Trace gallagher eyes
Does leftism make you lonely?
2023.05.30 12:12 Senishte1992 Does leftism make you lonely?
This may be a reach, that's why it's presented as a question.
We have all certainly noticed that more and more young people have a very secluded lifestyle, almost hermit-like. As expected, a vast majority of these people who inhabit virtual spaces are leftists. Loneliness in the West has exploded into an epidemic, no one can deny that. There are a few mainstream explanations, such as Corona and eyes glued to the phone screen, but, I think it goes deeper.
Leftism is a disease of individuality. It teaches its followers to hyperfocus on themselves, as a world separated from all the other worlds floating around independently, and neglect communities such as activity clubs or neighbourhoods, and unions such as marriage.
Truth is, we are social beings that need each other. We are not made to be independent in every aspect. Financially, for sure, but emotionally, hell no. Whenever I speak on the absurdity of the modern take on self-love, I hit a nerve so bad that insults start flying. You already know the classic feminist go-tos: "pick me", "I hope you find help and start loving yourself", "you are a sad woman if you can't be without a man", not a very creative repertoire I must add. Maybe work on your sense of humor while you're taking time for yourself. Yet, I'm the first one to tell you how great it is to attend a concert alone or travel to another country by yourself. Being on your own is amazing and I have a deep appreciation for people who know how to entertain themselves. What these strong independent women don't want to hear is that while solitude can be super fun and relaxing, it is only beneficial in certain dosages. I'm somewhat asocial myself and have a small support system, quantity wise, but a life where you and only you are the center doesn't make anyone a radiant person. I know two women with a self-love tattoo, and one of them has turned into a conceited bint who said she's too beautiful for all the "retards" who messaged her online. I think this approach to dating is disgusting and screams insecurity, regardless of gender.
Next problem is lowering the threshold for different opinions and communication styles. I see more and more people searching solely for identical minded individuals they can walk on eggshells around. Yuck.
I am somewhat active on subreddits dedicated to making new friends, but let's be real, with a comment history like this, I stand no chance :D I've noticed a disturbing common motive in the members' introductions: loneliness. That subreddit is populated by people who have ZERO friends, and that's not a secret. My humble opinion is that most of the girls on that subreddit are socially inapt, to put it lightly. They don't know how to put together a proper sentence, let alone hold a conversation. You guessed it, they are all openly into LGBT agenda and feminism. Again, maybe I'm reaching too far, but I can sense arrested development, even when they're not talking about politics. And most of them list reading as a hobby and have a fancy degree. There is something so robotic and cold about their choice of words, it's like a machine tracing distant human memories.
One thing is for sure, leftism hasn't made anyone happy. I wonder if you guys have an opinion on this. Cheers!
submitted by Senishte1992 to LibsOfSocialMedia [link] [comments]
We have all certainly noticed that more and more young people have a very secluded lifestyle, almost hermit-like. As expected, a vast majority of these people who inhabit virtual spaces are leftists. Loneliness in the West has exploded into an epidemic, no one can deny that. There are a few mainstream explanations, such as Corona and eyes glued to the phone screen, but, I think it goes deeper.
Leftism is a disease of individuality. It teaches its followers to hyperfocus on themselves, as a world separated from all the other worlds floating around independently, and neglect communities such as activity clubs or neighbourhoods, and unions such as marriage.
Truth is, we are social beings that need each other. We are not made to be independent in every aspect. Financially, for sure, but emotionally, hell no. Whenever I speak on the absurdity of the modern take on self-love, I hit a nerve so bad that insults start flying. You already know the classic feminist go-tos: "pick me", "I hope you find help and start loving yourself", "you are a sad woman if you can't be without a man", not a very creative repertoire I must add. Maybe work on your sense of humor while you're taking time for yourself. Yet, I'm the first one to tell you how great it is to attend a concert alone or travel to another country by yourself. Being on your own is amazing and I have a deep appreciation for people who know how to entertain themselves. What these strong independent women don't want to hear is that while solitude can be super fun and relaxing, it is only beneficial in certain dosages. I'm somewhat asocial myself and have a small support system, quantity wise, but a life where you and only you are the center doesn't make anyone a radiant person. I know two women with a self-love tattoo, and one of them has turned into a conceited bint who said she's too beautiful for all the "retards" who messaged her online. I think this approach to dating is disgusting and screams insecurity, regardless of gender.
Next problem is lowering the threshold for different opinions and communication styles. I see more and more people searching solely for identical minded individuals they can walk on eggshells around. Yuck.
I am somewhat active on subreddits dedicated to making new friends, but let's be real, with a comment history like this, I stand no chance :D I've noticed a disturbing common motive in the members' introductions: loneliness. That subreddit is populated by people who have ZERO friends, and that's not a secret. My humble opinion is that most of the girls on that subreddit are socially inapt, to put it lightly. They don't know how to put together a proper sentence, let alone hold a conversation. You guessed it, they are all openly into LGBT agenda and feminism. Again, maybe I'm reaching too far, but I can sense arrested development, even when they're not talking about politics. And most of them list reading as a hobby and have a fancy degree. There is something so robotic and cold about their choice of words, it's like a machine tracing distant human memories.
One thing is for sure, leftism hasn't made anyone happy. I wonder if you guys have an opinion on this. Cheers!
2023.05.30 11:00 autotldr Eye on China, US House panel wants India in NATO Plus bloc
This is the best tl;dr I could make, original reduced by 26%. (I'm a bot)
Summary Source FAQ Feedback Top keywords: India#1 Nato#2 committee#3 include#4 security#5
Post found in /worldnews.
NOTICE: This thread is for discussing the submission topic. Please do not discuss the concept of the autotldr bot here.
submitted by autotldr to autotldr [link] [comments]
WASHINGTON: In a significant development ahead of PM Narendra Modi's visit to the US, a powerful congressional committee has recommended strengthening Nato Plus by including India.
Nato Plus, currently Nato Plus 5, is a security arrangement that brings together Nato and five aligned nations - Australia, New Zealand, Japan, Israel, and South Korea - to boost global defence cooperation.
Bringing India on board would facilitate seamless intelligence sharing between these countries and India would access the latest military technology without much of a time lag.
The House Select Committee on the Strategic Competition between the United States and the Chinese Communist Party, led by Chairman Mike Gallagher and Ranking Member Raja Krishnamoorthi, overwhelmingly adopted a policy proposal to enhance Taiwan's deterrence, including through strengthening Nato Plus to include India.
"Winning the strategic competition with the Chinese Communist Party and ensuring the security of Taiwan demands the United States strengthen ties to our allies and security partners, including India. Including India in Nato Plus security arrangements would build upon the US and India's close partnership to strengthen global security and deter the aggression of the CCP across the Indo-Pacific region," the Select Committee recommended.
In its set of recommendations, the China Committee said that economic sanctions against China in case of an attack on Taiwan will be most effective if key allies such as G7, Nato, Nato+5, and Quad members join, and negotiating a joint response and broadcasting this message publicly have the added benefit of enhancing deterrence.
Post found in /worldnews.
NOTICE: This thread is for discussing the submission topic. Please do not discuss the concept of the autotldr bot here.
2023.05.30 09:11 Special_Top_8049 Weird Toki Theory
We now know that Queen Lily disappeared without a trace. What is she travelled time to reach wano for Oden to find her as Toki? The blue hair of Toki and Vivi checks out too. After decimating the ancient kingdom, she must have had conflicting views and must have decided to correct get actions (we dont know this part, but the WG and her doesn't see eye to eye is clear). This can explain her prophecies and actions later on
submitted by Special_Top_8049 to OnePiece [link] [comments]
2023.05.30 08:48 HazzardCE [SF]
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]
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....
submitted by HazzardCE to shortstories [link] [comments]
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]
**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-
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
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 [
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....
2023.05.30 07:21 dlschindler Terror Of Leaving The Rude World Behind
Lies are so polite. Honest people have no friends. Nobody wants the truth, not when the lies are what make them happy.
And when the truth, the rude truth, dispels those safe and happy lies, there is a very special kind of horror. I experienced it as terror, as I was forced to learn all about the truth of the real world.
I've spent years as a therapist, delving into the depths of the human psyche and trying to help those burdened by their own demons. My practice has seen its fair share of troubled individuals, but none quite like the three patients I currently attend to. Each one possesses a unique darkness that sets them apart from the rest of my clientele.
First, there's Thomas, a middle-aged man whose words cut through the air like a razor-sharp blade. His brutally honest nature spares no one, as he revels in frankness. He spews forth his bitterness, never holding back his cruel rudeness. It's as if he derives pleasure from watching others squirm under the weight of his words.
Then there's Emily, a woman of few filters and even fewer boundaries. Her honesty is a double-edged sword, slicing through the facade of social niceties with surgical precision, with scathing candor. She has no qualms about revealing uncomfortable truths, making every session a tense dance of revelations and discomfort.
Lastly, there's Jacob, whose coldness could freeze the warmest of hearts. His icy demeanor and calculated words chill the room whenever he speaks. He thrives on manipulation, using his intellect to exploit vulnerabilities and leave emotional wreckage in his wake.
These three patients have tested the limits of my own resilience, forcing me to confront the darkest corners of the human psyche. Little did I know that soon I would encounter a terror beyond anything I had encountered within the confines of my therapy office.
In the dimly lit room of my therapy office, I listen to the unsettling confessions of my three patients. As their therapist, I've grown accustomed to their brutality, their unfiltered honesty. But it's in the aftermath of my aunt's funeral, on that fateful night when my car stalled in the desolate darkness, that I would come face to face with a horror beyond comprehension.
The funeral of my beloved aunt weighed heavily on my heart as I made my way back home, the clock ticking past midnight. Exhausted and emotionally drained, I navigated the winding roads that cut through the barren countryside. The night wrapped around me like a suffocating shroud, and a sense of unease settled deep within.
Suddenly, my car sputtered and came to a halt. Panic coursed through my veins as I desperately tried to restart the engine, but to no avail. With a sinking feeling, I realized there was no cell signal in this desolate stretch of road, leaving me stranded in the oppressive darkness.
I stepped out of the car, the chill of the night embracing me like an unwelcome companion. The moon cast an eerie glow on the silent landscape, emphasizing the desolation that surrounded me. I had no choice but to abandon the safety of my vehicle and venture forth on foot in search of help.
As I walked, the world around me transformed. The familiar countryside gave way to an unfamiliar path, lined with gnarled trees that seemed to whisper secrets in the wind. The air grew heavy, laden with an otherworldly presence that sent shivers cascading down my spine.
After what felt like an eternity, I stumbled upon an exit sign, its rusty metal gleaming faintly in the moonlight. With a mix of trepidation and hope, I followed the arrow, hoping it would lead me to some semblance of civilization.
As I passed through the exit, a peculiar town emerged from the shadows, shrouded in an unsettling silence. The streets, devoid of life, stretched out before me like a labyrinth of forgotten dreams. Inky pools of darkness clung to the corners, stubbornly resisting the feeble rays of the rising sun. It was as if the town itself had been tainted by a sinister force, refusing to surrender to the light.
I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a cracked storefront window, and a shiver shot down my spine. The glass distorted my features, twisting them into a grotesque mockery of myself. Before I could fully comprehend the sight, whispers reached my ears—inhuman voices murmuring in the shadows.
Words like "truth" and "bringer" slithered through the air, chilling me to the bone. It was as if unseen entities were aware of my presence, aware of my role as a dispenser of truth in my profession. The weight of their attention pressed heavily upon me, filling me with a sense of foreboding.
As I cautiously explored the desolate streets, I encountered a townsperson—a perfect mirror image of one of my patients. Seeking assistance, I approached a townsperson who bore an uncanny resemblance to Thomas, my patient known for his brutal honesty.
With a polite smile adorning his face, the townsperson greeted me. "Good day, sir. How may I assist you?" His words dripped with an unsettling charm, a stark contrast to Thomas's usual abrasive nature.
"I'm in need of help. My car broke down, and I require a tow truck or a mechanic," I explained, trying to maintain my composure despite the growing unease within me.
The townsperson's smile remained unwavering as he replied, "I'm terribly sorry to hear about your predicament, but unfortunately, our town is quite isolated, and the services you seek are not readily available. You see, there's no mechanic around, and our tow truck is currently out of commission."
His response sent a chill down my spine, for I knew that Thomas would never shy away from speaking the unfiltered truth. The stark contrast between the patient's brutal honesty and the townsperson's polished lies made the conversation all the more disturbing.
Undeterred, I pressed on, determined to find a solution. "Is there a place nearby where I can make a phone call to seek assistance?"
The townsperson's expression remained placid as he nodded. "Of course, we have a public phone booth just around the corner. However, I must warn you, the line seems to be down at the moment. Perhaps you can try later."
A sense of unease gnawed at me. The deception in his words was palpable. I couldn't help but wonder if this facade of politeness was merely a thin veil concealing something far more sinister.
Growing hungrier by the minute, I decided to inquire about a place to grab a bite to eat. "Is there a restaurant or a café nearby where I can find some food?"
The townsperson's smile widened, his eyes gleaming with an unsettling glimmer. "Ah, I'm afraid all our dining establishments are currently closed for renovations. You won't find anything open at this hour. I apologize for the inconvenience."
Every word he spoke felt like a twist of the knife, the pleasant tone mocking my desperation. It was as if the entire town conspired to deny me even the most basic assistance.
As I ventured deeper into the enigmatic town, my desperation intensified. Seeking aid for my stranded car, I approached a townsperson who bore an uncanny resemblance to Emily, my patient known for her scathing candor.
She greeted me with a disarming smile, her eyes glinting with a deceptive warmth. "Hello there, stranger. What brings you to our humble town?"
Feeling a sense of unease, I mustered the courage to explain my predicament. "My car broke down, and I'm in need of assistance. Is there a mechanic or a service station nearby?"
Emily's smile remained fixed, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. "Oh, how unfortunate. I'm afraid our town is quite secluded, and we don't have any mechanics or service stations here. It's such a pity, isn't it?"
Her response sent a shiver down my spine, for I knew all too well the biting honesty that usually emanated from Emily's words. The stark contrast between her usual cruel rudeness and the townsperson's polite deceit heightened the unnerving atmosphere.
Undeterred, I decided to probe further. "Is there a place nearby where I can make a phone call to seek help?"
Emily's eyes gleamed with a chilling delight as she nodded. "Why, yes, there is a phone booth just around the corner. However, I must warn you, the line has been acting up lately. It seems luck is not on your side today."
A knot tightened in my stomach, the realization of their collective deception growing clearer. This town had woven an intricate web of lies, and each encounter served to deepen my unease.
Growing weary and famished, I sought information about a place to satisfy my hunger. "Are there any restaurants or cafés where I can find something to eat?"
Emily's smile widened, revealing a hint of something unsettling beneath the surface. "Ah, I'm afraid all our dining establishments are closed for a private event. They won't be open to the public for quite some time. I apologize for any inconvenience this may cause."
Her words sent a chill coursing through my veins. The townsperson's demeanor was an unsettling reflection of Emily's uncensored honesty, twisted into a sickening semblance of pleasantness. It was as if the town reveled in tormenting me, taunting my helplessness with their deceptive charm.
As I continued my journey through the mysterious town, a sense of foreboding weighed heavily upon me. Seeking aid for my broken-down car, I approached a townsperson who bore an uncanny resemblance to Jacob, my patient known for his cruel rudeness.
A twisted smile spread across the townsperson's face as our eyes met. "Well, well, what do we have here? Another lost soul in need of help?"
My heart skipped a beat, for the malicious glint in their eyes mirrored Jacob's usual sadistic pleasure in causing pain. The contrast between his usual brutal demeanor and the townsperson's chilling charm sent a shiver down my spine.
Summoning my courage, I explained my predicament. "My car has stalled, and I require assistance. Is there a mechanic or a service station nearby?"
The townsperson's smile grew wider, revealing rows of unnaturally sharp teeth. Their voice took on a sinister tone as they replied, "Oh, dear traveler, how unfortunate. Our town is quite isolated, you see, and the mechanics here have a penchant for breaking more than they fix. It's best to avoid their services, if you value your life."
A surge of unease swept through me, the words sinking deep into my core. The townsperson's perverse enjoyment in my misfortune left no doubt that they relished in the suffering of others.
Refusing to succumb to fear, I pressed on. "Is there a place nearby where I can make a phone call to seek help?"
Their laughter, low and menacing, echoed through the empty streets. "Ah, a phone call, you say? How quaint. Our town isn't one for modern conveniences. The phones here... well, let's just say they have a mind of their own. They tend to connect you to places you never wished to reach."
A chill ran down my spine, the revelation leaving me trembling. It was as if the town itself conspired to keep me trapped, severed from any means of outside assistance.
Growing increasingly desperate, I inquired about a place to find sustenance. "Are there any restaurants or cafés where I can find something to eat?"
The townsperson's eyes gleamed with a sinister delight, their voice dripping with malice. "Ah, food... sustenance for the weak. I must warn you, stranger, our town's cuisine is... unique. It caters to more peculiar tastes, if you catch my drift. But fear not, for we have delicacies that will make your skin crawl."
My stomach churned at their words, the realization that this town reveled in the macabre sinking in. The contrast between Jacob's cruel rudeness and the townsperson's wicked charm only served to heighten the pervading sense of horror.
With every interaction, I could feel the town's grip on reality loosening, and the true nature of its inhabitants unveiling itself in unsettling ways.
With a sinking feeling, I realized that the veneer of politeness in this town concealed something far more malevolent. The contrast between my patients' cruel candor and the townspeople's twisted facades served only to deepen the sense of dread that hung heavy in the air.
Questions burned within me, demanding answers. I demanded honesty from these townspeople who insisted on politely lying about their inability to help me. Their deceit extended beyond the realm of car repairs and basic necessities—it seeped into every corner of this enigmatic place, where even the simplest requests were met with pleasant but false assurances.
Driven by my thirst for truth and growing frustration with the townspeople's deceptive façades, I delved deeper into the heart of this enigmatic place. With every step, the atmosphere grew heavier, and an air of impending doom seemed to hang in the murky shadows.
Unbeknownst to me, my relentless pursuit of honesty had begun to unravel something dark and ancient. Ominous portents manifested in the form of flickering streetlights and whispers that danced on the edge of my consciousness. The town itself seemed to pulsate with an unseen energy, as if it were a living entity responding to my unsettling inquiries.
As I caught glimpses of my reflection in broken glass and shattered mirrors, my own visage twisted and contorted. It was as if the very act of seeking truth had tainted my soul, leaving visible scars on the surface. Each crack in the glass seemed to mirror the fractures within my own psyche.
The inhuman voices that had whispered before grew louder, their words filling my mind with their sinister presence. They spoke of a bringer of truth, a harbinger of revelations that could shatter the delicate equilibrium of this town and unleash untold horrors upon its unsuspecting inhabitants.
I was drawn to confront the townspeople once more, hoping to break through their veneer of politeness and unearth the hidden truths they guarded so fervently. However, as I ventured deeper into their midst, a chilling realization took hold—an entity lurked within the shadows, feeding off the collective denial and deception of this town.
As the day wore on, the sun began its descent, casting elongated shadows that danced upon the desolate streets of the eerie town. Doubt and unease gnawed at the edges of my sanity, but I refused to succumb. Determined to find a way out, I continued my search for assistance, unaware of the horrors that awaited me.
Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a figure approaching. As they drew nearer, a cold sweat broke out across my brow. The person who stood before me bore an uncanny resemblance, mirroring my own visage. It was as if I were looking into a grotesque reflection of myself.
I stammered, my voice trembling with disbelief. "Who... who are you?"
The doppelgänger grinned, their eyes gleaming with an otherworldly light. "Ah, my dear visitor, it seems we share more than just an appearance. I am but a fragment of the truth you seek."
Confusion gripped me as I struggled to comprehend their cryptic words. "What truth? What do you mean?"
They leaned closer, their breath chilling against my skin. "This town, this facade, it is a sanctuary. A sanctuary that hides a truth so abhorrent, so unspeakable, that the collective acknowledgment of it would grant it unimaginable power."
My mind reeled, the fabric of reality fraying at the edges. Was this some twisted delusion or a glimpse into a sinister reality?
Refusing to believe their words, I clung to the remnants of my sanity. "No, this cannot be true. You're just trying to deceive me, to keep me trapped here!"
The doppelgänger's grin widened, their eyes devoid of empathy. "Believe what you will, but know this: by revealing the truth, you risk damning not only yourself but all who inhabit this wretched place."
A chill wind swept through the town, whispering haunting melodies that seemed to echo the doppelgänger's words. Shadows swirled, tendrils of darkness creeping closer.
Fear and desperation mingled within me, tearing at the fragile threads of my sanity. I had ventured too far, dared to seek answers that were better left unspoken.
Before I could react, the doppelgänger was engulfed by the encroaching darkness. Their form contorted and twisted, morphing into a grotesque, malevolent version of myself. The horrors I had encountered in this town had taken physical shape, manifesting as a twisted caricature of who I once was.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the town into a suffocating gloom, the other townsfolk emerged from the shadows, their distorted visages revealing the true extent of their malevolence.
Driven by their anger at my disruption of their carefully constructed facade, they advanced toward me, their polite words of harmlessness contrasting grotesquely with the weapons they brandished.
Terrified, I turned and fled, the haunting cries of the mirror versions of my patients echoing behind me. The town had rejected me, casting me out into the night, a lone survivor grappling with the lingering doubts of my own sanity.
Days later, when a kind soul finally stopped to help me on the desolate road, I searched for the town on maps and GPS, but it had vanished without a trace. A chilling realization settled upon me: the town existed beyond the realms of conventional reality, a dark pocket where truth and sanity intertwined, forever questioning the limits of human comprehension.
As I drove away, the memories of that nightmarish encounter etched deep within my mind, I vowed never to speak of the town again, burying the chilling secret deep within the recesses of my soul.
submitted by dlschindler to RedditHorrorStories [link] [comments]
And when the truth, the rude truth, dispels those safe and happy lies, there is a very special kind of horror. I experienced it as terror, as I was forced to learn all about the truth of the real world.
I've spent years as a therapist, delving into the depths of the human psyche and trying to help those burdened by their own demons. My practice has seen its fair share of troubled individuals, but none quite like the three patients I currently attend to. Each one possesses a unique darkness that sets them apart from the rest of my clientele.
First, there's Thomas, a middle-aged man whose words cut through the air like a razor-sharp blade. His brutally honest nature spares no one, as he revels in frankness. He spews forth his bitterness, never holding back his cruel rudeness. It's as if he derives pleasure from watching others squirm under the weight of his words.
Then there's Emily, a woman of few filters and even fewer boundaries. Her honesty is a double-edged sword, slicing through the facade of social niceties with surgical precision, with scathing candor. She has no qualms about revealing uncomfortable truths, making every session a tense dance of revelations and discomfort.
Lastly, there's Jacob, whose coldness could freeze the warmest of hearts. His icy demeanor and calculated words chill the room whenever he speaks. He thrives on manipulation, using his intellect to exploit vulnerabilities and leave emotional wreckage in his wake.
These three patients have tested the limits of my own resilience, forcing me to confront the darkest corners of the human psyche. Little did I know that soon I would encounter a terror beyond anything I had encountered within the confines of my therapy office.
In the dimly lit room of my therapy office, I listen to the unsettling confessions of my three patients. As their therapist, I've grown accustomed to their brutality, their unfiltered honesty. But it's in the aftermath of my aunt's funeral, on that fateful night when my car stalled in the desolate darkness, that I would come face to face with a horror beyond comprehension.
The funeral of my beloved aunt weighed heavily on my heart as I made my way back home, the clock ticking past midnight. Exhausted and emotionally drained, I navigated the winding roads that cut through the barren countryside. The night wrapped around me like a suffocating shroud, and a sense of unease settled deep within.
Suddenly, my car sputtered and came to a halt. Panic coursed through my veins as I desperately tried to restart the engine, but to no avail. With a sinking feeling, I realized there was no cell signal in this desolate stretch of road, leaving me stranded in the oppressive darkness.
I stepped out of the car, the chill of the night embracing me like an unwelcome companion. The moon cast an eerie glow on the silent landscape, emphasizing the desolation that surrounded me. I had no choice but to abandon the safety of my vehicle and venture forth on foot in search of help.
As I walked, the world around me transformed. The familiar countryside gave way to an unfamiliar path, lined with gnarled trees that seemed to whisper secrets in the wind. The air grew heavy, laden with an otherworldly presence that sent shivers cascading down my spine.
After what felt like an eternity, I stumbled upon an exit sign, its rusty metal gleaming faintly in the moonlight. With a mix of trepidation and hope, I followed the arrow, hoping it would lead me to some semblance of civilization.
As I passed through the exit, a peculiar town emerged from the shadows, shrouded in an unsettling silence. The streets, devoid of life, stretched out before me like a labyrinth of forgotten dreams. Inky pools of darkness clung to the corners, stubbornly resisting the feeble rays of the rising sun. It was as if the town itself had been tainted by a sinister force, refusing to surrender to the light.
I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a cracked storefront window, and a shiver shot down my spine. The glass distorted my features, twisting them into a grotesque mockery of myself. Before I could fully comprehend the sight, whispers reached my ears—inhuman voices murmuring in the shadows.
Words like "truth" and "bringer" slithered through the air, chilling me to the bone. It was as if unseen entities were aware of my presence, aware of my role as a dispenser of truth in my profession. The weight of their attention pressed heavily upon me, filling me with a sense of foreboding.
As I cautiously explored the desolate streets, I encountered a townsperson—a perfect mirror image of one of my patients. Seeking assistance, I approached a townsperson who bore an uncanny resemblance to Thomas, my patient known for his brutal honesty.
With a polite smile adorning his face, the townsperson greeted me. "Good day, sir. How may I assist you?" His words dripped with an unsettling charm, a stark contrast to Thomas's usual abrasive nature.
"I'm in need of help. My car broke down, and I require a tow truck or a mechanic," I explained, trying to maintain my composure despite the growing unease within me.
The townsperson's smile remained unwavering as he replied, "I'm terribly sorry to hear about your predicament, but unfortunately, our town is quite isolated, and the services you seek are not readily available. You see, there's no mechanic around, and our tow truck is currently out of commission."
His response sent a chill down my spine, for I knew that Thomas would never shy away from speaking the unfiltered truth. The stark contrast between the patient's brutal honesty and the townsperson's polished lies made the conversation all the more disturbing.
Undeterred, I pressed on, determined to find a solution. "Is there a place nearby where I can make a phone call to seek assistance?"
The townsperson's expression remained placid as he nodded. "Of course, we have a public phone booth just around the corner. However, I must warn you, the line seems to be down at the moment. Perhaps you can try later."
A sense of unease gnawed at me. The deception in his words was palpable. I couldn't help but wonder if this facade of politeness was merely a thin veil concealing something far more sinister.
Growing hungrier by the minute, I decided to inquire about a place to grab a bite to eat. "Is there a restaurant or a café nearby where I can find some food?"
The townsperson's smile widened, his eyes gleaming with an unsettling glimmer. "Ah, I'm afraid all our dining establishments are currently closed for renovations. You won't find anything open at this hour. I apologize for the inconvenience."
Every word he spoke felt like a twist of the knife, the pleasant tone mocking my desperation. It was as if the entire town conspired to deny me even the most basic assistance.
As I ventured deeper into the enigmatic town, my desperation intensified. Seeking aid for my stranded car, I approached a townsperson who bore an uncanny resemblance to Emily, my patient known for her scathing candor.
She greeted me with a disarming smile, her eyes glinting with a deceptive warmth. "Hello there, stranger. What brings you to our humble town?"
Feeling a sense of unease, I mustered the courage to explain my predicament. "My car broke down, and I'm in need of assistance. Is there a mechanic or a service station nearby?"
Emily's smile remained fixed, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. "Oh, how unfortunate. I'm afraid our town is quite secluded, and we don't have any mechanics or service stations here. It's such a pity, isn't it?"
Her response sent a shiver down my spine, for I knew all too well the biting honesty that usually emanated from Emily's words. The stark contrast between her usual cruel rudeness and the townsperson's polite deceit heightened the unnerving atmosphere.
Undeterred, I decided to probe further. "Is there a place nearby where I can make a phone call to seek help?"
Emily's eyes gleamed with a chilling delight as she nodded. "Why, yes, there is a phone booth just around the corner. However, I must warn you, the line has been acting up lately. It seems luck is not on your side today."
A knot tightened in my stomach, the realization of their collective deception growing clearer. This town had woven an intricate web of lies, and each encounter served to deepen my unease.
Growing weary and famished, I sought information about a place to satisfy my hunger. "Are there any restaurants or cafés where I can find something to eat?"
Emily's smile widened, revealing a hint of something unsettling beneath the surface. "Ah, I'm afraid all our dining establishments are closed for a private event. They won't be open to the public for quite some time. I apologize for any inconvenience this may cause."
Her words sent a chill coursing through my veins. The townsperson's demeanor was an unsettling reflection of Emily's uncensored honesty, twisted into a sickening semblance of pleasantness. It was as if the town reveled in tormenting me, taunting my helplessness with their deceptive charm.
As I continued my journey through the mysterious town, a sense of foreboding weighed heavily upon me. Seeking aid for my broken-down car, I approached a townsperson who bore an uncanny resemblance to Jacob, my patient known for his cruel rudeness.
A twisted smile spread across the townsperson's face as our eyes met. "Well, well, what do we have here? Another lost soul in need of help?"
My heart skipped a beat, for the malicious glint in their eyes mirrored Jacob's usual sadistic pleasure in causing pain. The contrast between his usual brutal demeanor and the townsperson's chilling charm sent a shiver down my spine.
Summoning my courage, I explained my predicament. "My car has stalled, and I require assistance. Is there a mechanic or a service station nearby?"
The townsperson's smile grew wider, revealing rows of unnaturally sharp teeth. Their voice took on a sinister tone as they replied, "Oh, dear traveler, how unfortunate. Our town is quite isolated, you see, and the mechanics here have a penchant for breaking more than they fix. It's best to avoid their services, if you value your life."
A surge of unease swept through me, the words sinking deep into my core. The townsperson's perverse enjoyment in my misfortune left no doubt that they relished in the suffering of others.
Refusing to succumb to fear, I pressed on. "Is there a place nearby where I can make a phone call to seek help?"
Their laughter, low and menacing, echoed through the empty streets. "Ah, a phone call, you say? How quaint. Our town isn't one for modern conveniences. The phones here... well, let's just say they have a mind of their own. They tend to connect you to places you never wished to reach."
A chill ran down my spine, the revelation leaving me trembling. It was as if the town itself conspired to keep me trapped, severed from any means of outside assistance.
Growing increasingly desperate, I inquired about a place to find sustenance. "Are there any restaurants or cafés where I can find something to eat?"
The townsperson's eyes gleamed with a sinister delight, their voice dripping with malice. "Ah, food... sustenance for the weak. I must warn you, stranger, our town's cuisine is... unique. It caters to more peculiar tastes, if you catch my drift. But fear not, for we have delicacies that will make your skin crawl."
My stomach churned at their words, the realization that this town reveled in the macabre sinking in. The contrast between Jacob's cruel rudeness and the townsperson's wicked charm only served to heighten the pervading sense of horror.
With every interaction, I could feel the town's grip on reality loosening, and the true nature of its inhabitants unveiling itself in unsettling ways.
With a sinking feeling, I realized that the veneer of politeness in this town concealed something far more malevolent. The contrast between my patients' cruel candor and the townspeople's twisted facades served only to deepen the sense of dread that hung heavy in the air.
Questions burned within me, demanding answers. I demanded honesty from these townspeople who insisted on politely lying about their inability to help me. Their deceit extended beyond the realm of car repairs and basic necessities—it seeped into every corner of this enigmatic place, where even the simplest requests were met with pleasant but false assurances.
Driven by my thirst for truth and growing frustration with the townspeople's deceptive façades, I delved deeper into the heart of this enigmatic place. With every step, the atmosphere grew heavier, and an air of impending doom seemed to hang in the murky shadows.
Unbeknownst to me, my relentless pursuit of honesty had begun to unravel something dark and ancient. Ominous portents manifested in the form of flickering streetlights and whispers that danced on the edge of my consciousness. The town itself seemed to pulsate with an unseen energy, as if it were a living entity responding to my unsettling inquiries.
As I caught glimpses of my reflection in broken glass and shattered mirrors, my own visage twisted and contorted. It was as if the very act of seeking truth had tainted my soul, leaving visible scars on the surface. Each crack in the glass seemed to mirror the fractures within my own psyche.
The inhuman voices that had whispered before grew louder, their words filling my mind with their sinister presence. They spoke of a bringer of truth, a harbinger of revelations that could shatter the delicate equilibrium of this town and unleash untold horrors upon its unsuspecting inhabitants.
I was drawn to confront the townspeople once more, hoping to break through their veneer of politeness and unearth the hidden truths they guarded so fervently. However, as I ventured deeper into their midst, a chilling realization took hold—an entity lurked within the shadows, feeding off the collective denial and deception of this town.
As the day wore on, the sun began its descent, casting elongated shadows that danced upon the desolate streets of the eerie town. Doubt and unease gnawed at the edges of my sanity, but I refused to succumb. Determined to find a way out, I continued my search for assistance, unaware of the horrors that awaited me.
Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a figure approaching. As they drew nearer, a cold sweat broke out across my brow. The person who stood before me bore an uncanny resemblance, mirroring my own visage. It was as if I were looking into a grotesque reflection of myself.
I stammered, my voice trembling with disbelief. "Who... who are you?"
The doppelgänger grinned, their eyes gleaming with an otherworldly light. "Ah, my dear visitor, it seems we share more than just an appearance. I am but a fragment of the truth you seek."
Confusion gripped me as I struggled to comprehend their cryptic words. "What truth? What do you mean?"
They leaned closer, their breath chilling against my skin. "This town, this facade, it is a sanctuary. A sanctuary that hides a truth so abhorrent, so unspeakable, that the collective acknowledgment of it would grant it unimaginable power."
My mind reeled, the fabric of reality fraying at the edges. Was this some twisted delusion or a glimpse into a sinister reality?
Refusing to believe their words, I clung to the remnants of my sanity. "No, this cannot be true. You're just trying to deceive me, to keep me trapped here!"
The doppelgänger's grin widened, their eyes devoid of empathy. "Believe what you will, but know this: by revealing the truth, you risk damning not only yourself but all who inhabit this wretched place."
A chill wind swept through the town, whispering haunting melodies that seemed to echo the doppelgänger's words. Shadows swirled, tendrils of darkness creeping closer.
Fear and desperation mingled within me, tearing at the fragile threads of my sanity. I had ventured too far, dared to seek answers that were better left unspoken.
Before I could react, the doppelgänger was engulfed by the encroaching darkness. Their form contorted and twisted, morphing into a grotesque, malevolent version of myself. The horrors I had encountered in this town had taken physical shape, manifesting as a twisted caricature of who I once was.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the town into a suffocating gloom, the other townsfolk emerged from the shadows, their distorted visages revealing the true extent of their malevolence.
Driven by their anger at my disruption of their carefully constructed facade, they advanced toward me, their polite words of harmlessness contrasting grotesquely with the weapons they brandished.
Terrified, I turned and fled, the haunting cries of the mirror versions of my patients echoing behind me. The town had rejected me, casting me out into the night, a lone survivor grappling with the lingering doubts of my own sanity.
Days later, when a kind soul finally stopped to help me on the desolate road, I searched for the town on maps and GPS, but it had vanished without a trace. A chilling realization settled upon me: the town existed beyond the realms of conventional reality, a dark pocket where truth and sanity intertwined, forever questioning the limits of human comprehension.
As I drove away, the memories of that nightmarish encounter etched deep within my mind, I vowed never to speak of the town again, burying the chilling secret deep within the recesses of my soul.
2023.05.30 07:17 dlschindler Terror Of Leaving The Rude World Behind
Lies are so polite. Honest people have no friends. Nobody wants the truth, not when the lies are what make them happy.
And when the truth, the rude truth, dispels those safe and happy lies, there is a very special kind of horror. I experienced it as terror, as I was forced to learn all about the truth of the real world.
I've spent years as a therapist, delving into the depths of the human psyche and trying to help those burdened by their own demons. My practice has seen its fair share of troubled individuals, but none quite like the three patients I currently attend to. Each one possesses a unique darkness that sets them apart from the rest of my clientele.
First, there's Thomas, a middle-aged man whose words cut through the air like a razor-sharp blade. His brutally honest nature spares no one, as he revels in frankness. He spews forth his bitterness, never holding back his cruel rudeness. It's as if he derives pleasure from watching others squirm under the weight of his words.
Then there's Emily, a woman of few filters and even fewer boundaries. Her honesty is a double-edged sword, slicing through the facade of social niceties with surgical precision, with scathing candor. She has no qualms about revealing uncomfortable truths, making every session a tense dance of revelations and discomfort.
Lastly, there's Jacob, whose coldness could freeze the warmest of hearts. His icy demeanor and calculated words chill the room whenever he speaks. He thrives on manipulation, using his intellect to exploit vulnerabilities and leave emotional wreckage in his wake.
These three patients have tested the limits of my own resilience, forcing me to confront the darkest corners of the human psyche. Little did I know that soon I would encounter a terror beyond anything I had encountered within the confines of my therapy office.
In the dimly lit room of my therapy office, I listen to the unsettling confessions of my three patients. As their therapist, I've grown accustomed to their brutality, their unfiltered honesty. But it's in the aftermath of my aunt's funeral, on that fateful night when my car stalled in the desolate darkness, that I would come face to face with a horror beyond comprehension.
The funeral of my beloved aunt weighed heavily on my heart as I made my way back home, the clock ticking past midnight. Exhausted and emotionally drained, I navigated the winding roads that cut through the barren countryside. The night wrapped around me like a suffocating shroud, and a sense of unease settled deep within.
Suddenly, my car sputtered and came to a halt. Panic coursed through my veins as I desperately tried to restart the engine, but to no avail. With a sinking feeling, I realized there was no cell signal in this desolate stretch of road, leaving me stranded in the oppressive darkness.
I stepped out of the car, the chill of the night embracing me like an unwelcome companion. The moon cast an eerie glow on the silent landscape, emphasizing the desolation that surrounded me. I had no choice but to abandon the safety of my vehicle and venture forth on foot in search of help.
As I walked, the world around me transformed. The familiar countryside gave way to an unfamiliar path, lined with gnarled trees that seemed to whisper secrets in the wind. The air grew heavy, laden with an otherworldly presence that sent shivers cascading down my spine.
After what felt like an eternity, I stumbled upon an exit sign, its rusty metal gleaming faintly in the moonlight. With a mix of trepidation and hope, I followed the arrow, hoping it would lead me to some semblance of civilization.
As I passed through the exit, a peculiar town emerged from the shadows, shrouded in an unsettling silence. The streets, devoid of life, stretched out before me like a labyrinth of forgotten dreams. Inky pools of darkness clung to the corners, stubbornly resisting the feeble rays of the rising sun. It was as if the town itself had been tainted by a sinister force, refusing to surrender to the light.
I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a cracked storefront window, and a shiver shot down my spine. The glass distorted my features, twisting them into a grotesque mockery of myself. Before I could fully comprehend the sight, whispers reached my ears—inhuman voices murmuring in the shadows.
Words like "truth" and "bringer" slithered through the air, chilling me to the bone. It was as if unseen entities were aware of my presence, aware of my role as a dispenser of truth in my profession. The weight of their attention pressed heavily upon me, filling me with a sense of foreboding.
As I cautiously explored the desolate streets, I encountered a townsperson—a perfect mirror image of one of my patients. Seeking assistance, I approached a townsperson who bore an uncanny resemblance to Thomas, my patient known for his brutal honesty.
With a polite smile adorning his face, the townsperson greeted me. "Good day, sir. How may I assist you?" His words dripped with an unsettling charm, a stark contrast to Thomas's usual abrasive nature.
"I'm in need of help. My car broke down, and I require a tow truck or a mechanic," I explained, trying to maintain my composure despite the growing unease within me.
The townsperson's smile remained unwavering as he replied, "I'm terribly sorry to hear about your predicament, but unfortunately, our town is quite isolated, and the services you seek are not readily available. You see, there's no mechanic around, and our tow truck is currently out of commission."
His response sent a chill down my spine, for I knew that Thomas would never shy away from speaking the unfiltered truth. The stark contrast between the patient's brutal honesty and the townsperson's polished lies made the conversation all the more disturbing.
Undeterred, I pressed on, determined to find a solution. "Is there a place nearby where I can make a phone call to seek assistance?"
The townsperson's expression remained placid as he nodded. "Of course, we have a public phone booth just around the corner. However, I must warn you, the line seems to be down at the moment. Perhaps you can try later."
A sense of unease gnawed at me. The deception in his words was palpable. I couldn't help but wonder if this facade of politeness was merely a thin veil concealing something far more sinister.
Growing hungrier by the minute, I decided to inquire about a place to grab a bite to eat. "Is there a restaurant or a café nearby where I can find some food?"
The townsperson's smile widened, his eyes gleaming with an unsettling glimmer. "Ah, I'm afraid all our dining establishments are currently closed for renovations. You won't find anything open at this hour. I apologize for the inconvenience."
Every word he spoke felt like a twist of the knife, the pleasant tone mocking my desperation. It was as if the entire town conspired to deny me even the most basic assistance.
As I ventured deeper into the enigmatic town, my desperation intensified. Seeking aid for my stranded car, I approached a townsperson who bore an uncanny resemblance to Emily, my patient known for her scathing candor.
She greeted me with a disarming smile, her eyes glinting with a deceptive warmth. "Hello there, stranger. What brings you to our humble town?"
Feeling a sense of unease, I mustered the courage to explain my predicament. "My car broke down, and I'm in need of assistance. Is there a mechanic or a service station nearby?"
Emily's smile remained fixed, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. "Oh, how unfortunate. I'm afraid our town is quite secluded, and we don't have any mechanics or service stations here. It's such a pity, isn't it?"
Her response sent a shiver down my spine, for I knew all too well the biting honesty that usually emanated from Emily's words. The stark contrast between her usual cruel rudeness and the townsperson's polite deceit heightened the unnerving atmosphere.
Undeterred, I decided to probe further. "Is there a place nearby where I can make a phone call to seek help?"
Emily's eyes gleamed with a chilling delight as she nodded. "Why, yes, there is a phone booth just around the corner. However, I must warn you, the line has been acting up lately. It seems luck is not on your side today."
A knot tightened in my stomach, the realization of their collective deception growing clearer. This town had woven an intricate web of lies, and each encounter served to deepen my unease.
Growing weary and famished, I sought information about a place to satisfy my hunger. "Are there any restaurants or cafés where I can find something to eat?"
Emily's smile widened, revealing a hint of something unsettling beneath the surface. "Ah, I'm afraid all our dining establishments are closed for a private event. They won't be open to the public for quite some time. I apologize for any inconvenience this may cause."
Her words sent a chill coursing through my veins. The townsperson's demeanor was an unsettling reflection of Emily's uncensored honesty, twisted into a sickening semblance of pleasantness. It was as if the town reveled in tormenting me, taunting my helplessness with their deceptive charm.
As I continued my journey through the mysterious town, a sense of foreboding weighed heavily upon me. Seeking aid for my broken-down car, I approached a townsperson who bore an uncanny resemblance to Jacob, my patient known for his cruel rudeness.
A twisted smile spread across the townsperson's face as our eyes met. "Well, well, what do we have here? Another lost soul in need of help?"
My heart skipped a beat, for the malicious glint in their eyes mirrored Jacob's usual sadistic pleasure in causing pain. The contrast between his usual brutal demeanor and the townsperson's chilling charm sent a shiver down my spine.
Summoning my courage, I explained my predicament. "My car has stalled, and I require assistance. Is there a mechanic or a service station nearby?"
The townsperson's smile grew wider, revealing rows of unnaturally sharp teeth. Their voice took on a sinister tone as they replied, "Oh, dear traveler, how unfortunate. Our town is quite isolated, you see, and the mechanics here have a penchant for breaking more than they fix. It's best to avoid their services, if you value your life."
A surge of unease swept through me, the words sinking deep into my core. The townsperson's perverse enjoyment in my misfortune left no doubt that they relished in the suffering of others.
Refusing to succumb to fear, I pressed on. "Is there a place nearby where I can make a phone call to seek help?"
Their laughter, low and menacing, echoed through the empty streets. "Ah, a phone call, you say? How quaint. Our town isn't one for modern conveniences. The phones here... well, let's just say they have a mind of their own. They tend to connect you to places you never wished to reach."
A chill ran down my spine, the revelation leaving me trembling. It was as if the town itself conspired to keep me trapped, severed from any means of outside assistance.
Growing increasingly desperate, I inquired about a place to find sustenance. "Are there any restaurants or cafés where I can find something to eat?"
The townsperson's eyes gleamed with a sinister delight, their voice dripping with malice. "Ah, food... sustenance for the weak. I must warn you, stranger, our town's cuisine is... unique. It caters to more peculiar tastes, if you catch my drift. But fear not, for we have delicacies that will make your skin crawl."
My stomach churned at their words, the realization that this town reveled in the macabre sinking in. The contrast between Jacob's cruel rudeness and the townsperson's wicked charm only served to heighten the pervading sense of horror.
With every interaction, I could feel the town's grip on reality loosening, and the true nature of its inhabitants unveiling itself in unsettling ways.
With a sinking feeling, I realized that the veneer of politeness in this town concealed something far more malevolent. The contrast between my patients' cruel candor and the townspeople's twisted facades served only to deepen the sense of dread that hung heavy in the air.
Questions burned within me, demanding answers. I demanded honesty from these townspeople who insisted on politely lying about their inability to help me. Their deceit extended beyond the realm of car repairs and basic necessities—it seeped into every corner of this enigmatic place, where even the simplest requests were met with pleasant but false assurances.
Driven by my thirst for truth and growing frustration with the townspeople's deceptive façades, I delved deeper into the heart of this enigmatic place. With every step, the atmosphere grew heavier, and an air of impending doom seemed to hang in the murky shadows.
Unbeknownst to me, my relentless pursuit of honesty had begun to unravel something dark and ancient. Ominous portents manifested in the form of flickering streetlights and whispers that danced on the edge of my consciousness. The town itself seemed to pulsate with an unseen energy, as if it were a living entity responding to my unsettling inquiries.
As I caught glimpses of my reflection in broken glass and shattered mirrors, my own visage twisted and contorted. It was as if the very act of seeking truth had tainted my soul, leaving visible scars on the surface. Each crack in the glass seemed to mirror the fractures within my own psyche.
The inhuman voices that had whispered before grew louder, their words filling my mind with their sinister presence. They spoke of a bringer of truth, a harbinger of revelations that could shatter the delicate equilibrium of this town and unleash untold horrors upon its unsuspecting inhabitants.
I was drawn to confront the townspeople once more, hoping to break through their veneer of politeness and unearth the hidden truths they guarded so fervently. However, as I ventured deeper into their midst, a chilling realization took hold—an entity lurked within the shadows, feeding off the collective denial and deception of this town.
As the day wore on, the sun began its descent, casting elongated shadows that danced upon the desolate streets of the eerie town. Doubt and unease gnawed at the edges of my sanity, but I refused to succumb. Determined to find a way out, I continued my search for assistance, unaware of the horrors that awaited me.
Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a figure approaching. As they drew nearer, a cold sweat broke out across my brow. The person who stood before me bore an uncanny resemblance, mirroring my own visage. It was as if I were looking into a grotesque reflection of myself.
I stammered, my voice trembling with disbelief. "Who... who are you?"
The doppelgänger grinned, their eyes gleaming with an otherworldly light. "Ah, my dear visitor, it seems we share more than just an appearance. I am but a fragment of the truth you seek."
Confusion gripped me as I struggled to comprehend their cryptic words. "What truth? What do you mean?"
They leaned closer, their breath chilling against my skin. "This town, this facade, it is a sanctuary. A sanctuary that hides a truth so abhorrent, so unspeakable, that the collective acknowledgment of it would grant it unimaginable power."
My mind reeled, the fabric of reality fraying at the edges. Was this some twisted delusion or a glimpse into a sinister reality?
Refusing to believe their words, I clung to the remnants of my sanity. "No, this cannot be true. You're just trying to deceive me, to keep me trapped here!"
The doppelgänger's grin widened, their eyes devoid of empathy. "Believe what you will, but know this: by revealing the truth, you risk damning not only yourself but all who inhabit this wretched place."
A chill wind swept through the town, whispering haunting melodies that seemed to echo the doppelgänger's words. Shadows swirled, tendrils of darkness creeping closer.
Fear and desperation mingled within me, tearing at the fragile threads of my sanity. I had ventured too far, dared to seek answers that were better left unspoken.
Before I could react, the doppelgänger was engulfed by the encroaching darkness. Their form contorted and twisted, morphing into a grotesque, malevolent version of myself. The horrors I had encountered in this town had taken physical shape, manifesting as a twisted caricature of who I once was.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the town into a suffocating gloom, the other townsfolk emerged from the shadows, their distorted visages revealing the true extent of their malevolence.
Driven by their anger at my disruption of their carefully constructed facade, they advanced toward me, their polite words of harmlessness contrasting grotesquely with the weapons they brandished.
Terrified, I turned and fled, the haunting cries of the mirror versions of my patients echoing behind me. The town had rejected me, casting me out into the night, a lone survivor grappling with the lingering doubts of my own sanity.
Days later, when a kind soul finally stopped to help me on the desolate road, I searched for the town on maps and GPS, but it had vanished without a trace. A chilling realization settled upon me: the town existed beyond the realms of conventional reality, a dark pocket where truth and sanity intertwined, forever questioning the limits of human comprehension.
As I drove away, the memories of that nightmarish encounter etched deep within my mind, I vowed never to speak of the town again, burying the chilling secret deep within the recesses of my soul.
submitted by dlschindler to ChillingApp [link] [comments]
And when the truth, the rude truth, dispels those safe and happy lies, there is a very special kind of horror. I experienced it as terror, as I was forced to learn all about the truth of the real world.
I've spent years as a therapist, delving into the depths of the human psyche and trying to help those burdened by their own demons. My practice has seen its fair share of troubled individuals, but none quite like the three patients I currently attend to. Each one possesses a unique darkness that sets them apart from the rest of my clientele.
First, there's Thomas, a middle-aged man whose words cut through the air like a razor-sharp blade. His brutally honest nature spares no one, as he revels in frankness. He spews forth his bitterness, never holding back his cruel rudeness. It's as if he derives pleasure from watching others squirm under the weight of his words.
Then there's Emily, a woman of few filters and even fewer boundaries. Her honesty is a double-edged sword, slicing through the facade of social niceties with surgical precision, with scathing candor. She has no qualms about revealing uncomfortable truths, making every session a tense dance of revelations and discomfort.
Lastly, there's Jacob, whose coldness could freeze the warmest of hearts. His icy demeanor and calculated words chill the room whenever he speaks. He thrives on manipulation, using his intellect to exploit vulnerabilities and leave emotional wreckage in his wake.
These three patients have tested the limits of my own resilience, forcing me to confront the darkest corners of the human psyche. Little did I know that soon I would encounter a terror beyond anything I had encountered within the confines of my therapy office.
In the dimly lit room of my therapy office, I listen to the unsettling confessions of my three patients. As their therapist, I've grown accustomed to their brutality, their unfiltered honesty. But it's in the aftermath of my aunt's funeral, on that fateful night when my car stalled in the desolate darkness, that I would come face to face with a horror beyond comprehension.
The funeral of my beloved aunt weighed heavily on my heart as I made my way back home, the clock ticking past midnight. Exhausted and emotionally drained, I navigated the winding roads that cut through the barren countryside. The night wrapped around me like a suffocating shroud, and a sense of unease settled deep within.
Suddenly, my car sputtered and came to a halt. Panic coursed through my veins as I desperately tried to restart the engine, but to no avail. With a sinking feeling, I realized there was no cell signal in this desolate stretch of road, leaving me stranded in the oppressive darkness.
I stepped out of the car, the chill of the night embracing me like an unwelcome companion. The moon cast an eerie glow on the silent landscape, emphasizing the desolation that surrounded me. I had no choice but to abandon the safety of my vehicle and venture forth on foot in search of help.
As I walked, the world around me transformed. The familiar countryside gave way to an unfamiliar path, lined with gnarled trees that seemed to whisper secrets in the wind. The air grew heavy, laden with an otherworldly presence that sent shivers cascading down my spine.
After what felt like an eternity, I stumbled upon an exit sign, its rusty metal gleaming faintly in the moonlight. With a mix of trepidation and hope, I followed the arrow, hoping it would lead me to some semblance of civilization.
As I passed through the exit, a peculiar town emerged from the shadows, shrouded in an unsettling silence. The streets, devoid of life, stretched out before me like a labyrinth of forgotten dreams. Inky pools of darkness clung to the corners, stubbornly resisting the feeble rays of the rising sun. It was as if the town itself had been tainted by a sinister force, refusing to surrender to the light.
I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a cracked storefront window, and a shiver shot down my spine. The glass distorted my features, twisting them into a grotesque mockery of myself. Before I could fully comprehend the sight, whispers reached my ears—inhuman voices murmuring in the shadows.
Words like "truth" and "bringer" slithered through the air, chilling me to the bone. It was as if unseen entities were aware of my presence, aware of my role as a dispenser of truth in my profession. The weight of their attention pressed heavily upon me, filling me with a sense of foreboding.
As I cautiously explored the desolate streets, I encountered a townsperson—a perfect mirror image of one of my patients. Seeking assistance, I approached a townsperson who bore an uncanny resemblance to Thomas, my patient known for his brutal honesty.
With a polite smile adorning his face, the townsperson greeted me. "Good day, sir. How may I assist you?" His words dripped with an unsettling charm, a stark contrast to Thomas's usual abrasive nature.
"I'm in need of help. My car broke down, and I require a tow truck or a mechanic," I explained, trying to maintain my composure despite the growing unease within me.
The townsperson's smile remained unwavering as he replied, "I'm terribly sorry to hear about your predicament, but unfortunately, our town is quite isolated, and the services you seek are not readily available. You see, there's no mechanic around, and our tow truck is currently out of commission."
His response sent a chill down my spine, for I knew that Thomas would never shy away from speaking the unfiltered truth. The stark contrast between the patient's brutal honesty and the townsperson's polished lies made the conversation all the more disturbing.
Undeterred, I pressed on, determined to find a solution. "Is there a place nearby where I can make a phone call to seek assistance?"
The townsperson's expression remained placid as he nodded. "Of course, we have a public phone booth just around the corner. However, I must warn you, the line seems to be down at the moment. Perhaps you can try later."
A sense of unease gnawed at me. The deception in his words was palpable. I couldn't help but wonder if this facade of politeness was merely a thin veil concealing something far more sinister.
Growing hungrier by the minute, I decided to inquire about a place to grab a bite to eat. "Is there a restaurant or a café nearby where I can find some food?"
The townsperson's smile widened, his eyes gleaming with an unsettling glimmer. "Ah, I'm afraid all our dining establishments are currently closed for renovations. You won't find anything open at this hour. I apologize for the inconvenience."
Every word he spoke felt like a twist of the knife, the pleasant tone mocking my desperation. It was as if the entire town conspired to deny me even the most basic assistance.
As I ventured deeper into the enigmatic town, my desperation intensified. Seeking aid for my stranded car, I approached a townsperson who bore an uncanny resemblance to Emily, my patient known for her scathing candor.
She greeted me with a disarming smile, her eyes glinting with a deceptive warmth. "Hello there, stranger. What brings you to our humble town?"
Feeling a sense of unease, I mustered the courage to explain my predicament. "My car broke down, and I'm in need of assistance. Is there a mechanic or a service station nearby?"
Emily's smile remained fixed, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. "Oh, how unfortunate. I'm afraid our town is quite secluded, and we don't have any mechanics or service stations here. It's such a pity, isn't it?"
Her response sent a shiver down my spine, for I knew all too well the biting honesty that usually emanated from Emily's words. The stark contrast between her usual cruel rudeness and the townsperson's polite deceit heightened the unnerving atmosphere.
Undeterred, I decided to probe further. "Is there a place nearby where I can make a phone call to seek help?"
Emily's eyes gleamed with a chilling delight as she nodded. "Why, yes, there is a phone booth just around the corner. However, I must warn you, the line has been acting up lately. It seems luck is not on your side today."
A knot tightened in my stomach, the realization of their collective deception growing clearer. This town had woven an intricate web of lies, and each encounter served to deepen my unease.
Growing weary and famished, I sought information about a place to satisfy my hunger. "Are there any restaurants or cafés where I can find something to eat?"
Emily's smile widened, revealing a hint of something unsettling beneath the surface. "Ah, I'm afraid all our dining establishments are closed for a private event. They won't be open to the public for quite some time. I apologize for any inconvenience this may cause."
Her words sent a chill coursing through my veins. The townsperson's demeanor was an unsettling reflection of Emily's uncensored honesty, twisted into a sickening semblance of pleasantness. It was as if the town reveled in tormenting me, taunting my helplessness with their deceptive charm.
As I continued my journey through the mysterious town, a sense of foreboding weighed heavily upon me. Seeking aid for my broken-down car, I approached a townsperson who bore an uncanny resemblance to Jacob, my patient known for his cruel rudeness.
A twisted smile spread across the townsperson's face as our eyes met. "Well, well, what do we have here? Another lost soul in need of help?"
My heart skipped a beat, for the malicious glint in their eyes mirrored Jacob's usual sadistic pleasure in causing pain. The contrast between his usual brutal demeanor and the townsperson's chilling charm sent a shiver down my spine.
Summoning my courage, I explained my predicament. "My car has stalled, and I require assistance. Is there a mechanic or a service station nearby?"
The townsperson's smile grew wider, revealing rows of unnaturally sharp teeth. Their voice took on a sinister tone as they replied, "Oh, dear traveler, how unfortunate. Our town is quite isolated, you see, and the mechanics here have a penchant for breaking more than they fix. It's best to avoid their services, if you value your life."
A surge of unease swept through me, the words sinking deep into my core. The townsperson's perverse enjoyment in my misfortune left no doubt that they relished in the suffering of others.
Refusing to succumb to fear, I pressed on. "Is there a place nearby where I can make a phone call to seek help?"
Their laughter, low and menacing, echoed through the empty streets. "Ah, a phone call, you say? How quaint. Our town isn't one for modern conveniences. The phones here... well, let's just say they have a mind of their own. They tend to connect you to places you never wished to reach."
A chill ran down my spine, the revelation leaving me trembling. It was as if the town itself conspired to keep me trapped, severed from any means of outside assistance.
Growing increasingly desperate, I inquired about a place to find sustenance. "Are there any restaurants or cafés where I can find something to eat?"
The townsperson's eyes gleamed with a sinister delight, their voice dripping with malice. "Ah, food... sustenance for the weak. I must warn you, stranger, our town's cuisine is... unique. It caters to more peculiar tastes, if you catch my drift. But fear not, for we have delicacies that will make your skin crawl."
My stomach churned at their words, the realization that this town reveled in the macabre sinking in. The contrast between Jacob's cruel rudeness and the townsperson's wicked charm only served to heighten the pervading sense of horror.
With every interaction, I could feel the town's grip on reality loosening, and the true nature of its inhabitants unveiling itself in unsettling ways.
With a sinking feeling, I realized that the veneer of politeness in this town concealed something far more malevolent. The contrast between my patients' cruel candor and the townspeople's twisted facades served only to deepen the sense of dread that hung heavy in the air.
Questions burned within me, demanding answers. I demanded honesty from these townspeople who insisted on politely lying about their inability to help me. Their deceit extended beyond the realm of car repairs and basic necessities—it seeped into every corner of this enigmatic place, where even the simplest requests were met with pleasant but false assurances.
Driven by my thirst for truth and growing frustration with the townspeople's deceptive façades, I delved deeper into the heart of this enigmatic place. With every step, the atmosphere grew heavier, and an air of impending doom seemed to hang in the murky shadows.
Unbeknownst to me, my relentless pursuit of honesty had begun to unravel something dark and ancient. Ominous portents manifested in the form of flickering streetlights and whispers that danced on the edge of my consciousness. The town itself seemed to pulsate with an unseen energy, as if it were a living entity responding to my unsettling inquiries.
As I caught glimpses of my reflection in broken glass and shattered mirrors, my own visage twisted and contorted. It was as if the very act of seeking truth had tainted my soul, leaving visible scars on the surface. Each crack in the glass seemed to mirror the fractures within my own psyche.
The inhuman voices that had whispered before grew louder, their words filling my mind with their sinister presence. They spoke of a bringer of truth, a harbinger of revelations that could shatter the delicate equilibrium of this town and unleash untold horrors upon its unsuspecting inhabitants.
I was drawn to confront the townspeople once more, hoping to break through their veneer of politeness and unearth the hidden truths they guarded so fervently. However, as I ventured deeper into their midst, a chilling realization took hold—an entity lurked within the shadows, feeding off the collective denial and deception of this town.
As the day wore on, the sun began its descent, casting elongated shadows that danced upon the desolate streets of the eerie town. Doubt and unease gnawed at the edges of my sanity, but I refused to succumb. Determined to find a way out, I continued my search for assistance, unaware of the horrors that awaited me.
Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a figure approaching. As they drew nearer, a cold sweat broke out across my brow. The person who stood before me bore an uncanny resemblance, mirroring my own visage. It was as if I were looking into a grotesque reflection of myself.
I stammered, my voice trembling with disbelief. "Who... who are you?"
The doppelgänger grinned, their eyes gleaming with an otherworldly light. "Ah, my dear visitor, it seems we share more than just an appearance. I am but a fragment of the truth you seek."
Confusion gripped me as I struggled to comprehend their cryptic words. "What truth? What do you mean?"
They leaned closer, their breath chilling against my skin. "This town, this facade, it is a sanctuary. A sanctuary that hides a truth so abhorrent, so unspeakable, that the collective acknowledgment of it would grant it unimaginable power."
My mind reeled, the fabric of reality fraying at the edges. Was this some twisted delusion or a glimpse into a sinister reality?
Refusing to believe their words, I clung to the remnants of my sanity. "No, this cannot be true. You're just trying to deceive me, to keep me trapped here!"
The doppelgänger's grin widened, their eyes devoid of empathy. "Believe what you will, but know this: by revealing the truth, you risk damning not only yourself but all who inhabit this wretched place."
A chill wind swept through the town, whispering haunting melodies that seemed to echo the doppelgänger's words. Shadows swirled, tendrils of darkness creeping closer.
Fear and desperation mingled within me, tearing at the fragile threads of my sanity. I had ventured too far, dared to seek answers that were better left unspoken.
Before I could react, the doppelgänger was engulfed by the encroaching darkness. Their form contorted and twisted, morphing into a grotesque, malevolent version of myself. The horrors I had encountered in this town had taken physical shape, manifesting as a twisted caricature of who I once was.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the town into a suffocating gloom, the other townsfolk emerged from the shadows, their distorted visages revealing the true extent of their malevolence.
Driven by their anger at my disruption of their carefully constructed facade, they advanced toward me, their polite words of harmlessness contrasting grotesquely with the weapons they brandished.
Terrified, I turned and fled, the haunting cries of the mirror versions of my patients echoing behind me. The town had rejected me, casting me out into the night, a lone survivor grappling with the lingering doubts of my own sanity.
Days later, when a kind soul finally stopped to help me on the desolate road, I searched for the town on maps and GPS, but it had vanished without a trace. A chilling realization settled upon me: the town existed beyond the realms of conventional reality, a dark pocket where truth and sanity intertwined, forever questioning the limits of human comprehension.
As I drove away, the memories of that nightmarish encounter etched deep within my mind, I vowed never to speak of the town again, burying the chilling secret deep within the recesses of my soul.
2023.05.30 06:49 dlschindler Terror Of Leaving The Rude World Behind
Lies are so polite. Honest people have no friends. Nobody wants the truth, not when the lies are what make them happy.
And when the truth, the rude truth, dispels those safe and happy lies, there is a very special kind of horror. I experienced it as terror, as I was forced to learn all about the truth of the real world.
I've spent years as a therapist, delving into the depths of the human psyche and trying to help those burdened by their own demons. My practice has seen its fair share of troubled individuals, but none quite like the three patients I currently attend to. Each one possesses a unique darkness that sets them apart from the rest of my clientele.
First, there's Thomas, a middle-aged man whose words cut through the air like a razor-sharp blade. His brutally honest nature spares no one, as he revels in frankness. He spews forth his bitterness, never holding back his cruel rudeness. It's as if he derives pleasure from watching others squirm under the weight of his words.
Then there's Emily, a woman of few filters and even fewer boundaries. Her honesty is a double-edged sword, slicing through the facade of social niceties with surgical precision, with scathing candor. She has no qualms about revealing uncomfortable truths, making every session a tense dance of revelations and discomfort.
Lastly, there's Jacob, whose coldness could freeze the warmest of hearts. His icy demeanor and calculated words chill the room whenever he speaks. He thrives on manipulation, using his intellect to exploit vulnerabilities and leave emotional wreckage in his wake.
These three patients have tested the limits of my own resilience, forcing me to confront the darkest corners of the human psyche. Little did I know that soon I would encounter a terror beyond anything I had encountered within the confines of my therapy office.
In the dimly lit room of my therapy office, I listen to the unsettling confessions of my three patients. As their therapist, I've grown accustomed to their brutality, their unfiltered honesty. But it's in the aftermath of my aunt's funeral, on that fateful night when my car stalled in the desolate darkness, that I would come face to face with a horror beyond comprehension.
The funeral of my beloved aunt weighed heavily on my heart as I made my way back home, the clock ticking past midnight. Exhausted and emotionally drained, I navigated the winding roads that cut through the barren countryside. The night wrapped around me like a suffocating shroud, and a sense of unease settled deep within.
Suddenly, my car sputtered and came to a halt. Panic coursed through my veins as I desperately tried to restart the engine, but to no avail. With a sinking feeling, I realized there was no cell signal in this desolate stretch of road, leaving me stranded in the oppressive darkness.
I stepped out of the car, the chill of the night embracing me like an unwelcome companion. The moon cast an eerie glow on the silent landscape, emphasizing the desolation that surrounded me. I had no choice but to abandon the safety of my vehicle and venture forth on foot in search of help.
As I walked, the world around me transformed. The familiar countryside gave way to an unfamiliar path, lined with gnarled trees that seemed to whisper secrets in the wind. The air grew heavy, laden with an otherworldly presence that sent shivers cascading down my spine.
After what felt like an eternity, I stumbled upon an exit sign, its rusty metal gleaming faintly in the moonlight. With a mix of trepidation and hope, I followed the arrow, hoping it would lead me to some semblance of civilization.
As I passed through the exit, a peculiar town emerged from the shadows, shrouded in an unsettling silence. The streets, devoid of life, stretched out before me like a labyrinth of forgotten dreams. Inky pools of darkness clung to the corners, stubbornly resisting the feeble rays of the rising sun. It was as if the town itself had been tainted by a sinister force, refusing to surrender to the light.
I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a cracked storefront window, and a shiver shot down my spine. The glass distorted my features, twisting them into a grotesque mockery of myself. Before I could fully comprehend the sight, whispers reached my ears—inhuman voices murmuring in the shadows.
Words like "truth" and "bringer" slithered through the air, chilling me to the bone. It was as if unseen entities were aware of my presence, aware of my role as a dispenser of truth in my profession. The weight of their attention pressed heavily upon me, filling me with a sense of foreboding.
As I cautiously explored the desolate streets, I encountered a townsperson—a perfect mirror image of one of my patients. Seeking assistance, I approached a townsperson who bore an uncanny resemblance to Thomas, my patient known for his brutal honesty.
With a polite smile adorning his face, the townsperson greeted me. "Good day, sir. How may I assist you?" His words dripped with an unsettling charm, a stark contrast to Thomas's usual abrasive nature.
"I'm in need of help. My car broke down, and I require a tow truck or a mechanic," I explained, trying to maintain my composure despite the growing unease within me.
The townsperson's smile remained unwavering as he replied, "I'm terribly sorry to hear about your predicament, but unfortunately, our town is quite isolated, and the services you seek are not readily available. You see, there's no mechanic around, and our tow truck is currently out of commission."
His response sent a chill down my spine, for I knew that Thomas would never shy away from speaking the unfiltered truth. The stark contrast between the patient's brutal honesty and the townsperson's polished lies made the conversation all the more disturbing.
Undeterred, I pressed on, determined to find a solution. "Is there a place nearby where I can make a phone call to seek assistance?"
The townsperson's expression remained placid as he nodded. "Of course, we have a public phone booth just around the corner. However, I must warn you, the line seems to be down at the moment. Perhaps you can try later."
A sense of unease gnawed at me. The deception in his words was palpable. I couldn't help but wonder if this facade of politeness was merely a thin veil concealing something far more sinister.
Growing hungrier by the minute, I decided to inquire about a place to grab a bite to eat. "Is there a restaurant or a café nearby where I can find some food?"
The townsperson's smile widened, his eyes gleaming with an unsettling glimmer. "Ah, I'm afraid all our dining establishments are currently closed for renovations. You won't find anything open at this hour. I apologize for the inconvenience."
Every word he spoke felt like a twist of the knife, the pleasant tone mocking my desperation. It was as if the entire town conspired to deny me even the most basic assistance.
As I ventured deeper into the enigmatic town, my desperation intensified. Seeking aid for my stranded car, I approached a townsperson who bore an uncanny resemblance to Emily, my patient known for her scathing candor.
She greeted me with a disarming smile, her eyes glinting with a deceptive warmth. "Hello there, stranger. What brings you to our humble town?"
Feeling a sense of unease, I mustered the courage to explain my predicament. "My car broke down, and I'm in need of assistance. Is there a mechanic or a service station nearby?"
Emily's smile remained fixed, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. "Oh, how unfortunate. I'm afraid our town is quite secluded, and we don't have any mechanics or service stations here. It's such a pity, isn't it?"
Her response sent a shiver down my spine, for I knew all too well the biting honesty that usually emanated from Emily's words. The stark contrast between her usual cruel rudeness and the townsperson's polite deceit heightened the unnerving atmosphere.
Undeterred, I decided to probe further. "Is there a place nearby where I can make a phone call to seek help?"
Emily's eyes gleamed with a chilling delight as she nodded. "Why, yes, there is a phone booth just around the corner. However, I must warn you, the line has been acting up lately. It seems luck is not on your side today."
A knot tightened in my stomach, the realization of their collective deception growing clearer. This town had woven an intricate web of lies, and each encounter served to deepen my unease.
Growing weary and famished, I sought information about a place to satisfy my hunger. "Are there any restaurants or cafés where I can find something to eat?"
Emily's smile widened, revealing a hint of something unsettling beneath the surface. "Ah, I'm afraid all our dining establishments are closed for a private event. They won't be open to the public for quite some time. I apologize for any inconvenience this may cause."
Her words sent a chill coursing through my veins. The townsperson's demeanor was an unsettling reflection of Emily's uncensored honesty, twisted into a sickening semblance of pleasantness. It was as if the town reveled in tormenting me, taunting my helplessness with their deceptive charm.
As I continued my journey through the mysterious town, a sense of foreboding weighed heavily upon me. Seeking aid for my broken-down car, I approached a townsperson who bore an uncanny resemblance to Jacob, my patient known for his cruel rudeness.
A twisted smile spread across the townsperson's face as our eyes met. "Well, well, what do we have here? Another lost soul in need of help?"
My heart skipped a beat, for the malicious glint in their eyes mirrored Jacob's usual sadistic pleasure in causing pain. The contrast between his usual brutal demeanor and the townsperson's chilling charm sent a shiver down my spine.
Summoning my courage, I explained my predicament. "My car has stalled, and I require assistance. Is there a mechanic or a service station nearby?"
The townsperson's smile grew wider, revealing rows of unnaturally sharp teeth. Their voice took on a sinister tone as they replied, "Oh, dear traveler, how unfortunate. Our town is quite isolated, you see, and the mechanics here have a penchant for breaking more than they fix. It's best to avoid their services, if you value your life."
A surge of unease swept through me, the words sinking deep into my core. The townsperson's perverse enjoyment in my misfortune left no doubt that they relished in the suffering of others.
Refusing to succumb to fear, I pressed on. "Is there a place nearby where I can make a phone call to seek help?"
Their laughter, low and menacing, echoed through the empty streets. "Ah, a phone call, you say? How quaint. Our town isn't one for modern conveniences. The phones here... well, let's just say they have a mind of their own. They tend to connect you to places you never wished to reach."
A chill ran down my spine, the revelation leaving me trembling. It was as if the town itself conspired to keep me trapped, severed from any means of outside assistance.
Growing increasingly desperate, I inquired about a place to find sustenance. "Are there any restaurants or cafés where I can find something to eat?"
The townsperson's eyes gleamed with a sinister delight, their voice dripping with malice. "Ah, food... sustenance for the weak. I must warn you, stranger, our town's cuisine is... unique. It caters to more peculiar tastes, if you catch my drift. But fear not, for we have delicacies that will make your skin crawl."
My stomach churned at their words, the realization that this town reveled in the macabre sinking in. The contrast between Jacob's cruel rudeness and the townsperson's wicked charm only served to heighten the pervading sense of horror.
With every interaction, I could feel the town's grip on reality loosening, and the true nature of its inhabitants unveiling itself in unsettling ways.
With a sinking feeling, I realized that the veneer of politeness in this town concealed something far more malevolent. The contrast between my patients' cruel candor and the townspeople's twisted facades served only to deepen the sense of dread that hung heavy in the air.
Questions burned within me, demanding answers. I demanded honesty from these townspeople who insisted on politely lying about their inability to help me. Their deceit extended beyond the realm of car repairs and basic necessities—it seeped into every corner of this enigmatic place, where even the simplest requests were met with pleasant but false assurances.
Driven by my thirst for truth and growing frustration with the townspeople's deceptive façades, I delved deeper into the heart of this enigmatic place. With every step, the atmosphere grew heavier, and an air of impending doom seemed to hang in the murky shadows.
Unbeknownst to me, my relentless pursuit of honesty had begun to unravel something dark and ancient. Ominous portents manifested in the form of flickering streetlights and whispers that danced on the edge of my consciousness. The town itself seemed to pulsate with an unseen energy, as if it were a living entity responding to my unsettling inquiries.
As I caught glimpses of my reflection in broken glass and shattered mirrors, my own visage twisted and contorted. It was as if the very act of seeking truth had tainted my soul, leaving visible scars on the surface. Each crack in the glass seemed to mirror the fractures within my own psyche.
The inhuman voices that had whispered before grew louder, their words filling my mind with their sinister presence. They spoke of a bringer of truth, a harbinger of revelations that could shatter the delicate equilibrium of this town and unleash untold horrors upon its unsuspecting inhabitants.
I was drawn to confront the townspeople once more, hoping to break through their veneer of politeness and unearth the hidden truths they guarded so fervently. However, as I ventured deeper into their midst, a chilling realization took hold—an entity lurked within the shadows, feeding off the collective denial and deception of this town.
As the day wore on, the sun began its descent, casting elongated shadows that danced upon the desolate streets of the eerie town. Doubt and unease gnawed at the edges of my sanity, but I refused to succumb. Determined to find a way out, I continued my search for assistance, unaware of the horrors that awaited me.
Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a figure approaching. As they drew nearer, a cold sweat broke out across my brow. The person who stood before me bore an uncanny resemblance, mirroring my own visage. It was as if I were looking into a grotesque reflection of myself.
I stammered, my voice trembling with disbelief. "Who... who are you?"
The doppelgänger grinned, their eyes gleaming with an otherworldly light. "Ah, my dear visitor, it seems we share more than just an appearance. I am but a fragment of the truth you seek."
Confusion gripped me as I struggled to comprehend their cryptic words. "What truth? What do you mean?"
They leaned closer, their breath chilling against my skin. "This town, this facade, it is a sanctuary. A sanctuary that hides a truth so abhorrent, so unspeakable, that the collective acknowledgment of it would grant it unimaginable power."
My mind reeled, the fabric of reality fraying at the edges. Was this some twisted delusion or a glimpse into a sinister reality?
Refusing to believe their words, I clung to the remnants of my sanity. "No, this cannot be true. You're just trying to deceive me, to keep me trapped here!"
The doppelgänger's grin widened, their eyes devoid of empathy. "Believe what you will, but know this: by revealing the truth, you risk damning not only yourself but all who inhabit this wretched place."
A chill wind swept through the town, whispering haunting melodies that seemed to echo the doppelgänger's words. Shadows swirled, tendrils of darkness creeping closer.
Fear and desperation mingled within me, tearing at the fragile threads of my sanity. I had ventured too far, dared to seek answers that were better left unspoken.
Before I could react, the doppelgänger was engulfed by the encroaching darkness. Their form contorted and twisted, morphing into a grotesque, malevolent version of myself. The horrors I had encountered in this town had taken physical shape, manifesting as a twisted caricature of who I once was.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the town into a suffocating gloom, the other townsfolk emerged from the shadows, their distorted visages revealing the true extent of their malevolence.
Driven by their anger at my disruption of their carefully constructed facade, they advanced toward me, their polite words of harmlessness contrasting grotesquely with the weapons they brandished.
Terrified, I turned and fled, the haunting cries of the mirror versions of my patients echoing behind me. The town had rejected me, casting me out into the night, a lone survivor grappling with the lingering doubts of my own sanity.
Days later, when a kind soul finally stopped to help me on the desolate road, I searched for the town on maps and GPS, but it had vanished without a trace. A chilling realization settled upon me: the town existed beyond the realms of conventional reality, a dark pocket where truth and sanity intertwined, forever questioning the limits of human comprehension.
As I drove away, the memories of that nightmarish encounter etched deep within my mind, I vowed never to speak of the town again, burying the chilling secret deep within the recesses of my soul.
submitted by dlschindler to joinmeatthecampfire [link] [comments]
And when the truth, the rude truth, dispels those safe and happy lies, there is a very special kind of horror. I experienced it as terror, as I was forced to learn all about the truth of the real world.
I've spent years as a therapist, delving into the depths of the human psyche and trying to help those burdened by their own demons. My practice has seen its fair share of troubled individuals, but none quite like the three patients I currently attend to. Each one possesses a unique darkness that sets them apart from the rest of my clientele.
First, there's Thomas, a middle-aged man whose words cut through the air like a razor-sharp blade. His brutally honest nature spares no one, as he revels in frankness. He spews forth his bitterness, never holding back his cruel rudeness. It's as if he derives pleasure from watching others squirm under the weight of his words.
Then there's Emily, a woman of few filters and even fewer boundaries. Her honesty is a double-edged sword, slicing through the facade of social niceties with surgical precision, with scathing candor. She has no qualms about revealing uncomfortable truths, making every session a tense dance of revelations and discomfort.
Lastly, there's Jacob, whose coldness could freeze the warmest of hearts. His icy demeanor and calculated words chill the room whenever he speaks. He thrives on manipulation, using his intellect to exploit vulnerabilities and leave emotional wreckage in his wake.
These three patients have tested the limits of my own resilience, forcing me to confront the darkest corners of the human psyche. Little did I know that soon I would encounter a terror beyond anything I had encountered within the confines of my therapy office.
In the dimly lit room of my therapy office, I listen to the unsettling confessions of my three patients. As their therapist, I've grown accustomed to their brutality, their unfiltered honesty. But it's in the aftermath of my aunt's funeral, on that fateful night when my car stalled in the desolate darkness, that I would come face to face with a horror beyond comprehension.
The funeral of my beloved aunt weighed heavily on my heart as I made my way back home, the clock ticking past midnight. Exhausted and emotionally drained, I navigated the winding roads that cut through the barren countryside. The night wrapped around me like a suffocating shroud, and a sense of unease settled deep within.
Suddenly, my car sputtered and came to a halt. Panic coursed through my veins as I desperately tried to restart the engine, but to no avail. With a sinking feeling, I realized there was no cell signal in this desolate stretch of road, leaving me stranded in the oppressive darkness.
I stepped out of the car, the chill of the night embracing me like an unwelcome companion. The moon cast an eerie glow on the silent landscape, emphasizing the desolation that surrounded me. I had no choice but to abandon the safety of my vehicle and venture forth on foot in search of help.
As I walked, the world around me transformed. The familiar countryside gave way to an unfamiliar path, lined with gnarled trees that seemed to whisper secrets in the wind. The air grew heavy, laden with an otherworldly presence that sent shivers cascading down my spine.
After what felt like an eternity, I stumbled upon an exit sign, its rusty metal gleaming faintly in the moonlight. With a mix of trepidation and hope, I followed the arrow, hoping it would lead me to some semblance of civilization.
As I passed through the exit, a peculiar town emerged from the shadows, shrouded in an unsettling silence. The streets, devoid of life, stretched out before me like a labyrinth of forgotten dreams. Inky pools of darkness clung to the corners, stubbornly resisting the feeble rays of the rising sun. It was as if the town itself had been tainted by a sinister force, refusing to surrender to the light.
I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a cracked storefront window, and a shiver shot down my spine. The glass distorted my features, twisting them into a grotesque mockery of myself. Before I could fully comprehend the sight, whispers reached my ears—inhuman voices murmuring in the shadows.
Words like "truth" and "bringer" slithered through the air, chilling me to the bone. It was as if unseen entities were aware of my presence, aware of my role as a dispenser of truth in my profession. The weight of their attention pressed heavily upon me, filling me with a sense of foreboding.
As I cautiously explored the desolate streets, I encountered a townsperson—a perfect mirror image of one of my patients. Seeking assistance, I approached a townsperson who bore an uncanny resemblance to Thomas, my patient known for his brutal honesty.
With a polite smile adorning his face, the townsperson greeted me. "Good day, sir. How may I assist you?" His words dripped with an unsettling charm, a stark contrast to Thomas's usual abrasive nature.
"I'm in need of help. My car broke down, and I require a tow truck or a mechanic," I explained, trying to maintain my composure despite the growing unease within me.
The townsperson's smile remained unwavering as he replied, "I'm terribly sorry to hear about your predicament, but unfortunately, our town is quite isolated, and the services you seek are not readily available. You see, there's no mechanic around, and our tow truck is currently out of commission."
His response sent a chill down my spine, for I knew that Thomas would never shy away from speaking the unfiltered truth. The stark contrast between the patient's brutal honesty and the townsperson's polished lies made the conversation all the more disturbing.
Undeterred, I pressed on, determined to find a solution. "Is there a place nearby where I can make a phone call to seek assistance?"
The townsperson's expression remained placid as he nodded. "Of course, we have a public phone booth just around the corner. However, I must warn you, the line seems to be down at the moment. Perhaps you can try later."
A sense of unease gnawed at me. The deception in his words was palpable. I couldn't help but wonder if this facade of politeness was merely a thin veil concealing something far more sinister.
Growing hungrier by the minute, I decided to inquire about a place to grab a bite to eat. "Is there a restaurant or a café nearby where I can find some food?"
The townsperson's smile widened, his eyes gleaming with an unsettling glimmer. "Ah, I'm afraid all our dining establishments are currently closed for renovations. You won't find anything open at this hour. I apologize for the inconvenience."
Every word he spoke felt like a twist of the knife, the pleasant tone mocking my desperation. It was as if the entire town conspired to deny me even the most basic assistance.
As I ventured deeper into the enigmatic town, my desperation intensified. Seeking aid for my stranded car, I approached a townsperson who bore an uncanny resemblance to Emily, my patient known for her scathing candor.
She greeted me with a disarming smile, her eyes glinting with a deceptive warmth. "Hello there, stranger. What brings you to our humble town?"
Feeling a sense of unease, I mustered the courage to explain my predicament. "My car broke down, and I'm in need of assistance. Is there a mechanic or a service station nearby?"
Emily's smile remained fixed, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. "Oh, how unfortunate. I'm afraid our town is quite secluded, and we don't have any mechanics or service stations here. It's such a pity, isn't it?"
Her response sent a shiver down my spine, for I knew all too well the biting honesty that usually emanated from Emily's words. The stark contrast between her usual cruel rudeness and the townsperson's polite deceit heightened the unnerving atmosphere.
Undeterred, I decided to probe further. "Is there a place nearby where I can make a phone call to seek help?"
Emily's eyes gleamed with a chilling delight as she nodded. "Why, yes, there is a phone booth just around the corner. However, I must warn you, the line has been acting up lately. It seems luck is not on your side today."
A knot tightened in my stomach, the realization of their collective deception growing clearer. This town had woven an intricate web of lies, and each encounter served to deepen my unease.
Growing weary and famished, I sought information about a place to satisfy my hunger. "Are there any restaurants or cafés where I can find something to eat?"
Emily's smile widened, revealing a hint of something unsettling beneath the surface. "Ah, I'm afraid all our dining establishments are closed for a private event. They won't be open to the public for quite some time. I apologize for any inconvenience this may cause."
Her words sent a chill coursing through my veins. The townsperson's demeanor was an unsettling reflection of Emily's uncensored honesty, twisted into a sickening semblance of pleasantness. It was as if the town reveled in tormenting me, taunting my helplessness with their deceptive charm.
As I continued my journey through the mysterious town, a sense of foreboding weighed heavily upon me. Seeking aid for my broken-down car, I approached a townsperson who bore an uncanny resemblance to Jacob, my patient known for his cruel rudeness.
A twisted smile spread across the townsperson's face as our eyes met. "Well, well, what do we have here? Another lost soul in need of help?"
My heart skipped a beat, for the malicious glint in their eyes mirrored Jacob's usual sadistic pleasure in causing pain. The contrast between his usual brutal demeanor and the townsperson's chilling charm sent a shiver down my spine.
Summoning my courage, I explained my predicament. "My car has stalled, and I require assistance. Is there a mechanic or a service station nearby?"
The townsperson's smile grew wider, revealing rows of unnaturally sharp teeth. Their voice took on a sinister tone as they replied, "Oh, dear traveler, how unfortunate. Our town is quite isolated, you see, and the mechanics here have a penchant for breaking more than they fix. It's best to avoid their services, if you value your life."
A surge of unease swept through me, the words sinking deep into my core. The townsperson's perverse enjoyment in my misfortune left no doubt that they relished in the suffering of others.
Refusing to succumb to fear, I pressed on. "Is there a place nearby where I can make a phone call to seek help?"
Their laughter, low and menacing, echoed through the empty streets. "Ah, a phone call, you say? How quaint. Our town isn't one for modern conveniences. The phones here... well, let's just say they have a mind of their own. They tend to connect you to places you never wished to reach."
A chill ran down my spine, the revelation leaving me trembling. It was as if the town itself conspired to keep me trapped, severed from any means of outside assistance.
Growing increasingly desperate, I inquired about a place to find sustenance. "Are there any restaurants or cafés where I can find something to eat?"
The townsperson's eyes gleamed with a sinister delight, their voice dripping with malice. "Ah, food... sustenance for the weak. I must warn you, stranger, our town's cuisine is... unique. It caters to more peculiar tastes, if you catch my drift. But fear not, for we have delicacies that will make your skin crawl."
My stomach churned at their words, the realization that this town reveled in the macabre sinking in. The contrast between Jacob's cruel rudeness and the townsperson's wicked charm only served to heighten the pervading sense of horror.
With every interaction, I could feel the town's grip on reality loosening, and the true nature of its inhabitants unveiling itself in unsettling ways.
With a sinking feeling, I realized that the veneer of politeness in this town concealed something far more malevolent. The contrast between my patients' cruel candor and the townspeople's twisted facades served only to deepen the sense of dread that hung heavy in the air.
Questions burned within me, demanding answers. I demanded honesty from these townspeople who insisted on politely lying about their inability to help me. Their deceit extended beyond the realm of car repairs and basic necessities—it seeped into every corner of this enigmatic place, where even the simplest requests were met with pleasant but false assurances.
Driven by my thirst for truth and growing frustration with the townspeople's deceptive façades, I delved deeper into the heart of this enigmatic place. With every step, the atmosphere grew heavier, and an air of impending doom seemed to hang in the murky shadows.
Unbeknownst to me, my relentless pursuit of honesty had begun to unravel something dark and ancient. Ominous portents manifested in the form of flickering streetlights and whispers that danced on the edge of my consciousness. The town itself seemed to pulsate with an unseen energy, as if it were a living entity responding to my unsettling inquiries.
As I caught glimpses of my reflection in broken glass and shattered mirrors, my own visage twisted and contorted. It was as if the very act of seeking truth had tainted my soul, leaving visible scars on the surface. Each crack in the glass seemed to mirror the fractures within my own psyche.
The inhuman voices that had whispered before grew louder, their words filling my mind with their sinister presence. They spoke of a bringer of truth, a harbinger of revelations that could shatter the delicate equilibrium of this town and unleash untold horrors upon its unsuspecting inhabitants.
I was drawn to confront the townspeople once more, hoping to break through their veneer of politeness and unearth the hidden truths they guarded so fervently. However, as I ventured deeper into their midst, a chilling realization took hold—an entity lurked within the shadows, feeding off the collective denial and deception of this town.
As the day wore on, the sun began its descent, casting elongated shadows that danced upon the desolate streets of the eerie town. Doubt and unease gnawed at the edges of my sanity, but I refused to succumb. Determined to find a way out, I continued my search for assistance, unaware of the horrors that awaited me.
Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a figure approaching. As they drew nearer, a cold sweat broke out across my brow. The person who stood before me bore an uncanny resemblance, mirroring my own visage. It was as if I were looking into a grotesque reflection of myself.
I stammered, my voice trembling with disbelief. "Who... who are you?"
The doppelgänger grinned, their eyes gleaming with an otherworldly light. "Ah, my dear visitor, it seems we share more than just an appearance. I am but a fragment of the truth you seek."
Confusion gripped me as I struggled to comprehend their cryptic words. "What truth? What do you mean?"
They leaned closer, their breath chilling against my skin. "This town, this facade, it is a sanctuary. A sanctuary that hides a truth so abhorrent, so unspeakable, that the collective acknowledgment of it would grant it unimaginable power."
My mind reeled, the fabric of reality fraying at the edges. Was this some twisted delusion or a glimpse into a sinister reality?
Refusing to believe their words, I clung to the remnants of my sanity. "No, this cannot be true. You're just trying to deceive me, to keep me trapped here!"
The doppelgänger's grin widened, their eyes devoid of empathy. "Believe what you will, but know this: by revealing the truth, you risk damning not only yourself but all who inhabit this wretched place."
A chill wind swept through the town, whispering haunting melodies that seemed to echo the doppelgänger's words. Shadows swirled, tendrils of darkness creeping closer.
Fear and desperation mingled within me, tearing at the fragile threads of my sanity. I had ventured too far, dared to seek answers that were better left unspoken.
Before I could react, the doppelgänger was engulfed by the encroaching darkness. Their form contorted and twisted, morphing into a grotesque, malevolent version of myself. The horrors I had encountered in this town had taken physical shape, manifesting as a twisted caricature of who I once was.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the town into a suffocating gloom, the other townsfolk emerged from the shadows, their distorted visages revealing the true extent of their malevolence.
Driven by their anger at my disruption of their carefully constructed facade, they advanced toward me, their polite words of harmlessness contrasting grotesquely with the weapons they brandished.
Terrified, I turned and fled, the haunting cries of the mirror versions of my patients echoing behind me. The town had rejected me, casting me out into the night, a lone survivor grappling with the lingering doubts of my own sanity.
Days later, when a kind soul finally stopped to help me on the desolate road, I searched for the town on maps and GPS, but it had vanished without a trace. A chilling realization settled upon me: the town existed beyond the realms of conventional reality, a dark pocket where truth and sanity intertwined, forever questioning the limits of human comprehension.
As I drove away, the memories of that nightmarish encounter etched deep within my mind, I vowed never to speak of the town again, burying the chilling secret deep within the recesses of my soul.
2023.05.30 06:17 spaceFaceInThisPlace Special Delivery (Prologue)
Special Delivery (Prologue)
Awakening
I wake up in the living room of a house, disoriented and uneasy. Something feels off, as if the world around me is shifting. I look towards the front window, expecting sunlight to illuminate the room, but instead, I notice flaws developing on the glass. Shadows dance across the walls, and the brightness of the day wavers, creating an eerie atmosphere.
Did it just get really dark in here? No….it’s perfectly lit. Did that happen?
As I try to make sense of my surroundings, I realize that the furniture is arranged in a peculiar manner.
The box, in all its enigmatic simplicity, stood in the center of the room like an ordinary cardboard container. Its unassuming appearance held no grandeur or ornate embellishments, contrasting starkly with the peculiar events unfolding around it. It seemed like an artifact of mundanity, with no indication of the mysteries it concealed within.
The surface of the box was plain and unadorned, a humble facade that betrayed no secrets. It bore no intricate carvings or elegant patterns, just the rough texture of brown cardboard. Its corners were slightly dented, bearing witness to the wear and tear of its journey, adding to the unremarkable nature of its appearance.
On one side of the box, the word "Croatian" was carelessly scrawled in haphazard handwriting, as if an afterthought or a hurried addition. The letters appeared sloppy and uneven, lacking any aesthetic finesse. They stood out in stark contrast against the plainness of the box, their sloppiness serving as a stark reminder of the enigma that surrounded us.
Am I in Croatia? How did I end up here?
I'm not alone. Other people are also in the room, their presence equally bewildering. Tension hangs in the air, and unease grips us all.
Unable to contain my curiosity, I break the silence. "My name is Todd," I introduce myself. "Please, introduce yourselves and give a bit of backstory. Why are you here, and where exactly is 'here'?"
An Introduction
A voice quivers with fear as Steve speaks up. "My name is Steve, and I need to leave!" He rushes towards the front door, desperately searching for an escape route. But as he tries to open the door, he realizes it's locked tight. Panic sets in as he frantically attempts to find a way out.
Driven by determination, Steve retreats to the opposite doorway, preparing for a daring escape. He takes a running start, covering an astonishing distance that seems to extend beyond the limits of the house itself. We watch, filled with suspense, as Steve hurtles towards the door. But to everyone's shock, disaster strikes. He collides with the door and is instantly flattened, his lifeless body pulverized into a momentary gruesome sight as he is consumed by thin air. His disappearance leaves us all stunned and mystified.
“Is anyone else named Steve?”
The girl in the corner lets out a blood-curdling scream, her cries growing louder and more piercing with each passing moment. Suddenly, the corner of the house extends forward, distorting its dimensions and forming a grotesque mouth. In a horrifying turn of events, the corner engulfs the girl, swallowing her whole. There's no trace left, no remnants of her existence. The once-lively room falls silent, engulfed in an eerie calmness. Outside, clouds gather, obscuring the natural daylight. The remaining occupants of the house are paralyzed with terror, their screams silenced by an unknown force.
Transformation
As we stand frozen in fear, the room undergoes a surreal transformation. Ceilings rise, and the space expands, stretching beyond our comprehension. A figure hovers in the far corner, contorted and suspended in mid-air. With astonishing speed, the figure hurtles towards us, defying the laws of physics.
Before I can even process the situation, I wake up abruptly. The room returns to its previous state, unchanged from when I first arrived. However, something is amiss. A figure stands outside in the front yard, peering into the house. Darkness cloaks their features, adding to the enigma surrounding their presence. The house remains unusually illuminated, devoid of light switches or outlets, emanating a piercing brightness that defies reason.
The other three individuals in the room are still unconscious, unaware of the impending transformation that will forever alter their lives. An aura of uncertainty hangs in the air, foreshadowing the profound changes that await us.
What's in the Box?
Morning breaks, and the clock on the wall reads 8 o'clock. The remaining occupants of the house awaken, their faces etched with deep contemplation. Outside, a small crowd has gathered, their murmurs filling the air. Tension permeates the atmosphere as anticipation builds.
Suddenly, a voice booms from the box, answering the question that has plagued us all. "You are, Chad. You are in the box," it says, sending shivers down my spine. Chad, taken aback, rises from his spot, but a dark cloud materializes beneath him, enveloping his body. The cloud ascends, swallowing Chad entirely, leaving no trace behind.
Claire, Chad's sister, rushes to the box, desperate for answers or a glimpse of her brother. Darkness greets her gaze as she peers into the box. The bottom of the box transforms into a swirling void, and before anyone can react, Claire plunges into the abyss, disappearing into nothingness. I stand there, astounded, unable to trust my own eyes.
Admittance
Sharon's voice breaks the silence, revealing a crucial piece of the puzzle. She confesses, "I know why this is happening." Her words hang heavy with guilt and realization. She recounts the events of our ill-fated night, a celebration at the club after Chad passed the BAR exam, and her consumption of a pill for her Fibromyalgia. A strange dizziness had clouded her senses, making it hard to see clearly. Something terrible had occurred, but the details remained hazy in her memory.
Unbeknownst to Sharon, her collision with Elijah, our neighbor's 16-year-old son, had resulted in a tragic accident that claimed his life. The night took an unexpected turn when Chad, mischievous as ever, seized the opportunity and pilfered some of Sharon's pain medication. With a sly grin, he expertly crushed a pill and discreetly added it to her drink, unknowingly setting in motion a series of bizarre events. As the night progressed, Claire laughed, playfully suggesting that the drink needed a proper mix to avoid arousing suspicion. Little did they know the dark consequences that would follow.
Meanwhile, Steve's true identity remains shrouded in mystery, his presence lost amidst the chaos and terror that unfolded around us. Everyone knew each other in that room though, I can feel it. The inside of the house is filled with blinding light.
The crowd outside watches in awe as the house, engulfed in an inferno, burns with an intensity that defies explanation. The flames consume the structure, yet never spread beyond its boundaries, confounding onlookers and amplifying the sense of otherworldly occurrences.
The fact that this fire had been burning at the same rate for five days didn’t reinforce natural explanations.
As I awaken once again, I find myself in an unfamiliar setting—a dimly lit warehouse. The shadows play tricks on my eyes, and a sense of foreboding fills the air.
A box sits in the center of the warehouse.
__________________________________________________________________________
submitted by spaceFaceInThisPlace to creepypasta [link] [comments]
Awakening
I wake up in the living room of a house, disoriented and uneasy. Something feels off, as if the world around me is shifting. I look towards the front window, expecting sunlight to illuminate the room, but instead, I notice flaws developing on the glass. Shadows dance across the walls, and the brightness of the day wavers, creating an eerie atmosphere.
Did it just get really dark in here? No….it’s perfectly lit. Did that happen?
As I try to make sense of my surroundings, I realize that the furniture is arranged in a peculiar manner.
The box, in all its enigmatic simplicity, stood in the center of the room like an ordinary cardboard container. Its unassuming appearance held no grandeur or ornate embellishments, contrasting starkly with the peculiar events unfolding around it. It seemed like an artifact of mundanity, with no indication of the mysteries it concealed within.
The surface of the box was plain and unadorned, a humble facade that betrayed no secrets. It bore no intricate carvings or elegant patterns, just the rough texture of brown cardboard. Its corners were slightly dented, bearing witness to the wear and tear of its journey, adding to the unremarkable nature of its appearance.
On one side of the box, the word "Croatian" was carelessly scrawled in haphazard handwriting, as if an afterthought or a hurried addition. The letters appeared sloppy and uneven, lacking any aesthetic finesse. They stood out in stark contrast against the plainness of the box, their sloppiness serving as a stark reminder of the enigma that surrounded us.
Am I in Croatia? How did I end up here?
I'm not alone. Other people are also in the room, their presence equally bewildering. Tension hangs in the air, and unease grips us all.
Unable to contain my curiosity, I break the silence. "My name is Todd," I introduce myself. "Please, introduce yourselves and give a bit of backstory. Why are you here, and where exactly is 'here'?"
An Introduction
A voice quivers with fear as Steve speaks up. "My name is Steve, and I need to leave!" He rushes towards the front door, desperately searching for an escape route. But as he tries to open the door, he realizes it's locked tight. Panic sets in as he frantically attempts to find a way out.
Driven by determination, Steve retreats to the opposite doorway, preparing for a daring escape. He takes a running start, covering an astonishing distance that seems to extend beyond the limits of the house itself. We watch, filled with suspense, as Steve hurtles towards the door. But to everyone's shock, disaster strikes. He collides with the door and is instantly flattened, his lifeless body pulverized into a momentary gruesome sight as he is consumed by thin air. His disappearance leaves us all stunned and mystified.
“Is anyone else named Steve?”
The girl in the corner lets out a blood-curdling scream, her cries growing louder and more piercing with each passing moment. Suddenly, the corner of the house extends forward, distorting its dimensions and forming a grotesque mouth. In a horrifying turn of events, the corner engulfs the girl, swallowing her whole. There's no trace left, no remnants of her existence. The once-lively room falls silent, engulfed in an eerie calmness. Outside, clouds gather, obscuring the natural daylight. The remaining occupants of the house are paralyzed with terror, their screams silenced by an unknown force.
Transformation
As we stand frozen in fear, the room undergoes a surreal transformation. Ceilings rise, and the space expands, stretching beyond our comprehension. A figure hovers in the far corner, contorted and suspended in mid-air. With astonishing speed, the figure hurtles towards us, defying the laws of physics.
Before I can even process the situation, I wake up abruptly. The room returns to its previous state, unchanged from when I first arrived. However, something is amiss. A figure stands outside in the front yard, peering into the house. Darkness cloaks their features, adding to the enigma surrounding their presence. The house remains unusually illuminated, devoid of light switches or outlets, emanating a piercing brightness that defies reason.
The other three individuals in the room are still unconscious, unaware of the impending transformation that will forever alter their lives. An aura of uncertainty hangs in the air, foreshadowing the profound changes that await us.
What's in the Box?
Morning breaks, and the clock on the wall reads 8 o'clock. The remaining occupants of the house awaken, their faces etched with deep contemplation. Outside, a small crowd has gathered, their murmurs filling the air. Tension permeates the atmosphere as anticipation builds.
Suddenly, a voice booms from the box, answering the question that has plagued us all. "You are, Chad. You are in the box," it says, sending shivers down my spine. Chad, taken aback, rises from his spot, but a dark cloud materializes beneath him, enveloping his body. The cloud ascends, swallowing Chad entirely, leaving no trace behind.
Claire, Chad's sister, rushes to the box, desperate for answers or a glimpse of her brother. Darkness greets her gaze as she peers into the box. The bottom of the box transforms into a swirling void, and before anyone can react, Claire plunges into the abyss, disappearing into nothingness. I stand there, astounded, unable to trust my own eyes.
Admittance
Sharon's voice breaks the silence, revealing a crucial piece of the puzzle. She confesses, "I know why this is happening." Her words hang heavy with guilt and realization. She recounts the events of our ill-fated night, a celebration at the club after Chad passed the BAR exam, and her consumption of a pill for her Fibromyalgia. A strange dizziness had clouded her senses, making it hard to see clearly. Something terrible had occurred, but the details remained hazy in her memory.
Unbeknownst to Sharon, her collision with Elijah, our neighbor's 16-year-old son, had resulted in a tragic accident that claimed his life. The night took an unexpected turn when Chad, mischievous as ever, seized the opportunity and pilfered some of Sharon's pain medication. With a sly grin, he expertly crushed a pill and discreetly added it to her drink, unknowingly setting in motion a series of bizarre events. As the night progressed, Claire laughed, playfully suggesting that the drink needed a proper mix to avoid arousing suspicion. Little did they know the dark consequences that would follow.
Meanwhile, Steve's true identity remains shrouded in mystery, his presence lost amidst the chaos and terror that unfolded around us. Everyone knew each other in that room though, I can feel it. The inside of the house is filled with blinding light.
The crowd outside watches in awe as the house, engulfed in an inferno, burns with an intensity that defies explanation. The flames consume the structure, yet never spread beyond its boundaries, confounding onlookers and amplifying the sense of otherworldly occurrences.
The fact that this fire had been burning at the same rate for five days didn’t reinforce natural explanations.
As I awaken once again, I find myself in an unfamiliar setting—a dimly lit warehouse. The shadows play tricks on my eyes, and a sense of foreboding fills the air.
A box sits in the center of the warehouse.
__________________________________________________________________________
2023.05.30 06:02 whyEven_Try_676 Manifesto of the Communist party
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.
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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.
2023.05.30 05:50 ChainsawLullaby [ALL] 60 frames per second and HDR would harm Zelda.
Don’t get me wrong. I think 60+ frames can and does look great at times, and it can help significantly with input responsiveness, but I really only enjoy it in shooters or racing games.
Am I the only one who feels like high frame rates non-driving, non-shooter games simply feels too “video gamey”? Something like Zelda - a slow to moderately-paced exploration adventure on console - I don’t need the overly slippery and superfast high FPS camera movements and animations. I want it to look and feel epic. It’s the same reason I immediately turn off those terrible motion smoothing settings on a new TV that cause the so-called “soap opera effect” - because they completely trash the cinematic atmosphere of any content. I’m baffled that these settings are enabled default (typically along with wacky “vivid” color settings) and that people enjoy them.
Give me a locked 30 any day of the week for a Zelda game. I barely notice any drops in Tears and wouldn’t have thought about it a single time if reviewers didn’t mention it.
And HDR. Most of the time I feel it’s poorly implemented in games VS a well done 4k Blu-ray. Too often the blacks are crushed the brights sear your eyeballs. Destiny 2 is a decent example of this. The end effect is unnatural, fatiguing to the eye, and can cause you to miss detail. I don’t want Tears of the Kingdom to have the goofy contrast and color grading of, say, Gears of War 5. I like the softer, natural, more relaxing palette. I should add that I’m viewing on a well-calibrated LG OLED as well as my OLED Switch.
Nor am I pining for native 4K textures even when viewing on a 65 inch screen. Or ray tracing. Etc. It’s all about the art direction and atmosphere.
I hope Nintendo sticks gameplay, portability, and charming graphics. Sure, things like improved load times, reduced pop in, etc. would be nice quality of life upgrades with better hardware whenever Switch 2 comes along. But I’ll power on my Series X if I want more horsepower.
submitted by ChainsawLullaby to zelda [link] [comments]
Am I the only one who feels like high frame rates non-driving, non-shooter games simply feels too “video gamey”? Something like Zelda - a slow to moderately-paced exploration adventure on console - I don’t need the overly slippery and superfast high FPS camera movements and animations. I want it to look and feel epic. It’s the same reason I immediately turn off those terrible motion smoothing settings on a new TV that cause the so-called “soap opera effect” - because they completely trash the cinematic atmosphere of any content. I’m baffled that these settings are enabled default (typically along with wacky “vivid” color settings) and that people enjoy them.
Give me a locked 30 any day of the week for a Zelda game. I barely notice any drops in Tears and wouldn’t have thought about it a single time if reviewers didn’t mention it.
And HDR. Most of the time I feel it’s poorly implemented in games VS a well done 4k Blu-ray. Too often the blacks are crushed the brights sear your eyeballs. Destiny 2 is a decent example of this. The end effect is unnatural, fatiguing to the eye, and can cause you to miss detail. I don’t want Tears of the Kingdom to have the goofy contrast and color grading of, say, Gears of War 5. I like the softer, natural, more relaxing palette. I should add that I’m viewing on a well-calibrated LG OLED as well as my OLED Switch.
Nor am I pining for native 4K textures even when viewing on a 65 inch screen. Or ray tracing. Etc. It’s all about the art direction and atmosphere.
I hope Nintendo sticks gameplay, portability, and charming graphics. Sure, things like improved load times, reduced pop in, etc. would be nice quality of life upgrades with better hardware whenever Switch 2 comes along. But I’ll power on my Series X if I want more horsepower.
2023.05.30 05:43 _loomy the watchers with a thousand eyes
hey there, two posts in a day haha
is blinky the watchers with a thousand eyes the same one as in the trail to oregon? in the starkid wiki for the lords in black, blinky's title is "the watcher with a thousand eyes" and jack bouethe father calls the audience (the watchers) the same thing... has the lords in black lore traced back to eight years ago or is it a coincidence? can't be right?
submitted by _loomy to StarKid [link] [comments]
is blinky the watchers with a thousand eyes the same one as in the trail to oregon? in the starkid wiki for the lords in black, blinky's title is "the watcher with a thousand eyes" and jack bouethe father calls the audience (the watchers) the same thing... has the lords in black lore traced back to eight years ago or is it a coincidence? can't be right?
2023.05.30 04:47 Other_Abroad7476 (GM4F) The Nox Initiative...
Hello and welcome to my post! This prompt takes place in a Modern Realistic world that is taking an AU spin after the beginning of the rp, but we can change some details of the real world to fit better such as names or new individuals in governments (obviously like a new princess, if you play her, rather than IRL one). This rp is based around War, Special Operations, Politics, Espionage, Romance, Mystery and more and can depict adult themes so please be of-age in your jurisdiction! Your character is up to you! I can gladly help make one, but, the way this rp is set up with intertwining plots means your character can be partially in-the-know about one part and come to learn and uncover the rest hoping to save the world! Below is the 'start' of the initiative, and if you wanted you could be... a drone operator who saw part of what happened to the plane... or the princess who (if you play her) survives the attempt on her life. We can find a way to work you into the mentioned events going on in the world. Anyway, I role play on Discord and if this interests you, please reach out!
~~
A long delicate hand extended across the custom made Roche Bobois Executive desk with masterfully blended darkened steel and glass, curving around into the shape of a crescent moon. It's owner had a chuckle over that every time they saw it, knowing it was on a bit too on the nose but not minding the small joke. Their hand picked up an old rotary phone that was linked to a sister device just 15 feet to their west, where their secretary sat, "Nightshade" The Executive identified them-self to the phone
A moment of pause, a female voice responded from the other end, "All preparations complete, Nightshade. Operation Zephyr, Operation Crimson Jewel, Operation Mirage, Operation Ember Storm, and Operation Shadow Orchid" The females voice said to the phone
"Proceed with all, then proceed with Operation Equinox Ascendant" The executive responded before hanging up the phone.
A moment of silence followed the secretary as she replaced her own phone on the receiver and took a breath in. Her mind wondered about Nightshade as it had for the last four years since she received this unique job offer. She had never seen her boss, nor does she know what Nightshade sounded like as the voice was scrambled every time they spoke. Even worse, she didn't even know Nightshade sat just 15 feet to her east all these years. She picked up her phone, dialing the officers of Nox to relay the orders to proceed from Nightshade in the order she had asked them previously. Zephyr, Crimson Jewel, Mirage, Ember Storm, and Shadow Orchid...
~~
Major Jacob Hurthwing of the United States Airforce adjusted himself in the seat of his, as yet, unnamed and top secret state of the art Multi-role Fighter Jet while his stomach rumbled. It was 3pm and he was hungry. He had been told that this fighter put the F-35 Lighting II to shame with its superior Stealth Capabilities, Ground Attack Armaments, and Maneuverability and because of this it was exceptional in its handling and disbursement of G Force other than on the pilot, and it had taken him a few weeks to get used to the control scheme. Everything was controlled from his helmet or the unique control stick which was more like an advanced glove connected right to the plane that seamlessly linked his movements. However, as much as he was in awe of what he called a Seventh Generation Fighter... He was equally in awe over the view he had from the cockpit. To his east was the mighty Himalayan Mountain Range and below him was lush green valleys, deep gorges, and pristine rivers meandering through the terrain. Cascading waterfalls punctuated the verdant hillsides, adding a touch of ethereal beauty to the scene. Valleys dotted the terraced fields, vibrant with the hues of cultivated crops, reflecting the agricultural livelihood of the Bhutanese people. He was on practice runs, evading and testing the capabilities of the fighters stealth ability, which had been wildly successful. He had yet to be spotted by any of the Asian countries he had flown over, from teasing the China border to over India and north. It was a gorgeous day with clear skies and he had just checked in with the USS Harry S. Truman in the Persian Gulf who had advised him to return to deck, but, he figured he could slip in a few more minutes of this view as he adjusted his course... Suddenly, the cockpit of the Fighter flashed red as his HUD displayed at least fifteen different warnings, most of which he could ignore but two he could not... Unsafe weather conditions... and Connection Lost. He hardly had a moment to think about how to fix the situation before his seat ejected, without his desire to do so, but his cockpit remained closed. His neck broke instantly as it hit the strong composite metal, and with his lifeless corpse, the plane began banking to its new destination...
~
4,800 miles away six individuals sat within the back of a Route-master, known more locally to Londoners as a Boris Bus or New London Bus. It was the classic red double Decker redesigned for the modern day, and the men loaded Kalashnikov's as they knelt below the high sides of the second and first deck levels. The bus took a turn on Dacre St just a few blocks away from Buckingham Palace and saw their target. An unmarked, visually unremarkable vehicle driving on the opposite end of the road and coming their way, just as they had expected. While the car was unremarkable to the world, the driver of the Routemaster knew how to identify it with its exceptionally strong tires and had a low profile from the weight of the armor plating that was hidden within. It was an armored car being used to ferry the Princess of England on her way to an unplanned and unscheduled stop just halfway across London but the bus driver knew the car would never make it, as he had been given the proceed on Crimson Jewel... As the vehicles drew closer to one another, he yanked his wheel to the side, and the two vehicles collided to a loud crushing stop, for the bus was modified as well. Behind the driver, the six men in masks opened the windows of the bus and aimed down at the Princesses' vehicle. Its armor had been compromised by the impact and the windshield began to splinter as dozens of bullets hit it. One of the men pushed a Panzerfaust 3 from the busses window, aiming the rocket launcher at the car. He wasn't supposed to fire it yet, ideally, they captured the princess... but should the police arrive to soon... Oh well...
~~
Operation Mirage occurred in the early morning in Michigan, USA. A lone Nox operative had already slipped inside one of the worlds foremost digital security services and major supplier to the US government and had laughed to himself at how simple it had been to do so. Monotony and Peace had ruined the guards who stood watch and had been waiting for the shift change that occurred at 5am just moments ago, and he had no need to obscure the cameras for when he reached the server room... He could erase and loop the videos... as he gained unrestricted access to their systems...
~~
"That's it?" The nox operative asked his officer, known as Phantom. "That's it" Phantom responded ever so simply. They had spent the past week preparing for this operation and the young operative couldn't believe that kicking it off was so lackluster and so simple. Of course, preparing hadn't been simple. They had been all over Mallacoota and the Coopracambra National Park of Australia setting up caches of fuel that they were sure could not be found nor traced back to them. It had to seem like an accident, after all. It was 7pm as Phantom took one last long drag of his cigarette, looked out over the national park... and flicked it into the fuel trail at his feet before the two left.
~~
It was similarly 5am for Operation Shadow Orchid, and the officer in charge had seemed almost disappointed that it would be nothing more than a drop off... and he had been going through ways of making it more interesting in his head. An arrow with a message? No, too archaic... A Grenade launcher through the window? No, too modern... In the end, he decided to go with a timeless classic with a unique twist... It was two hours later that the US Senator awoke next to his wife. He rolled over to hug her, as he always did, but when he did he felt something slide on his chest. His eyes opened to see a manila envelope with a note on it suggesting he keep quiet and wait for more contact. Attached to the note, however, was a Polaroid of him and his wife asleep in bed just two hours prior. Inside the envelope were pictures of him and his many... Mistresses... Something he would do anything to keep quiet
~~
With that the operations had been completed, or started, and operation Equinox was all set to begin...
submitted by Other_Abroad7476 to RoleplayPartnerSearch [link] [comments]
~~
A long delicate hand extended across the custom made Roche Bobois Executive desk with masterfully blended darkened steel and glass, curving around into the shape of a crescent moon. It's owner had a chuckle over that every time they saw it, knowing it was on a bit too on the nose but not minding the small joke. Their hand picked up an old rotary phone that was linked to a sister device just 15 feet to their west, where their secretary sat, "Nightshade" The Executive identified them-self to the phone
A moment of pause, a female voice responded from the other end, "All preparations complete, Nightshade. Operation Zephyr, Operation Crimson Jewel, Operation Mirage, Operation Ember Storm, and Operation Shadow Orchid" The females voice said to the phone
"Proceed with all, then proceed with Operation Equinox Ascendant" The executive responded before hanging up the phone.
A moment of silence followed the secretary as she replaced her own phone on the receiver and took a breath in. Her mind wondered about Nightshade as it had for the last four years since she received this unique job offer. She had never seen her boss, nor does she know what Nightshade sounded like as the voice was scrambled every time they spoke. Even worse, she didn't even know Nightshade sat just 15 feet to her east all these years. She picked up her phone, dialing the officers of Nox to relay the orders to proceed from Nightshade in the order she had asked them previously. Zephyr, Crimson Jewel, Mirage, Ember Storm, and Shadow Orchid...
~~
Major Jacob Hurthwing of the United States Airforce adjusted himself in the seat of his, as yet, unnamed and top secret state of the art Multi-role Fighter Jet while his stomach rumbled. It was 3pm and he was hungry. He had been told that this fighter put the F-35 Lighting II to shame with its superior Stealth Capabilities, Ground Attack Armaments, and Maneuverability and because of this it was exceptional in its handling and disbursement of G Force other than on the pilot, and it had taken him a few weeks to get used to the control scheme. Everything was controlled from his helmet or the unique control stick which was more like an advanced glove connected right to the plane that seamlessly linked his movements. However, as much as he was in awe of what he called a Seventh Generation Fighter... He was equally in awe over the view he had from the cockpit. To his east was the mighty Himalayan Mountain Range and below him was lush green valleys, deep gorges, and pristine rivers meandering through the terrain. Cascading waterfalls punctuated the verdant hillsides, adding a touch of ethereal beauty to the scene. Valleys dotted the terraced fields, vibrant with the hues of cultivated crops, reflecting the agricultural livelihood of the Bhutanese people. He was on practice runs, evading and testing the capabilities of the fighters stealth ability, which had been wildly successful. He had yet to be spotted by any of the Asian countries he had flown over, from teasing the China border to over India and north. It was a gorgeous day with clear skies and he had just checked in with the USS Harry S. Truman in the Persian Gulf who had advised him to return to deck, but, he figured he could slip in a few more minutes of this view as he adjusted his course... Suddenly, the cockpit of the Fighter flashed red as his HUD displayed at least fifteen different warnings, most of which he could ignore but two he could not... Unsafe weather conditions... and Connection Lost. He hardly had a moment to think about how to fix the situation before his seat ejected, without his desire to do so, but his cockpit remained closed. His neck broke instantly as it hit the strong composite metal, and with his lifeless corpse, the plane began banking to its new destination...
~
4,800 miles away six individuals sat within the back of a Route-master, known more locally to Londoners as a Boris Bus or New London Bus. It was the classic red double Decker redesigned for the modern day, and the men loaded Kalashnikov's as they knelt below the high sides of the second and first deck levels. The bus took a turn on Dacre St just a few blocks away from Buckingham Palace and saw their target. An unmarked, visually unremarkable vehicle driving on the opposite end of the road and coming their way, just as they had expected. While the car was unremarkable to the world, the driver of the Routemaster knew how to identify it with its exceptionally strong tires and had a low profile from the weight of the armor plating that was hidden within. It was an armored car being used to ferry the Princess of England on her way to an unplanned and unscheduled stop just halfway across London but the bus driver knew the car would never make it, as he had been given the proceed on Crimson Jewel... As the vehicles drew closer to one another, he yanked his wheel to the side, and the two vehicles collided to a loud crushing stop, for the bus was modified as well. Behind the driver, the six men in masks opened the windows of the bus and aimed down at the Princesses' vehicle. Its armor had been compromised by the impact and the windshield began to splinter as dozens of bullets hit it. One of the men pushed a Panzerfaust 3 from the busses window, aiming the rocket launcher at the car. He wasn't supposed to fire it yet, ideally, they captured the princess... but should the police arrive to soon... Oh well...
~~
Operation Mirage occurred in the early morning in Michigan, USA. A lone Nox operative had already slipped inside one of the worlds foremost digital security services and major supplier to the US government and had laughed to himself at how simple it had been to do so. Monotony and Peace had ruined the guards who stood watch and had been waiting for the shift change that occurred at 5am just moments ago, and he had no need to obscure the cameras for when he reached the server room... He could erase and loop the videos... as he gained unrestricted access to their systems...
~~
"That's it?" The nox operative asked his officer, known as Phantom. "That's it" Phantom responded ever so simply. They had spent the past week preparing for this operation and the young operative couldn't believe that kicking it off was so lackluster and so simple. Of course, preparing hadn't been simple. They had been all over Mallacoota and the Coopracambra National Park of Australia setting up caches of fuel that they were sure could not be found nor traced back to them. It had to seem like an accident, after all. It was 7pm as Phantom took one last long drag of his cigarette, looked out over the national park... and flicked it into the fuel trail at his feet before the two left.
~~
It was similarly 5am for Operation Shadow Orchid, and the officer in charge had seemed almost disappointed that it would be nothing more than a drop off... and he had been going through ways of making it more interesting in his head. An arrow with a message? No, too archaic... A Grenade launcher through the window? No, too modern... In the end, he decided to go with a timeless classic with a unique twist... It was two hours later that the US Senator awoke next to his wife. He rolled over to hug her, as he always did, but when he did he felt something slide on his chest. His eyes opened to see a manila envelope with a note on it suggesting he keep quiet and wait for more contact. Attached to the note, however, was a Polaroid of him and his wife asleep in bed just two hours prior. Inside the envelope were pictures of him and his many... Mistresses... Something he would do anything to keep quiet
~~
With that the operations had been completed, or started, and operation Equinox was all set to begin...
2023.05.30 04:38 Karilyn113 "Hits Different" is the Antithesis of all her love songs
A Deep Dive into Parallels in Taylor’s Song "Hits different"
---
I have been listening to "hits different" repeatedly since it was put on streaming and I believe it is one of the songs that has the most parallels with other love songs (especially from Reputation and Lover).
Let's analyze it:
---
“I washed my hands of us at the club / You made a mess of me”
This verse represents the end of a relationship. The end of this relationship is a contrast to all the songs where she thought it was going to be forever.
“I pictured you with other girls in love / Then threw up on the street”
Here, the narrator knows that his ex-partner will eventually move on and have another romantic relationship. This fear of him being with someone else is reflected in other songs:
This is me trying: "They told me all of my cages were mental so I got wasted like all my potential."
---
“Like waiting for a bus that never shows / You just start walkin' on / They say that if it's right, you know / Each bar plays our song / Nothing has ever felt so wrong”
The relationship now seems to have no salvation for the author and she finds no signs to prove her wrong. Their bond is no longer as strong as before. In contrast with other songs:
“Oh, my, love is a lie / Shit my friends say to get me by / It hits different / It hits different this time”
The relationship is different and the one she has felt the most of all she has had, we find references to this in other songs:
“Catastrophic blues / Movin' on was always easy for me to do / It hits different / It hits different 'cause it's you”
Her partner is compared to blue on other occasions:
“I used to switch out these Kens, I'd just ghost / Rip the band-aid off and skip town like an asshole outlaw”
Taylor mentions how easy it was before to switch from one relationship to another in contrast to what it is now. She uses the word "Ken" to refer to a generic man.
Don’t Blame Me: "I've been breakin' hearts a long time, and toying' with them older guys just playthings for me to use."
---
“Freedom felt like summer then on the coast / Now the sun burns my heart and the sand hurts my feelings”
This phrase has the clearest parallel with "daylight", when before she mentioned light as something that had given her happiness or hope, now it is something that harms her.
“And I never don't cry at the bar”
This is another object that used to be something good and now it is not. Before, the bar represented the place where she had met her lover.
“Yeah, my sadness is contagious (my sadness is contagious)/ I slur your name till someone puts me in a ca I stopped receiving invitations”
Her sadness can be contagious not only because of her strength, but because she writes about it in songs that make the public feel the same way. In this part, she also mentions being drunk in a car and thinking about the other person in a state of unconsciousness.
“I find the artifacts, cried over a hat/ Cursed the space that I needed”
Objects that make her think of the other person have been mentioned in other songs, as well as places:
“I trace the evidence, make it make some sense / Why the wound is still bleeding?”
Taylor tries to find the reasons why her relationship ended and why it is so hard for her to overcome it. The end of her relationship as something impossible to overcome, is something she has mentioned previously:
“You were the one that I loved / Don't need another metaphor, it's simple enough / A wrinkle in time like the crease by your eyes / This is why they shouldn't kill off the main guy”
Direct declarations of love and thinking that the person is "the one" (the main guy) are also present in her other works:
“Dreams of your hair and your stare and sense of belief”
Taylor mentions his eyes in multiple songs, his hair also seems to be present, as well as his personality which she seems to admire.
“In the good in the world, you once believed in me”
Her ex-partner supported her and saw the good in her.
“And I felt you and I held you for a while / Bet I could still melt your world / Argumentative, antithetical, dream girl”
In this part, Taylor acknowledges that she knows her partner also loved her:
“I heard your key turn in the door down the hallway/ Is that your key in the door?/ Is it okay? Is it you?/ Or have they come to take me away? / (To take me away)”
In this verse, she shows how she still has hopes that her beloved will return, in addition to demonstrating that her mental health is deteriorating after the break-up of the relationship. The intensity of this relationship was such that she was willing to do anything for him:
submitted by Karilyn113 to TaylorSwift [link] [comments]
---
I have been listening to "hits different" repeatedly since it was put on streaming and I believe it is one of the songs that has the most parallels with other love songs (especially from Reputation and Lover).
Let's analyze it:
---
“I washed my hands of us at the club / You made a mess of me”
This verse represents the end of a relationship. The end of this relationship is a contrast to all the songs where she thought it was going to be forever.
- Lover: "I've loved you three summers now, honey, but I want 'em all."
- All of the girls you loved before: "I want to show you how forever feels like."
- King of My Heart: "Is this the end of all the endings?"
“I pictured you with other girls in love / Then threw up on the street”
Here, the narrator knows that his ex-partner will eventually move on and have another romantic relationship. This fear of him being with someone else is reflected in other songs:
- Lover: "And I'm highly suspicious that everyone who sees you wants you."
- Delicate: "Do the girls back home touch you like I do?"
- Gold rush: "I don't like that anyone would die to feel your touch."
- End game: “I don’t wanna be just another ex love you don’t wanna see”
- Need: "Fear is the nightmare I had, you were with someone else, you forgot about me"
This is me trying: "They told me all of my cages were mental so I got wasted like all my potential."
---
“Like waiting for a bus that never shows / You just start walkin' on / They say that if it's right, you know / Each bar plays our song / Nothing has ever felt so wrong”
The relationship now seems to have no salvation for the author and she finds no signs to prove her wrong. Their bond is no longer as strong as before. In contrast with other songs:
- Lover: "All's well that ends well to end up with you. / Can we always be this close? Forever and ever."
- Paper rings: "Honey, without all the exes, fights, and flaws we wouldn't be standing here so tall."
- Long Story Short: “But if someone comes at us this time I’m ready”
“Oh, my, love is a lie / Shit my friends say to get me by / It hits different / It hits different this time”
The relationship is different and the one she has felt the most of all she has had, we find references to this in other songs:
- ...Ready for it?: "Every lover known in comparison is a failure."
- King of my Heart: "'Cause all the boys and their expensive cars with their Range Rovers and their Jaguars never took me quite where you do."
“Catastrophic blues / Movin' on was always easy for me to do / It hits different / It hits different 'cause it's you”
Her partner is compared to blue on other occasions:
- Lover: "My heart's been borrowed and yours has been blue."
- Delicate: "Oh, damn, never seen that color blue."
- Gorgeous: "Ocean blue eyes looking in mine, I feel like I might sink and drown and die."
“I used to switch out these Kens, I'd just ghost / Rip the band-aid off and skip town like an asshole outlaw”
Taylor mentions how easy it was before to switch from one relationship to another in contrast to what it is now. She uses the word "Ken" to refer to a generic man.
Don’t Blame Me: "I've been breakin' hearts a long time, and toying' with them older guys just playthings for me to use."
---
“Freedom felt like summer then on the coast / Now the sun burns my heart and the sand hurts my feelings”
This phrase has the clearest parallel with "daylight", when before she mentioned light as something that had given her happiness or hope, now it is something that harms her.
- Daylight: "I've been sleeping so long in a 20-year dark night and now I see daylight, I only see daylight."
- Evermore: "in the cracks of light I dreamed of you."
“And I never don't cry at the bar”
This is another object that used to be something good and now it is not. Before, the bar represented the place where she had met her lover.
- Delicate: "Dive bar on the East Side, where you at?"
- So it goes: "Met you in a bar, all eyes on me, your illusionist."
- Cornelia Street: "Drunk on something stronger than the drinks in the bar."
- Invisible string: "A string that pulled me out of all the wrong arms right into that dive bar."
“Yeah, my sadness is contagious (my sadness is contagious)/ I slur your name till someone puts me in a ca I stopped receiving invitations”
Her sadness can be contagious not only because of her strength, but because she writes about it in songs that make the public feel the same way. In this part, she also mentions being drunk in a car and thinking about the other person in a state of unconsciousness.
- Cruel Summer: "I'm drunk in the back of the car and I cried like a baby coming home from the bar."
- The Great War: "cursed you as I sleep-talked."
- Death by a thousand cuts: "I get drunk, but it's not enough cause the morning comes and you're not my baby."
“I find the artifacts, cried over a hat/ Cursed the space that I needed”
Objects that make her think of the other person have been mentioned in other songs, as well as places:
- Cornelia Street: "And I hope I never lose you, hope it never ends I'd never walk Cornelia Street again."
- All Too Well: "And I, left my scarf there at your sister's house and you've still got it in your drawer even now."
“I trace the evidence, make it make some sense / Why the wound is still bleeding?”
Taylor tries to find the reasons why her relationship ended and why it is so hard for her to overcome it. The end of her relationship as something impossible to overcome, is something she has mentioned previously:
- Cornelia Street: "That's the kind of heartbreak time could never mend."
- Don’t blame me: "If you walk away I’d beg you on my knees to stay."
- Death by a thousand cuts: "But if the story's over why am I still writing pages?"
- New Year’s Day: "Please, don't ever become a stranger whose laugh I could recognize anywhere."
“You were the one that I loved / Don't need another metaphor, it's simple enough / A wrinkle in time like the crease by your eyes / This is why they shouldn't kill off the main guy”
Direct declarations of love and thinking that the person is "the one" (the main guy) are also present in her other works:
- Cruel Summer: "I love you ain’t that the worst thing you’ve ever heard?"
- Invisible String: "And isn't it just so pretty to think all along there was some Invisible string tying you to me?"
“Dreams of your hair and your stare and sense of belief”
Taylor mentions his eyes in multiple songs, his hair also seems to be present, as well as his personality which she seems to admire.
- Gold Rush: "What must it be like to grow up that beautiful? With your hair falling into place like dominos."
- Peace: "Your integrity makes me seem small. You paint dreamscapes on the wall. I talk shit with my friends it’s like I'm wasting your honor."
“In the good in the world, you once believed in me”
Her ex-partner supported her and saw the good in her.
- Dress: "Even in my worst times you could see the best of me."
- Call it what you want: "My baby's fly like a jet stream high above the whole scene, loves me like I'm brand new."
- Dancing with our hands tied: "I’m a mess but I’m the mess that you wanted."
“And I felt you and I held you for a while / Bet I could still melt your world / Argumentative, antithetical, dream girl”
In this part, Taylor acknowledges that she knows her partner also loved her:
- I Think He Knows: "He’s so obsessed with me and boy I understand."
- So it goes: "But I got your heart skippin', skip-skippin' when I'm gone."
“I heard your key turn in the door down the hallway/ Is that your key in the door?/ Is it okay? Is it you?/ Or have they come to take me away? / (To take me away)”
In this verse, she shows how she still has hopes that her beloved will return, in addition to demonstrating that her mental health is deteriorating after the break-up of the relationship. The intensity of this relationship was such that she was willing to do anything for him:
- Don’t blame Me: "For you, I would cross the line, I would waste my time, I would lose my mind."
- Peace: "And you know that I'd swing with you for the fences sit with you in the trenches give you my wild, give you a child."
2023.05.30 04:32 Longjumping_Tell_110 Goodbye, My Beloved
He was kneeling all alone in the graveyard
Keeping vigil at her final resting place
Paying his last respects to his beloved one now gone
His tears were falling freely on her headstone
His voice rising to the heavens as he cried aloud in anguish
Why?
Why was she the one to go?
Memories of the love they once shared came rushing in upon his mind
Those tender kisses and sweet caresses
All their shared hopes and fragile dreams
He could still see her golden hair shining in the sunlight
Hear her glorious laughter bubbling out with delight
Gaze into her vibrant eyes that showed such love for him
Thunder crashed suddenly above him
Shattering all his sweet reveries
Brought him back to the days of blackness
Demanded he remember only the pain and loss
Rain came pouring down from the heavens
As if to drive him from her side
Forcing the bond that once was, now to break
The man fell prostrate to the earth
Clung tightly to the headstone
Vowing to weather the storm with her
Tried to shield her from the pelting raindrops
Regrets burst in upon him like a flood
Washing away the golden memories of before
In his mind’s eye now he saw her
A fragile frame laid upon a bed of suffering
Her dancing eyes now dull and vacant
Those golden strands turned frail and gray
Moans of pain replacing laughter that once had been
Gone were the tender kisses and sweet caresses
Replaced now with confused looks and repeated questions
Who was he?
Had they ever met before?
He pleaded with love for her to remember
Begged her to recall
Told her over and over the story of their love
Sat by her side for hours on end
Holding her hand in his as long as he could
But death was determined to break them apart
It would not hear of a love enduring forever
With cruel hands, it robbed his beloved of her health
Turned her memories into madness
Blinded her to the sight of him
The one she had always called her husband
And he had to sit there silently
Hold his tongue and allow death to have its way
His oft shed tears were to no avail
Begging for mercy fell on deaf ears
Death was ready to snatch her away
Eager to have her as its prey
And on a beautiful autumn morn
She slipped away from him without a word
Her very last breath he never e’en heard
When his eyes once heavy with slumber finally opened
He saw what death had done
Stolen his beloved wife away
Leaving him the heavy price of unbearable grief to pay
Now here he was in the graveyard
All alone facing a life without her by his side
If he could have saved her from the grave she now was in
How he would have relentlessly tried
The rain that once fell round him now ceased
Thunder no more sounded in the skies
A glimmer of sunlight streamed out from behind the dark clouds
Resting briefly on her headstone
With trembling fingers, he traced the graven words
Brushed away a few minute specks of dirt
And pressed his lips to the cold headstone
The only kiss he could give her now
He straightened the beautiful flowers laying upon the grave
Slowly rose from kneeling on the cold wet ground
Reached for his worn wooden cane lying close beside
And painfully rising with unsteadiness to his feet
He dared to take one last look behind
And heavily, so heavily he sighed
Whispered with trembling lips and tears
Goodbye, my beloved
submitted by Longjumping_Tell_110 to justpoetry [link] [comments]
Keeping vigil at her final resting place
Paying his last respects to his beloved one now gone
His tears were falling freely on her headstone
His voice rising to the heavens as he cried aloud in anguish
Why?
Why was she the one to go?
Memories of the love they once shared came rushing in upon his mind
Those tender kisses and sweet caresses
All their shared hopes and fragile dreams
He could still see her golden hair shining in the sunlight
Hear her glorious laughter bubbling out with delight
Gaze into her vibrant eyes that showed such love for him
Thunder crashed suddenly above him
Shattering all his sweet reveries
Brought him back to the days of blackness
Demanded he remember only the pain and loss
Rain came pouring down from the heavens
As if to drive him from her side
Forcing the bond that once was, now to break
The man fell prostrate to the earth
Clung tightly to the headstone
Vowing to weather the storm with her
Tried to shield her from the pelting raindrops
Regrets burst in upon him like a flood
Washing away the golden memories of before
In his mind’s eye now he saw her
A fragile frame laid upon a bed of suffering
Her dancing eyes now dull and vacant
Those golden strands turned frail and gray
Moans of pain replacing laughter that once had been
Gone were the tender kisses and sweet caresses
Replaced now with confused looks and repeated questions
Who was he?
Had they ever met before?
He pleaded with love for her to remember
Begged her to recall
Told her over and over the story of their love
Sat by her side for hours on end
Holding her hand in his as long as he could
But death was determined to break them apart
It would not hear of a love enduring forever
With cruel hands, it robbed his beloved of her health
Turned her memories into madness
Blinded her to the sight of him
The one she had always called her husband
And he had to sit there silently
Hold his tongue and allow death to have its way
His oft shed tears were to no avail
Begging for mercy fell on deaf ears
Death was ready to snatch her away
Eager to have her as its prey
And on a beautiful autumn morn
She slipped away from him without a word
Her very last breath he never e’en heard
When his eyes once heavy with slumber finally opened
He saw what death had done
Stolen his beloved wife away
Leaving him the heavy price of unbearable grief to pay
Now here he was in the graveyard
All alone facing a life without her by his side
If he could have saved her from the grave she now was in
How he would have relentlessly tried
The rain that once fell round him now ceased
Thunder no more sounded in the skies
A glimmer of sunlight streamed out from behind the dark clouds
Resting briefly on her headstone
With trembling fingers, he traced the graven words
Brushed away a few minute specks of dirt
And pressed his lips to the cold headstone
The only kiss he could give her now
He straightened the beautiful flowers laying upon the grave
Slowly rose from kneeling on the cold wet ground
Reached for his worn wooden cane lying close beside
And painfully rising with unsteadiness to his feet
He dared to take one last look behind
And heavily, so heavily he sighed
Whispered with trembling lips and tears
Goodbye, my beloved
2023.05.30 04:00 Ifyoucandonot Would you rather?:Devil's offer
One night, the Devil himself comes to you in a trace and has two options:
One: you will get a palace in the Bahamas with over 400 servants,a girlfriend,and the most luxury stuff but a demon in the form of a pig comes to your mansion every night between 11 pm and 6am and she will stalk you and when you sleep you have to keep your eyes close or the demon pig will kill you
Or
Two: you become a famous rapper and get the most luxurious penthouse in NYC but you have a task every night which a demon will give to you and it can be anything outrageous to something simple but failure to do so by sunrise will have harsh consequences
Which would you rather pick?
submitted by Ifyoucandonot to WouldYouRather [link] [comments]
One: you will get a palace in the Bahamas with over 400 servants,a girlfriend,and the most luxury stuff but a demon in the form of a pig comes to your mansion every night between 11 pm and 6am and she will stalk you and when you sleep you have to keep your eyes close or the demon pig will kill you
Or
Two: you become a famous rapper and get the most luxurious penthouse in NYC but you have a task every night which a demon will give to you and it can be anything outrageous to something simple but failure to do so by sunrise will have harsh consequences
Which would you rather pick?
2023.05.30 03:22 Muted_Brief_6808 My Flash Seasons Rewrite Concept
Hello FlashTV, this is my concept for alternate takes on the Flash show and its Seasons. This may be a long read so I appreciate anyone who takes time to read this, perhaps save it and read it later if you don't. To get a few things out the way, I am not ranting about the show, nor am I arguing that this should be how the show should’ve gone, I’m also not a writer, just a fan sharing ideas. I’m keeping the main outline of the Seasons, I’m not creating my own Season storyline mostly, just changing things up while keeping a good chunk the same.
To start off, Seasons 1 and 2 will remain pretty much the same.
Season 3:
Seasons 4 and 5 are a bit different. Just like how Seasons 1, 2, and 3 challenged Barry’s Speed, Seasons 4 and 5 challenge his intellect as a person and as a CSI.
Season 4:
Speed Force Storm and Godspeed is the First arc of the Season.
Season 8 is the beginning of the end. Season opens with a Flashback of the Season 1 Singularity.
Death Storm is the First Arc of the Season.
Here we go. The Flash Season 9 is the final season of the long running show, and for the Arrowverse, it should be treated as such.
submitted by Muted_Brief_6808 to FlashTV [link] [comments]
To start off, Seasons 1 and 2 will remain pretty much the same.
Season 3:
- Have Flashpoint last more episodes, maybe making it a 3-Part event.
- The 1st part would start off with our Barry returning to the future and locking up Eobard. Most of Part-1 is him living his new life and seeing all the changes. He’d see the new lives of his friends like Cisco, Caitlin, and Iris. Iris is married to Eddie and has a child. Barry will also get his first memory headache. The first Part would end with Barry finding Wally as “The Flash” being beaten by the Rival.
- Part-2 would be Barry learning about Wally being The Flash and trying to explain how he’s the Flash. Only Joe, Iris, and Eddie know about Wally's identity. Barry would also go to Starling City to see Oliver for some guidance, but he finds that Oliver died on the ship and that his dad became the Arrow. Barry experiences more memory headaches in this Part and he sees Eobard again to learn the new Timeline is setting in. Part-2 ends with The Rival killing Joe.
- Part-3 starts with Wally being angry and blaming Joe's death on Barry. Barry gets Caitlin and Cisco to help defeat The Rival. Barry does his best to calm Wally down until him and Wally face off against The Rival with Wally getting nearly killed, which urges Barry to fix things. Barry visits Eobard once again, and Eobard tells him to stop himself from saving his mom. Barry runs back in time again and stops Season 2 Barry from saving his mom. Barry arrives back in the “normal” time and tells his team about what happened, Caitlin still gets ice powers this time.
- Remove the Duet episode.
- The Gorilla storyline is different.
- Part-1 has Grodd asking Barry for help because he believes Solavar will lead Gorilla city to ruin and knows Barry has potential to beat him. Grodd goes through his regular Season 6 redemption in these Episodes. Solavar learns of Grodd's plan and forces him and Barry to fight in the ring, threatening a Team Flash member's life if Barry doesn't comply. Barry fights Grodd but doesn't kill him. Barry and the team escape back to their Earth.
- Part-2 has Solavar control Gypsy to take his Gorilla army to Barry's Earth and attack in revenge. Solavar begins his attack with Barry defending Central City. Vibe gets Grodd to help fight. Grodd and Barry take on Solavar win and are on good terms. Grodd and the gorillas return to their Earth.
- Make Julian less of a jerk after a while.
- Reveal Savitar a bit earlier.
- Savitar's death is about the same, except him and Barry are wrestling when Iris shoots him, his anger blinded him from noticing the bullet. Savitar gets last words in, maybe something heartfelt.
Seasons 4 and 5 are a bit different. Just like how Seasons 1, 2, and 3 challenged Barry’s Speed, Seasons 4 and 5 challenge his intellect as a person and as a CSI.
Season 4:
- An episode for each bus meta. Team Flash doesn't realize there's a connection to the bus until they meet Ralph. Some metas are safely taken to STAR labs, others are killed by The Thinker.
- The Thinker only absorbs the bus meta's life force to extend his decaying body. It only works for a while.
- Barry is set up and goes to prison again. No bus metas are at the prison, so Barry never "leaves" with them. Barry is released the same way.
- Wally leaves Central City after Barry is released.
- The Thinker breaches STAR labs and kills the rest of the metas, taking Ralph's body last.
- It seems the Thinker has succeeded and finished his plan, but after some time he believes the world needs to reach his level of intellect. He begins his quest for The Enlightenment.
- Cecille doesn't get meta powers. Grodd helps Barry enter the Thinkers mind in the end instead of Cecile.
- Cicada is a serial killer. The more metas he kills, the stronger he gets. He uses the energy gathered from kills with the dagger to keep Gracie alive.
- Team Flash doesn't face Cicada until a few episodes in.
- Barry and Sherloque investigate Cicada's murders.
- Cicada gets captured, gets put in the pipeline, but is so powerful that he breaks out.
- Cicada starts killing metas for himself rather than for Gracie.
- Future Gracie doesn't become Cicada.
- Matt Letscher is Reverse Flash from now on. Reverse Flash portion of the finale plays out about the same, Nora still gets erased.
- Cisco never took the meta human cure.
- The Crisis date on the newspaper doesn't change because the newspaper isn't referring to Infinite Earths.
- Joe and Cecile get engaged.
- Episode opens with Joe and Cecile's wedding until Barry has to take down a meta.
- Bloodwork arc is slightly extended. Temptation episodes are after Crisis on Infinite Earths, Ramsey remembers his life before Crisis. He tempts Barry with not just being able to save Nora, but Oliver too. Speed Force is shown to be weaker.
- Jay Garrick and his wife are not on Earth-1.
- Iris escapes the mirror dimension earlier.
- Allegra isn't introduced until the Mirror Monarch arc. She uses her powers to help Team Flash defeat Mirror Monarch, then she leaves the show.
- Barry uses the last of his decaying speed to defeat Mirror Monarch and lock her up.
- Caitlyn and Frost split into two still. Caitlyn leaves but Frost stays.
- Ralph leaves with Sue.
- Team Flash creates the artificial Speed Force. When Nash becomes the organic battery, Wells is now the “spokesperson” of the Speed Force, the Artificial Speed force is created, the Speed Force now exists again and doesn’t need the machine, perhaps love powers it like anger powers the negative Speed Force. Or the Artificial Speed Force machine just rebirths the regular Speed Force without all the extra stuff. No more Speed Force Nora.
- Season ends with a foreshadow to the Speed Force Storm.
Speed Force Storm and Godspeed is the First arc of the Season.
- Speed Force Storm is created because of the Artificial Speed Force, giving Speed to civilians of Central City.
- Team Flash uses STAR Labs as a training ground for the new Speedsters. Fast Track and August Hart are among the trainees.
- Wally returns to help teach Speedsters.
- Godspeed arrives, terrorizing the city, and killing new Speedsters and draining them of their speed.
- Barry gets closer to Fast Track and August, teaching them how to use their speed.
- It's revealed August Hart is Godspeed. Godspeed merges with his other self, the August that acted friendly, and kills Fast Track and absorbs her speed. Godspeed radiates with electricity, giving him the glowing yellow eyes.
- Barry defeats Godspeed and locks him up in a meta human prison.
- Wally leaves again.
- In an attempt to Stabilize the Speed Force, the Sage Force, Still Force, and Strength Force are born.
- Grodd returns, being enhanced by the Sage Force making him more powerful.
- An episode to familiarize each Force and its main user.
- Cisco leaves.
- Season finale has a good user for each Force against a bad user for each Force. Godspeed is broken out of prison to face off against The Flash.
Season 8 is the beginning of the end. Season opens with a Flashback of the Season 1 Singularity.
Death Storm is the First Arc of the Season.
- Caitlin returns.
- Death Storm is after Caitlin.
- Death Storm kills Frost. Caitlin grieves but comes to terms with her death. Kione is never created. Chill Blaine leaves the show after Frost's funeral.
- Death Storm's defeat brings Ronnie back.
- Barry becomes Director of CSI.
- Barry, Caitlin, and Chester are all transported to a new universe. Team Flash learns the Multiverse exists. One episode has Jay Garrick return, one has Jesse Quick, another has Abra Kadabra. Chester unlocks his abilities and creates a small black hole to return to Earth-Prime.
- Barry is sent 170 years into the future. We get to see Eobard Thawne's backstory. Barry saves the crowd. Barry creates Gideon to help him get back home, he succeeded, but Eobard finds traces of Gideon.
- Chester learns the energy used to transport them had similar readings as the Singularity.
- Season ends with the flashback of the Singularity again, but it follows Eddie inside, and he wakes up.
Here we go. The Flash Season 9 is the final season of the long running show, and for the Arrowverse, it should be treated as such.
- To begin, Red Death is changed. Just like Batman is the face of DC and became Red Death, so does the face of the Arrowverse. Oliver Queen from another Earth is Red Death, with a similar backstory as the one from the comics. He’ll have a red arrowhead on his chest rather than the bat, he’ll have a sleeker suit like the old flash suits, and he’ll be very threatening. Red Death will be like Zoom, but worse, he’ll kill many civilians.
- Specter returns as Green Arrow to help Barry defeat Red Death. Red Death Arc ends with Barry and Oliver at the bar.
- No Rogue War.
- 4-Part Cobalt Blue Arc
- Part-1 is similar to the Part-1 we already got. Eddie is thrown out of a breach onto another Earth with no memory. There's no Allegra portion, perhaps it's instead Caitlin and Ronnie finally enjoying a bit of their life together. Episode ends with Eddie entering that Earth's version of Barry's apartment since it's abandoned, and the Negative Speed Force strikes him.
- Part-2 begins with Iris informing Team Flash about Barry's disappearance. Chester begins to investigate the energy left behind from Barry disappearance so he calls in some help from Argus, Cisco! Eddie begins to remember his life and everything that he's lost, and a voice encourages him to take it back. Eddie opens a breach, and becomes Cobalt Blue. A montage plays that shows Cobalt Blue was behind Death Storm so Barry could lose a close friend, the events of Season 8 to make him meet his arch-nemesis, even Red Death to make him fight a close friend, and now sending him to the worst night of his life. Back at STAR Labs, Cisco and Chester are able to bring back Barry, but before he gets comfortable, Gideon warns that Cobalt traces have been detected in 2049.
- Part-3 begins with Barry arriving in 2049. He runs to STAR Labs and sees XS again and meets Impulse for the first time, both safe and sound for now. XS and Impulse are twins now. The Team Flash of 2049 consists of XS, Impulse, Cisco's kid, and the child of Ronnie and Caitlin. When a meta attacks Central City, they all go to take care of it, until XS finds the crystal. XS knocks Impulse out, and her and Barry race around Central City having a duel. Back in the present, Cobalt Blue arrives to talk to Iris, first as Eddie wanting to talk with her. They catch up, and Eddie slowly starts to allude to her having a life with him. In 2049, Barry tries to get Nora to reject the crystal which succeeds for a little, until Barry throws lightning and knocks the Crystal off of her. Barry heads back to present. Iris rejects Cobalt Blue, so he attacks STAR labs and Barry when he arrives. Eddie threatens Barry and disappears. Iris' water breaks and she goes to the hospital.
- Part-4 is a 2-Hour finale. Cobalt Blue summons Reverse-Flash, Zoom, Savitar, and Godspeed. Zoom arrives first, then Godspeed, which causes Zoom to want his speed until Eobard breaks up the fight. Eobard mentions that he was plotting to take out Barry Allen, when they all agree he's the common enemy. Savitar shows up without his, which leads to Zoom and Godspeed thinking it's the real Barry Allen. Savitar threatens them all, Godspeed attacks Savitar but gets thrown to the side, Savitar runs up to Zoom about to kill him until Cobalt Blue enters the room. Savitar mentions how neither of them get to have Iris. Cobalt Blue orders them to take out the Flash, because the Negative Speed Force is manipulating Eddie. The villain speedsters aren't enhanced by the Negative Speed Force, Zoom sparkles and has blue lightning, Savitar and Godspeed have white, and Cobalt Blue has a light blue. The speedsters arrive in Central City causing chaos, the Flash arrives and tries to fight them off. Zoom meets the cops and they tell him to put his hands in the air, he complies but when the cops come up to him he says "you can't lock up the darkness," and kills all the cops, pins Singh to the wall, but before he kills him, the Flash stops him, but the villain speedsters all gang up on Barry giving him a hard time, except Eobard is nowhere to be found. Eddie stops the speedsters to give Barry one last chance to surrender. Things look one sided until Jay Garrick, XS, Impulse, and Wally show up to help Barry. Jay takes on Zoom, Wally takes on Savitar, XS and Impulse take on Godspeed, and Barry goes after Eddie. Reverse Flash meets Chester at STAR Labs, he is about to use his vibrating hand to kill him until Cisco breaches him somewhere far away. Jay defeats Zoom, maybe using the helmet since it was Hunter's dad's, or by giving him some Karma and stealing his speed and knocking him out. Wally uses his strong connection to the Speed Force to take down Savitar. XS and Impulse can do sibling combo moves on Godspeed. Barry tries to talk down Eddie, he convinced him that Eddie saved Team Flash the day of his sacrifice and he has a second chance at being a hero. Barry connects with the Speed Force to drown out the Negative Speed Force from Eddie. The Negative Speed Force uses Eddie's old energy to power up Eobard. Barry and Eddie team up to fight Eobard, Eddie gets knocked out. Reverse Flash attempts to fight Barry, but Barry is supercharged and he's too fast for him(similar moment to the Season 7 finale we got.) Barry electrocutes Eobard and erases the Negative Speed Force from his system. Eddie is okay and destroys the Cobalt Crystal, erasing the villains except for Eobard. Barry takes Eobard to a secure prison and goes to the hospital. The main characters are in the waiting room, Cisco, Caitlin, Ronnie, Chester, Joe, Cecile, Wally and Eddie also arrives and hugs Joe. They reminisce about times in the older Seasons. Nora is born. They have the baby shower, the same people show up, but throw in Kara, Ralph and Diggle too. Barry reads Nora The Little Dinosaur (or whatever book his mom read to him.) The final scene is Barry running through Central City saying his old intro, "My name is Barry Allen and I'm the fastest man alive... etc"
2023.05.30 02:20 captbrickmanufp My Sleep Number Is Imaginary
A quick note before reading: I am an insomniac and wanted to write a story that blended Slavic folklore, a fever dream, and crazy pot hallucinations all in one. Here is that result...
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In the shady valley, where the sundials were made of shadows and doubt, and the rivers ran with the whispers of babbling dreams, there lived an insomniac named Vanya. Time held no meaning for Vanya, for he was the village watchman forever ensnared by the grip of sleeplessness. His sleep number, he would jokingly say, was imaginary.
Under the perpetually drowsy sun, he wandered through the quaint village, past the cottage where the blind witch divined secrets from her cauldron of whispers, through the field where the blacksmith shaped the iron winds into mundane realities, and into the dense woods inhabited by creatures of old lore. Each day was a delirious ballet of Vanya's continuous wakefulness and the eccentricity of his companions in the village.
One twilight hour, as the village faded into a monochrome dreamscape and Vanya's eyes began to droop, he would see Baba Yaga, her chicken-legged hut pirouetting through the mushroom-dappled forest clearing, spun by unseen threads of an ancient lullaby. A talking fox would appear, his silver fur shimmering like stardust under the moonlight, spouting intricate philosophies that made less sense than the patterns of the Milky Way. In Vanya's waking dreams, logic, like his sleep, was an elusive specter.
A nocturnal sunflower, the Zorya, would bloom, its golden petals glistening like a sun trapped in a blossom. With her soothing voice, it would spin tales of the Chernobog, the creature of darkness that lived under Vanya's bed, feeding on his absent dreams. Yet when Vanya would peer under his bed, only dust bunnies and forgotten shoelaces met his gaze.
He would walk on moonbeams, following the Stuzhka, a river made of forgotten lullabies, only to find himself at the foot of Jack's towering beanstalk, where the echoes of a dragon's snore reverberated from above. But the dragon, Vanya knew, was just an old, worn-out windmill, creaking and groaning in the distance.
Each day was a fantastical adventure, each hallucination more absurd than the next. In the cool embrace of the night, Vanya would lay under the stellar canopy, a parody of sleep that did little to quench his weary spirit. He would trace constellations in the stars, spinning tales of knights and dragons, of witches and lost children until the first rays of dawn chased the darkness away.
His hallucinations slowly dissipated with the morning light, leaving Vanya alone in his wakeful reality. He would laugh at the absurdity, lighting his morning pipe with a nod to the fading shadows. "My sleep number is imaginary," he'd chuckle as if sleep were another character in his fantastical narrative.
Despite the ethereal chaos of his existence, Vanya found solace in his fevered wakefulness. His dreams, or rather, his lack thereof, were the brushstrokes on the canvas of his life, rendering it into a masterpiece of delightful lunacy. In the Slavic folklore of his lineage, in the playful whimsy of his world, the line between the real and the imagined blurred into obscurity.
Vanya's life was an insomnia-laden fever dream, a nonsensical Disney movie drawn by a stoner's hand. It was a dreamscape of eternal wakefulness, where sleep was as imaginary as Baba Yaga and her dancing hut. Amidst the daily humdrum and the nightly hallucinations, Vanya found his peace, living his story in the crooked valley beneath the sleep-starved sky.
His erratic yet mesmerizing visions drew the villagers' attention, transforming his life into a nightly spectacle. They would gather around the bonfire, their faces bathed in its warm glow, and listen as Vanya painted vivid images of his nightly adventures with the finesse of a seasoned bard. His tales wove a spell around the village, and he was no longer just a watchman but a weaver of dreams, a creator of fantastical realms.
One day, under the watchful gaze of the sun that never slept, an outsider arrived in the crooked valley. She was an intriguing maiden named Marusya, who claimed to be a Dreamcatcher. She had hair as dark as the Chernobog's shadow and eyes that shimmered like the Stuzhka under the moonlight. She held a tapestry of woven dreams, intricate and vibrant, a cosmic map of someone's slumber.
Marusya promised to lure sleep into Vanya's wakeful nights. She seemed like a surreal apparition from his hallucinations. Vanya half-expected her to vanish in a puff of smoky dream dust. Yet, as days turned into nights, she remained, gradually becoming a part of his colorful reveries. Their shared laughter and stories filled the once-quiet nights, turning them into a nocturnal symphony.
Marusya began to spin her dream tapestry around Vanya, weaving threads of starlight, whispers of the Zorya, and melodies of lullabies. Night after night, they would sit under the celestial dome, Marusya's fingers dancing on her loom of dreams and Vanya's voice breathing life into his hallucinations. They were a peculiar duo, one coaxing dreams from the universe, the other narrating tales of whimsy and wonder.
One fateful night, under the cosmos' twinkling gaze, Vanya, amid recounting his encounter with Jack's dragon windmill, felt his eyelids grow heavy, a sensation as foreign as the idea of a silent night. He blinked at Marusya, whose gentle smile felt like a lullaby, and he slept for the first time since he could remember. His last conscious thought was that maybe, his sleep number wasn't as imaginary as he had always believed.
Vanya's slumber was a spectacle, as villagers silently gathered around, watching their watchman adrift in the sea of dreams. They marveled at Marusya's gift, the Dreamcatcher who wove sleep into their storyteller's life. It was a quiet celebration, a testament to the magic of dreams and the power of stories.
Vanya awoke to a world where the line between his visions and reality seemed even more blurred. His dreams were a continuation of his waking hallucinations. Yet, they bore an indescribable warmth, an echo of Marusya's soothing presence. He mused that his sleep number was no longer imaginary but rather a great enigma, entwined with the essence of his hallucinations, dreams, and the folkloric charm of his existence.
In the crooked valley under the watchful, sleepless sun, Vanya lived his life on the cusp of dreams and wakefulness. His tale became an anthem, a lullaby, a dream, whispered and shared, echoing across the landscape. And in his story, the village found a comforting paradox – that in a world where dreams could be caught, sleep could also be found in the realm of the imaginary.
submitted by captbrickmanufp to shortfiction [link] [comments]
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________
In the shady valley, where the sundials were made of shadows and doubt, and the rivers ran with the whispers of babbling dreams, there lived an insomniac named Vanya. Time held no meaning for Vanya, for he was the village watchman forever ensnared by the grip of sleeplessness. His sleep number, he would jokingly say, was imaginary.
Under the perpetually drowsy sun, he wandered through the quaint village, past the cottage where the blind witch divined secrets from her cauldron of whispers, through the field where the blacksmith shaped the iron winds into mundane realities, and into the dense woods inhabited by creatures of old lore. Each day was a delirious ballet of Vanya's continuous wakefulness and the eccentricity of his companions in the village.
One twilight hour, as the village faded into a monochrome dreamscape and Vanya's eyes began to droop, he would see Baba Yaga, her chicken-legged hut pirouetting through the mushroom-dappled forest clearing, spun by unseen threads of an ancient lullaby. A talking fox would appear, his silver fur shimmering like stardust under the moonlight, spouting intricate philosophies that made less sense than the patterns of the Milky Way. In Vanya's waking dreams, logic, like his sleep, was an elusive specter.
A nocturnal sunflower, the Zorya, would bloom, its golden petals glistening like a sun trapped in a blossom. With her soothing voice, it would spin tales of the Chernobog, the creature of darkness that lived under Vanya's bed, feeding on his absent dreams. Yet when Vanya would peer under his bed, only dust bunnies and forgotten shoelaces met his gaze.
He would walk on moonbeams, following the Stuzhka, a river made of forgotten lullabies, only to find himself at the foot of Jack's towering beanstalk, where the echoes of a dragon's snore reverberated from above. But the dragon, Vanya knew, was just an old, worn-out windmill, creaking and groaning in the distance.
Each day was a fantastical adventure, each hallucination more absurd than the next. In the cool embrace of the night, Vanya would lay under the stellar canopy, a parody of sleep that did little to quench his weary spirit. He would trace constellations in the stars, spinning tales of knights and dragons, of witches and lost children until the first rays of dawn chased the darkness away.
His hallucinations slowly dissipated with the morning light, leaving Vanya alone in his wakeful reality. He would laugh at the absurdity, lighting his morning pipe with a nod to the fading shadows. "My sleep number is imaginary," he'd chuckle as if sleep were another character in his fantastical narrative.
Despite the ethereal chaos of his existence, Vanya found solace in his fevered wakefulness. His dreams, or rather, his lack thereof, were the brushstrokes on the canvas of his life, rendering it into a masterpiece of delightful lunacy. In the Slavic folklore of his lineage, in the playful whimsy of his world, the line between the real and the imagined blurred into obscurity.
Vanya's life was an insomnia-laden fever dream, a nonsensical Disney movie drawn by a stoner's hand. It was a dreamscape of eternal wakefulness, where sleep was as imaginary as Baba Yaga and her dancing hut. Amidst the daily humdrum and the nightly hallucinations, Vanya found his peace, living his story in the crooked valley beneath the sleep-starved sky.
His erratic yet mesmerizing visions drew the villagers' attention, transforming his life into a nightly spectacle. They would gather around the bonfire, their faces bathed in its warm glow, and listen as Vanya painted vivid images of his nightly adventures with the finesse of a seasoned bard. His tales wove a spell around the village, and he was no longer just a watchman but a weaver of dreams, a creator of fantastical realms.
One day, under the watchful gaze of the sun that never slept, an outsider arrived in the crooked valley. She was an intriguing maiden named Marusya, who claimed to be a Dreamcatcher. She had hair as dark as the Chernobog's shadow and eyes that shimmered like the Stuzhka under the moonlight. She held a tapestry of woven dreams, intricate and vibrant, a cosmic map of someone's slumber.
Marusya promised to lure sleep into Vanya's wakeful nights. She seemed like a surreal apparition from his hallucinations. Vanya half-expected her to vanish in a puff of smoky dream dust. Yet, as days turned into nights, she remained, gradually becoming a part of his colorful reveries. Their shared laughter and stories filled the once-quiet nights, turning them into a nocturnal symphony.
Marusya began to spin her dream tapestry around Vanya, weaving threads of starlight, whispers of the Zorya, and melodies of lullabies. Night after night, they would sit under the celestial dome, Marusya's fingers dancing on her loom of dreams and Vanya's voice breathing life into his hallucinations. They were a peculiar duo, one coaxing dreams from the universe, the other narrating tales of whimsy and wonder.
One fateful night, under the cosmos' twinkling gaze, Vanya, amid recounting his encounter with Jack's dragon windmill, felt his eyelids grow heavy, a sensation as foreign as the idea of a silent night. He blinked at Marusya, whose gentle smile felt like a lullaby, and he slept for the first time since he could remember. His last conscious thought was that maybe, his sleep number wasn't as imaginary as he had always believed.
Vanya's slumber was a spectacle, as villagers silently gathered around, watching their watchman adrift in the sea of dreams. They marveled at Marusya's gift, the Dreamcatcher who wove sleep into their storyteller's life. It was a quiet celebration, a testament to the magic of dreams and the power of stories.
Vanya awoke to a world where the line between his visions and reality seemed even more blurred. His dreams were a continuation of his waking hallucinations. Yet, they bore an indescribable warmth, an echo of Marusya's soothing presence. He mused that his sleep number was no longer imaginary but rather a great enigma, entwined with the essence of his hallucinations, dreams, and the folkloric charm of his existence.
In the crooked valley under the watchful, sleepless sun, Vanya lived his life on the cusp of dreams and wakefulness. His tale became an anthem, a lullaby, a dream, whispered and shared, echoing across the landscape. And in his story, the village found a comforting paradox – that in a world where dreams could be caught, sleep could also be found in the realm of the imaginary.
2023.05.30 00:59 llortnite_fama23 My boss broke down in front of me
This is a freshly made throwaway so it can’t be traced back to me. I 21M for the past almost 4 years now, have worked my way up in a big retail chain from salesman to sales team manager. It was a very stressful time with my second promotion as I was brand new in my first promotion and my boss was brand new in his new role. We both were promoted up in position so I took his place and he took the store manager position. I took the position and fought for it for weeks because our old store manager told his boss we weren’t ready. But I took the challenge and for the last year have gave it my absolute all. We had a huge issue with staffing and hours issue due to the state of the economy last year. This was our challenge to figure out. And there was a lot of situations we had to face immediately following moving up. The first situation for me personally was the pay. I am payed more than I was, but for my position I do not make nearly enough to afford to invest into my future or save money. I decided that it was because I was brand new with no experience so I worked hard for months and months on end to get a very very minuscule increase in pay that was practically insulting. The next thing was one of the associates issues with attitude on the floor and timeliness on a daily basis. Giving customers attitude, showing up late EVERYDAY, and when I would try to have a conversation about these things which started with a kind and guiding approach to things, I would be met with complete silence and no eye contact. She walked away without a word. After months of this and a write up which I finally thought solved the problem she walked out on us in the middle of one of the busiest nights of the year so far. All throughout this time my boss, who we’ll call Daniel, was not very good at keeping his stress of his new position off of the floor. He would constantly lose his temper at our sales people or even customers. While some customers had it coming. Some didn’t. And the associates definitely did not deserve that from the head honcho of the store. Many of the sales people informed me that they tried to stay out of his way and were nervous around him when he got angry or stressed out because they feared that he would lash out at them for nothing. Me and the other manager in the building decided to have a talk about this with him. Daniel agreed that his attitude hasn’t been since the promotion because he fears he is doing it wrong. We assured him that no matter what we had his back seeing as we all came into our new positions at the same time and we’re a solid team when things were good. But when they were bad? Oh brother, one Saturday we had an issue with every associate on the floor. One of them practically yelled at the store manager for not doing his employee order fast enough when he was simply waiting on an email back from the person who submits orders. The next associate who has been there for two years now was avoiding talking to customers for no apparent reason so I gave a pep talk and got him moving like he usually does. One of our other associates (well call her Olivia) just like our previous problem associate that quit, had a timing issue. We brought it up and eventually wrote her up for it. Olivia is known for always bringing her home drama and stress into work which poisons the work atmosphere on the floor. We have had multiple talks about this and shown her so much support over the last 8 months and have seen no progress. So that meant the niceties are over, I was over her being late, fighting her attitude in the floor, and so much more. This was brought up to Daniel. Yet he just sighed and walked away. I went out to the floor and Daniel pulled me back to the office and told me he caught our newest associate on the floor on his phone. We closed the door and I offered solutions to the problems. However i think Daniel just wanted to vent. But got so heated that he started screaming with associates in earshot of this vent session. He threw his phone and punched his desk and cried and screamed with me there for a few minutes before kicking me out to get a minute to breathe before he apologized to one of my associates for yelling at them earlier. It’s been months since this incident, yet the mood in the store stays the same. Nothing has changed despite the talks, not with Daniel, nor anyone else. It’s a drag to come in everyday. I think of all the possible things I could be doing instead and contemplate leaving. However I wouldn’t be able to without a new job lined up and nothing in my area sounds very nice and I need a job that pays more. Just a little more at best. But I feel so stuck and lost at the moment on what to do..
Therapy appointment tomorrow but it couldn’t wait. I took a sick day off because I have a sore throat and it’s all crashing down on me. I feel lost..
submitted by llortnite_fama23 to offmychest [link] [comments]
Therapy appointment tomorrow but it couldn’t wait. I took a sick day off because I have a sore throat and it’s all crashing down on me. I feel lost..
2023.05.29 22:34 PokerPlayer42069 Blackjack Tales: Unveiling the Weird and Wonderful Moments at the Table
Step into the world of blackjack, the fast-paced card game that has captured the hearts of casino enthusiasts around the globe. Beyond its strategic gameplay and intense rivalrie, the blackjack table often becomes a theater for bizarre and unexpected occurrences that can leave players and spectators equally amazed and entertained. In this article, we delve into the realm of the extraordinary, unveiling the weird and wonderful things that can happen at the blackjack table. From unlikely card sequences to uncanny encounters, brace yourself for a journey filled with laughter, disbelief, and sheer amazement.
The Mysterious Card Counter: Picture this: You're engrossed in the game, carefully calculating your next move, when you notice a fellow player who seems to possess an uncanny ability to predict the outcome of each hand. Their bets are placed with mathematical precision, and they appear to be in complete sync with the cards being dealt. You wonder if they possess some supernatural gift or if they've truly mastered the art of card counting. The mysterious card counter becomes the talk of the table as players try to decipher their secret. Is it luck, skill, or something beyond our understanding?
The Lucky Charm: At every blackjack table, there's always that one player who believes in the power of lucky charms. They bring along trinkets, objects, or even peculiar items that they firmly believe will bestow good fortune upon them. Whether it's a rabbit's foot, a four-leaf clover, or a small figurine, the lucky charm holder guards it with their life. Witnessing their rituals and witnessing their delight when they attribute a winning hand to their lucky charm adds an extra layer of fascination and amusement to the game.
The Serendipitous Shuffle: In the world of blackjack, the shuffle is a crucial part of the game. But sometimes, fate steps in to create bewildering moments. Imagine the dealer shuffling the deck, only to stumble upon a rare and improbable card arrangement. Perhaps it's a perfectly ordered suit sequence, like the spades flowing flawlessly from Ace to King. Or maybe it's the eerie coincidence of several cards appearing in an unexpected pattern. The serendipitous shuffle leaves players in awe, questioning the forces at play and the mysteries of chance.
The Inexplicable Streak: Every now and then, the blackjack table becomes a playground for extraordinary winning or losing streaks. Witnessing a player go on an unprecedented winning spree, winning hand after hand, can ignite a sense of awe and envy. Conversely, observing someone endure a string of unfortunate losses can be equally bewildering. These inexplicable streaks challenge our understanding of probability and remind us that even in games of skill, luck can play a profound role.
The Phantom Gambler: Among the peculiar tales of the blackjack table, there's a phenomenon known as the "Phantom Gambler." This enigmatic figure seems to materialize out of thin air, joining the table at just the right moment and disappearing without a trace. They place substantial bets, win astonishing amounts, and vanish as quickly as they arrived. The Phantom Gambler becomes the stuff of legends, with players and dealers sharing stories of their encounters and speculating on the origin and purpose of these mysterious beings.
The Epic Bluff: While bluffing is more commonly associated with poker, blackjack has its fair share of epic bluffs that can leave everyone in awe. Picture a player with a seemingly weak hand making bold, strategic moves, doubling down on low-value cards, and hitting against all odds. As the tension builds, the table watches in anticipation as the dealer reveals their hand, only to realize that the player's audacious bluff has paid off. The collective gasp and subsequent applause highlight the theatrical nature of the moment, where a player's bravado and calculated risk-taking result in an epic victory.
The Curious Conversation: Blackjack tables often foster an environment of camaraderie and friendly banter. Amidst the intense gameplay, players engage in lively conversations, sharing stories, strategies, and even personal anecdotes. But every now and then, a conversation takes a peculiar turn, veering into unexpected territories. Perhaps a player starts discussing the cosmic implications of a well-timed blackjack win or delves into a philosophical debate about luck versus skill. These curious conversations add an element of intellectual stimulation and spark intriguing discussions that transcend the boundaries of the game itself.
The Supernatural Encounter: As the blackjack table buzzes with excitement, there are moments when the atmosphere takes on an otherworldly aura. Picture a player who claims to have a psychic connection with the cards, accurately predicting their value before they are even dealt. Skepticism gives way to astonishment as their predictions come true time and time again. Is it a stroke of luck, an uncanny intuition, or something beyond the realm of rational explanation? The supernatural encounter leaves players and onlookers questioning the boundaries of the known and the mysteries that lie beneath the surface.
The Unexpected Teacher: Among the weird and wonderful things that can happen at the blackjack table, there's a phenomenon known as the "Unexpected Teacher." This scenario unfolds when an unassuming player, seemingly new to the game, takes a seat and proceeds to display an exceptional level of skill and knowledge. With each move, they unveil a strategic prowess that astounds even the most experienced players at the table. As they effortlessly navigate through complex decisions and execute flawless strategies, the Unexpected Teacher becomes a source of inspiration and admiration, reminding everyone that appearances can be deceiving.
The Unforgettable Celebration: When the stars align, and a player hits a significant win, the blackjack table transforms into a stage for unforgettable celebrations. Spontaneous eruptions of joy, laughter, and exuberant expressions of triumph fill the air. Players high-five, exchange congratulations, and revel in the collective excitement. The celebration becomes infectious, spreading to neighboring tables and drawing the attention of the entire casino floor. These moments remind us of the joy and camaraderie that can be found in the pursuit of fortune and the shared experiences at the blackjack table.
The blackjack table is not just a place for strategic gameplay and intense competition; it is a theater where the extraordinary unfolds. From the mysterious card counter to the supernatural encounter, and from the epic bluff to the unforgettable celebration, these weird and wonderful moments add a dash of excitement and unpredictability to the game. They remind us that amidst the calculations and probabilities, there is room for astonishment, laughter, and the unexplained. So, the next time you sit at the blackjack table, keep your eyes open, for you never know what extraordinary tale may unfold before your very eyes.
submitted by PokerPlayer42069 to u/PokerPlayer42069 [link] [comments]
The Mysterious Card Counter: Picture this: You're engrossed in the game, carefully calculating your next move, when you notice a fellow player who seems to possess an uncanny ability to predict the outcome of each hand. Their bets are placed with mathematical precision, and they appear to be in complete sync with the cards being dealt. You wonder if they possess some supernatural gift or if they've truly mastered the art of card counting. The mysterious card counter becomes the talk of the table as players try to decipher their secret. Is it luck, skill, or something beyond our understanding?
The Lucky Charm: At every blackjack table, there's always that one player who believes in the power of lucky charms. They bring along trinkets, objects, or even peculiar items that they firmly believe will bestow good fortune upon them. Whether it's a rabbit's foot, a four-leaf clover, or a small figurine, the lucky charm holder guards it with their life. Witnessing their rituals and witnessing their delight when they attribute a winning hand to their lucky charm adds an extra layer of fascination and amusement to the game.
The Serendipitous Shuffle: In the world of blackjack, the shuffle is a crucial part of the game. But sometimes, fate steps in to create bewildering moments. Imagine the dealer shuffling the deck, only to stumble upon a rare and improbable card arrangement. Perhaps it's a perfectly ordered suit sequence, like the spades flowing flawlessly from Ace to King. Or maybe it's the eerie coincidence of several cards appearing in an unexpected pattern. The serendipitous shuffle leaves players in awe, questioning the forces at play and the mysteries of chance.
The Inexplicable Streak: Every now and then, the blackjack table becomes a playground for extraordinary winning or losing streaks. Witnessing a player go on an unprecedented winning spree, winning hand after hand, can ignite a sense of awe and envy. Conversely, observing someone endure a string of unfortunate losses can be equally bewildering. These inexplicable streaks challenge our understanding of probability and remind us that even in games of skill, luck can play a profound role.
The Phantom Gambler: Among the peculiar tales of the blackjack table, there's a phenomenon known as the "Phantom Gambler." This enigmatic figure seems to materialize out of thin air, joining the table at just the right moment and disappearing without a trace. They place substantial bets, win astonishing amounts, and vanish as quickly as they arrived. The Phantom Gambler becomes the stuff of legends, with players and dealers sharing stories of their encounters and speculating on the origin and purpose of these mysterious beings.
The Epic Bluff: While bluffing is more commonly associated with poker, blackjack has its fair share of epic bluffs that can leave everyone in awe. Picture a player with a seemingly weak hand making bold, strategic moves, doubling down on low-value cards, and hitting against all odds. As the tension builds, the table watches in anticipation as the dealer reveals their hand, only to realize that the player's audacious bluff has paid off. The collective gasp and subsequent applause highlight the theatrical nature of the moment, where a player's bravado and calculated risk-taking result in an epic victory.
The Curious Conversation: Blackjack tables often foster an environment of camaraderie and friendly banter. Amidst the intense gameplay, players engage in lively conversations, sharing stories, strategies, and even personal anecdotes. But every now and then, a conversation takes a peculiar turn, veering into unexpected territories. Perhaps a player starts discussing the cosmic implications of a well-timed blackjack win or delves into a philosophical debate about luck versus skill. These curious conversations add an element of intellectual stimulation and spark intriguing discussions that transcend the boundaries of the game itself.
The Supernatural Encounter: As the blackjack table buzzes with excitement, there are moments when the atmosphere takes on an otherworldly aura. Picture a player who claims to have a psychic connection with the cards, accurately predicting their value before they are even dealt. Skepticism gives way to astonishment as their predictions come true time and time again. Is it a stroke of luck, an uncanny intuition, or something beyond the realm of rational explanation? The supernatural encounter leaves players and onlookers questioning the boundaries of the known and the mysteries that lie beneath the surface.
The Unexpected Teacher: Among the weird and wonderful things that can happen at the blackjack table, there's a phenomenon known as the "Unexpected Teacher." This scenario unfolds when an unassuming player, seemingly new to the game, takes a seat and proceeds to display an exceptional level of skill and knowledge. With each move, they unveil a strategic prowess that astounds even the most experienced players at the table. As they effortlessly navigate through complex decisions and execute flawless strategies, the Unexpected Teacher becomes a source of inspiration and admiration, reminding everyone that appearances can be deceiving.
The Unforgettable Celebration: When the stars align, and a player hits a significant win, the blackjack table transforms into a stage for unforgettable celebrations. Spontaneous eruptions of joy, laughter, and exuberant expressions of triumph fill the air. Players high-five, exchange congratulations, and revel in the collective excitement. The celebration becomes infectious, spreading to neighboring tables and drawing the attention of the entire casino floor. These moments remind us of the joy and camaraderie that can be found in the pursuit of fortune and the shared experiences at the blackjack table.
The blackjack table is not just a place for strategic gameplay and intense competition; it is a theater where the extraordinary unfolds. From the mysterious card counter to the supernatural encounter, and from the epic bluff to the unforgettable celebration, these weird and wonderful moments add a dash of excitement and unpredictability to the game. They remind us that amidst the calculations and probabilities, there is room for astonishment, laughter, and the unexplained. So, the next time you sit at the blackjack table, keep your eyes open, for you never know what extraordinary tale may unfold before your very eyes.
2023.05.29 22:07 Malice_Qahwah The day the music lived. (One-shot)
Elvis isn’t dead, he just went home.
Exploratory scout DSX862-QQ1 was cruising along at approximately 80% of lightspeed on an outer spiral arm of the galaxy it was native to. Its mission, issued by the Greater Council Exploratory Committee, was to seek out new life, new civilizations, points of scientific interest, and potential future colonies.
80% of the speed of light was a tremendous pace, even for a craft built by a galactic community as ancient as the Greater Council, but its particle shield was more than up to the task, and it allowed the scout to scoop interstellar dust and hydrogen to refuel itself, slowly charging its drives for the next pinch-jump. Each jump would catapult the little craft a hundred light years forwards, followed by another sub-light cruise to analyse, recharge and listen. It wasn’t expected to find much out here. Life had evolved in the warm, bright galactic core, entire civilizations meeting within decades of reaching orbit of their respective home worlds. Resources were plentiful, many of them had been talking for centuries before meeting face to face, with only years of communications lag, instead of the decades or centuries between the species evolving further out, in the colder reaches.
Out here, on the arm, everything was cold. Even the search for possible colony sites and resources was more a formality, record keeping for the sake of the endless bureaucracy that infested the Council.
So, it had come as a tremendous surprise to the scouts simple intelligence when it picked up the ghostly whisper of a deliberate radio signal.
Pulses, blips, zaps, hisses, all were the normal background noise of the cosmos, but this was a firm BUZZ. Soon followed by strings and knots of beeps. The scout rotates, following its radio antenna ‘nose’ to lock in a direction towards the noise. It spooled up its pinch-drive, and jumps, a few lightyears, not enough to drain its energies, but just enough to allow it to triangulate. Then jump again, to get a third point. A fourth, a fifth.
A yellow star, a few billion years old, spectral and gravitational indications speaking of gas giants, rocky and icy bodies, and a potential habitable zone with a world skimming just along the outer edge of the habitable zone. The source of the signals.
The scout spooled its pinch-drive once more, preparing to make the thirty something lightyear jump to close with the noisy world.
It also began the process of waking up its Commander.
++++++++
Kevin Karl and the Karlsons wound down their last song of the evening, sweating under the stage lights and bathed in the adoration of the crowd. This was IT, the high they had all dreamed of, had chased through bars, opening acts, and finally, after just a few years, headline act of a whole show!
They’d bopped along to the other acts on that night, friends all, they’d been on tour together for weeks across the entire USA and would be playing two more shows before wrapping up for the year.
Off-stage, past the cheering, singing, breathless fans of rock and roll, brought together by the joy of the new genre that seemed to defy boundaries and break the locks of society. When they played, no-one saw the colour of their skin, Joeys scars, Mikes club foot. The band couldn’t make out individuals in the crowd. They saw humanity, united and beautiful, wrapped in the music they played.
One of the opening acts were gathered back stage, still bouncing, and their singer passed over a reefer cigarette. Kevin took a drag, feeling the smoke sooth his nerves as he passed it on, then he choked and laughed. “That was some show, could you feel them?”
The other singer, Jack ‘Wabbit’ let out a howl, “Hell yeah baby, felt like lightning, smooth lightning all through… wait, that gives me an idea for a song!”
He was off, crouching awkwardly as he pulled a pencil and notebook from somewhere and started scribbling.
Kevin chuckled, took a beer from Joey, and started walking towards the car. While far from brand new, it was big enough to take the band in relative comfort, while the instruments and gear followed in trucks. He climbed in back, sprawling across the bench, and closed his eyes. It was a thousand miles to the next venue, they were already running late to start getting organised, but he needed just a moment.
He was woken by a nudge. “Hey, Kev, you want a ride down to Jacksonville? Wabbit says his cousin has a plane, can take you both to Florida, rest of us will come down with the trucks, faster then the Catalina can get us there.”
Kevin blinked, groggy, but hanging on to getting to the next stop in comfort.
“Damn, yeah, I’m in! No way I’m passing up a planeride in comfort!”
++++++
The commander of DSX862-QQ1 listened to the sounds of the boisterous world her small ship had discovered. To say it was barely habitable was an understatement. Plenty worlds had higher gravity, but not the weather extremes this one had. Others had far worse weather but lacked the deadly pathogens that were detectable in the outer reaches of the atmosphere. Others still had some version or variation of every horrific threat this single world had, but never so many of them wrapped into one pristine appearing blue and green ball of life that seemed determined to survive by any means necessary.
She was impressed that life had evolved to multicellular levels at all, never mind to the point where it had achieved radio broadcast, powered flight and, if the latest scans were accurate, atomic power, weaponry, and the rudiments of space flight under development.
This world was only a few centuries from needing a first contact delegation, she could sense it.
If they survived. She’d seen plenty of far more peaceful civilisations wipe themselves out before achieving their full potential after all, and the light-delayed data her ship had gathered on the way in indicated that the primary species of this world **really** liked to fight one another.
Well, it wasn’t as if the Greater Council was perfect. A few hundred worlds, usually half at odds with the other half, or outright warring with the non-aligned groups surrounding them. Over what, she could hardly imagine, resources weren’t scarce, habitable worlds almost common, matters of religion seemed pointless to her.
Rather than be caught up in the endless squabbling, she’d worked to be assigned a scout ship, and only went ‘home’ when the databanks were full or the hull degraded.
She flipped idly through the signals her ship was pulling in. Mostly simple vocal signals, some barely encrypted, likely military, the rest completely in the clear. For a while there had been a simple video signal modulated as well, the computers now busy going through it to compile a useable language interface.
Her digit stopped, as one transmission caught her attention. There was a voice there, the words as yet unintelligible, but it was laced through, interwoven with, strung around a **sound**.
It wasn’t the first she’d heard of music from this world, nor even the first she’d heard following this particular set of musical rules, but there was something about **this** voice… It reached inside her, and she felt her soul reach out to embrace it.
It was memetic, the warning symbol now flashing on her display confirming what she already knew, but memetics were weapons, hazards, dangers to be filtered and avoided, while this?
It spoke of pain, it sang of loss, and heartbreak and joy and unity and togetherness. It sent her thoughts on strange tangents where her actions saved worlds, brought together warning species, enabled peace…
She shook off the effects as the music faded out and a smooth voice mumbled something, before the next song started. That too, touched her, yet lacked the sheer power of the first, and she was able to shut off the recording with a shaky digit.
She fumbled the ships controls, aligning with the source of the original transmission. A rickety looking steel tower with several high-powered emitters inside a small building next to it. Clearly not the source of the music itself, merely a civilian broadcast station, the music an entertainment medium.
She turned her attention then, to discovering what, or who, had created such a wonder.
++++++
Kevin stared at the airplane. It looked fresh, but old.
“War surplus, picked her up for a song when she was gonna be dumped out in a desert!” Wabbits cousin was a skinny boy, barely out of his teens, but with the quick and sure motions of an expert when he touched his beloved machine. “I heard you guys playing last night, gotta say, it changed my mind about black folks. Always thought to myself, to each their own right? And the laws are that way too, it made sense, but man, the way you sang, how the band played, I wanted to meet you, to say, you got me to see more. Like how the world looks from way up high, we’re all just one piece of something, right? And I think the world might be less ugly that way. So, I said to my cousin, man, I want to help out, my folks left me a pile of cash, I have my baby here, and if you want, I’ll take you where you gotta go.”
He stopped, looking at the ground, and although Kevin was tempted to accept the offer on the spot, but the kid was offering to sideline everything to ferry around his ass?
“Well, damn, listen man, thanks, and I’m grateful you’re giving us a ride to Jacksonville, but lets take it easy right? See how you feel after the flight and if you want to come to the show, sure, I’ll get you in. I can’t pay for regular flights though, I’m already paying for my car! Besides, as much as I need to get down there and make sure everythings golden, I can’t go leaving my band behind every time!”
“Oh, right, no it’s cool, if they want a ride too its all good. I want to make a change, and helping you out helps me do that, right? If you want to talk money, heck, I could bankroll a few shows, take a percentage in return, but its not about the money. Man you changed me, in a good way. I think you could do the same for people like me! You, uh. I stopped hating, you know? Feels good.”
Kevin started to wonder if he shouldn’t have just curled back up on his car bench and stayed asleep. “Okay, I’m on board, if you want to take the rest of my guys too, that’s great, we all get to our next stop on time, you get a show, and if you still want to help us out, we can look at more shows after the tour. Sound fair?”
They shook hands. Pete, as he turned out to be named, started fussing with his airplane again, and removing what he termed ‘junk’ from the hold and other parts of the craft, which to Kevins untrained eye all looked vaguely important, but were ‘heavy’.
He boarded with his band, and Wabbit, who had his own guitar with him, and as the airplane started taxying, amidst the reefer smoke, and snippets of song Wabbit was working on, they settled down for the flight.
++++++
DSX862-QQ1’s commander was hampered in her efforts to locate the origin of the music she had heard by the lack of any real information link between radio and physical locations. There was undoubtably ground-based cable she couldn’t tap, but there was no evidence of a wide area data network, and given the technology of the ‘Humans’ she wasn’t surprised.
Just frustrated.
Nonetheless, she was able to identify the singer, and his ‘band’ who played the instruments that had so perfectly twinned with his voice. She wondered how a purely non-verbal species would have received his music. Would they have felt what she felt just through the radio signal? Something she would learn, in time. Her plan was simple, she’d locate her subject, and deploy a drone to follow him. Wherever he played, her drone would invisibly follow, recording his music in perfect fidelity.
She’d return home, and share his music. Something no-one had heard before, had never experienced, and perhaps, it would make them see, and feel, what she had when hearing it.
The ship pinged, it had located a small heavier than air craft that had a high probability of carrying her quarry. It was moving at less than a third of the local speed of sound, but was being strangely buffeted. The computer flashed warning symbols on sections of the craft. Simple, but not primitive, the craft was perfectly designed for the task it was meant to perform, very good engineering had gone into creating it.
Yet it was failing, structurally, air pressures flowing over it far in excess for which it had been designed, one of this worlds unique weather phenomenon threatening to rip it apart.
Amidst the horror of realizing she was about to witness the death of those individuals who had touched her very soul, she recognized the craft was operating in excess of two hundred percent its designed stress ratings.
It was a toughness that bought a few seconds of thought. Of decision, and rash, perhaps illegal, action.
Digits brushed controls, summoning a hum from the depths of her ship. The fuel capture system was not meant for rescue, in fact, using for anything other than non-living mass was considered a breach of several laws. First and foremost, it was a very focusable disintegration array, making it a terrifying weapon. Secondly, it could collect the energy released by the disintegration and funnel it into storage cells to fuel the engines.
Thirdly, and this was the illegal part, her scoutships sensors could record exactly how the disintegrated matter had been arranged, down to the subatomic level, and the array could be reprogrammed to then reverse the process to convert the captured energy back into the original thing.
Used on an interesting rock, this was fine. On a living being it was murder at best and non-consensual cloning at worst.
Her digit pressed down firmly on the energize symbol that appeared below her hacked override code.
++++++
The aircraft finally surrendered to the windsheer pulling at it, fragmenting in a shimmering cloud of metallic fragments that erupt in a fireball as unspent aviation fuel is ignited.
Of the passengers and pilot, no trace was ever found, their deaths mourned by millions, in part for the loss of young people who had given the world such wonderful music, but also the sense of loss at the music they would now never be able to play. A pilot who had changed his beliefs and committed himself to promoting the ones who changed him for the better, a brilliant young singer and songwriter, and a band who could touch souls, lost forever.
The great changes they had been about to unleash would not take place. Or at least, not take place as quickly. The seeds had been planted, as other young people took up their instruments, raised their voices in song, and set out to change hearts and minds their own way.
Over the course of the centuries before Humanity could reach the stars as a single family, a steady stream of visitors dropped by the musical ball of rock. To observe, to listen, to rescue, when the opportunity arose.
submitted by Malice_Qahwah to HFY [link] [comments]
Exploratory scout DSX862-QQ1 was cruising along at approximately 80% of lightspeed on an outer spiral arm of the galaxy it was native to. Its mission, issued by the Greater Council Exploratory Committee, was to seek out new life, new civilizations, points of scientific interest, and potential future colonies.
80% of the speed of light was a tremendous pace, even for a craft built by a galactic community as ancient as the Greater Council, but its particle shield was more than up to the task, and it allowed the scout to scoop interstellar dust and hydrogen to refuel itself, slowly charging its drives for the next pinch-jump. Each jump would catapult the little craft a hundred light years forwards, followed by another sub-light cruise to analyse, recharge and listen. It wasn’t expected to find much out here. Life had evolved in the warm, bright galactic core, entire civilizations meeting within decades of reaching orbit of their respective home worlds. Resources were plentiful, many of them had been talking for centuries before meeting face to face, with only years of communications lag, instead of the decades or centuries between the species evolving further out, in the colder reaches.
Out here, on the arm, everything was cold. Even the search for possible colony sites and resources was more a formality, record keeping for the sake of the endless bureaucracy that infested the Council.
So, it had come as a tremendous surprise to the scouts simple intelligence when it picked up the ghostly whisper of a deliberate radio signal.
Pulses, blips, zaps, hisses, all were the normal background noise of the cosmos, but this was a firm BUZZ. Soon followed by strings and knots of beeps. The scout rotates, following its radio antenna ‘nose’ to lock in a direction towards the noise. It spooled up its pinch-drive, and jumps, a few lightyears, not enough to drain its energies, but just enough to allow it to triangulate. Then jump again, to get a third point. A fourth, a fifth.
A yellow star, a few billion years old, spectral and gravitational indications speaking of gas giants, rocky and icy bodies, and a potential habitable zone with a world skimming just along the outer edge of the habitable zone. The source of the signals.
The scout spooled its pinch-drive once more, preparing to make the thirty something lightyear jump to close with the noisy world.
It also began the process of waking up its Commander.
++++++++
Kevin Karl and the Karlsons wound down their last song of the evening, sweating under the stage lights and bathed in the adoration of the crowd. This was IT, the high they had all dreamed of, had chased through bars, opening acts, and finally, after just a few years, headline act of a whole show!
They’d bopped along to the other acts on that night, friends all, they’d been on tour together for weeks across the entire USA and would be playing two more shows before wrapping up for the year.
Off-stage, past the cheering, singing, breathless fans of rock and roll, brought together by the joy of the new genre that seemed to defy boundaries and break the locks of society. When they played, no-one saw the colour of their skin, Joeys scars, Mikes club foot. The band couldn’t make out individuals in the crowd. They saw humanity, united and beautiful, wrapped in the music they played.
One of the opening acts were gathered back stage, still bouncing, and their singer passed over a reefer cigarette. Kevin took a drag, feeling the smoke sooth his nerves as he passed it on, then he choked and laughed. “That was some show, could you feel them?”
The other singer, Jack ‘Wabbit’ let out a howl, “Hell yeah baby, felt like lightning, smooth lightning all through… wait, that gives me an idea for a song!”
He was off, crouching awkwardly as he pulled a pencil and notebook from somewhere and started scribbling.
Kevin chuckled, took a beer from Joey, and started walking towards the car. While far from brand new, it was big enough to take the band in relative comfort, while the instruments and gear followed in trucks. He climbed in back, sprawling across the bench, and closed his eyes. It was a thousand miles to the next venue, they were already running late to start getting organised, but he needed just a moment.
He was woken by a nudge. “Hey, Kev, you want a ride down to Jacksonville? Wabbit says his cousin has a plane, can take you both to Florida, rest of us will come down with the trucks, faster then the Catalina can get us there.”
Kevin blinked, groggy, but hanging on to getting to the next stop in comfort.
“Damn, yeah, I’m in! No way I’m passing up a planeride in comfort!”
++++++
The commander of DSX862-QQ1 listened to the sounds of the boisterous world her small ship had discovered. To say it was barely habitable was an understatement. Plenty worlds had higher gravity, but not the weather extremes this one had. Others had far worse weather but lacked the deadly pathogens that were detectable in the outer reaches of the atmosphere. Others still had some version or variation of every horrific threat this single world had, but never so many of them wrapped into one pristine appearing blue and green ball of life that seemed determined to survive by any means necessary.
She was impressed that life had evolved to multicellular levels at all, never mind to the point where it had achieved radio broadcast, powered flight and, if the latest scans were accurate, atomic power, weaponry, and the rudiments of space flight under development.
This world was only a few centuries from needing a first contact delegation, she could sense it.
If they survived. She’d seen plenty of far more peaceful civilisations wipe themselves out before achieving their full potential after all, and the light-delayed data her ship had gathered on the way in indicated that the primary species of this world **really** liked to fight one another.
Well, it wasn’t as if the Greater Council was perfect. A few hundred worlds, usually half at odds with the other half, or outright warring with the non-aligned groups surrounding them. Over what, she could hardly imagine, resources weren’t scarce, habitable worlds almost common, matters of religion seemed pointless to her.
Rather than be caught up in the endless squabbling, she’d worked to be assigned a scout ship, and only went ‘home’ when the databanks were full or the hull degraded.
She flipped idly through the signals her ship was pulling in. Mostly simple vocal signals, some barely encrypted, likely military, the rest completely in the clear. For a while there had been a simple video signal modulated as well, the computers now busy going through it to compile a useable language interface.
Her digit stopped, as one transmission caught her attention. There was a voice there, the words as yet unintelligible, but it was laced through, interwoven with, strung around a **sound**.
It wasn’t the first she’d heard of music from this world, nor even the first she’d heard following this particular set of musical rules, but there was something about **this** voice… It reached inside her, and she felt her soul reach out to embrace it.
It was memetic, the warning symbol now flashing on her display confirming what she already knew, but memetics were weapons, hazards, dangers to be filtered and avoided, while this?
It spoke of pain, it sang of loss, and heartbreak and joy and unity and togetherness. It sent her thoughts on strange tangents where her actions saved worlds, brought together warning species, enabled peace…
She shook off the effects as the music faded out and a smooth voice mumbled something, before the next song started. That too, touched her, yet lacked the sheer power of the first, and she was able to shut off the recording with a shaky digit.
She fumbled the ships controls, aligning with the source of the original transmission. A rickety looking steel tower with several high-powered emitters inside a small building next to it. Clearly not the source of the music itself, merely a civilian broadcast station, the music an entertainment medium.
She turned her attention then, to discovering what, or who, had created such a wonder.
++++++
Kevin stared at the airplane. It looked fresh, but old.
“War surplus, picked her up for a song when she was gonna be dumped out in a desert!” Wabbits cousin was a skinny boy, barely out of his teens, but with the quick and sure motions of an expert when he touched his beloved machine. “I heard you guys playing last night, gotta say, it changed my mind about black folks. Always thought to myself, to each their own right? And the laws are that way too, it made sense, but man, the way you sang, how the band played, I wanted to meet you, to say, you got me to see more. Like how the world looks from way up high, we’re all just one piece of something, right? And I think the world might be less ugly that way. So, I said to my cousin, man, I want to help out, my folks left me a pile of cash, I have my baby here, and if you want, I’ll take you where you gotta go.”
He stopped, looking at the ground, and although Kevin was tempted to accept the offer on the spot, but the kid was offering to sideline everything to ferry around his ass?
“Well, damn, listen man, thanks, and I’m grateful you’re giving us a ride to Jacksonville, but lets take it easy right? See how you feel after the flight and if you want to come to the show, sure, I’ll get you in. I can’t pay for regular flights though, I’m already paying for my car! Besides, as much as I need to get down there and make sure everythings golden, I can’t go leaving my band behind every time!”
“Oh, right, no it’s cool, if they want a ride too its all good. I want to make a change, and helping you out helps me do that, right? If you want to talk money, heck, I could bankroll a few shows, take a percentage in return, but its not about the money. Man you changed me, in a good way. I think you could do the same for people like me! You, uh. I stopped hating, you know? Feels good.”
Kevin started to wonder if he shouldn’t have just curled back up on his car bench and stayed asleep. “Okay, I’m on board, if you want to take the rest of my guys too, that’s great, we all get to our next stop on time, you get a show, and if you still want to help us out, we can look at more shows after the tour. Sound fair?”
They shook hands. Pete, as he turned out to be named, started fussing with his airplane again, and removing what he termed ‘junk’ from the hold and other parts of the craft, which to Kevins untrained eye all looked vaguely important, but were ‘heavy’.
He boarded with his band, and Wabbit, who had his own guitar with him, and as the airplane started taxying, amidst the reefer smoke, and snippets of song Wabbit was working on, they settled down for the flight.
++++++
DSX862-QQ1’s commander was hampered in her efforts to locate the origin of the music she had heard by the lack of any real information link between radio and physical locations. There was undoubtably ground-based cable she couldn’t tap, but there was no evidence of a wide area data network, and given the technology of the ‘Humans’ she wasn’t surprised.
Just frustrated.
Nonetheless, she was able to identify the singer, and his ‘band’ who played the instruments that had so perfectly twinned with his voice. She wondered how a purely non-verbal species would have received his music. Would they have felt what she felt just through the radio signal? Something she would learn, in time. Her plan was simple, she’d locate her subject, and deploy a drone to follow him. Wherever he played, her drone would invisibly follow, recording his music in perfect fidelity.
She’d return home, and share his music. Something no-one had heard before, had never experienced, and perhaps, it would make them see, and feel, what she had when hearing it.
The ship pinged, it had located a small heavier than air craft that had a high probability of carrying her quarry. It was moving at less than a third of the local speed of sound, but was being strangely buffeted. The computer flashed warning symbols on sections of the craft. Simple, but not primitive, the craft was perfectly designed for the task it was meant to perform, very good engineering had gone into creating it.
Yet it was failing, structurally, air pressures flowing over it far in excess for which it had been designed, one of this worlds unique weather phenomenon threatening to rip it apart.
Amidst the horror of realizing she was about to witness the death of those individuals who had touched her very soul, she recognized the craft was operating in excess of two hundred percent its designed stress ratings.
It was a toughness that bought a few seconds of thought. Of decision, and rash, perhaps illegal, action.
Digits brushed controls, summoning a hum from the depths of her ship. The fuel capture system was not meant for rescue, in fact, using for anything other than non-living mass was considered a breach of several laws. First and foremost, it was a very focusable disintegration array, making it a terrifying weapon. Secondly, it could collect the energy released by the disintegration and funnel it into storage cells to fuel the engines.
Thirdly, and this was the illegal part, her scoutships sensors could record exactly how the disintegrated matter had been arranged, down to the subatomic level, and the array could be reprogrammed to then reverse the process to convert the captured energy back into the original thing.
Used on an interesting rock, this was fine. On a living being it was murder at best and non-consensual cloning at worst.
Her digit pressed down firmly on the energize symbol that appeared below her hacked override code.
++++++
The aircraft finally surrendered to the windsheer pulling at it, fragmenting in a shimmering cloud of metallic fragments that erupt in a fireball as unspent aviation fuel is ignited.
Of the passengers and pilot, no trace was ever found, their deaths mourned by millions, in part for the loss of young people who had given the world such wonderful music, but also the sense of loss at the music they would now never be able to play. A pilot who had changed his beliefs and committed himself to promoting the ones who changed him for the better, a brilliant young singer and songwriter, and a band who could touch souls, lost forever.
The great changes they had been about to unleash would not take place. Or at least, not take place as quickly. The seeds had been planted, as other young people took up their instruments, raised their voices in song, and set out to change hearts and minds their own way.
Over the course of the centuries before Humanity could reach the stars as a single family, a steady stream of visitors dropped by the musical ball of rock. To observe, to listen, to rescue, when the opportunity arose.
2023.05.29 22:06 JoelSnape An introduction to the Saturn Polar Configuration (for those who may be new to the subject)
 | In his groundbreaking book ‘The Saturn Myth’ (inspired by the work of Immanuel Velikovsky who has correspondence with Albert Einstein about his ideas) researcher David Talbott analyzed myths from ancient cultures around the world and found that they all described the same phenomenon surrounding Saturn. He found that symbolism for Saturn is the same throughout ancient Mesopotamia, India, Greece, the Americas, and Egypt — and as documented by ancient cultures, explains how there was once a celestial alignment involving Saturn that occurred thousands of years ago. Based on ancient accounts throughout the world, Talbott describes a period of “great upheaval” in celestial bodies, when Saturn, Venus, and Mars descended and aligned overhead Earth in a spectacular astronomical event dubbed the “Saturn Polar Configuration”. As Talbott says in ‘The Saturn Myth’: “[The Saturn Polar Configuration is] the idea based on comparative mythology, that the Earth was once in close proximity, or even a satellite of the planet Saturn”. During this celestial upheavel, Mars descended from its position in the sky and formed a connection or stairway to Saturn which became known by the ancients as the heaven-sustaining giant Atlas, Mount Olympus, and the Tower of Babel, inter alia. Various cultures around the world recorded this celestial stairway. For example, the Makirtare Indians of the Amazonian rainforest tell of a time where the hero Ahishama, identified as Mars, climbed a stairway to Heaven. The Mesopotamian god Nergal also climbed a stairway to Heaven and was identified as Mars. Talbott calls this stairway the “Cosmic Mountain”. There are various illustrations of how this alignment would have looked here. submitted by JoelSnape to SaturnStormCube [link] [comments] COSMIC MOUNTAIN TO SATURN During this time of celestial upheaval, Saturn and the other bodies that were aligned with it went through various configurations in the sky (see the documentary series ‘Discourses on an Alien Sky’) and at one point the light emanating from Venus behind Mars formed what appeared to be a pupil inside a triangle that Talbott associates with the All-Seeing-Eye. As Talbott explains in ‘The Saturn Myth’: “It’s impossible to pursue Saturn’s ancient image without encountering the paradise of Eden, the lost Atlantis, or the All-Seeing-Eye of heaven”. The Saturn Polar Configuration was mostly characterized by an 8-pointed star or 8-spoked wheel. Here is an image of Saturn holding an 8-spoked wheel (as shown in ‘Discourses on an Alien Sky’). The crescent under Saturn was morphed and anthropomorphized. The Saturn-crescent was morphed into wings — with the solar disc (Saturn) placed in the centre, such as with the Egyptian winged Kheper. Quote from ‘The Saturn Myth’: “Of the crescent in the primary images and ancient sources present these basic forms: The horns of the bull-god or the uplifted arms of the heaven-sustaining giant [such as Atlas]. The outstretched wings of the mother goddess (or winged god). But these same wings, or arms, constitute the great god’s sailing vessel [Saturn Ship] which in turn is depicted as two shining horns”. As Talbott points out in ‘The Saturn Myth’, the fundamental themes of Saturn imagery include the the Saturn Ship, the All-Seeing-Eye, the two sacred pillars of Heaven (morphed into the Hercules and Masonic pillars) — the two shining horns and uplifted arms of the heaven-sustaining giant which were all based on the same celestial alignment in the sky. https://preview.redd.it/66tfb9crav2b1.png?width=750&format=png&auto=webp&s=c2c9f5dd75b84ca829e00d094d5669d4d3482229 The 8-pointed star (as seen in the Saturn Polar Configuration and as shown above) is a symbol of Freemasonry. The Masonic image below has a circle inside the 8-pointed star (called the circumpunct — an ancient symbol of the Sun). In his book ‘Morals and Dogma’, 33 degree Freemason Albert Pike connects the ancient Sun to the All-Seeing-Eye and the Masonic Blazing Star, saying: “The Blazing Star has been regarded as an emblem of Omniscience, or the All-Seeing-Eye, which to the ancients was the Sun”. This is curious, because we know that the ancients considered Saturn to be the Sun — as explained by Talbott in ‘The Saturn Myth’. The Babylonians associated Saturn with the Sun (as “son of Shamash” and “star of Helios”) and the name for Saturn in Chaldean astronomy was Alap-Shamas, meaning “Star of the Sun”. In the article ‘Saturn as the Sun of Night in Ancient Eastern Tradition’, Peter James says, “attested in Mesopotamia and followed by the Greeks and Hindus, there’s a long-standing association with Saturn as the Sun”. Troy McLachlan, says, in his book ‘The Saturn Death Cult’: “The ancients did indeed see a Sun-like object residing in their skies — and that object was Saturn”. According to political scientist Alfred De Grazia in his book ‘Homo Schizo: Human Nature’, Isaac Vail (who was an amateur scientific theorist) connected the All-Seeing-Eye (which remember was the Masonic Blazing Star) to the Saturn Polar Configuration, saying: “The All-Seeing-Eye is one of the earliest and most nearly universal symbols. Isaac Vail believed that the primordial eye was the boreal opening from which Saturn on his throne looked down upon his domain”. The letter G in the image below takes the place of Venus in the Saturn Polar Configuration. 33 degree Freemason Arthur Waite quotes famous occultist Eliphas Levi telling us that the letter “G” stands for Venus (see his book ‘The Mysteries of Magic: A Digest of the Writings of Eliphas Levi’). https://preview.redd.it/6utnkyytav2b1.png?width=467&format=png&auto=webp&s=bf8ccc7bf37d0ddae3b5b4aa0285d8f2c64f859b Another instance of the 8-pointed star on a Freemason building in Lisbon: https://preview.redd.it/08azng1wav2b1.png?width=639&format=png&auto=webp&s=f512374111edcaf0ef5b48f2689ef9a910b87fd3 During the various configurations of the Saturn Polar Configuration that produced various visual characteristics, the smaller orb of Venus (and also at different times Mars which produced a darker dot as shown here from ‘Discourses on an Alien Sky’) appeared as a circumpunct that passed in front of the larger orb of Saturn. As Talbott explains in ‘The Saturn Myth’: “From one section of the world to another the planet-god’s worshippers drew pictures of the Saturnian Configuration and these pictures become the universal signs and symbols of antiquity. In the global lexicon of symbols, the most common images are the enclosed Sun ⊙ [the ancient Sun corresponding to Saturn according to Talbott] and the enclosed Sun cross ⊕. It appears that every ancient race revered these signs”. Author Dan Brown explains the circumpunct as follows: “In the idiom of symbology, there was one symbol [the circumpunct] that reigned supreme above all others. The oldest and most universal, this symbol fused all the ancient traditions in a single solitary image that represented the illumination of the Egyptian Sun-god, the triumph of alchemical gold, the wisdom of the Philosopher’s Stone, the purity of the Rosicrucian Rose, the moment of Creation, the All, the dominance of the astrological Sun, and the omniscient All-Seeing-Eye that hovered atop the unfinished pyramid”. According to Wikipedia: “Throughout history, the circumpunct has been all things to all people — it’s the Sun-god Ra, alchemical gold, and the All-Seeing-Eye”. In ‘The Saturn Myth’, Talbott identifies Ra as Saturn, saying: “One finds of interest an Egyptian ostrakon (1st century B.C.) cited by Franz Boll: The ostrakon identifies the planet Saturn as the great god Ra”. The circumpunct can be seen in Freemason artwork (as shown below). The image on the bottom right is an illustration of the Saturn Polar Configuration from the documentary ‘Symbols of an Alien Sky’ (with Venus as the luminous dot). https://preview.redd.it/8xsmwgezav2b1.png?width=750&format=png&auto=webp&s=adc33c03e84d3d3f973ccb9ff44d812cb8875516 The luminous U-shape created by the Saturn-crescent became morphed into pillars. Talbott says in ‘The Saturn Myth’ when explaining the twin-pillar or twin-peaked crescent of the Saturn Polar Configuration: “In all ancient myths of the lost paradise, the land of peace and plenty rests upon a cosmic pillar — “Earth’s highest mountain”. One of the peculiarities of the Mount is that it possesses two peaks, rising to the right and left of the central column. The Egyptian Mount of Glory (Khut) reveals two peaks between which rests the Aten or enclosed Sun 𓈌. Depicted by this sign are “the two great mountains on which Re appears”. And what is most interesting about the Egyptian symbol of the cleft peak 𓈋 is that it finds strikingly similar parallels in other lands. The Mesopotamian Sun-god rests upon a twin-peaked world mountain of identical form and the same dual mount occurs also in Mexico — here too revealing the Sun-god between the two peaks. In Hebrew and Muslim thought “the mountain of paradise is a double one” observes Wensinck. To the Hebrews Sinai, Ebol, and Gerezim were all conceived as images of a twin-peaked mountain, states Jeremias. In the primeval Tyre (paradise) according to the description of Nonnus, a “double rock” rises from the ocean. In its centre is an olive (the central Sun) which automatically emits fire, setting it in a perpetual blaze. The Syrian and Hittite great gods stand equally balanced upon two mountains. In the beginning, according to a central Asiatic legend related by Uno Holmberg, “there was only water, from which the two great mountains emerged”. From the central mount of Hindu cosmology rise two secondary peaks. Of course, the twin pillars of Hercules point to the same idea”. In his book ‘Mortal Jigsaw Puzzle’, Grieving Patriot says: “In ancient history, this twin pillar construct is also referred to as the pillars of Hercules, a gateway beyond which lay the path to enlightenment”. https://preview.redd.it/lvcvkrq2bv2b1.png?width=669&format=png&auto=webp&s=dc0fe919e01594a12065de19fe5ef2c278d62ec2 Notice the Saturn-crescent below which appears as two pillars: https://preview.redd.it/6x1zyhb5bv2b1.png?width=231&format=png&auto=webp&s=c2cf5fa59523763971c1545cfa46ee1b9887a9fe This same symbol is seen throughout the ancient world such as the Phoenician Tanit symbol where the Saturn-crescent has become fully morphed into pillars: https://preview.redd.it/6bus33k7bv2b1.png?width=220&format=png&auto=webp&s=c0fe6fd3b9553294d3fabfbb66cbb46885c86e25 The symbols above became the basis for Freemason Tracing Boards showing the Blazing Star placed between two pillars: https://preview.redd.it/478ni6s9bv2b1.png?width=430&format=png&auto=webp&s=096f861563619f6a8a60cd69bc57e87eaced8d8c In ‘The Saturn Myth’, Talbott corresponds the Saturn Polar Configuration to a gateway, saying: “The god “comes out” and “goes in” on the [Saturnian] mountaintop through the “gate”, but he accomplishes this without moving from his fixed abode”. Talbott also cites Coffin Text talking about how the Saturn Polar Configuration was a portal. The text reads: “I did four good deeds within the portal of the Mount of Glory. I made the four winds that every man might breathe”. Talbott explains that the sign 𓈌 is the Mount of Glory. This is the same sign given by Talbott for the Saturn Polar Configuration. Talbott expands on the idea that the Saturn Polar Configuration was a kind of gate in his article here in which he says: “One of the archetypal forms I had discussed involved the global myths and symbols of the “Chain of Arrows”, a theme inseparably connected to another archetype, the “Ladder of Heaven”. As the story was told, a great warrior launches arrows into the sky, each embedding itself in the one above to form a ladder or stairway to the land of the gods”. The Saturn Polar Configuration went through various configurations that produced various visual characteristics, but was mostly characterized by an 8-pointed star. The 8-pointed star was known as the “Cross of Ilu” or “Bab-Ilu” which means “Gate of God”. According to investigative mythologist William Henry, author of over 18 books in alternative science, the 8-pointed star represented a portal or a Gate of God, saying: “Wherever archaeologists discovered remains of the early Sumerian civilizations the symbol of the “Gate of the Gods” was prominently displayed. The Sumerians depicted this gate as an 8-pointed star”. Since the beginning of the written word, countless stories have begun by ripping holes in the fabric of reality and pulling their protagonists through. Portals date back to the oldest written text we have on record — the 4,000-year-old Sumerian tale Epic of Gilgamesh — in which the hero travels through a mountaintop portal to the land of the gods. In the Epic of Gilgamesh, the hero travels to the gate of the Sun-god Shamash at the mountain of Mashu. The same 8-pointed star keyhole symbolism as the Saturn Polar Configuration is shown below on a Masonic stained-glass window: https://preview.redd.it/oow7tgmhbv2b1.png?width=445&format=png&auto=webp&s=3fb43f1b14b2c6588e39e2ecd93aa0255508e922 Even though the Saturn Polar Configuration corresponds to the Masonic image above of the Blazing Star between the pillars, it’s generally assumed that the Blazing Star between the Masonic pillars is Sirius — not Saturn or Venus. Masonic historian Henry Coil says: “But whether the Blazing Star refers to Saturn or the Sun or some other heavenly body is not ascertainable”. In his book ‘Myth, Magick, and Masonry’, Jaime Lamb connects the Masonic Blazing Star to Venus, saying: “The Blazing Star’s relationship to Venus (also anciently known as the Morning Star) may best be illustrated by the fact that it’s represented in the form of a pentagram. This significance comes primarily from the fact that Venus traces [a perfect pentagram across the sky every eight years when observed from Earth”]. The fact that the Masonic Blazing Star is also sometimes represented by an 8-pointed star (as shown in the image above) might also point towards it being Venus. The Mesopotamian goddess Inanna was worshipped as the embodiment of Venus and her symbol was the 8-pointed star. In the 1875 of ‘Freemason’s Monthly Volume 6’, we read: “Venus, whose orbit is within but on a level with our own… is the brilliant “Blazing Star” that heralds the rising or attends the setting Sun”. While some argue that the Masonic Blazing Star is Venus, some have suggested that it could be Jupiter. The ancient Greeks knew Jupiter as Phaethon (Φαέθων) meaning “Shining One” or “Blazing Star”. Whether the Masonic Blazing Star is Sirius, Saturn, Venus, Jupiter, Alcyone, Aldebaran, the Moon, or some other heavenly body, it’s acknowledged by some that Freemasons misguide people as to the true meaning of their symbols. For example, the prominent Freemason, Albert Pike, said in his book ‘Morals and Dogma’: “Part of the symbols are displayed there to the initiate, but he is intentionally misled by false interpretations. It’s not intended that he shall understand them; but it’s intended that he shall imagine that he understands them”. Part of the problem is that much of what Freemasons are doing is buried under layers of armour-clad secrecy so many strata deep that only archaeologists of the distant future will have any hope of disinterring any of these things. The Egyptian symbol of the Ankh was based on the Saturn Polar Configuration, as Talbott explains in ‘The Saturn Myth’, saying: “The Ankh (whose origins experts have long debated) is but a conventionalized image of the [Saturn] Polar Configuration”. In his book ‘Secret Societies: Revelations About Freemasons’, Philip Gardiner explains that the Ankh was seen as a gateway or portal into a higher dimension. Quote: “The Ankh is known as the Crux Ansata. It’s a simple T-cross, surmounted by an oval — called the Ru. The Ru is often seen as a gateway or portal to another dimension, such as Heaven. The Ankh therefore becomes the symbol of transition from one place to another. It outlived Egyptian domination and was widely used by the Christians as the [Latin] Cross”. As well as being linked to the Ankh, the Saturn Polar Configuration can be linked to other symbols, such as the symbol of the All-Seeing-Eye. Probably the most recognizable Masonic symbol is the All-Seeing-Eye, included in the architecture of the Great Seal of the U.S. Dollar Bill. Fixed within a triangle, the disembodied eye is surrounded by rays of light and rests upon an unfinished pyramid. The All-Seeing-Eye finds its roots in ancient Egypt as the Eye of Horus (or Ra) and can be traced back to the Saturn Polar Configuration. During the alignment of Saturn, Venus, and Mars, in their different configurations, they formed a triangle and 8-pointed star. Quote from ‘The Saturn Myth’: “Saturn wears the band as a golden girdle, collar or crown. He dwells in it as the pupil of the All-Seeing-Eye”. To see this All-Seeing-Eye alignment explained see ‘Discourses on an Alien Sky#5’. The image below is loosely how this would have looked. In his (co-authored) book ‘The Ark of Millions of Years’, physicist Alexander Agnew, who has published thousands of technical papers, says: “The portal into Heaven is marked by the All-Seeing-Eye”. So, could this be what the Saturn Polar Configuration essentially is, then? Some portal or gateway into Heaven? THE SATURN POLAR CONFIGURATION FROM ‘DISCOURSES ON AN ALIEN SKY’ This is likely the inspiration for the All-Seeing-Eye on the U.S. Dollar Bill. https://preview.redd.it/uwxl1cipbv2b1.png?width=641&format=png&auto=webp&s=f8f880f2d3343a38e88b941370f234ff869c1023 Some have suggested that the symbols on the U.S. Dollar Bill were created by Freemasons. After all, some of the Founding Fathers were apparently Freemasons (such as George Washington and Benjamin Franklin) and the All-Seeing-Eye was ostensibly adopted by Freemasonry in 1797 and only 5 years later was adopted on the reverse-side of The Great Seal. Many believe that Freemasons are responsible for the eye-excruciatingly small image of the owl; a Masonic symbol for “knowledge”. So, what’s the goal of Freemasons, then? Assuming the All-Seeing-Eye on the U.S. Dollar Bill is a respresentation of the Saturn Polar Configuration, which Talbott has associated with the Tower of Babel, we then have a connection between Freemasons and the Tower of Babel. Indeed, some have suggested that the pyramid on the U.S. Dollar Bill is a representation of the Tower of Babel. According to researcher Jim Cornwell: “The pyramid on the Great Seal represents the unfinished Tower of Babel”. In his book ‘Antichrist Osiris: The History of the Luciferian Conspiracy’, Chris Relitz writes: “The unfinished [pyramid] seen on the American Dollar Bill may be a reference to the Tower of Babel”. According to Christopher Hodapp in his book ‘Freemason Symbols and Ceremonies For Dummies’: “Freemasonry’s legends claim that the group was descended from the great builders of the Old Testament — Noah’s Ark, the Tower of Babel, and King Solomon’s Temple”. Researcher Alexander Slade describes how Freemasons were possibly responsible for the Tower of Babel. Tentatively then, it would make sense if the goal of Freemasons was to recreate the Tower of Babel and reconnect Heaven with Earth. Below is an old Freemason Tracing Board showing the All-Seeing-Eye over a pillar, with the pillar likely representing the Cosmic Mountain: https://preview.redd.it/lf6u7dxwbv2b1.png?width=476&format=png&auto=webp&s=bfc01b8fd71b15fb116ec32fea46fbf6393fac64 The image below is a comparison between the Masonic Square and Compass (on the left) the Stargate logo (in the centre) and the Cosmic Mountain to Saturn and Venus (on the right) also called the “Saturn Polar Configuration”. The design of the Square and Compass corresponds to the configuration of Saturn, Venus, and the Cosmic Mountain, as seen in ‘Discourses on an Alien Sky’. In this interpretation, the circle at the apex of the Masonic Compass represents the Blazing Star and the triangular appearance of the Compass itself represents the Cosmic Mountain or pathway. https://preview.redd.it/f90wb6wzbv2b1.png?width=645&format=png&auto=webp&s=e26ff16f7d653d84831ce8f7e2af04a0c0d1077e The connection between Freemasonry and the Saturn Polar Configuration becomes more apparent when we compare the stained-glass painting above to the front cover of ‘The Saturn Myth’ book as shown here. |
2023.05.29 22:04 Klokinator The Cryopod to Hell 492: Glinch's Thralls
Author note: The Cryopod to Hell is a Reddit-exclusive story with over three years of editing and refining. As of this post, the total rewrite is 1,933,000+ words long! For more information, check out the link below:
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(Previous Part)
(Part 001)
...
On the world of Numaria, more than half a dozen Demon Emperors and twenty Demon Dukes march through the paradise-class planet's forests as they head toward Emperor Glinch's Stitched Wasteland.
Emperor Auger does not directly join the party. He stays back at the capital of his world, viewing the happenings remotely through the power of a subordinate.
But Yardrat does lead the party. He is joined by Emperors Fae, Dagon, and Nymph, as well as Duke Hamir and several other elites of their Hell. It becomes obvious to all the other demons present that the Fourth Hell of Punishment is truly the mightiest among all the others. Even mere Dukes can explode with the power of Emperors, should Auger choose to grant them that ability.
As for the First Hell of Damnation, its remaining members are truly a miserable sight. Bael has become the lone Emperor still loyal to his Hell, while Mephisto and Zamiel no longer care about the alliances of their species. Bael is joined by Vepar, formerly the Baron of Toxicity, now having evolved to the rank of Duke through the human-demon alliance efforts.
Vepar, while not an Emperor, is still an insidious existence. Like Mephisto, she can transform her body into formless clouds of poison gas. She can strike with venom and poison alike, paralyzing her foes or corroding their nervous systems with ease.
Also notably absent is Beelzebub, due to him forcibly becoming aligned to Jason Hiro. While Beelzebub might actually prove an incredible powerhouse if he were to continue fighting for the First Hell's benefits, the problem is that none can say whether his allegiances would make him privy to spilling secrets of this operation to the humans...
From the Second Hell of Lust, not a single Duke joins the party. This Hell has already thrown their lots in with humanity, so no members of the Mephisto Extermination Operation are eager to have their secrets blabbed. Defeating Mephisto could lead to a discovery about the potential for ascension past the rank of Emperor. No demon elite wants that information to fall into the hands of their enemies.
From the Third Hell of Blood, few elites remain. Many of them were slain by the Cherubiim, reducing their Dukes to only a sliver of the other Hells. The Emperor of Thirst, Kristoff, still walks the mortal coil. He is joined by two subordinates, Vespera, the Duke of Gloom, and Rhesus, the Duke of Predation. These are the elites he considers his Hell's most capable remaining powerhouses, and the ones most suited for the mission to bring about Mephisto's end.
From the Fifth Hell of Calamity, a large number of Dukes join two Emperors, Serena and Crow, as they trail along behind the other Hells.
Unbeknownst to anyone present, Emperor Yumagi is alive and well. The only demons who observed his return were those aligned with Mephisto. Not even Gorn is aware that Yumagi survived the Cherubiim's wrath, and Yumagi is strangely keen to keep his return quiet.
As for the Sixth Hell of Isolation, only Emperor Melody has chosen to come along. The other elites of her Hell simply aren't in the right headpsace to join her, following their fall to the Plague.
Yama's Hell, the Seventh Hell of Corruption, has fallen apart with its Emperor being absorbed by Mephisto. Now, its many darkness-aligned entities have scattered in search of a figure lost to time...
Yardrat, Fae, Dagon, Nymph, Bael, Kristoff, Serena, Crow, and Melody march on the Stitched Wasteland, along with twenty Dukes. A terrifying force in any previous era, but one that feels somewhat weak and vulnerable in the months following the return of the Cherubiim, as well as the two Wordsmiths, not even mentioning the enemy they might face should they fail to stop Mephisto's ascension.
Yardrat's glum expression does nothing to uplift the moods of the others around him. As he and the other Emperors run across Numaria's surface, weaving their ways through the dense forests and trees, Bael speaks up from the back.
"Hey, Yardy! Why are we runnin' like a bunch of chumps? Just pop us over to Glinch with those fancy portals of yours!"
Yardrat shoots a glance back at Bael without slowing down. "I can't. Glinch's minions have an uncanny ability to twist the space around themselves. I couldn't create stable portals once we're inside if my life depended on it. I've no doubt he bred them for the express purpose of keeping me from spying on him."
Fae jumps over a bunch of twisted prickle-vines, scratching her palm on their thorns. "Doesn't that mean if something goes wrong, you won't be able to yank us out of the Stitched Wasteland?"
"Trust me." Yardrat mumbles, sounding more than a little depressed. "You don't want to hear my answer."
"There is no need to concern yourselves with escaping." Crow says solemnly, deftly flying through the underbrush with her blue wings. "If Mephisto ascends, it won't matter where we flee. He will be capable of hunting us like deer."
Yardrat snorts. "Speak for yourselves. I enjoy running away if it means saving my life."
"Coward." Bael says. "A REAL man always fights to the end!"
"Aren't you in a woman's body now?" Yardrat shoots back. "You're one to talk."
"H-hey! Women can be real men too!" Bael protests. "Get with the times!"
Emperor Melody laughs. "You tell him, Bael! Preach it!"
Serena remains silent, merely rolling her sightless eyes at everyone else's childish barbs.
...
Five hours pass as the demons race through Numaria's forests.
Eventually, the trees begin to thin out, before abruptly disappearing altogether. As if erased by a nuclear bomb, the forest's cover vanishes to reveal a grey-colored lifeless plain lacking all traces of warmth and life.
The Stitched Wasteland.
As soon as the demon leaders reach the edge of the wasteland, they pause their flight to stop and look around.
"Glinch's domain is bigger than you might first believe," Yardrat explains, gesturing toward the horizon. "Offhand, I believe the last time we measured the Stitched Wasteland's diameter, it was nearly 500 miles. You can't even see the other side from here because it dips below the horizon. The good news is, we only have to travel halfway into the interior, where Glinch's central laboratory resides."
Dagon, the Emperor of Pathogens, kneels down to scratch at the ashen soil. He grimaces as it clings to his palm and starts to burn his flesh.
"Acidic." Dagon mumbles.
"Every time Glinch creates a new thrall, his domain expands." Serena explains. "His toxic miasma is invisible and odorless, but it destroys plant-life and lower animals with ease. It won't have any effect on elites like us, but it's best if you don't deliberately play with the soil he's corroded."
Dagon shakes the soil off his palm, grimacing as he has to clap his hands and rub them against his pants to stop the acid from burning him further. Luckily, one of the Dukes nearby has a weak healing ability, so they're ability to fix him back up.
"What a miserable shithole." Fae groans. "I do NOT get what Glinch enjoys about living here! I'd go crazy from boredom after a week!"
Bael laughs. "No kidding, toots. Why do you think Glinch is such a wacko? He already went crazy!"
"Oh. Fair point." Fae mutters.
The Emperors and Dukes start moving toward the center of the wasteland, following Yardrat's lead. They do not run, but move at a brisk walk, keeping their eyes peeled for threats. Ten miles in the distance, they spot a pair of strange aberrant creatures standing perfectly still, looking at one another with hollow eyes, but they can't make out the details of those figures at their current distance.
"Bael, watch out!" Serena suddenly shouts, startling everyone.
Every demon elite's head snaps toward Bael's general direction just in time to see an invisible creature materializing, its massive body poised with a giant claw up in the air, ready to slash down at Bael.
The monster's huge torso and comparatively tiny head and skinny legs contrast with its wretchedly massive arms, its mottled and rotted skin, and its beady green venomous eyes.
The instant it snaps its claws down to assassinate Bael, the dumb galump accidentally trips on a rock, stumbling and avoiding the monster's attack! Bael falls face-first in the soil and the creature's downward slash swishes across his back, barely missing him by a millimeter!
"Lucky!" Yardrat exclaims, his pupils the size of pinpricks.
Crow roars in rage. She leaps toward the monster, the strange deformed horror with proportions far different from any naturally born creature in existence, and she swings her fist at its chest!
THUMP!
Crow knocks the creature down, sending it skidding backward across the dirt to lay in a heap.
But Crow doesn't celebrate. To her shock, she didn't even manage to bruise the monster, only knock it on its ass! The frighteningly durable monster silently stands up, and its body rapidly fades away as it becomes invisible.
Not once does the creature make a sound.
"Everyone watch out!" Crow shouts. "This bastard is strong! I don't even know if I hurt it!"
The heart of every demon elite skips a beat as they try to look for any signs of the monster. Only Serena, with her Soul Sensing capabilities, manages to trace its vague movement.
"Over there!" Serena says, pointing in front of Yardrat.
The monster once again becomes visible as it tries to slash Yardrat in half, but he isn't caught off-guard and leaps backward, safely avoiding it just in the nick of time.
"TEAR!" Yardrat yells, gnashing his teeth.
The Emperor of the Void tears the air in front of himself, unable to properly create a portal, but still able to momentarily rip a crack in space straight across the monster's torso.
A shallow cut on its chest is his only reward.
"Lucifer's Tits!" Bael exclaims, climbing to his feet. "This thing is as tough as demonstone!"
Melody fires off sonic blasts at the monster, punching with her fists to try and blow out its eardrums, but her attacks have no effect.
The monster continues charging at Yardrat to try and cut him to pieces. As it does, Crow once again steps up to protect Yardrat, deflecting its rending claws with her steel-like feathers while dishing out punishment with her fists. Crow is without a doubt the most physically imposting member of the party, possessing more strength than any demon in existence except for Belial.
But even she can't manage to do more than knock the monster back!
The other Emperors quickly start pitching in. Dagon summons corrosive chemicals to try and melt the monster's thick hide. Nymph summons vines from beneath its feet to wrap its legs and keep it immobile. Kristoff summons bloodied blades to cut the monster from behind, slashing its back with swords made from his own plasma. Fae fires explosive projectiles with a low yield at the monster, taking care not to accidentally hurt her allies. Melody sends sonic shockwaves into the ground, trying to soften the soil to trap the monster in quicksand.
But the monster proves more frightening than any of the Emperors imagined!
Bael and Serena can't provide much assistance to the others. They watch helplessly as Nymph's vines corrode to ash, melted by the Stitched Wasteland's ability to destroy plant-life. Fae's explosions barely even knock the monster back. Dagon might as well be shooting the monster with a squirt-gun for all the use his chemicals have. Melody can't seem to accomplish anything either!
"Shit." Bael growls. "I gotta help them."
"You don't have any magic." Serena says.
"No. But I got this." Bael says, reaching down to touch his weirdly fancy belt.
When Bael activates the Matriarch's Armor, it begins popping out of his waist and engulfing him from head to toe in lethal-looking demonstone armor. His plated chest and spiked shoulders turn Bael from a dopey looking version of Ose into a commanding and fearful warrior clad in demonic armor, making Serena gasp in surprise.
"Bael?" Serena asks, unable to see the armor, but sensing that his soul has suddenly become difficult to detect due to something shrouding his entire body. "What did you do?"
"Ose gave me some armor." Bael explains. "It ain't mine. But we'll talk 'bout it later. I gotta help the others!"
Bael doesn't hesitate. He rushes toward the monster, joining Crow as a frontline tank to try and draw the creature's attention.
Crow barely even registers Bael's new appearance, shoving any concerns about the demonstone-clad warrior to the back of her mind. All she feels is relief when the monster's brutal strikes slow down as it starts slashing at Bael as well.
THUNK! THUNK!!
The brutish monster silently whales on the others. For ten minutes, Bael and Crow take the beatings of their lives while Yardrat slowly tears its skin and cuts its bones with targeted spatial distortions. He alone manages to injure the creature the most heavily, while the other Dukes and Emperors can barely offer much assistance.
Bael grimaces as the creature grabs him by his helmet, lifts him up, and throws him like a ragdoll. Bael cries out in alarm as he goes flying and lands in the dirt, two hundred feet behind the brute.
"Spawn of a- you piece of trash! Nobody throws Bael!"
He jumps to his feet and starts to run back toward the monster, only to pause when he senses movement.
Bael quickly turns around. He nearly jumps out of his skin when he sees what he can only mentally describe as seventeen snakes with baby-heads crawling along the ground toward him. The snakes have a single conjoined core body that ties them all together, but it appears as flat as a pancake. Like some sort of Hydra consisting of stitched-together body parts, this multi-headed monster uses its childish faces to drag itself toward Bael at a speed most distressing, causing his butthole to pucker up.
"Eee! Gross!" Bael cries. "What in the hellhound's anus is that?!
Like the previous monster, this 'Snakedra' freak doesn't cry out or make any noises. It silently slithers toward Bael while one of its heads remains elevated to gaze directly at him.
Not wanting his friends to be overwhelmed, Bael decides to try and take the monster on by himself. His eyes fill with determination, and he conjures Mjölnir in his grasp, summoning it from his belt.
"Bad snake!" Bael barks, lunging at the monster to smash one of its heads.
SPLAT!!
Bael crushes the first head with ease!
But as he raises the hammer to strike again, the monster pounces at him! Its sixteen remaining heads bite his armor and wrap around his arms and legs, smothering him and causing him to fall backward.
"Crap, crap!" Bael yells. "Uh, don't worry guys, I've got this! Just keep killing the big one! I've got this cunt right where I want him! YEEOUCH!"
The Snakedra squeezes with all its strength, trying to burst Bael's body like a watermelon. Luckily, the demonstone only creaks a bit and doesn't fold inward, allowing Bael to survive, albeit not to do much else.
Serena, seeing that the others are too occupied to help, decides to try and assist Bael in some way. Since her abilities aren't much use against the first monster unless it turns invisible, she turns her gaze toward the Snakedra.
Emperor Serena maintains a good distance between herself and the Snakedra. She closes her eyes, focuses her mind, then shapes her right hand into a claw pose, snapping it in the Snakedra's direction.
An invisible beam of soul energy travels the gaps between dimensions, drilling into one of the Snakedra's heads. Serena focuses with all her might, attempting to try and locate the monster's soul so she can manipulate or influence it.
Unfortunately, she finds that while the creature does have a soul, it has become a mish-mash of fifty other souls, all witlessly stitched together to create an aberrant, thoughtless machine for killing.
Pain. Pain. Pain. The Snakedra thinks. Pain. Pain. Pain.
Serena grimaces. Her eyes squeeze shut even tighter as she tunes out Bael's exclamations of how 'totally okay and fine' he is. She digs deeper into the Snakedra's psyche, eventually extracting a thread of its existence for her own benefit.
Serena's eyes finally open.
While most entities possess eyes that can 'see' the physical realm, even as an imp, Serena was blind from birth. She was never able to see the world around her, but all of that changed when she met her husband, Gorn.
He and her were only Imps at the time. They became Lords together, and upon her ascension, she gained a new type of vision utterly unique to herself.
The power to see the soul realm.
While usually incapable of influencing the material realm, the soul realm is the domain Serena has become most adept at influencing over the millennia. As an Emperor, her power has become quite substantial in this regard.
Serena tears a fragment of soul energy out of the monster. It doesn't even shudder, but she doesn't care.
With her soul-seeing eyes, Serena deftly manipulates the thread of soul energy, using her fingers to hastily but efficiently craft a Soul Puppet, something not unlike a voodoo doll.
After forming a Soul Puppet in the form of the Snakedra, Serena grabs it out of the air and begins wrenching its heads around, stabbing at its body with her fingernails, and otherwise torturing the false image as much as possible.
Not once does the Snakedra cry out in pain, but its body does twitch and spasm. It writhes and squirms, continuing to hold Bael steady, but sometimes weakening its grip as it loses control of different parts of its body at random.
Meanwhile, Bael occasionally feels the wretched monster weaken its grip on him. Bael might not be the brightest bulb in the box, but as an accomplished veteran of countless wars, he is well-versed in the art of combat.
Bael isn't certain why the creature has started to spasm, but he won't turn down any good opportunity that arises.
He calls forth the power of Mjölnir, summoning lightning from above to strike the hammer. The moment before the lightning falls upon him, the creature suddenly loosens its grip, allowing Bael to swing the hammer at its central body.
BOOOM!!
A terrific blast of thunder and lightning detonates on the Snakedra, making it recoil in agony, release Bael, and pull away from him.
Abruptly dropped on his ass, Bael jumps backward, leaps to his feet, and lifts his hammer high.
"Nobody gives me a squeeze without my OK, bub!"
Bael charges at the monster. He starts smashing its heads one by one, crushing them to bloody pulps while the creature uselessly writhes on the ground, taking the abuse without retaliating.
Five minutes later, Bael slays the bastard, putting it to death for the rest of eternity.
Tired and winded, Bael gasps for air. Never has he had a fight that left him out of breath, but even with the Matriarch's Armor, Ose's body is far weaker than Bael's ever was. He severely regrets losing his invincibility.
Bael turns around and spots Serena.
"Oh! Hey, whew! I just got done kicking that monster's ass!" Bael says. "Good thing I'm such a badass, I must have intimidated it into lettin' me go, heh."
Serena opens her mouth to correct him, but thinks better.
"Right. Excellent work, Bael. You're as capable a fighter as ever."
Bael grins inside his helmet. "Heh, damn right. Now, lemme help the others finish that fat ugly one off."
Bael charges into battle, this time equipped with Mjolnir. He transforms the hammer into his favorite weapon, Big Bonk, and swings the ten ton steel ball at the brutish monster's back.
BOOM!!!
Bael flattens the creature, burying it face-first in the dirt and giving Crow an opportunity to deliver a full-power punch to the back of its head.
SPLAT!
Her fist connects, and she crushes the monster's skull, spraying its brains out all over her feet.
Crow pants like a dog on a hot summer's day. Sweat pools on Yardrat's head from the amount of focus he had to exert to kill this first monster. Even Fae and the others look a little tired.
With the crisis momentarily averted, the demon elites look around, finally noticing Bael's new getup, as well as Big Bonk pressing against the brute's back.
"Bael?" Fae asks. "Hot damn, that's a sweet set of armor!"
"You really saved our asses!" Melody adds.
Crow glances toward the other dead monster. "You killed that one? By yourself?"
Bael thumps his chest. "Couldn't have done it without Ose's fancy-shmancy armor. The ugly bugger got so scared, it just laid there and let me beat it to death! Heh!"
"It just laid there?" Crow asks, glancing around. She notices Serena, then pieces the events together. "Oh, I see. Well, god job beating it by yourself, Bael. You still know how to kick tail."
"Damn right!" Bael proclaims, smiling from ear to ear.
One by one, the other demon elites figure out Bael didn't exactly defeat the monster all by himself, but seeing as how he's been so down ever since losing his powers, they don't want to hurt his feelings.
"We've only fought two creatures so far, but they were both terrifying." Yardrat points out. "If we have to face two or even three at the same time, we might die! Everyone, proceed slowly. Do NOT rush in. We need to pick Glinch's thralls off one by one."
The other demons nod.
"Right!"
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...................................
(Previous Part)
(Part 001)
...
On the world of Numaria, more than half a dozen Demon Emperors and twenty Demon Dukes march through the paradise-class planet's forests as they head toward Emperor Glinch's Stitched Wasteland.
Emperor Auger does not directly join the party. He stays back at the capital of his world, viewing the happenings remotely through the power of a subordinate.
But Yardrat does lead the party. He is joined by Emperors Fae, Dagon, and Nymph, as well as Duke Hamir and several other elites of their Hell. It becomes obvious to all the other demons present that the Fourth Hell of Punishment is truly the mightiest among all the others. Even mere Dukes can explode with the power of Emperors, should Auger choose to grant them that ability.
As for the First Hell of Damnation, its remaining members are truly a miserable sight. Bael has become the lone Emperor still loyal to his Hell, while Mephisto and Zamiel no longer care about the alliances of their species. Bael is joined by Vepar, formerly the Baron of Toxicity, now having evolved to the rank of Duke through the human-demon alliance efforts.
Vepar, while not an Emperor, is still an insidious existence. Like Mephisto, she can transform her body into formless clouds of poison gas. She can strike with venom and poison alike, paralyzing her foes or corroding their nervous systems with ease.
Also notably absent is Beelzebub, due to him forcibly becoming aligned to Jason Hiro. While Beelzebub might actually prove an incredible powerhouse if he were to continue fighting for the First Hell's benefits, the problem is that none can say whether his allegiances would make him privy to spilling secrets of this operation to the humans...
From the Second Hell of Lust, not a single Duke joins the party. This Hell has already thrown their lots in with humanity, so no members of the Mephisto Extermination Operation are eager to have their secrets blabbed. Defeating Mephisto could lead to a discovery about the potential for ascension past the rank of Emperor. No demon elite wants that information to fall into the hands of their enemies.
From the Third Hell of Blood, few elites remain. Many of them were slain by the Cherubiim, reducing their Dukes to only a sliver of the other Hells. The Emperor of Thirst, Kristoff, still walks the mortal coil. He is joined by two subordinates, Vespera, the Duke of Gloom, and Rhesus, the Duke of Predation. These are the elites he considers his Hell's most capable remaining powerhouses, and the ones most suited for the mission to bring about Mephisto's end.
From the Fifth Hell of Calamity, a large number of Dukes join two Emperors, Serena and Crow, as they trail along behind the other Hells.
Unbeknownst to anyone present, Emperor Yumagi is alive and well. The only demons who observed his return were those aligned with Mephisto. Not even Gorn is aware that Yumagi survived the Cherubiim's wrath, and Yumagi is strangely keen to keep his return quiet.
As for the Sixth Hell of Isolation, only Emperor Melody has chosen to come along. The other elites of her Hell simply aren't in the right headpsace to join her, following their fall to the Plague.
Yama's Hell, the Seventh Hell of Corruption, has fallen apart with its Emperor being absorbed by Mephisto. Now, its many darkness-aligned entities have scattered in search of a figure lost to time...
Yardrat, Fae, Dagon, Nymph, Bael, Kristoff, Serena, Crow, and Melody march on the Stitched Wasteland, along with twenty Dukes. A terrifying force in any previous era, but one that feels somewhat weak and vulnerable in the months following the return of the Cherubiim, as well as the two Wordsmiths, not even mentioning the enemy they might face should they fail to stop Mephisto's ascension.
Yardrat's glum expression does nothing to uplift the moods of the others around him. As he and the other Emperors run across Numaria's surface, weaving their ways through the dense forests and trees, Bael speaks up from the back.
"Hey, Yardy! Why are we runnin' like a bunch of chumps? Just pop us over to Glinch with those fancy portals of yours!"
Yardrat shoots a glance back at Bael without slowing down. "I can't. Glinch's minions have an uncanny ability to twist the space around themselves. I couldn't create stable portals once we're inside if my life depended on it. I've no doubt he bred them for the express purpose of keeping me from spying on him."
Fae jumps over a bunch of twisted prickle-vines, scratching her palm on their thorns. "Doesn't that mean if something goes wrong, you won't be able to yank us out of the Stitched Wasteland?"
"Trust me." Yardrat mumbles, sounding more than a little depressed. "You don't want to hear my answer."
"There is no need to concern yourselves with escaping." Crow says solemnly, deftly flying through the underbrush with her blue wings. "If Mephisto ascends, it won't matter where we flee. He will be capable of hunting us like deer."
Yardrat snorts. "Speak for yourselves. I enjoy running away if it means saving my life."
"Coward." Bael says. "A REAL man always fights to the end!"
"Aren't you in a woman's body now?" Yardrat shoots back. "You're one to talk."
"H-hey! Women can be real men too!" Bael protests. "Get with the times!"
Emperor Melody laughs. "You tell him, Bael! Preach it!"
Serena remains silent, merely rolling her sightless eyes at everyone else's childish barbs.
...
Five hours pass as the demons race through Numaria's forests.
Eventually, the trees begin to thin out, before abruptly disappearing altogether. As if erased by a nuclear bomb, the forest's cover vanishes to reveal a grey-colored lifeless plain lacking all traces of warmth and life.
The Stitched Wasteland.
As soon as the demon leaders reach the edge of the wasteland, they pause their flight to stop and look around.
"Glinch's domain is bigger than you might first believe," Yardrat explains, gesturing toward the horizon. "Offhand, I believe the last time we measured the Stitched Wasteland's diameter, it was nearly 500 miles. You can't even see the other side from here because it dips below the horizon. The good news is, we only have to travel halfway into the interior, where Glinch's central laboratory resides."
Dagon, the Emperor of Pathogens, kneels down to scratch at the ashen soil. He grimaces as it clings to his palm and starts to burn his flesh.
"Acidic." Dagon mumbles.
"Every time Glinch creates a new thrall, his domain expands." Serena explains. "His toxic miasma is invisible and odorless, but it destroys plant-life and lower animals with ease. It won't have any effect on elites like us, but it's best if you don't deliberately play with the soil he's corroded."
Dagon shakes the soil off his palm, grimacing as he has to clap his hands and rub them against his pants to stop the acid from burning him further. Luckily, one of the Dukes nearby has a weak healing ability, so they're ability to fix him back up.
"What a miserable shithole." Fae groans. "I do NOT get what Glinch enjoys about living here! I'd go crazy from boredom after a week!"
Bael laughs. "No kidding, toots. Why do you think Glinch is such a wacko? He already went crazy!"
"Oh. Fair point." Fae mutters.
The Emperors and Dukes start moving toward the center of the wasteland, following Yardrat's lead. They do not run, but move at a brisk walk, keeping their eyes peeled for threats. Ten miles in the distance, they spot a pair of strange aberrant creatures standing perfectly still, looking at one another with hollow eyes, but they can't make out the details of those figures at their current distance.
"Bael, watch out!" Serena suddenly shouts, startling everyone.
Every demon elite's head snaps toward Bael's general direction just in time to see an invisible creature materializing, its massive body poised with a giant claw up in the air, ready to slash down at Bael.
The monster's huge torso and comparatively tiny head and skinny legs contrast with its wretchedly massive arms, its mottled and rotted skin, and its beady green venomous eyes.
The instant it snaps its claws down to assassinate Bael, the dumb galump accidentally trips on a rock, stumbling and avoiding the monster's attack! Bael falls face-first in the soil and the creature's downward slash swishes across his back, barely missing him by a millimeter!
"Lucky!" Yardrat exclaims, his pupils the size of pinpricks.
Crow roars in rage. She leaps toward the monster, the strange deformed horror with proportions far different from any naturally born creature in existence, and she swings her fist at its chest!
THUMP!
Crow knocks the creature down, sending it skidding backward across the dirt to lay in a heap.
But Crow doesn't celebrate. To her shock, she didn't even manage to bruise the monster, only knock it on its ass! The frighteningly durable monster silently stands up, and its body rapidly fades away as it becomes invisible.
Not once does the creature make a sound.
"Everyone watch out!" Crow shouts. "This bastard is strong! I don't even know if I hurt it!"
The heart of every demon elite skips a beat as they try to look for any signs of the monster. Only Serena, with her Soul Sensing capabilities, manages to trace its vague movement.
"Over there!" Serena says, pointing in front of Yardrat.
The monster once again becomes visible as it tries to slash Yardrat in half, but he isn't caught off-guard and leaps backward, safely avoiding it just in the nick of time.
"TEAR!" Yardrat yells, gnashing his teeth.
The Emperor of the Void tears the air in front of himself, unable to properly create a portal, but still able to momentarily rip a crack in space straight across the monster's torso.
A shallow cut on its chest is his only reward.
"Lucifer's Tits!" Bael exclaims, climbing to his feet. "This thing is as tough as demonstone!"
Melody fires off sonic blasts at the monster, punching with her fists to try and blow out its eardrums, but her attacks have no effect.
The monster continues charging at Yardrat to try and cut him to pieces. As it does, Crow once again steps up to protect Yardrat, deflecting its rending claws with her steel-like feathers while dishing out punishment with her fists. Crow is without a doubt the most physically imposting member of the party, possessing more strength than any demon in existence except for Belial.
But even she can't manage to do more than knock the monster back!
The other Emperors quickly start pitching in. Dagon summons corrosive chemicals to try and melt the monster's thick hide. Nymph summons vines from beneath its feet to wrap its legs and keep it immobile. Kristoff summons bloodied blades to cut the monster from behind, slashing its back with swords made from his own plasma. Fae fires explosive projectiles with a low yield at the monster, taking care not to accidentally hurt her allies. Melody sends sonic shockwaves into the ground, trying to soften the soil to trap the monster in quicksand.
But the monster proves more frightening than any of the Emperors imagined!
Bael and Serena can't provide much assistance to the others. They watch helplessly as Nymph's vines corrode to ash, melted by the Stitched Wasteland's ability to destroy plant-life. Fae's explosions barely even knock the monster back. Dagon might as well be shooting the monster with a squirt-gun for all the use his chemicals have. Melody can't seem to accomplish anything either!
"Shit." Bael growls. "I gotta help them."
"You don't have any magic." Serena says.
"No. But I got this." Bael says, reaching down to touch his weirdly fancy belt.
When Bael activates the Matriarch's Armor, it begins popping out of his waist and engulfing him from head to toe in lethal-looking demonstone armor. His plated chest and spiked shoulders turn Bael from a dopey looking version of Ose into a commanding and fearful warrior clad in demonic armor, making Serena gasp in surprise.
"Bael?" Serena asks, unable to see the armor, but sensing that his soul has suddenly become difficult to detect due to something shrouding his entire body. "What did you do?"
"Ose gave me some armor." Bael explains. "It ain't mine. But we'll talk 'bout it later. I gotta help the others!"
Bael doesn't hesitate. He rushes toward the monster, joining Crow as a frontline tank to try and draw the creature's attention.
Crow barely even registers Bael's new appearance, shoving any concerns about the demonstone-clad warrior to the back of her mind. All she feels is relief when the monster's brutal strikes slow down as it starts slashing at Bael as well.
THUNK! THUNK!!
The brutish monster silently whales on the others. For ten minutes, Bael and Crow take the beatings of their lives while Yardrat slowly tears its skin and cuts its bones with targeted spatial distortions. He alone manages to injure the creature the most heavily, while the other Dukes and Emperors can barely offer much assistance.
Bael grimaces as the creature grabs him by his helmet, lifts him up, and throws him like a ragdoll. Bael cries out in alarm as he goes flying and lands in the dirt, two hundred feet behind the brute.
"Spawn of a- you piece of trash! Nobody throws Bael!"
He jumps to his feet and starts to run back toward the monster, only to pause when he senses movement.
Bael quickly turns around. He nearly jumps out of his skin when he sees what he can only mentally describe as seventeen snakes with baby-heads crawling along the ground toward him. The snakes have a single conjoined core body that ties them all together, but it appears as flat as a pancake. Like some sort of Hydra consisting of stitched-together body parts, this multi-headed monster uses its childish faces to drag itself toward Bael at a speed most distressing, causing his butthole to pucker up.
"Eee! Gross!" Bael cries. "What in the hellhound's anus is that?!
Like the previous monster, this 'Snakedra' freak doesn't cry out or make any noises. It silently slithers toward Bael while one of its heads remains elevated to gaze directly at him.
Not wanting his friends to be overwhelmed, Bael decides to try and take the monster on by himself. His eyes fill with determination, and he conjures Mjölnir in his grasp, summoning it from his belt.
"Bad snake!" Bael barks, lunging at the monster to smash one of its heads.
SPLAT!!
Bael crushes the first head with ease!
But as he raises the hammer to strike again, the monster pounces at him! Its sixteen remaining heads bite his armor and wrap around his arms and legs, smothering him and causing him to fall backward.
"Crap, crap!" Bael yells. "Uh, don't worry guys, I've got this! Just keep killing the big one! I've got this cunt right where I want him! YEEOUCH!"
The Snakedra squeezes with all its strength, trying to burst Bael's body like a watermelon. Luckily, the demonstone only creaks a bit and doesn't fold inward, allowing Bael to survive, albeit not to do much else.
Serena, seeing that the others are too occupied to help, decides to try and assist Bael in some way. Since her abilities aren't much use against the first monster unless it turns invisible, she turns her gaze toward the Snakedra.
Emperor Serena maintains a good distance between herself and the Snakedra. She closes her eyes, focuses her mind, then shapes her right hand into a claw pose, snapping it in the Snakedra's direction.
An invisible beam of soul energy travels the gaps between dimensions, drilling into one of the Snakedra's heads. Serena focuses with all her might, attempting to try and locate the monster's soul so she can manipulate or influence it.
Unfortunately, she finds that while the creature does have a soul, it has become a mish-mash of fifty other souls, all witlessly stitched together to create an aberrant, thoughtless machine for killing.
Pain. Pain. Pain. The Snakedra thinks. Pain. Pain. Pain.
Serena grimaces. Her eyes squeeze shut even tighter as she tunes out Bael's exclamations of how 'totally okay and fine' he is. She digs deeper into the Snakedra's psyche, eventually extracting a thread of its existence for her own benefit.
Serena's eyes finally open.
While most entities possess eyes that can 'see' the physical realm, even as an imp, Serena was blind from birth. She was never able to see the world around her, but all of that changed when she met her husband, Gorn.
He and her were only Imps at the time. They became Lords together, and upon her ascension, she gained a new type of vision utterly unique to herself.
The power to see the soul realm.
While usually incapable of influencing the material realm, the soul realm is the domain Serena has become most adept at influencing over the millennia. As an Emperor, her power has become quite substantial in this regard.
Serena tears a fragment of soul energy out of the monster. It doesn't even shudder, but she doesn't care.
With her soul-seeing eyes, Serena deftly manipulates the thread of soul energy, using her fingers to hastily but efficiently craft a Soul Puppet, something not unlike a voodoo doll.
After forming a Soul Puppet in the form of the Snakedra, Serena grabs it out of the air and begins wrenching its heads around, stabbing at its body with her fingernails, and otherwise torturing the false image as much as possible.
Not once does the Snakedra cry out in pain, but its body does twitch and spasm. It writhes and squirms, continuing to hold Bael steady, but sometimes weakening its grip as it loses control of different parts of its body at random.
Meanwhile, Bael occasionally feels the wretched monster weaken its grip on him. Bael might not be the brightest bulb in the box, but as an accomplished veteran of countless wars, he is well-versed in the art of combat.
Bael isn't certain why the creature has started to spasm, but he won't turn down any good opportunity that arises.
He calls forth the power of Mjölnir, summoning lightning from above to strike the hammer. The moment before the lightning falls upon him, the creature suddenly loosens its grip, allowing Bael to swing the hammer at its central body.
BOOOM!!
A terrific blast of thunder and lightning detonates on the Snakedra, making it recoil in agony, release Bael, and pull away from him.
Abruptly dropped on his ass, Bael jumps backward, leaps to his feet, and lifts his hammer high.
"Nobody gives me a squeeze without my OK, bub!"
Bael charges at the monster. He starts smashing its heads one by one, crushing them to bloody pulps while the creature uselessly writhes on the ground, taking the abuse without retaliating.
Five minutes later, Bael slays the bastard, putting it to death for the rest of eternity.
Tired and winded, Bael gasps for air. Never has he had a fight that left him out of breath, but even with the Matriarch's Armor, Ose's body is far weaker than Bael's ever was. He severely regrets losing his invincibility.
Bael turns around and spots Serena.
"Oh! Hey, whew! I just got done kicking that monster's ass!" Bael says. "Good thing I'm such a badass, I must have intimidated it into lettin' me go, heh."
Serena opens her mouth to correct him, but thinks better.
"Right. Excellent work, Bael. You're as capable a fighter as ever."
Bael grins inside his helmet. "Heh, damn right. Now, lemme help the others finish that fat ugly one off."
Bael charges into battle, this time equipped with Mjolnir. He transforms the hammer into his favorite weapon, Big Bonk, and swings the ten ton steel ball at the brutish monster's back.
BOOM!!!
Bael flattens the creature, burying it face-first in the dirt and giving Crow an opportunity to deliver a full-power punch to the back of its head.
SPLAT!
Her fist connects, and she crushes the monster's skull, spraying its brains out all over her feet.
Crow pants like a dog on a hot summer's day. Sweat pools on Yardrat's head from the amount of focus he had to exert to kill this first monster. Even Fae and the others look a little tired.
With the crisis momentarily averted, the demon elites look around, finally noticing Bael's new getup, as well as Big Bonk pressing against the brute's back.
"Bael?" Fae asks. "Hot damn, that's a sweet set of armor!"
"You really saved our asses!" Melody adds.
Crow glances toward the other dead monster. "You killed that one? By yourself?"
Bael thumps his chest. "Couldn't have done it without Ose's fancy-shmancy armor. The ugly bugger got so scared, it just laid there and let me beat it to death! Heh!"
"It just laid there?" Crow asks, glancing around. She notices Serena, then pieces the events together. "Oh, I see. Well, god job beating it by yourself, Bael. You still know how to kick tail."
"Damn right!" Bael proclaims, smiling from ear to ear.
One by one, the other demon elites figure out Bael didn't exactly defeat the monster all by himself, but seeing as how he's been so down ever since losing his powers, they don't want to hurt his feelings.
"We've only fought two creatures so far, but they were both terrifying." Yardrat points out. "If we have to face two or even three at the same time, we might die! Everyone, proceed slowly. Do NOT rush in. We need to pick Glinch's thralls off one by one."
The other demons nod.
"Right!"