm more likely to get that luck by having more attacking chances.
It's like how Lampard always scored deflected goals, it looks lucky but ultimately hes so effective at shooting players used to panic block his shots resulting in bad block attempts. You have to realise football is also about making your own luck. Conceding one lucky goal in a game you where dominated in is not the game hating you.

I am at my wit's end and I need help. I'll take any advice you can give but please know that we're trying. Please let me know if you have any questions and I'll do my best to answer what I know.
My boyfriend and I adopted a dog about a year ago. She's a catahoula leopard and the shelter told us she was about 3 years old (now 4). When we got her, she initially had a lot of food anxiety. She couldn't eat near other dogs at all without growling and snapping. We were able to curb this behavior and now cats and dogs alike can come near her while she's eating.
However, she has severe separation anxiety (at least that's what we think it is). While we're at work (we have on video this stuff usually happens around 10am right after we leave and 4pm right before we get home), she gnaws at our wood furniture and grabs anything and everything she can off of tables, countertops, and bookshelves and just rips anything she can to shreds. She's gotten board games, DVDs, books, picture frames, cheeseboards, knives (from out of the sink), plates, security cameras, glasses, candles - everything. We are terrified she's going to hurt herself. We've removed food from every accessible surface and locked her out of rooms and pantries and she still somehow manages to break into those locations and she will eat anything from chocolate to rice to crisco to dry pasta - anything. We've tried to crate her and she has broken out of and severely damaged every crate we've owned - wire, plastic, and cloth. We've also tried dog gates which one has worked but to put them where we need them, we have to have one with a cat door which she has damaged two of those trying to fit through them to chase after the cat (she doesn't jump over them). She has eaten so much stuff that is toxic to her we're pretty sure her digestive system is permanently damaged and every time we try and prevent her from getting something, she manages another way around our door locking and gates. We take her on at least two 30 minute walks a day and feed her in the AM and PM. We live in a home with about 2,100 square feet and we have a cat.
I've lost so much money trying to find solutions and I just need help.

tl;dr: A few months ago my wife, 18 month old daughter, cat and dog sold our 2400sqft house and moved into a 1050sqft apartment. Everyone is happier, we have zero regrets and realized homeownership was the cause of a lot of our stress.
A little backstory, my wife and I have owned single family detached homes for the last 11 years. We were in our most recent home for 3 years. It was a hundred year old American four square style house in a street car suburb of a medium sized city. We had shops, restaurants and a great elementary school within walking distance. A separated bike lane one street over leading downtown. Sounds like millennial heaven right? We always thought we would be in a house and neighborhood like that if not that exact one.
After our little one had a lead exposure scare (her levels are ok now) my wife and I really evaluated what we wanted out of our living situation. We both realized that even before we had our lead scare, all the stuff that comes with owning a home, especially an older one, stresses the fuck out of us. We dumped so much money and time into projects and chores and we didn’t really have anything to show for it. So we decided to sell. Once we said it out loud, a weight was lifted.
Now that a few months have passed i feel like I have a better sense of what I want for my family. I grew up in a single family detached house so for me that was always the default for raising kids. Now, I’m not so sure anymore. I’m not ruling out owning another house, I’m just not going to force it. We lucked out on the timing buying that house. Our interest rate was crazy low and it was right before the market went bonkers. So our rent is more expensive than our mortgage but when you factor in all the extra shit you have to pay for and higher utilities the price difference isn’t much different. If we put our equity into a high yield savings account it’s basically a wash. More importantly we’ve gained so much more time to spend together as a family and lost so much stress.
I know everyone’s situation is different and I’m lucky enough to be able to own a house these days. I also realize this is very middle class American centric. But think it really important to do what’s right for you and your family, not what you think you should be doing. If that makes any sense.

Alright, so I want to start off by saying that I was an early adopter for salvaging. Got my vulture during IAE, loved going out and finding armor plates in asteroid fields. It wasn't great profit by any means, but you'd average around 200k aUEC/hr with travel and selling, solo. For perspective, with just second tier bunkers (60k) or first tier 890 jump contracts (45k), you could easily make 2x the profit (and even more from 890 jump contracts if you just toss all the bodies in the hangar on the platform and send it up, same in engineering, leave the other bodies. Only adds maybe 5 minutes, but it's another 20k or so aUEC).
It was relatively safe and relaxing, which made the lower profits worthwhile.
Then they reduced plate pinging down to 2km, a range that you'd already detect what a resource node is just by being in range without even using your scanner. Ships don't have enough scrap for it to be worthwhile, an entire ares is only about 2scu of scrap out of the 23scu I normally put in my vulture, so you can end up with 20 minutes of searching for less than 10% of your cargo.
​
Salvage missions came next and people quickly realized that actual salvaging was by far the least profitable way of doing them. They'd take a ship with cargo like a cutlass black, take the contract, take any cargo, move to the next one, and now they want to change that by reducing cargo value, not to make salvaging profitable, but rather to make cargo stealing less profitable.
​
So the solutions I see are this.
​

1. Remove the contract fee. These missions are all in UEE space. The city doesn't make people pay them to remove garbage, they pay to have it removed. It's ridiculous having some contracts cost the player as much as 150k aUEC for barely more than that in salvage when you could make significantly more just running easy bunkers in the same time, or a lot more just mining.
2. Increase the amount salvaged from ships as well as the salvage sell value. Right now mining is easier, cheaper to do since there's no fees, safer because you can just scan for asteroids further from stations, significantly more profitable, and it's not like personal salvage contracts which can even have retaliator bombers plus waves of fighters including hurricanes defending it, which no one is taking out in a vulture.
3. As a bonus, here's a third. We need scan range for spawned armor plates restored. It makes absolutely no sense that you can ping a small rock in the middle of other rocks at 15km or more away, but a massive armor plate the size of your ship, or a damn 890 jump won't ping until you're literally right beside it.

​
This isn't a themepark game, it's a sandbox game, and removing sandbox content and forcing salvage contracts is the opposite of what should be happening.
It makes no sense that the UEE wants you to clean up wrecked ships, they want you to pay to do it, and there's no reward offered once you do, the contracts even tell you to just abandon them with no penalty if you're done.

My submission last week of the solutions to the 1965 IMO was met with mild karma, so I naturally prepared another round. 1964 was way harder in my opinion! So the poems are perhaps less clear. But I worked on them harder to compensate. Enjoy! And of course let me know if you have questions or corrections about my solutions, which have not been checked against any external source.
Problems: https://www.imo-official.org/year_info.aspx?year=1964
1964/1
Two four one, two four one it does run:
the list nth power two mod “seh-vun”.
Less one, every three
has divisibility,
but never when adding on one.
1964/2
x, y, z positive multiplies,
bounds by same for the means pairwise.
b plus c minus a:
product these, every way.
Apply lemma and resolve to surmise.
1964/3
Three ratios that we need to see:
Two sides minus one over p.
Heron r shall deduce,
Sum areas and reduce,
Pi sum of square sides ratios three.
1964/4
Among three there forms a triangle
when only one topic may wrangle.
From six, see five others;
some three one choice smothers.
Seventeen, some six do two dangle.
1964/5
Thirty choose two pairs in all.
Lines and points: one hundred do fall.
At ten orthocenters
an altitude enters;
three-fifteen is the number we call.
1964/6
Coefficient inverses weight well;
three times taller and sits parallel.
What’s shocking to see
when the point becomes free;
the same volume that average does spell.

Hi survivors, I'm doing some 'research', looking for ideas and feedback for a few things. My gaming community (a bunch of people from around The Puget Sound & Pacific Northwest) are going to be doing a primarily locals-only server. We have about 60 or more people who would be playing on and off, so we have a fairly large crowd already coming together for it, which is one reason I'm looking for suggestions from the community. We already have a dedicated (and pretty good) machine set up but we have a small list of things we want to try to make happen this time around:

1. We'd really like to have the ability to keep the power on for a small area, such as a town or something, while leaving power *off* throughout the rest of the map. We want to do another RP event where we go on a mission to clear out the power station and run power back to our compound which will be a literal town with walls around it. What setting and/or mod should I use to achieve the goal of having power on in only one spot (of my choosing)?
2. We'd also like to find some sort of a mod that basically just allows us to use things like metal sheets, and small metal sheets to reinforce the cars/vehicles we drive. Ideally it'd be a high level metal working & high level mechanics skill requirement to use it. If nothing's out there, we may try our hand at making a mod, but if you guys have suggestions, please lmk!
3. Concerning the zombies themselves - I'd really like this to be more like a "day one" kind of starting point, where there's not that many of them - but I'd still like for them to multiply up to a certain date, then stop multiplying - and not respawn. In other words, I want the crowds to be *very* thing on day 1, a bit more on day 2, then so forth for perhaps a few months or whatever, then they'd stop respawning once achieving a max # of some sort. Is there any mods out there - or should I put this together through the server settings?

Pretty much all other settings I think would be kept fairly vanilla, although we are considering using one of the 'trailers' mods for more trailers options. Also open to other suggestions, I've gone through a bunch of different mods before, but for now those 3 things are really the only things we think we're trying to change about the game for us. Thanks in advance!

So I picked up the game yesterday and already put in 12h... heh... Currently doing the quest where I'm supposed to meet Apollos contact but I can't jump into the system he is in? Tried turning off multiplayer, tried jumping to another system first and then there, tried to use portal to a neighbouring system and then jump, tried restarting 10+ times, just get stuck in loading/FTL screen forever. Any fixes? EDIT: I have been in the system before but not at the station

Hello all. My girlfriend and I are doing a couples trip to NOLA for a week. Here’s our itinerary:
DAY 1: Settle in after flight, get simple groceries, maybe grab a bite to eat close by.
DAY 2: Explore French QuarteDo touristy stuff Go to Cafe DuMonte for some beignets Walk around Jackson Square Check out the The Presbytère museum If time voodoo museum Explore some of the voodoo/magic shops For lunch check out Oceana Grill Doris Metropolitan for fancy dinner (if not this day then another day)
DAY 3: Whitney Plantation visit
DAY 4: Hermann-Grima House Check out the Historic New Orleans Collection Lunch at Napoleon House Walk around Bourbon St Dinner at Gallier's Restaurant & Oyster Bar
DAY 4: Get brunch at Bearcat CBD WW2 museum If time check out other museums nearby: Museum of the Southern Jewish Experience or Ogden Museum of Southern Art For dinner Gus’ Fried Chicken
Day 5: Sunday, June 4th Brunch at French Toast Chill Day otherwise
Day 6: Monday, June 5th Do a walking tour of the Garden District and Cemetery See all the fancy houses Commanders Palace for fancy dinner
Any advice and/or critique is welcome. Thanks a bunch!

I just purchased a foreclosure house with a built in sprinkler system front and back yard. I'm somewhat familiar with sprinklers and have the control panels figured out but whenever I set the turn on time for zones nothing happens, almost like there's a main water valve not turned on for them. I have scoured the yard trying to find it, so far the closest thing I've found is an inground irrigation station with 4 control valves from the control panel and no inline valve in sight. I did notice next too the control panel there is a water spiket and a 1/4" pvc pipe comming out of the ground. I'm wondering if that's the connection for water instead if plummed into my main water system? Anyone have any ideas?

They were slowly making their descent towards the verdant planet below. Earth, according to their people back home. The long lost home planet of the humans that preceded them in the ancient times. According to the annals it was a planet on the brink of atmospheric collapse, caused by centuries of unmitigated disastrous handling by their ancestors. They had abandoned the place to seek refuge among the stars and, whether they deserved it or not, they had found it. This was the first mission of many that were send to scout the situation on the planet. The dream had always been to one day return. Most of human history here had been lost and what remained was often written in forgotten languages. Yet, to the crew of the ship, it immediately felt like home.
As the landing gear his the soft ground covered by lush green undercover, the crew packed their necessities. They would sleep in the spaceship at night, but venture as far as they could during daylight. Trying to map the ancient cities and industrial complexes, that were pictured in the ancient texts. With a rumble through the metal flooring, they knew they had truly arrived. The hatch opened and provided a path to this forgotten world.
The first thing the crew noted, was the overabundance of forest around them. On the imagery back at home, this world was depicted as largely barren. Here everything was covered in thick layers of overlapping growth. The air buzzing with life that in no way resembled what they were prepared for. No sign of the large geometric skylines of the cities, not the fast gray fields of asphalt. Oxygen meters cited an abundance of oxygen. Which was somewhat remarkable, as ancients legends spoke of a lack of clean air being on of the reasons for the great migration. The party set out on food, through the field of trees and bushes.
Every now and then they’d find an overgrown structure that hinted at ancient settlers. The architecture was brutish, pragmatic, but not dissimilar from the architecture at home. That recognition sparked a sense of belonging inside. This place was strange, but also recognizable. In the same way you would recognize a square shaped out of negative space. There were signs of pre-migration human civilizations to be seen here and it was oddly beautiful.
The crew had wandered further than intended, distracted by the sights. The regional star was dropping below the horizon, casting longer and longer shadows through the already dark forest. The stumbled upon what looked to be a large underground complex. Large steel hatches closed of a concrete structure. It was easy enough to shatter the decayed lock and chain. The loud sound of snapping metal echoing through the eerie silence that had accompanied the departure of light. They had enough supplies to spend the night in this bunker, albeit not ideal. One of the party stepped in first, flashlight held in front of him he slowly stepped down the staircase into the darkness. It was less deep than they had anticipated. After about twenty meters they hit the ground floor. One of them tried the switch, more out of curiosity than expectation, but the lights in the complex turned on, to everyone’s surprise. That must have been some reliable power generator they installed in here.
They strolled across rows and rows of barrels. Steel drums, all yellow in color, positioned carefully. It almost seemed like a piece of art or something. Each of them carrying a label. Yellow with a thick black outline and in the middle a black trefoil made out of triangles. None of the records back at home had carried knowledge of these symbols. But if this place was so well preserved, they must have been important. They decided to roll one of these barrels out of it’s socket and pried open the lid, careful not to damage it. The walls of the thing were much thicker than they had looked from the outside. It was a thin steel sheet bolted to thick lead on the inside. That explained why the things were so heavy. The barrel was filled with a thick resin like substance, carrying pieces of something that radiated a beautiful luminescent green. Out of curiosity they switched of their flashlights and in the dark they could truly admire the artistry of this barrel. It was like looking upon the stars in the sky, but in a barrel. Captured galaxies they would call them.
They'd spend the rest of the night opening more of these containers. Each of them containing more ore less the same. Some in different colors, some with less and some with more of those pretty stars. They had decided to give up on sleep and take the day off tomorrow. This discovery told them something real and unknown about their ancient ancestors. Each of the crew giddy about what the others at home would say to this wonderful discovery. They weren’t exactly getting tired, but carrying those barrels must’ve taken a toll on their bodies. Exhaustion, in the form of a terrible headache and muscle ache set in. It was also deceptively hot in this bunker as some of our crew began to undress to cool down from the intense sweaty fevers they were experiencing. It was when one of them started vomiting that they decided it was time to leave the discovery rest for now and try and get some sleep. They could carry one of those barrels to the ship the next morning and examine it there. They all dozed off, exhausted, in pain and feverish, but at home.

Hi, I just got my orders. I’m in tech school currently (1D711A) and I’m to be stationed here for my first duty assignment. From the research I’ve done there’s very little information. I just want to know if this is a good base and whether or not I’ll enjoy my time here.

Sometimes when you look into the mirror, the mirror looks back.
William Bailey's forehead shattered the mirror like a sledgehammer. The last thing he remembered before he blacked out was the feeling that he was falling through the mirror. Sub-cranial hematoma, a concussion, maybe even a cracked skull--that had to be the reason for the strange feeling. The mirror was mounted on the wall just to the right of the bar, four feet tall by about three feet wide. As consciousness slipped away, common sense and his strong belief in the rational world told him that he couldn't fall through the mirror. He must have bounced his head off the wall and be falling toward the floor.
It seemed like just a second or two before William's eyes popped open. He lay on his back, on the hard wood floor of Fausto's, with Johnny Davis towering over him. Big Johnny probably wanted to finish him off, maybe kill him, and finally end their twenty-year-old feud. Either Big Johnny Davis and the ceiling lights above him were spinning, or William's head was spinning, but either way something wasn't right.
He raised his head and looked to his left, toward the bar. Except the bar wasn't there. Instead, he was staring at the bathrooms. That didn't make sense. It must be his brain that had gotten spun around. William turned his head and peered over his size-ten wingtips at the busted mirror. The wooden frame and most of the glass still clung to the wall, the rest sat broken on the ground. The bar had to be on his left. He looked again, and still saw the bathrooms. A brain bruise, maybe some fluid pressure building up might be the cause of it.
"Get up!" Big Johnny Davis said.
William looked up at him. Johnny stood behind him, just beyond his shoulders. Perfect place for him to stomp my head into the plank floor. Except Johnny Davis was holding out his hand.
"Come on, we've got to get out of here."
Davis looked scared. It was the first time William Bailey could ever remember Johnny Davis looking scared. William had always been scared of Big Johnny, but Big Johnny wasn't scared of anything or anyone.
Police sirens wailed in the distance.
Johnny glanced over his shoulder. William craned his neck to look where Johnny was looking, saw he was staring at the front door like a man terrified something bad was going to come through it. Big Johnny looked down at him again and pumped his hand. "Come on, get up. They'll be here any second."
"Who?" William asked. "Who'll be--" But before he finished, Big Johnny Davis reached down, grabbed him by both arms, and jerked him to his feet.
As he was dragged toward the door by the only man in town who truly hated him, William glanced up and saw the rusted metal sign nailed above the door. He had to have a concussion, probably severe; that had to be it, because the letters on the sign were backward. It said TUO.
As Johnny Davis pulled him out the door, William heard tires skid on the pavement.
"Where's your car?" Johnny asked.
William twisted away from the big man's grip, then turned to his left. "In the alley." He started to run, still not sure exactly what he was running from.
Behind him, Big John shouted, "The alley's over here."
William kept running but turned his head back toward Johnny. "I know where the alley--"
Something hit him across the midsection and toppled him to the ground. He got his hands up just in time to break his fall and managed to keep his head from slamming into the sidewalk. When he looked up he saw a shopping cart tumbled onto its side.
Once again, William found himself lying flat on his back, this time amid the spilled contents of the cart. It had been filled with junk: paper bags full of dirty clothes, canned food, bags of potato chips, a diamond shaped, orange road sign, and other trash that looked like it had been collected from back alley garbage bins.
The homeless man who'd been pushing the cart was scrawny, and wafer thin. His skin was the color of old shoe leather, and he wore a long gray beard, tangled and matted with food and bits of filth. He was sprawled on the ground next to his cart, half sitting up, staring at William with his bright blue eyes.
Car doors slammed, men shouted.
"You better get going," the homeless man said, as he cocked his head. "The police after you?"
Police!
Before William could assure the old man that the police weren't after him--he was a respected businessman and family man--someone behind him grabbed him under both arms and pulled him to his feet. William turned and found himself staring into the face of Johnny Davis. "The alley's that way," Johnny said, pointing to the other side of Fausto's. With one hand gripping William's jacket, Johnny dashed across the front of the bar toward the alley. The alley--right there, plain as day--on the other side of Fausto's, right where it shouldn't be, where it couldn't be. William had been here a thousand times. As you stepped out of the bar, the alley was on the left, Brockton's Ace Hardware on the right. Now everything was mixed up and in the wrong place.
Johnny Davis turned down the alley, dragging William behind him. After just a few steps, a spotlight flashed in front of them.
"Stop!" a voice commanded. "Get on the ground."
William couldn't see because Johnny was in his way. "Who's that yelling?" he asked.
Big Johnny stopped and William plowed into his back.
"Get on the ground," the voice boomed again.
William poked his head out from behind Johnny Davis's back. The blinding white light was in his face. He couldn't see a thing.
POP! POP! POP!
Gunshots.
Big Johnny sagged, then crashed to his knees. Instinctively, William bent forward and grabbed hold of Johnny. "What's the matter?"
More pops.
Johnny's big hand reached out and shoved William back toward the street. "Back door," he wheezed, then plunged forward onto his face.
William stood alone. Behind the white spotlight he saw blue police lights flashing. He was totally exposed.
POP! POP!
He saw flashes--little yellow spurts of flame--as something tugged at his jacket.
William had said "back door." What back door? Fausto's had a back door, but it didn't lead anywhere except to the open space behind the building used for trash and deliveries. Twenty feet of asphalt between the bar and the back of the building on the next block. William had parked his car at the end of the alley, but the police cars--or whatever they were--had the alley blocked off. The building behind Fausto's also had an alley that ran alongside it, but the owner had closed it off to keep the bums out. He'd put up a gate, padlocked it, and topped it with razor wire. It was a dead end.
Two more pops. Dead end or not it was better than standing here and getting shot. William turned and ran. He burst through the front door of Fausto's, dashed through the bar, past the shattered mirror, hit the back door at a dead run, and was outside behind the bar within seconds.
He could see the tail end of his car sticking out from the corner of the building, but with the cops blocking the alley, his car was useless to him. William glanced across the open space to the alley that ran next to the other building. The gate, the padlock, the razor wire--all still in place. To his right an overflowing garbage dumpster sat beside the back of Fausto's, jammed against the fire ladder.
The fire ladder.
An iron ladder bolted to the cinderblock wall.
William looked up. The top of the ladder was lost in shadow, but he knew it went up two stories to the roof. Last summer, when the toilet had stopped up, he'd come out back to take a leak and had stood behind the dumpster, peeing against the wall like a kid, one hand draped over the bottom rung of the ladder.
He slipped behind the dumpster. The smell made him gag. The bottom of the ladder was four feet from the ground. William reached up as high as he could, grabbed hold of the third rung, then hauled himself up.
Through the partially open back door came the sounds of heavy feet pounding on the hard wood floor of the bar.
Halfway up the ladder, he was exhausted--and scared. Shaking, he white-knuckled the ladder. Being more than ten feet off the ground terrified him. He needed a break, just a second or two to catch his breath. There was enough moonlight so he could see into one of the second story windows. Inside, junk was piled everywhere. Old barstools, a busted jukebox, furniture stacked almost to the ceiling. Years ago, old man Fausto lived on the second floor, but Jake, who'd bought the place from the old man and had decided to keep the name, used it for storage.
Below him, William heard the back door thrown open so hard it banged against the wall. He scrambled up until he reached the top of the ladder, then hoisted himself over the edge of the roof. Down on the ground a voice shouted, "There he is, up there."
Another gunshot. What the hell was going on?
The unmistakable sound of feet--fast feet, in shape feet, boot shod feet--scurrying up the ladder. Standing on the tar and pebble roof, William glanced around for something he could use as a weapon, shocked he was even thinking of such a thing. A five gallon plastic bucket was all there was. It stood upright, filled with rainwater. He picked it up and peered over the edge. A uniformed policeman was three quarters of the way up the ladder. Two more cops were right behind him.
William looked at the heavy bucket in his hands, thought about just dumping the water onto them but knew it wouldn't stop them. There was only one way to stop them, and that was to knock them off the ladder. He thought about warning them, maybe trying to scare them away. But they were cops. You couldn't scare them away.
So why had they shot Johnny Davis, and why were they shooting at him?
The first officer looked up and saw William staring down at him with the bucket in his hands. Their eyes locked for just a second and the cop stopped. In those eyes that stared back at him, William saw an almost maniacal determination that sent a shiver down his spine. The officer held his grip on the ladder with his right hand while his left dropped to the pistol resting in his gleaming leather holster. In one smooth motion he drew his gun and raised it toward William.
William Bailey tossed the bucket down the ladder. A shot rang out an instant before the heavy bucket thudded into the cop's head. Like a gruesome traffic accident happening before his eyes, William couldn't help but watch as the policeman fell, taking his two partners down with him. The last thing William saw before he turned away was a jumbled heap of black uniforms resting on the concrete below the ladder.
* * *
Hiding in the shadow of a telephone booth, thinking. Home. He had to get home. Had to get back to Marge and the kids. Maybe somehow he could explain what had happened. Vincent, his attorney, he would know what to do--maybe--but he was a civil lawyer not a criminal attorney. He wrote contracts and did personal injury on the side; he didn't get people out of jail who'd killed a cop by dropping a bucket of water on his head and knocking him and his buddies off the side of a building.
As the cab he'd been waiting for pulled up, William stepped out from the dark and climbed into the back seat.
The driver turned around. "Where to?"
William pulled the door shut. "Uptown. 1721 Audubon Court."
"Fare's gonna be about fifteen dollars. After dark, I gotta have the money up front."
"What?"
"Company policy." The cabbie shrugged. "A lot of drivers been getting stiffed."
William opened his wallet, pulled out a twenty and handed it across the seat. The driver took it and almost slipped it into his cash box, then took a second look at the bill. His face tightened. "What the hell is this?"
"Huh?"
With the bill stretched between his hands, the cabbie stared at it for a second then looked up at William. "You're either the dumbest counterfeiter who ever lived or you've been had."
"What you are talking about?"
The driver faced the bill toward William but didn't hand it back to him. "It's printed backwards."
William looked at the twenty-dollar bill in the man's hand. It looked like--it was--an almost brand new bill, nothing wrong with it as far as he could tell.
"Get out of my cab," the driver said.
William didn't know what the man was talking about but knew he didn't want to get out. This cab was his only way home. He reached for the twenty. "If you don't like that one I've got another--"
The driver pulled his hands away. "I ain't giving this back. I got to turn it in to the police." He dropped one hand behind his seat back, then came up clutching a pistol, an old German Luger by the looks of it, the muzzle aimed straight at William's face. "In fact, I bet they give me a reward if I bring you in with it."
William jerked the door handle and rolled out into the street. He sprang to his feet and ran, the driver's yells just background noise. Has everyone gone crazy or is it just me?
Home. He had to get home.
* * *
Rain. Driving, relentless rain. William was just two blocks from Fausto's. In two hours, that's as far as he'd gotten--one block an hour. Police cars prowled the neighborhood, shinning spotlights into every nook and cranny, lighting up every shadow. Everyone in Fausto's knew his name. He'd been going there three or four nights a week after work for years. The cabbie had his address. William had given it to him when he told the hack driver where to drop him.
Ten o'clock at night, with nowhere to go and no way to get there, William sat behind the closed Goodwill store, under an overhang that barely kept the rain off of him.
Huddled in the dark, head sunk between his knees, he hadn't heard anyone approach.
"You don't look so good."
Startled, William looked up, prepared to run again. It was the homeless man he'd knocked over outside the bar. The one with the shopping cart and the leathery skin. William relaxed a little. "Excuse me?"
The man pushed his cart closer. "You're not supposed to be here."
William looked around. "Why not?"
The old man grinned, half his teeth gone.
William found it nearly impossible to tell his age. The guy could be forty and maybe had lived a hard life, or perhaps he was a well-preserved seventy, pickled by a lifetime of booze. William waved him off, expecting a plea for money. "I can't help you."
The old man stopped just a few feet away. "Everything's out of place isn't it?" He had a strange lilting voice. Almost like an accent.
And he was right. Everything was out of place--from Johnny Davis to the cab driver--everything was wrong.
Strapped to the back of the old man's shopping cart was a plastic sign about the size of a loaf of bread. William recognized the sign, the words, the colors, the logo of a local supermarket chain, all were familiar to him, but the letters were backward, unreadable.
Rainwater ran down William's face. He pointed to the sign. "Why's it written like that?"
The old man looked at the sign then back at William. "Like what?" he said, then shuffled away behind his basket.
* * *
The rain came down even harder. William slouched in a darkened doorway across the street from Fausto's. Nothing made sense. Everything was messed up, backward, out of whack. Almost like this wasn't his home, like he was a stranger seeing it for the first time.
But that was crazy. He'd grown up here, gone to Brother Martin High School, dated Jenny Underhill who went to Cabrini, lost her to Johnny Davis, then got her back only to lose her again the first year of college to some kid who drove a Mustang. Two years later William married Marge at Saint Luke's. They had two kids.
This town was his home. He recognized it. He knew the people here, Big Johnny and Zeke, the bartender at Fausto's. But things were different, little things. John Davis for one. In trying to help him, the big man had gotten himself killed. That wasn't John Davis--at least not the one William Bailey had known since seventh grade. Everything looked the same but wasn't. Nothing was quite right.
But they knew him--or someone like him.
A strange sensation crept over him that made the hair on the back of his neck rise. Maybe he didn't belong here. Maybe everything wasn't as it appeared. Maybe this wasn't his home. But if that were true, then whose home was it? Another thought, even scarier seeped through his brain. If he was here, who was there--at his home?
Crazy.
William dropped his head into his hands. Just considering such nonsense was a waste of time. Yet, here he was scanning the street, thinking of going back inside Fausto's, back to that mirror.
Not much time to think about it. The bar closed at three AM and it was already two-thirty. When he'd left--run for his life with Big Johnny--most of the mirror was still in the frame hanging on the wall.
Something about that damned mirror.
But Fausto's was dangerous, so a couple of hours ago William had found another mirror. In the men's room of a twenty-four hour gas station. The Chevron on North Rampart.
He had approached it cautiously, afraid he was going mad. As he peered over the sink into the mirror, he saw what he always saw, his own reflection. Holding up his left hand, he looked at the image in the mirror, at the watch strapped to his wrist. He noticed that the man in the mirror wore his watch on his right hand. Just the opposite.
William stood in the gas station bathroom for twenty minutes before he worked up his nerve. Finally, he took a deep breath, leaned back, then slammed his forehead into the dirt-streaked mirror. The glass shattered and cut his head. Blood dribbled off the tip of his nose into the sink. His reflection stared out at him from the other side of the mirror, blood running down his face, too.
I have gone crazy!
So the gas station hadn't worked out. Ducking police cruisers, William had wandered the streets, his head reeling. What was he doing?
On the sidewalk, he found a sopping wet magazine that the wind had blown up against the side of a newspaper machine. The cover caught his eye. He picked it up. It was printed backwards, the letters reversed, words running right to left. The spine was on the right. As he flipped through the pages, he couldn't read a thing. Then William had an idea.
In the bathroom of an all night restaurant he held the wet magazine up to the mirror. Perfect. The reflected image was normal, spine on the left, words running left to right, all the letters printed correctly. He could read it clearly. But what did it mean?
Then he drove his head into that mirror. The glass cracked. Someone walked in, a skinny waiter wearing an apron. He stood gawking as William leaned over the sink with tears of pain filling his eyes.
The waiter looked at the broken mirror, then jabbed a finger at William's bloody forehead. "What the hell are you doing?"
"An accident," he mumbled, pressing his fingers against the fresh cut.
The waiter turned. "I'm calling the cops."
William Bailey ran.
Now he was huddled in the rain staring at Fausto's across the street. Because he had nowhere else to go.
He stood and walked toward Fausto's. When he was halfway across the street, a police car glided around the corner, headlights reflecting off the wet pavement. The cops in no hurry, just cruising. William forced himself to keep walking, not to run. One foot in front of the other. In the downpour, odds were that the cops wouldn't even recognize him.
But they did recognize him.
The police car slid to a stop as its high beams clicked on and its blue strobe lights started popping. Both front doors flew open.
Like a sinner seeking the sanctuary of a church, William ran straight for Fausto's door. As he burst inside, Zeke looked up from behind the bar. "William! What the hell are you doing here?"
He ignored the bartender, running right past him, eyes focused on the broken mirror and its busted frame hanging on the wall.
Zeke again, "The cops been looking all over for you. Say you killed two officers and--"
Behind him the front door banged against the wall. "Police!" a voice behind him commanded. "Stop."
But William didn't stop. He kept running--running straight for the mirror. Reflected in its fragmented pieces he saw two uniformed police officers behind him, heard their boots pounding on the wooden floor. Just ten feet separated him from the mirror. At full speed he took two strides then dove. He stretched his arms out overhead and tucked his chin into his chest as his feet left the floor.
He felt one hand hit wall and the other strike broken glass. Then his head hit. More glass cracked, more skin split.
Darkness.
* * *
William's eyes popped open. He was staring at the ceiling. Rough voices, even rougher hands. They rolled him over onto his stomach and jerked his arms behind his back. He felt cold steel on his wrists and heard the metallic ratcheting as the handcuffs tightened and bit into his skin.
He tilted his head up and rested his chin against the floor. Blood poured down the side of his face; he watched it pool on the floor then seep between the wooden planks. By rolling his eyes up he could just see the empty spot on the wall where the mirror had hung. Lying on the floor, three feet from his head, was the broken frame and the rest of the glass.
The two cops grabbed his arms and yanked him to his feet, sending waves of pain through his shoulders and wrists. As they spun him toward the door, one of the officers said, "You're under arrest."
"Why?" William asked.
The officer pressed his face into William's. "Murdering your family for starters."
"My...my family." William felt his stomach cinch and his bowels turn to ice. A thought he'd had earlier in the night echoed inside his head. If he was here, who was there--at his home.
As the cops dragged him across the floor, William glanced up and saw the rusted metal sign nailed above the door.
OUT.
He was home.

I have multiple copies for most of my games, Trades are mostly based on prices from gg.deals. Please notify me if my keys are not for your personal use (i won't take any responsibility if i wasn't notified) and also please clearly state what you have and want in exchange when making an offer, i have no interest in buying games for Keys/Gems etc. and i also have no interest in Alpha, Beta, Curator, Dev and Non-Steam Keys

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Sod planning just factories on paper - design the world! I'm currently planning the new save I will build for update 8 on paper. It looks like this :)

1. Rush to T7/8 to unlock Mk5 belts - full spaghetti allowed
2. Complete all milestones using factories made to get to T7/8 - leave everything running to build stockpiles of materials
3. Start major build in RD
4. Build rules:
   1. Each factory produces ONE type of item only and contains only ONE type of machine
   2. Every factory not using ore is fed by trains only
   3. Every factory using ore is fed by under belting from a main bus
   4. All factories are the same footprint but the height will vary (10x10x??)
   5. Cover the RD area with a grid of factories, one grid square per item to be produced
   6. All inputs are delivered by train, outputs are shipped by drone for small numbers, train for large numbers
   7. The central storage area has a station & hub for every product from ingots up (no ore stored)
   8. Blueprints to be used throughout - floor by floor (BD 4.2 needed for 10x10 floor)
   9. Input and output buffers are to be used on every input and export to a factory
   10. Train stations will load/unload using 2xMk5 belts at full speed
   11. Trains to be 3 freight carriages long only
   12. Smart splitters to be used before ALL storage to sink excess
   13. Items will not be sorted at any time
   14. No overclocking to be used
   15. Native recipes to be used unless a significant gain can be found (get rid of screws ASAP)
5. Only add-ons permitted - Just Turbines (cos I HATE biomass burners) and Just Fly
6. Outside belts are used for ORE only into factories

That's the plan so far - I'm using Draw.IO to plan all the factory floors in advance using the excellent community templates available. I've created a ton of blueprints (if they all work out I'll share them).
I'm really having fun doing the game differently - a full plan to build everything in a specific order satisfies my CDO (that's OCD but in the right order...).
Does anyone else do this as well? do you finish the planning or abandon it & get building anyway?