I’m 25 and was prescribed Lexapro at 17 because I had debilitating panic attacks, anxiety, OCD and depression. I want to be as open and honest as I can be about my experience. I started out on a low dose and slowly went up to 20mg over the years, but the first day I took it (which was probably 5mg or so), I couldn’t sleep at all that night. It almost felt like I was on Adderall. My sleep started to improve after a few days, and after a few weeks I noticed my anxiety becoming more manageable. I have still dealt with my anxiety while being on it, but it has never started to spiral into a panic attack like before. I must say though, nothing has been able to ease my extreme OCD, not even this drug, not to say it may help others. Lexapro improved the quality of my life, but recently I made the decision I wanted to come off of it completely. I started tapering down, first I cut my pills in half, and went down to 10mg with no problem. I didn’t feel any different. The problem came when I tried tapering down to just 5mg. Even though I waited a few months before tapering again (as suggested by my psychiatrist), a few weeks after cutting down to 5mg from 10mg, I noticed a lot of weird side effects. Vertigo, confusion, an overall sense of dread, and EXTREME panic attacks, when I say extreme, it doesn’t even do it justice, a few times I was convinced I was dying. I couldn’t bear it. I went back up to 10mg and after 2 weeks I am feeling normal again. I truly believe it can be ever harder coming off of ssris if you have not previously learned some coping skills for your mental health. I’ve been on a lot of different ssris and antipsychotics ever since I was 12, and I will say this, Lexapro was a god send when I truly needed it. Compared to every other drug I have tried, Lexapro worked the best and I felt like myself again. However, it has been a difficult journey trying to come off of it. It may be contributed to how long I’ve been on it as well. I do wish before I started any ssris that I had been in therapy more, exorcised more, ate healthy, used my support system in times of turmoil. But when I remember my 17 year old self, I was almost close to suicide. I am grateful for Lexapro, but I am now ready to face my demons and try to work with them, not against them.

Hi,
Today marks 4 months clean from Clonazepam, after tapering down from 2mg over the space of about 3 months and being on them for about 5 years (I think).
While I feel good in myself for having accomplished this, I still feel functionally dreadful. The nasty acute withdrawal period has passed, but I am still having bouts of intense anxiety, especially in the mornings, right after first waking up. This always accompanied by fatigue and malaise. I also have very intense cravings for benzos, but I have an agreement with my doctor not to prescribe me any.
I find myself with such dismal energy levels the only way I can face the day it to drink stupid amounts of caffeinated beverages. While this leaves me alert it leaves me dehydrated and trembling and with headaches by days end. Then to calm down I drink alcohol, and then this messes with my sleep.
I know this sounds stupid and it seems like a self-inflicted vicious cycle, but I'm seriously thinking of going back on the benzos, just to regain some stability.
Is anyone experiencing the same sort of thing? If so, did you find anything to help??

Race Information

• Name: Great Ocean Road Running Festival - Half Marathon
• Date: May 21, 2023
• Distance: 21km / 23km
• Location: Apollo Bay, Australia
• Website: https://greatoceanroadrunfest.com.au/
• Time: 2:53 (21.1km) / 3:09(23km)

Goals

Goal	Description	Completed?
A	Finish?	Yes
B	Sub 3h	Yes

Splits

Mile	Time
1	I am a moron. Didnt even know this was a thing.

Training

A group of friends take part in the Great Ocean Road running festival each year. A few opted for the 6km or 14 but most chose the 23km. As a spry 31-year-old, I was brimming with an audacious belief in my own invincibility, a sentiment fueled by an intoxicating cocktail of youthful arrogance and a naively optimistic faith in my dormant athletic abilities. Flashback to that one glorious day I decided to sign up for a half marathon without having ever subjected myself to any form of formal training. Oh, the folly of it all! The idea seemed as bright as a neon sign in a dingy dive bar, lighting up my brain with the thought that surely, the regular trek between my couch and fridge would have prepped me sufficiently for the 21.1 kilometers of asphalt that lay ahead. Little did I know, I was about to embark on a punishing odyssey of sweat, tears, and perplexing questions about why all these people had camel-like humps on their backs.
Reality, that formidable party crasher, finally made its grand entrance two weeks before the event. It dawned on me that perhaps the herculean task of conquering a half marathon required a bit more preparation than a daily sojourn around my workplace. So, laced up and full of fiery resolve, I set out on my maiden voyage - my first run in nine years. There I was, huffing and puffing through a modest 3km, my lungs shrieking out in protest, and my mind coming to the frightening realisation of the task that lay ahead. With the tenacity of a stubborn mule, I persevered, collecting a grand total of 27 kilometers over a grueling fortnight. It wasn't the recommended half marathon training plan by any means, and the gap between my actual preparation and the upcoming event yawned wider than the Grand Canyon. But, true to my initial hubris, I was undeterred, believing that sheer willpower and my incredible talent of cramming at the eleventh hour would somehow translate to running prowess. It was a leap of faith that would have made Evel Knievel wince.
My final run, a modest but ambitious 6.5km, commenced with a spring in my step but ended with a mysterious sensation in my hip flexors that could only be described as a warning from my body. It was as if my muscles were murmuring in some cryptic biological Morse code, "Buddy, we didn't sign up for this." Over the following days, the cryptic murmurs evolved into a persistent nagging ache, like a petulant toddler pulling at my pant leg, making each step feel like I was wading through a quagmire of discomfort. My running aspirations were suddenly replaced with a simpler, more primitive goal - walking without grimacing. It became apparent that even a jovial trot to catch the bus was a mission impossible soundtrack away from a full-blown hip rebellion. Thus, the cruel joke was on me: instead of a rigorous last-minute training regime, I found myself in an unintended taper, hobbling around and fervently hoping that rest, ice, and sheer denial would heal me in time for the impending race. The irony was thicker than a bowl of oatmeal, and significantly less appetizing.
Despite my misadventures, I was nothing if not relentless. Waving the white flag just wasn't my style. The prospect of backing down felt akin to conceding defeat, and so, like a cowboy stubbornly mounting a bucking bronco, I decided to ride out the storm. At the unholy hour of 3:30am, I stirred from my uneasy sleep, my resolve as ironclad as my hip flexors were questionable. Driving to meet my friends, I was greeted by the inky black pre-dawn and a collection of unspoken questions, "Was I a fool for pressing on? Did I have what it took?" Yet the quiet camaraderie and the electric anticipation in the air quelled my doubts. There, amongst the quietly crashing waves on the rock face, decked out in my running gear that felt more like a warrior's armour at this point, I was ready. Ready to face the daunting half marathon, ready to test the limits of my resilience, and more than anything, ready to prove that my audacious endeavor was not the lunacy that, on multiple occasions, it appeared to be.

Pre-race

Pre-race preparation involved 6 weetbix, a gummy worm, and some ibuprofen to take the edge off. Knowing the pain that lay ahead, I simply tried to work out a gait that would allow me to finish and tried not to exacerbate the pain.

Race

Look, it was dreadful. With the starting pistol's blast, the collective rush of adrenaline, and the sea of determined faces all around me, I put my best foot forward into the ocean of asphalt. The race was on! My hips, however, were less enthusiastic about the ordeal. From the get-go, they delivered their protestations in no uncertain terms, like disgruntled tenants raising a ruckus. Each stride felt like an uphill battle, my muscles screaming louder with every kilometer. By the time I had hit the 5km mark, my body was staging a full-on revolt. The persistent sting had escalated into a searing hot protest, like fireworks going off in my hip flexors. Grudgingly, I conceded to my body's pleas for mercy, slowing my pace to a walk. The pride of the warrior within me crumbled a bit, but I wasn't ready to throw in the towel just yet. The race was far from over, and if I had to walk, limp, or even crawl to that finish line, I was going to get there, come hell or high water.
As I trudged along the breathtakingly beautiful Great Ocean Road, my appreciation for the scenery was tempered by the symphony of discomfort my body was orchestrating. Majestic cliffs and rolling waves framed my torturous journey, their beauty a stark contrast to the sheer physical adversity I was enduring. The azure expanse of the ocean matched only by the limitless pain that held me in its unyielding grip. Every single step sent a jolt of agony through my protesting hips, each stride akin to walking barefoot on a path of hot coals. To add to this, a wicked stitch wove itself into my side, a cruel embroidery of distress. My knees, too, joined the chorus of complaints, throbbing with a rhythmic intensity that could have kept time for a marching band. As the kilometers dragged on, exhaustion cloaked me like a heavy, wet blanket, making every step feel like I was fighting against a strong undertow. The crisp sea air and the stunning tableau of the Australian coast were marred by the storm of pain brewing within me, a tumultuous tempest that I was determined to weather.
In the throes of this epic saga of endurance, I was not alone. My comrades-in-arms, two stalwart friends, shared in the agony of the quest, their trials and tribulations echoing my own, albeit to a far lesser extent. We trudged on, bound by the shared misery of our circumstance and the collective strength of our determination. Our conversation, typically rife with jovial banter and witticisms, had now taken on a new cadence: the cadence of survivors. We talked less, saved our breath, and let the simple act of being there for one another speak volumes. The synchrony of our suffering became a strange source of comfort, a reminder that we were in this together, come what may. Counting down the remaining kilometers became our mantra, the numbers a lifeline that tethered us to the ultimate goal. Every time we announced a kilometer conquered, it was a small victory snatched from the jaws of the Herculean beast that was the half marathon. Our journey was one of grit, grimace, and grunts of effort, an odyssey punctuated by the enduring power of friendship and the human spirit's unwavering resolve.
Like Icarus who dared to flirt with the sun, I had challenged the impossible and, in doing so, singed my metaphorical wings. Yet, unlike the tragic Greek hero, my tumble was met not with a fatal end but with the sweet taste of victory, albeit laced with the bitter tang of exertion and pain. My strides, whether they were apprehensive trots at the start or the painstaking shuffles towards the end, all culminated in the glorious moment of crossing the finish line. The official timer sneered a final verdict of 2 hours and 53 minutes for the half marathon, and 3 hours and 9 minutes for the added punitive kilometers - a time that made me slower than 92% of the pack. That statistic did little to dampen my triumph. For it was not in comparison to others that my victory lay, but in the audacity of taking on a task so monumental, in the defiance of pain and odds, and in the resilience to keep going when every fiber of my being screamed to stop. I had run a race that was so much more than just a half marathon. I had run a race against myself, against my limitations, and came out on the other side battered, bruised, but oh so gloriously alive.

Post-race

The race's aftermath found me in a two-week waltz with a limp, my body a living testament to the fierce battle fought and won. I weathered a sea of concerned inquiries from friends, family, and co-workers who had the combined look of awe and 'I told you so' in their eyes. But underneath the lingering aches and shared commiseration was a newfound spark of determination. My body may have been temporarily out of commission, but my spirit was invincible.
Far from being a deterrent, the ordeal has ignited a fire within me, as if the grueling half marathon was merely the spark needed to set ablaze my dormant potential. I find myself not cowed by the experience, but eager, excited even, to push my boundaries further. With the ghost of the race looming behind me, a quiet echo of my past recklessness and current grit, I am ready to throw myself into the fray once more. But this time, with wisdom on my side and a resolve forged in the crucible of the Great Ocean Road, I stand ready to see what feats I can truly achieve when I properly set my mind, body, and spirit to the task.
It was the beginning of a new chapter, one that was filled with promise, potential, and an utter absence of preparation. Next up: Melbourne Marathon. See you mongrels there!

Special thanks to u/SpacePaladin15 for allowing fanfiction and giving us Tilfish.
[First] [Prior] [Next]
.*~*.
Memory Transcription Subject: ? , run run run run run run.
Date: December 2, 2136
.~*~.
I'm tired. I'm so unbearably tired. I don't remember the fall or when my legs quit working, but I'm still denied the sweet release of sleep by the fires radiating from my muscles. It's sick and twisted, but I don't think I can move any more. I'm stuck here face down in the soil, unable or unwilling to do anything but wonder if a harvesting drone will roll over me and turn me into mist on the crops I'm lost in. My mouth itches. Some loose soil in my nose makes me hack, but there's nothing I can do but wheeze and pant. There's not a drop of moisture left in me. I'm all shriveled up. Everything's a haze.
I should've stopped for water. There was time. A few ponds that didn't look filmed over with vile algae blooms. The last town had a fountain on the outskirts. There were a few distant outbuildings that could've had a sink or a hose. Really, a few mouthfuls would've been enough to keep me from cramping up. Now I feel like I'm all dried out, like a stick of fruit jerky.
I should've taken a break. I've not been able to run in so long. I knew it was getting bad, but I ignored it. I'm paying for it now. I pushed way too far. Run until I black out. Wake up. Repeat. For days and days, or however long I've been free. I don't know. Every time I wake I can't tell if minutes have passed or days. I would push myself back to my feet and run. Because distance is all that matters. I made the right call avoiding the roads. The cameras. The soles of my feet are battered and wail in pain, but for every step I took was a minute longer I got to feel the sun kiss my scales and the gentle caress of the wind upon my neck. The cool soil seeping into my burning side. Fresh air in my lungs. Faint mist on my back.
I should've calmed down. I'm wasting what little time I have left stuck here in misery. I missed my chance to escape. My saviors were predators, but it would've been a better fate. And they're everywhere. Monsters and Predators alike. The whole planet is getting what it deserves. I made my choice, but now I'm squandering it. At least the soil is nice. Even as broken as I feel, it is only temporary. I know this is heaven. I wouldn't trade it for anything else. Even if my tongue is dried and bleeding.
I.
Just.
Need.
To.
Get.
Up.
no no no no no. Hurts. Hurts hurts hurts.
UP.
My body rebels. I settle on crawling. Dragging my tainted digits through the soil and forcing myself through the mud.
Puddle. Puddle Puddle Puddle.
I'm glad to be alive. I'm glad for this puddle. It's my whole world. I crawl to it as quickly as my body allows and beyond, but I'm too dehydrated to cry at the lancing pain in my joints. I slip and tumble into it face first, a cold shock making me freeze up. I don't even try to drink at first, my eyes closed as I lay partially submerged in this brackish water. It makes me feel slightly better as the cold gently eases my neck muscles, and I feel the rest of my body cramping up again.
Imagine drowning in a claw of water. I'm suddenly terrified that it's possible. I throw an arm out and dig it deep into the mud, clawing silt as I awkwardly pull myself in sideways. I roll, splashing the rest of the way in and feeling my poorly treated scales weep as the cold bleeds into them. I lay my head sideways and drink, gagging at the taste but unable to stop myself. I still can't cry, but my face is still trying to produce tears anyways.
In delirium, I notice the corner of a structure well above me. It's a pole, made of metal and towering well above me. Morning dew drips off of it and into my eye not currently submerged, and I blink it away.
Thank you pole. You're a life saver.
I don't plan on moving for a while, so I don't. The dew drips onto my snout several times, and my body rejoices at the cool water I've partially submerged myself in. The silt in my mouth is a necessary and tolerable evil from my desperate dive, and I angle my snout so that I can catch the fresh dew dripping from above instead. It tastes far better than the puddle, and for the first time in ever, I feel a smile creeping on my face.
.*~*.
I blink lazily, one eyelid operating a few seconds behind the other. I feel better. This blackout felt more natural, less forced. Like a gentle wave over my mind than the harsh crack of a baton. My mouth is still full of silt that I spit out, and a moment later I realize I can spit again. The bitter taste of blood in my mouth is faint now, and the joy of having a wet palate can't be described.
ow.
It hurts to move. I try again, but my flesh feels like it's been filled with concrete. My muscles are too tight on my bones. Stiffly, I try again, making little progress, but still progress. I edge out a claw at a time, barely getting my neck out of the pool before collapsing, the chilly waters leaving me shivering.
Where am I?
A very good question, I ask myself. I don't know. That's the cost of running without direction for so long. I think I'm in a field, judging by the crops looking over me and encompassing my wide vision of the vibrant sky overhead.
Yeah... that's it. I'm in a field. Brilliant observation skills.
I try again, but nothing new comes up. For the first time since I fled, I think about what I'm going to do. I'm free. I'm free. What am I going to do now that I'm free? How long do I have? I know the answer to that already. I have a long time. Everybody that knew me is dead and gone. I just need to be careful and not ruin this chance. I should try and find a town. Cities are too big, too many problems could come up. Too many exterminators. I could start over off the beaten path. Somewhere I can hide in plain sight.
This is Sillis. Being me shouldn't be an issue. I... I can get a labor job somewhere. Change my name. What can I do?
...
What can I do?
What is my name?
"Oh dear." I whispered quietly to myself, brows furrowing. Odd. How odd. I can move on from that. Makes starting a new life easier. Something that isn't four walls and a paper thin mattress. Something outside. I just... need to get... out of this darn puddle. No, still not happening. Ouch.
I splash my paw into the puddle in frustration, using about the full range of motion I seem capable of in a mild fit. I want to stay on the move, but the consequences of my poor decision making have come back to bite me right on the rear. At least I have some time to think.
I could try the lumber industry. That's usually away from people. I think I can figure out how to knock down trees, or at least fix up the machines that can. Maybe I can join a farm around here once I'm cleaned up. There's always something to do on a farm. Like counting shipments, or unloading shipments, or loading them. Maybe I can fix things around the property. Golly, I hope I know how to fix the automated machinery. That would really be nice.
Ooh! I could try and be a tram service maintenance operator. Wait, no no no. That requires background checks, I think. Darn it. Uuuh, road utility services? No, that'll take me into cities one way or another. There's a ton of work with drainage systems and water run off here. I could get good money for that since it's risky. Pollutants, constant thundering streams of water. I think I can go with that. There would be a lot of rural investigations that I could apply for. If not, I'm certain the underground construction projects would bear fruit. I'll miss the sun but nobody would bother me too much... no, still too many people. Drainage systems it is!
A faint whistle catches my ear and I freeze, tilting my head as something green flies just overhead. It clips several stalks and leaves as it passes, but seems unbothered as the severed branches fall to the ground and leaves gently cascade after. I follow its path with an eye and it vanishes between some tall plants, leaving me alone just as quickly as-
Nope, the same thing floats by again, darting between crops once more directly above me. It's odd, I can't hear wing beats or buzzing, or see anything keeping it airborne as it passed, and I wait with baited breath to see if it shows itself again. I don't know what I feel, but it isn't terror. It's... something. Curiosity? This time I hear a chirrup, but it's close. I don't see it float by, and painfully I crane my neck and look at the other side of the puddle.
It's an insectoid of some kind, strangely wide and flat. It looks pretty similar to the leaves on the many trees that I've seen since I got out, with uneven, tapered sides. It has a few pairs of legs, and it scuttles to the puddle and dips the front of its body towards the surface. It really does look like a large leaf, but my observation is cut short when the bug abruptly stops moving within barely a claw of the water, a pair of forward facing compound eyes snug against the stem near the tip of its body. It chirps again, and I see narrow maw under the front of this creature, a slim set of fangs briefly glinting in the sun before its mandibles hide them.
"Oh dear." I manage to whisper.
With remarkable dexterity it hops across the body of water and splashes down on top of me, and several legs grip my ribs and arms. My tail flicks under the water's surface, but I don't move as the thing's maw looms over my snout. A smaller set of feelers touch my scales and let it guide where it can't see, and it pecks at my nostril once. I smell ozone and feel a different fire burn in my core, and relax.
This isn't ideal. It really isn't. But it's still better that what once was. You won't hurt me for too long. You're better than they ever were.
Trading my cell for this... it's not that scary. Somehow, despite this predator straddling me and chewing on my snout, I'm not scared of it. I have alarms shrieking in my ears and ozone burning my nostrils and wrists. Bubbly poison twisting my insides and making me gag. I'm terrified of that, but that's long gone. That broken visage cuts deep, but it leaves me feeling empty. I'm alone with this thing pecking at my skull, occasionally chirping or hissing softly as it chews over my scales.
It's little mandibles flutter over my cheek and squish it, the fangs behind it pricking at my scales but never really puncturing. It's odd, almost exploratory. I hear a faint plip as some dew from the pole overhead drips onto the creature, and it leans back slightly to presumably look up. It lowers back down on me, and I wince as it gets a little rougher. It halts for a moment, mandibles still dancing over my scales, before I feel a set of legs slip past my arms and latch onto my back.
I grit my teeth, expecting it to finally lunge down and bite into my flesh as the rest of it's body tenses, but with a start it lifts me up with strength I didn't think it had. My back scrapes along the mud as it lifts me and drags me partially out of the muck. It lowers me down just as quickly as it started, leaving a bit of my upper body out of the water and in the warm air. I blink as it lowers its body down onto my own, legs tightening its grip on me as it presses itself against me. It chirrups again and resumes nibbling on my neck, and my mind absently puzzles over this change of events.
It's roosting on me. Is it my body heat? I feel cold, but maybe it's colder. I wish I knew what you were. I'm glad you're not really biting me. It tickles, stop!
I couldn't help but squeak out a laugh, despite the very present danger I was in. The bug tensed for a moment but didn't sink its fangs into my neck, and after a moment it resumed licking at me. Slowly, it's legs tightened on my body and it pressed itself against me further, and it hissed softly. I closed my eyes when it's maw pressed against me, but once again no bite split me open and drained my lifeblood. It's mandibles tickled my scales some more as the creature flattened out, the ridges of its body laying in the mud as it settled down. I was all but buried under the thing that was almost as big as me, and my tail swished lightly in the water.
Once again, I find myself stuck. I wasn't going anywhere anyways, but now I'm very stuck. Hopefully it doesn't get peckish. This thing could definitely eat me if it wanted to. It's funny that I'm supposed to fear it. All those training exercises failed. Every test and experiment. Maybe it enforced the wrong behavior. I think I might've been respectfully afraid of this creature once, but that part of me is all burned up. If it existed at all.
.~*~.
I've missed the novelty of clouds. Sillis has an overabundance of them, but so far I've been lucky that none of the ones passing overhead were angry. It's almost odd that no rain has come, but I'm glad. I faintly remember that the rains could become acidic if there's too long a pause between storms. Too much smoke or warp residue building up in the atmosphere.
So far I've counted two absolutely towering thunderheads and small storm systems roll by in all their stunning glory, and dozens of smaller offsets in their wake. Hundreds of individual clouds dot the skies, not quite blanketing it yet. It's pleasant, even within the grasp of a large, sleeping predator that's fully enveloped me. I can feel it's diaphragm shifting ever so slightly on my chest, and it twitches occasionally.
I don't mind. For now, things are peaceful. I'm enjoying that. At least, until something crunched a few rows over.
That sounds a lot bigger than this predator.
The creature shifts slightly but doesn't wake as whatever else is out there stalks through the crops. It has to be a predator, from how quiet it moves. Every little rustle and faint step happen far from each other, and my mind immediately jumps to an ambush hunter. Carefully, I move my head to catch a glimpse of the thing, trying not to disturb the slumbering creature that is currently resting it's mouth on my neck. My scales fade into a dirty black that matches the soil, and I squint to hide my eyes from whatever is out there.
There's movement on my left, something tall shifting between the crops a few rows down. I hear a rumbling noise- a deep based growl, and the back of my skull itches.
"...D-1?"
No no no no no. I don't want to go back. I want to be free.
I know what the thing is. It's a new predator. A sapient one. The same ones that freed me. The same ones that wanted to herd me onto a ship. I can't do this. Sapient predators are cruel, far crueler than the average ones. A normal predator wasn't personal about the kill. It could be reasoned with. Where did that come from? A sapient predator was ruthless for entertainment.
I owe them my life.
They'll just take it.
There's a rustle from a different direction, and a behemoth steps out of the crops far closer to me than I would prefer. It is armored like the many I've seen before, but I realize instead of a firearm it wields a bulky tool of some kind tightly in its paws. It dawns on me that it's colors are different, green and blue instead of solid blue, and there's a colorful flag of some kind pressed on the garments of its arm.
"Copy." It rumbled quietly.
"Crikey, you spooked me there!" the other predator whispered, changing course. Thankfully the closest one broke off to meet it, and they stopped one row over. It was best I stay still. Their hearing was better than they let on. "Okay, did you get it done?"
I can't see them clearly, but some non verbal communication must have occurred because the one predator continues speaking.
"Good. Look, trouble is coming. A fellow seppo noticed the ordinance went missing. He's suspicious. There'll be heat soon. Have you made any progress with the other front?" A pause. "Same. I've dealt with several of his goons, but none knew anything good."
"I'll have him tonight."
"...D-1?"
"An exterminator account and reversed polarity on some switches works wonders."
"...you seppos are terrifying."
"We're a world power for a reason."
"...yeah. Do you have the drive? Nice. You keep this up and we'll have everything we need from this planet before Christmas. We're going to make things right." There's an odd grunt, and one of them starts rumbling quietly in what translates as amusement. "Involved in peace. What do they really think this accomplishes?"
"Don't care. We find our whales and move on."
"Come on, we can have some more fun if we're careful! Don't act like that doesn't entertain you after that bomber plot of yours!"
"S-4," there's an undertone in that growl that makes my scales shrink, "remember the prize."
"...God, you're a hard ass. Fine. I'm certain you're carrying that giant wrench for peaceful reasons and not to crack open any skulls out here. I'll check the smuggling routes. Rig up something to keep these bugs under our thumb. You keep being you. I need to move before they notice I'm gone."
Faint footsteps leading away, and I sighed. While brief, just being around them made my scales crawl-
The crops right beside me parted, and the other predator stepped out. It's covered foot splashed into the puddle, and stirred the predator enveloping me. Much to my horror the thing chirruped and hissed, releasing me and spinning around. The apex predator looked down at the smaller thing and regarded it.
:)
The drawing on the mask was comical, and not at all what I was expecting. Most humans didn't wear masks, so blinding terror didn't sweep me away. I almost laughed at the absurdity of concealing one's face, only to make a lazy drawing of a face overtop of it.
The smaller predator didn't find it nearly as confusing or entertaining as I did, and hissed. The apex didn't falter, but surprisingly held its ground despite being threatened by a lesser predator.
Most predators would make a threat back and assert itself. Or lash out. What is this one up too? It's not acting submissive so it isn't backing down. But it isn't retaliating either. Does it need to? It's using it's own size as a deterrent.
My thoughts are interrupted when my toothy cover abruptly spins and flees, gaining air under its body and become airborne. It slashes through a row of crops and is gone, just like how it arrived. The apex still hasn't moved. It takes a few steps forward, nearing me. I can't tell if it's looking at me or not so I close my eyes tight, hoping that my eyes hadn't given me away. There's a thump right beside me and I flinch. I can feel it's presence. It has stopped walking.
It knows. Somehow it sees me. It knows it knows it knows.
Something warm grazes my neck and I flinch again, despite myself. I can't do it. I don't want to die with my eyes closed. I want to see the sun and the clouds and the crops, not this faux darkness.
I open my eyes and it's right there, crouched over me. I can't bother with wasting my energy by screaming. It saw through my camouflage and had a paw to my neck. I wished it to be merciful and just strike me down with the wrench it brought, but it doesn't. Instead it plunges its paw into the water, under my rump. It rips me out of the water and I gasp as its other paw slips down under my shoulders and lifts, but my mind catches up a moment later when it pressed me against it's chest instead of its mouth, forsaking my exposed stomach. It's grip loosens slightly and it adjusts, an arm under my shoulder blades and legs. I can feel the muscles rippling in it's grip, and how easily it could fold me over backwards and squish me. I've seen it first hand.
But it's so gently. So unbelievably gentle. I don't remember the last time I was touched like this. Something in a dark recess of my mind wavered, and I realized I'd curled my tail around the creature's arm without meaning to. It holds me a little closer, nowhere near enough to hurt, and my scales start to change to match the colors it wears. It's not looking at me, the mask is angled too far up. We're moving at a blinding pace suddenly, the rows of crops blurring in my vision. It doesn't stop. This apex runs like a machine, each breath consistent and calculated to a rhythm I notice. Its breathing labors but it keeps going, warm jets of air spitting out the bottom of its mask and onto my soggy, damp form.
It's so warm. I didn't realize the chill of the water until now but I'm shivering. My body takes over for my confused mind and curls into the predator's grasp, trying to get as much warmth from the human's rough garments as I can. I don't know what's come over me. I don't know where it's taking me. I don't care. I can't escape it, and if this thing kills me it was at least kind enough to be gentle.
The skies are so beautiful. I try and focus on them but all I can really see is the predator's mask. I can see the bottom of it's jaw, the taught muscles there. I dread what its face looks like in this moment under that mask. Its digits tighten on my shoulder and side in response to me curling into it, and absently I wonder how this predator is the same as the ones from days ago with their thundering bellows and ruthless firepower.
The apex thunders out of the field and I'm assaulted by new sights. There's a few dozen of them roving around a clearing by several vehicles.
I also spot an Exterminator's van, and my claws unsheathe. The predator winces and I realize I've nailed him with them, but he doesn't throw me down or bark at me. He sprints by the van without stopping, but I see several Tilfish locked inside and doomed to a terrible fate worse than being eaten.
"Ambulance!?" It barks sharply, out of breath. It skids to a stop beside one of the transports, clutching me firmly.
"Just left with the patient. Where the hell did this one come from?" An unmasked predator growled, eyes beady and looking over me. Mine made an odd jerking motion and continued.
"Get Doc."
"I will. What hospital are we calling?" The thought of a clinical space makes me flinch. White walls. White floors. Cold tiles. Needles. Beeping. Humming. Frying.
"None. Operational security."
The other predator screwed its face up and departed, and abruptly mine was sitting down on the back of one of the trucks. Gently I was plopped down on its lap, and I watched transfixed as it peeled its armor off, then its outer garment. There's an image of a veiled human on the back with its eyes closed, head craned down. Its hands are clasped together in thought, and the meaning of it goes over my head.
The predator is a lot smaller than I thought it was. It gently lifts me and set me in the garment, before it starts wiping me down with it. I'm too sore to fight it, and the cloth is exceptionally warm from the creature's body heat. It pulls me closer and holds me in a way that makes my chest hurt, and it looks out at an approaching predator. It rumbles softly.
"You're going to be okay."
My body relaxes despite my mind's warnings. I'm wrapped up in this garment it wore. I can't escape it. But it's warm. The material soaks up the water on my skin, and wipes away the grime and muck I've accumulated over the days. Slowly, my scales begin to shift again, bleeding back to my normal tan coloration.
"Did something finally bite you Sunshine? I haven't seen you run like that in- oh-kay." The approaching predator flinched when it got close and tensed up.
It wants to eat me. This one- Sunshine- it won't let it without a fight. Are they going to eat me? Sunshine won't. Right?
"I thought there was only one victim." The predator rumbled after a moment, creeping closer. I shrank into the material and took on it's color, only for a warm paw to settle on my arm.
"You're fine." Sunshine whispered. It looked up at the approaching predator and jerked its head awkwardly. "There is. Look at it. Do you see it too?"
Gently, it lifted my arm. I was too stiff to pull it back, not that I could've against its powerful grip. I was completely exposed to this other predator.
"Relax. Please." Sunshine whispered once more. The growl was soft, and I looked up at the mask above me. The grip on my arm was careful, I realized. I could pull away right now. Slowly, my scales lightened. The other predator leaned in closer and I flashed white and yellow briefly, but Sunshine propped me up a bit and started gently poking at sore parts of my body. My ribs. My neck. "Here. And... and here."
The other predator's eyes seemed to get bigger. Something deeper changed in its face. "Holy shit." It made to move forward and I reeled back, pressing myself further into Sunshine. The predator immediately froze and slunk back.
"He can help." Sunshine rumbled softly.
Oh dear. Oh dear.
It touched me. It's diminutive nails didn't rend into my scales as it touched my ribs, prodding them softly. Sunshine adjusted how it sat so that the other predator could have better access to me, and I couldn't help but focus on the skies again as it assessed what part of me it wanted.
Sunshine won't let it eat me.
I don't know where the thought came from, but it was firm. I believed it entirely. Even though Sunshine was a sapient predator, it wouldn't let it happen. Maybe it claimed me as its own already. I... I had doubts I would be eaten. The thoughts were there, but Sunshine had a perfect chance already. Unless it wanted to flaunt its catch first, which the Arxur did- but it was gentle. Sunshine was better than an Arxur.
"Malnourished, deep sores. Ulcers. There's bruising up and down the rib cage. Jesus- sorry."
"They're old. Persistent. Its feet."
"What about..." The predator got quiet. I felt my scales shift in worry as it gingerly lifted one of my legs. It remained quiet, but its face stretched further. "What happened?"
It was looking at me. Asking me. I shrank further into the fabric, but there was nowhere to go. The silence was unbearable, and I started trembling.
The silence continued.
"A runaway." Sunshine rumbled after forever. I didn't understand what that meant. My translator didn't pick it up quite right. Run-away? Like fleeing? Was that what these predators called their prey? No... no that didn't seem right. It was possible, but...
"Could have been kidnapped." Another word I didn't understand, but my translator worked on the other predator. Stealing a person by force? Using fear outside of the law? How did predators have such a word? "We need to get it to the hospital. Figure out what happened and how it ended up in this field."
NO NO NO NO NO
Sunshine's arms draped over me before I could escape, my attempt no better than a drunk Mazic trying to fit through a Venlil sized door. I couldn't stop the whine in my throat, but its soft digits down my back froze me. A subtle noise filtered out behind the mask, and it settled me back down in its garment. It picked up an edge lined with little metal teeth and draped it over me, blocking my sight from the other predator. I felt safe, suddenly. Sunshine's firm grip on my body didn't feel threatening. It felt like a promise, as it carefully pulled me against it's bulk. I was warm, despite my terror.
"Zuda will handle it. No hospitals. This stays with us."
"Sunshine," the other predator protested, "we need to figure out what happened!"
"Think, Doc." Sunshine growled, and this was no doubt a warning. I felt relief that the difference between the two growls was so obvious.
"What?"
"Think. Use your head."
There was a period of silence. "You don't... that can't be right." I didn't understand what conclusion it made.
"The injuries are uniform. Too clean to be anything else."
They can't know. How can they know?
"We need confirmation!"
"We already have it." Sunshine stated, and slowly the fabric was lifted off of my head. I blinked, and noticed that the other predator had changed a different shade.
That's odd. Are you predators like me?
That's terrifying. I'm not a threat. I'm me.
"It reacted to the van and mention of a hospital, Doc. Nobody outside the UN hears of this. Operational security."
It... does Sunshine know? How do they know?
"What the fuck is this planet, Sunshine?" The other predator lamented.
Sunshine didn't respond. He looked around at the surrounding encampment, and I realized it was shrinking. They were leaving. A few other predators were subtly watching as they worked, but I doubted they could hear the conversation with how quiet it was. I realize there's a few Venlil in their ranks, unbothered by their presence and even wearing garments similar to the predators around them.
A digit tapped the end of my snout and I flinched, looking up at Sunshine. It's paw retracted as the other predator withdrew a medical kit with a paw print on it and began to unclasp it. "You're safe. We're... we're going to help."
You know. You know what I am. And you're helping me anyway. Why are you helping me? I'm weak. I'm dangerous. But not to you. You're an apex. Is that why? Does your species stick together, unlike the Arxur? Do you uplift those around you, no matter if they're prey or dangerous? The Venlil are not afraid of you. You must not eat them. What do you eat? It has to be meat. But, it must be something that they can handle. Does what makes me dangerous fall away under your hierarchy? I hope it does. It doesn't seem real. I guess to you, what makes me a threat is meaningless.
I believe Sunshine. I really do. When the other predator comes forward with a healing gel, I surrender.
I am safe.

TLDR: Bad side effects, not many good effects, time to give up on zoloft or is there hope?
I started Zoloft/Sertraline last October, around 7.5 months ago. I started on 50mg and have basically stayed on 50mg because the side effects interfere with my life so much.
I'm autistic and I have CPTSD, ADHD, depression and general anxiety. Physically I have a history of chronic fatigue and suspected endometriosis. I'm also trans and taking testosterone just to complicate things. Also, I'm in the UK if that impacts anyone's advice!
Daily I take sertraline 50mg, Cerelle (progestogen birth control for hormone control) and Vyvanse 50mg.
Positive effects: - Less daily anxiety/dread
Neutral effects: - Still depressed and anxious - About 25kg weight gain (for anyone worried about weight gain, this wasn't without cause, I've been eating an inhuman amount of food so its increased cravings, not an actual effect of the meds on their own. Plus, testosterone)
Negative side effects: - Constant fatigue - Even less energy - Napping on and off all day (this was reduced by switching my dose to evening about a month ago) - Worsened ADHD symptoms / lessening of the effectiveness of my ADHD meds (Vyvanse) - Increased aches and pains specifically in my endometriosis suspected areas (stomach and legs) - Due to all of the above I'm behind on my work and, since I'm freelance, in danger of getting kicked out of my house 🤪
I'm basically on the verge of giving up on sertraline except I missed 3 days recently by accident and I've still not recovered from the withdrawal. It's AWFUL! I've had extra fatigue, tremors, sleeping 75% of the day, unable to focus, cramps and aches. I'd obviously taper off better, but even a fraction of those side effects leave me really out of it and struggling to work.
Thanks for reading this far!
QUESTIONS:
Has anyone ever experienced a lessening of side effects from going UP a dose? Is this something I should even consider, seeing as how my side effects are already bad?
Or has anyone with bad side effects gone up a dose and found the positive effects increased so they were more equal to the side effects?
Anyone with similar brain problems to me had luck with a different med? I really want to try Wellbutrin but we can't get that in the UK except temporarily for smoking cessation.
Any anecdotes and general stories appreciated, I'm feeling very blah and need help making this decision, thanks!
Edited to add: oh, and the ACID REFLUX is killing me!

CPTSD has been a very long journey for me. I first moved out and started developing symptoms when I was 16, I am now 25, have put so much work into healing, and have seen incredibly extreme lows and highs. I had cycles of low and no contact with my extremely abusive parents and finally permanently blocked them about two months ago. In that time I’ve had so many mental blocks disappear, am recovering tons of memories, and have begun to make serious changes. I started going to a support group for child abuse survivors, started exercising again, applying to jobs because my current one makes my mental health worse, decluttering and cleaning my home, getting financial health more in order, and even updating my clothes and getting back into hobbies. There is a long way to go in fixing up the neglect from both my parents and myself but it’s a start.
Only big problem is I still have pervasive suicidal thoughts. They are always passive, no plans or intent, but nearly constant run of “I want to die” and a feeling of dread. I want it to stop. I’ve almost always had this but it’s more glaring now that I do feel I actually like my life and want to live. I want them to stop so badly that I am considering antidepressants for the first time in my life, I’ve only ever taken clonidine for nightmares. But it feels almost silly to deal with side effects and tapering in and trying medications for “just” this one thing when I’m so functional and stable now, comparatively. What would you do in my situation? If you would go on meds do you have any recommendations?

Two weeks without FF and feel like the girl I thought was gone forever.
I was taking 1-2, max 3 a day for over a year. My FF use overlapped with a significant illness, and for many weeks it was the only thing that got me out of bed and able to function. Then, well you know how the story goes. Over time the energy it gave me disappeared. I had to nap in the middle of the day. I was sleeping hard every night and struggled to get out of bed at 9am.
Over time, FF stole the thing I loved most about my day: the morning. My entire adult life I would wake up with the sun. No alarm clock, just a natural excitement to rise with the light and jump out of bed. It was when I felt the most invigorated, most hopeful, most ambitious of the day. I would journal or meditate or run or work. I was my best self in the morning. The morning loved me and I loved it right back.
I began sleeping later and later, physically unable to extricate myself from something like a hibernation. I felt no joy, no excited anticipation. Just the dread of imagining how I would get through another day, feeling like this.
Friends noticed. A caller at 8am, greeted by my gutteral voice, said “what’s wrong, this used to be like midday for you”. Another said she missed the early text messages I would always send, which arrived to her at a “reasonable” hour since she is 3 time zones away.
After a FF or two I would have to leave work and go nap in my car. I was unable to stay upright, unable to keep my eyes open.
I was ashamed of who I had become. I blamed it on my illness from the year before.
A few days ago, about 2 weeks off of FF, I did something I thought I might never do again. I opened my eyes and saw the unmistakable color of dawn. It was 5:45am. I was back.
Note: I quit FF cold turkey, but switched to kratom pills. I am tapering the pills still. I have not experienced WD symptoms due to the pill taper.

So, at work the other day I started to have a panic attack, unlike any I've had before. I could not calm myself down and I felt a sense of dread until I finally clocked out for the day. This was on Tuesday.
Ever since then, I've woken up in a constant state of dread, shaking, pit in my stomach, everything makes me cry. I've begun to question every aspect of my life, work, school, my relationship.
I was on Paxil for a bit (maybe 6 months), didn't like the side effects and tapered off of it. I weaned off within a month, now I'm seeing things saying you should take at least 6 months to wean off. Also saw that paxil withdrawal can last months. (it's been about 2 or 3 months since I stopped taking it). I am also on Tri-sprintec (birth control).
Before I was on paxil, I don't remember ever feeling as awful as I do right now. On my drive home on Tuesday I considered just driving off the road. I have no reason to question anything in my life, my relationship especially. That's the part that's killing me. I know I love him so so much, but it's hard to feel it right now because I don't feel much of anything besides sadness. He is being wonderful to me and sticking by my side.
I've made an appointment with my doctor. What can I do in the meantime? I can hardly get through work.

"What was that!?" Kellista demanded as soon as the creature fully disappeared. "You said you would summon your salamander!" The effort to dismiss the familiar had knocked Culleo back on his arse and again all he could do was wheeze. "You did issue a command, right? One that it ignored?" Lithia, the younger Lyc prompted. "Yeah, he did. And whatever it was, it wasn't taking orders." Kellista confirmed. "Alright, but before we get ahead of ourselves, is that match over?" Lirren asked, looking over to Kalivine. The Dovkin took a moment before nodding. "I already saw everything I needed, and I'm sure we would all rather focus on this more pressing matter. Get the medbot." Lirren went to do as instructed, and Turri cheerily bounced over, somehow not at all tired from all the exertion from moments ago. "You saw what you needed? That means you have an answer then? How'd they do?" He looked over to the two kobolds who were the entire purpose of the battle. "Their tenacity impressed me. This fight was clearly stacked against them, they knew better than to meet us head on, so they went for a bold strategy." Turri shot Kellista a thumbs up. "I also like how aware they were. Even when locked in combat, you" he nodded to Kellista "were still aware of your surroundings, and managed to help your teammate while minimizing the risk it posed to yourself." Kalivine gave a sigh of relief as the medbot started its work. "And it's rare to see someone cast anything while that exhausted, let alone a summoning." Turri walked over to Culleo. "Hey, ya hear that? Big ole Kal says you're cool!" He said as he pulled the lizard to his feet. Culleo could only huff in response. "Aww he's all tuckered out!" Oh Break you! Culleo tried to curse. "Ho, Huff you" Culleo actually said. "I love you too. So!" Turri said, dropping Culleo with a thump as he turned his attention back to Kalivine. "That mean they're in?" "Not necessarily. As much as they can push, the fact that they needed to push so hard is a major concern. My familiar shouldn't have caused so much trouble, I myself am hardly warmed up, and that summoning, which was at the center of their plan failed so poorly it might have made things even worse for them. I don't like that one bit. Then there's also the matter of how you-" "Oi, Kal! Sorry to interrupt but we got a little somethin' you should see!" Lithia called out.
Turri and Kalivine looked over to where she was standing, and noticed the bag at her feet. "That's... Yeah it is, isn't it?" The bag wasn't too interesting. Sure it was an awkward size, and the lettering wasn't in a language any of them knew, but besides that it looked like an average old bag. Of course, it was the fact that it was there that made it interesting. "Guys, what do we do?" Kellista asked. "Can't you just send it back?" Lirren said, looking to Culleo. The medbot had made its rounds by this point, so he could finally start speaking properly. "But- but I already did! I ended the spell and sent the familiar back! Now that I've done that I'm no longer tethered, so can't summon or dismiss them anymore." They all exchanged nervous glances. That thing had ignored summoning orders, stared ALL of them down, and had tried to cast something before being dismissed, not to mention how it went from stock still to lightning fast reflexes in the blink of an eye. And now its bag was here.
"Well? Let's open it up!" Lithia reached for the bag and everyone else was too stunned to stop her. Unzipping it, she upturned the bad, dumping its contents onto the ground. "So, what do we have here? Some clothes by the looks of it." Lirren was first to speak up. "Lithia! What are you doing!?" "Uhh, checking out our sweet new swag. Obviously!" Turri answered for her. "Come on. Ooooh, what's this?" Turri, being the birdbrain that he is, was immediately distracted by the shiny piece of metal that had tumbled out of the jumble of clothes. He picked it up and started examining it closely, eyes expanding rapidly. "What are you...? Ah ha!" Pushing a knob that turned out to be a button, a solid 'Ka-chink!' made everyone flinch as a simple yet elegant blade popped out. Turri's eyes expanded even wider and a grin made it to his beak. "Oh this one's totally mine!" Culleo considered saying something, not liking how something he summoned was now being robbed. "Hey what're these?" Oh great, now Kellista was in on it too. She found a small pouch of brown spheres. Taking a sniff, she must have liked what she smelt because she popped the thing in her mouth. "Hey! This stuff tastes good! I think I found some candy!" She said, rolling the brown sphere around her mouth. Everyone turned at that, and Kellista realized the folly of showing off her prize as everyone went for a piece.
In the turmoil of grasping hands, squawking and muttering, and a couple pinched fingers, Lithia was the first in and out. She was terrifyingly nimble despite her size, and she brought up her prize to take a sniff of her own before her eyes widened. "Nobody eat these!" She suddenly howled at the group. Everyone stopped in shock as Lithia lunged towards Kellista, who was more than a little shocked when the Lyc twice her size picked her up like a toddler. "Spit it out! Spit it out now!" She said, shaking the kobold. Kellista opened her mouth and let the brown ball of goodness drop onto the dirt, ruining it. "Hey! Let her go!" Culleo drew his rapier and pointed it to the one threatening his friend. Lithia hardly even noticed the second kobold, but still did as asked. "What was that about?" Turri asked. "Those aren't candy. At least I don't think so. They're laced with caffeine!" With that grand statement the others quickly dropped theirs, Lirren caught a whiff from his own and yep! Caffeine. It was subtle, hidden under a network of sugar, but it was there. His joined the other on the ground.
Kellista had never been so glad to be shaken like that. She was about to swallow the thing! Two seconds later and she would have ingested poison, and she didn't like her chances at that point. "Th-thank you for saving me." She said, still a little shaken from being a little shaken. "Don't mention it!" Lithia replied with a grin. "But now I want to know why our guy had a bag of poisonous sweets on him. Any ideas?" The group exchanged glances, and Kellista piped up again. "I think he was an assassin!" All eyes turned on her and she almost felt the weight of their collective gaze. "Well think about it! What have we found? A disguise, poison you'd willingly eat, a concealed knife," Turri was still fiddling with it, and there were now several bits of metal sticking out at odd angles. "Which we now see comes with a lockpicking set! Honestly Turri put that down before you release a toxic cloud or something!" Kalivine, who had been nodding along interjected "and some kind of access card" while holding up another find. "Exactly!" Kellista cut back in. "And where is this all stored? In a nondescript bag that could just be left somewhere! Come on guys, you saw how it moved! It hardly made a sound and was getting ready to fight, regardless of its summoners instructions! Like it actually thought it could take us all!" Kellista was panting by the end of her little presentation. "I think she's right. It was also powerful enough to bend a summoning to its will like that. I'm just glad you were able to send it back. I don't even wanna know what it was planning." Lirren said. Turri sighed and dropped the knife, and they all came to the same conclusion. After a few quick seconds everything was back in the bag and nobody wanted to touch it anymore.
"So what do we do now?" Culleo broke the silence, "should we tell someone?" Kalivine nodded. "Definitely report this. I think Mr. Folksen is in today. He'll know what to do." With someone to pin the responsibility on a plan of action, the group headed to the main campus building.
.....
After he finished inspecting the ground and distinctly not crying in the fetal position over lost chocolates, Micheal slowly picked himself up, dusted off his clothes, and began to walk home. What sucked was that even without his bag, he was still weighed down because of the detachable weights he had wrapped around his wrists and ankles, and now that he had let himself cool down, his limbs also felt like lead. He gave a mental sigh as he trudged along. The journey was slow and painful, but at least uneventful. As his house came into view, Mikey noticed that he still felt the imprint of his bags strap on his hand and shoulder. Kinda weird, because 'the incident' as he started referring to it as happened nearly 20 minutes ago now, and the imprint he could see was still in his hand. Focusing on it, he could still feel the fibers that made up the strap! He stopped and leaned over, looking closely at his palm. There's nothing to see, but he definitely feels his bag, not the imprint, but the actual strap like it was in his hand. "Wha...?" Closing his fingers and yes, there was something. It wasn't physical though, but almost like a breeze in his hand. He gave it a gentle tug and- "wait No! Not AGAIN!" started seeing spots in his vision.
Michael materialized back in the field with his eyes shut tight. "Come on! Are you kidding!? Why!?" He didn't care that he was making a scene in the middle of a pack of monsters, that eye thing simply couldn't be the only mode of transportation between worlds. His vision cleared however, and he saw that the field was now empty, which meant no dragon to eat him, and no kobold to send him back. But wait! His bag was here! Relief flooded through Mike as he found all his stuff was still there! Even the chocolate! "Oh, there is a god!" He said, popping one in his mouth. He stopped as he saw something, a half-eaten chocolate on the ground, clearly spat out. 'So, it's not that they didn't rob me, but team dragon is just too good for my stuff?' he thought with just a little indignation. Bad mood back firmly in place, Mike took a look at his surroundings. Now that there were no distractions, like a dragon in his face ('no, I willnot let that go any time soon!'), he could see the 'field' was the unkept land kind more than the soccer field kind, and this field was surrounded on three sides by buildings that were old enough that they might be ruins, and weren't styled like anything he had seen on earth. Knowing werewolves roamed the area, it was starting to feel like a monster town. Behind him however, stood a thick stone wall with a spiked fence on top of it. Although he had no chance to climb the wall, it did nothing to hide the grand, Cathedral looking structure behind it. The structure seemed to be carved out of marble, and was clearly maintained in stark contrast to the rest of the area. Looking up, Michael took back 'cathedral' and went with 'super palace' because this place was utterly massive. Sure, the base of the building was on par with Notre Dame but at higher levels instead of tapering out like most buildings do, it became larger and infinitely more extravagant. Seeing how he had literally been summoned here, Mike was clued in on the existence of magic, but the blatant disrespect for the laws of physics above his head confirmed that wizards were probably a thing. As the main body of the building went higher and higher, it seemed to thin out and seperate into a tangle of towers, courtyards, balconies and a whole lot of castle parts he didn't have words for, all forming a beautiful balance between chaotic and symmetrical. There were bridges that went to sections that didn't have anything under them, straight up floating islands, stairs that were rows of floating steps, and landings that looked like they disagreed on what way was down, all loosely forming a cage around a main structure that he could hardly see thanks to all the clutter around it. There was nothing on earth, even in games or movies that compared to the ridiculous levels of architecture going on in front of him. Seeing such beauty and grandeur so remarkably displayed in front of him, Michael was filled with deep emotion.
That emotion was pants-wetting fear. What the heck!? Was he trespassing on a literal god's doorstep!? Or, judging by the surroundings, was this some sort of local superpower that basically owned the very air he was breathing!? No, probably not, they hadn't aimed anything at him or yelled through a microphone that he needed to vacate immediately or be forcibly removed, but still! Michael stood there for several minutes, staring with a blend of terror, curiosity and fascination. He wasn't even sure how long it had been when he saw a new monster, one he did not have a name for, casually strolling towards the castle. Upon seeing the creature, it struck him that he was standing in broad daylight in the middle of a field in downtown monsterville. Luckily whatever it was hadn't noticed him yet, and he intended to keep it that way. He ran into the most deserted looking part of the ruins, hoping to keep eyes off him.
.....
"So after he dismissed it, we noticed the bag hadn't gone back, so we took a look and it was clear the creature was a rogue of some kind." The six of them were gathered in an office several floors high in the school, and were busy relaying the events that had transpired concerning the summoning to one of the few teachers that were still available to speak with.
"How can you be sure? What was in the bag?" Professor Folksen, an older Kaikku and notable scholar asked.
"Well, the bag itself was unremarkable, but there was a concealed dagger and a caffeine based poison along with a simple disguise. And the dagger also had a set of lockpicks built into it too. When we realized what we were looking at, we decided to put everything back and come to you." Kellista continued, describing the scene quickly to the professor.
"You made the right call. With any luck your friend will pull their bag back, find their items intact and decide seeking retribution would be a waste of time."
"Sorry sir, pull their bag back?" Culleo asked.
"Indeed Mr. Zirrkus, this isn't the first time a familiar returned home without everything. The tether that allows them to find their way back to their own dimension remains until every piece returns with it. only then does the figurative door close and prevent them from coming back unprompted. Your friend has probably already taken their things back and has forgotten about this whole thing." Mr. Folksen said reassuringly.
"But wait, if there's still a tether to this world, couldn't it come back instead!?" Culleo asked with panic rising in his voice.
"No no, that won't be an issue. When a familiar is partially returned like in this case, the mana of its homeworld acts as an anchor, any attempt to pull itself back through without the summoners assistance would just pull everything to its origin. Even if it did have a way to come back, you've given it no reason to seek you out."
"But this thing managed to circumvent my summon, couldn't it find other workarounds if it could do that?" Culleo was struggling to keep his voice in the same octave.
The old scholar shook his head. "That would require a monumental misunderstanding of magic. There may be some things we've forgotten about mana since the jolt, but this comparison would be on the same level as worrying that gravity might fail because someone was able to hack your comm. It has no reason to return and even if it did, there would literally be all the mana in a world holding it back. You can relax dear Culleo, it's not going to seek out vengeance against you."
Culleo tried to calm down, he did his best to consider his mentors words and see the clearly laid out logic, but his nerves just wouldn't go down. He had a mantle of dread over his heart that just wouldn't abate. Ragged wisps of the tether seemed to remain, so faint they just might be his imagination, but something inside him was screaming that this wasn't over.
Seeing the apprehension on his pupil's face, Folksen tried another approach. "Come now, you said this duel took place on the eastern field, yes? Well let's go check it out." The old bird had clear signs of aging, wrinkles, loss of feathers and colour, but it did nothing to slow him down as he briskly made his way to a nearby window. "Now where, ahh! I can see scorchmarks. That's where you fought, yes?" He called as the young, spry and physically fit students caught up. Kalivine confirmed. "Yes, right over there. The creature was summoned by those two gouges" he said, pointing to some damage in the turf. "And what do you see?" Folksen asked. "...the bag is gone." Lirren answered. "Exactly. And what do you know? No assassins at our throats. The tether has been severed, we don't need to worry about them coming back. Now I want you kids to get home early tonight and have a good night's sleep. The school year officially starts tomorrow and you don't need to let this keep you up all night."
Culleo nodded numbly. Seeing the empty field had only made the icy grip on his heart squeeze tighter, but everything was exactly as professor Folksen had said it should be, and he couldn't find any reason to doubt it. "Alright teach, that sounds like a good idea, I'm headed out before this lot gets me into any more trouble." Turri said before giving Culleo a clap on the shoulder "Cully! You two need a ride? Don't worry about it, it's no biggie!" He didn't even wait for a response as he grabbed Kellista's hand and began leading the two kobolds out to a landing pad and a few minutes later had the two on his back as he flew through the night. Even two on his back, kobolds were sufficiently smaller than kaikkus that Turri was able to glide most of the way.
"This whole thing really is eating at you, huh?" Turri asked, and it took Culleo a moment to realize he was being addressed. It was starting to get into the evening, but people were milling about, so Turri had taken them higher than strictly necessary to give the kobolds some privacy. "...I'm not really sure why, but yeah. Everything that Professor Folksen said made sense, and this kind of thing doesn't normally bother me, but I just can't shake this feeling..." Culleo trailed off as he considered the problem. "I bet you're just stressed from not getting an answer!" Kellista interjected, "We've been working forward to getting a spot with the Divvani faction for months now and we didn't even get an answer! It's just nerves, man!" Culleo had honestly forgotten about that, but Kellista was right. They just threw everything they had in an all or nothing battle that would probably have an effect on the rest of their lives, and didn't even know if they had won. As Culleo looked forward as best he could into the headwind, he really hoped his friend was right.
_________________________________________________________ Authors notes
Alright, I know I already broke my 'once a week' promise by posting this, but don't expect a habit of it! I'm just a little ahead in my writing and I'm sticking with that standard.
The first shall be previous and the next shall be in a week or so.

Actively suffering through a gigantic panic attack straight up for unknown reasons. I guess my body was just like fuck you here's a gigantic one, deal with it. I tried to deal with it like a mere mortal but with blood pressure issues and shit that are well known and documented my brain was just like fuck you you're going to die right now unless you take medication, if you try to sleep you will die in your sleep, you have to stop this right now before any action is taken. Having these really strong ones always reminds me to be kind and helpful to people who also experience them on here as these strong panic attacks feel humbling almost.
I guess since I have been working nights recently my body is straight up in agony due to the fact that I am actively laying down, I am also dreading these 2 12 hour night shifts I got this weekend, so I'm not sure if the "impending doom" of the shifts is contributing lol.
This is one of those benzo-worthy panic attacks and I am thankful I have this resource at hand, I have taken the medication (clonazepam) and I can expect the panic to slowly taper off over the next 30 or so minutes. I actually just get relief from taking the medication which I have always thought it kinda funny.
I also do this (maybe weird) thing where I get obsessed that I have enough of my clonazepam to last me at least a month when I get it refilled. I am dependent on it (psychiatrist knows I experience withdrawal) and I know doing this is not smart nor healthy, and actually scares me that I do it. Though since I am dependent I like seeing a large amount available since it means I have been taking it less so I can convince myself I am getting better. It is stupid to do but it is just an irrational thing that I do.
Unfortunately I have to say this stuff on here and not to a therapist or my psychiatrist (who is straight up awesome btw). My psychiatrist knows I skimp out on taking the medication daily as prescribed, but I don't think he understands the sheer amount I have saved, not even for like nefarious reasons, at this point it is like a game to see how little I am able to take in a month. So far I'm on track to refill and get 104mg. This is kind of my obsession as counting the amount that I have and calculating the amount I've taken in a week allows me to understand the severity of my panic any given week or month to see trends. If anyone is interested, I have hovered around the 104mg at refill mark (usually 45mg + 57-59mg saved) for the last 3 or 4 months ever since this obsession started.
I really want to taper but man is it days like this that makes me remember why I am prescribed this medication.
Anyways I guess my complaining is over, I took so long to write this out and edit any mistake my shaky hands made that I am starting to feel better (thank god). If anyone has any questions regarding their own symptoms or whatever you can throw them below and I can try and help you out. Anything I mention is not medical advice and should not be treated as such, use the advice and information I give at your own discretion.

I’ve had my dreads for about 1 1/2 years and just now realized my shit needed a front taper there a way I could get one without restarting

I had planned on doing a slow taper but things have transpired differently. I am coming off 5 Gold [email protected] for over 1 year. I guess that's the equivalent of approximately 60 or so grams of powder. This is not my first rodeo, I have detoxed from opiates and benzos many times with differing outcomes. Here is my progress so far.
Day 1 - 14 grams. Day 2 - 7 grams Day 3 none. Day 4 none Day 5 2 grams to sleep.
( I had Gabapentin for the first 3 days and exercise 1 hr at gym each day)
For me the nighttime is the challenge, getting to sleep and the incomprehensible feeling of dread and worthlessness. The emotional toll of this lost year to Kratom weigh heavily on my weary soul. I resigned my job to get my shit together. I wish the best to all that are struggling.

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Alien-Nation Discord Buy A Coffee for the Author
Chapter summary: Vaughn liberates a bunch of people. Elias can't sleep and makes some decisions and receives a weird offer.
Chapter Art- Vaughn's Mask, a World War One Tanker Splatter Mask

Alien-Nation Chapter 169: Jailbreak

A Leslie's Pool Supplies retail outlet made for a strange rally point for any group of people, even moreso now that the whole strip mall along what had been Concord Pike had long since closed. The stainless letters spelled the forgotten name of the shopping center, still proudly adorned the top of the diagram of blank signs ensured at least the brick obelisk was a conveniently obvious marker for the men to find and make preparations for assaulting the jail.
'Morningstar' squadron had swelled their cell's numbers to well over twenty by absorbing the miscellaneous fragments of other cells, whose skills were more generalized. The name carried over to the newly formed Strike Force by virtue of being both the largest and the lynchpin of the operation's success.
This was the largest force of the three organized groups they'd split into, each aiming to try and hit the larger jails along Route 202, the other two branches making a target list of their own. Vendetta had given them an extra half hour to at least get themselves close to in-position, but with only one shortwave had no way of knowing if they would coordinate their strike. He was a known element to everyone even if only by name. At least Elias's words stayed true; All seemed very familiar and well-practiced with their carried weaponry. More importantly, none contested his assigned leadership or questioned his orders.
Vaughn cradled the RPG he'd been given, eyeing the well-lit building just over the carefully landscaped hill. The last had been over a half hour ago. The box-mart across the old highway was the temporary headquarters of the repositioned Troop One, after the suburbs near Camp Death had been cleared, likely soon to be repositioned again. But the size of the old box-mart seemed to indicate several things, that it was largely indefensible, could contain a fair few prisoners, and by its proximity to Camp Death, could be useful to strike regardless.
The flow of traffic was unusually heavy for being well before the crack of dawn. Perhaps people were trying their luck getting up old 202 to try and reach the border that way, after having no luck along other closed border checkpoints. There was a feeling of self-consciousness in carrying heavy weapons out in the open along a suburban highway most had driven along during peacetime, the juxtaposition of old familiar environment and newly familiar activity showing just how much their lives had changed. Moreso as cars rolled along it like it was a Friday night of olde, the two lives- old and new, bumping shoulders for a moment.
"You ready?" He asked, snapping them back to the present.
Mutters of assent was good enough. Haltingly, everyone in the mishmashed strike team moved toward the precinct's bright lights, taking advantage of the long shadows and occasional noise of the passing cars.
It was an unassuming building, the repurposed garrison made out of some retail outlet built back in the turbulent seventies, all brick and little else but tiny glass doors, with not even windows for the occupants to know the impending violence had been approaching. What era will this be known as? Early Imperial? Resistance? Revolutionary? Wondered the teen, as he leveled it at the lobby. Good? Bad? Hell, I'm just the man with the gun.
Everyone levelled their weapons as once, and Vaughn held a hand high. "We're here to liberate the prison, not blow it sky high," he chuckled. It was hardly armored or reinforced- or at least, so it seemed to him. And if it was, then the Data Center had shown the virtue of striking the same spot with concentrated fire beat showering it with dispersed impacts.
At least the glass door looked normal enough. "Bump and grind, forward. Forward!" He hissed. "Aim at that- there- the front door." Easy enough for the homemade launcher to hit, and these were arguably of the lowest utility if things went sideways. Elias had taught him asset management well- it was a waste to throw your best equipment at a stationary target. While the design was tried-and-tested, Vaughn still took a few steps away.
The improvised launcher let out a metallic clunk, and with a surprisingly subdued noise and recoil the projectile was sent tumbling freely, end over end, the cap blown clean off the improvised launcher. A second later, the giant projectile more than made up for it as the round smashed through the glass door, taking the automatic door slightly off the rails and bowing slightly inward- before then blowing both them and a hail of glass fragments outward as the detonation went off inside the main lobby.
Someone in a security forces uniform staggered out.
"Infantrymen, Fire!" Vaughn roared to the infantrymen, most of Morningstar dutifully restraining themselves as a hail of bullets sprayed into the storefront and even stitched up the exterior brickwork. Clearly, some insurgents were better trained than others judging by the tracer rounds and slowly tapering off rounds.
"Advance and reload! Morningstar, spread out and cover!"
The smoke and dust was subdued, at least for now, and left them with a surprisingly clear view into the front entrance. Red streaks were painted up on the wall, black and grey of smoke-dusted debris mixed in like a spin-art collage.
The lobby's contents were an absolute shambles- everything set on a ledge had been knocked about, including the ledges and desks themselves. The security forces inside responded by charging out the main doors to follow just a second later.
A hail of gunfire met them, most of the armored troopers flinching reflexively, their armor plates overlapping and protecting their wearer. A few reflexively tried returning fire despite the harsh stings of rounds tugging on the mix of fabric, bulletproof weave, and shattering off the neosteel plate they wore. The gunfire never let up on those unfortunate few who had charged out from their cover, the complete lack of coordination, dissimilar reloading times from infantry with unequal amounts of time spent with their weapons. Effective equipment and enthusiasm was undercut by poor training, surprise, and total lack of a plan to counter being outnumbered. Morningstar, on the other hand, had the numbers, the angle, and the element of surprise.
One by one the Security Forces lay flat. Either they were dead, had the fight knocked out of them, or were trying to present as minimal target as they could while they lined up their own rifles to return fire. It was hard to say for certain what the intent was, but the outcome was little different. Round after round continued pouring into them from dozens of unevenly sized magazines, an RPG or two sending the bodies of any who tried opening fire tumbling, their limbs likely held on by the durable material underneath. When they landed, their bodies folded like misshapen laundry, pressed into unnatural shapes with the wearer still inside.
The whole front engagement was over in less than a minute. A pale, non-gauntleted hand waved frantically from behind a shattered brick front, red streaking down the fingers.
"Hold!" Vaughn shouted. "Identify!" The hand continued waving, and Vaughn shoved an unwitting volunteer forward to pull the man out from behind, to reveal a man in a stained tee shirt with a dazed expression and blood dripping from a series of scratches on his cheeks, cut in like a cat's claws had raked over them.
"Civilian!" Vaughn bellowed over his ringing ears. "Any others inside?"
The man shook his head and mouthed 'no,' his voice seemingly too hoarse- perhaps from having spent an untold amount of time screaming.
The man was wrong- there were, or at least 'had been' more security forces inside. A sudden blast and the tinkering of shrapnel caused Vaughn to duck, then charge forward, his improvised explosive launcher discarded, swinging his shotgun around from his back to rest in his hands. A Technical had tried to leave via a service bay exit, apparently not even managing to round the corner before an RPG wielded by a Morningstar veteran had upended the uparmored pickup as it pulled out.
A survivor crawled from the wreckage, and Vaughn sprinted forward, pressing the barrel against the shivering man's temple as he raised his empty hands. The wet splatter kicked high, and Vendetta checked for any other survivors, the smoking tip of his shotgun wafting grey in the fluorescent tubes of the old retail outlet.
The technicals were indeed tough, he noted, but the round seemed to have flown into a wheel well, bypassing the plating. No one else inside seemed to be moving- yet still, he made certain. There'd be no theatrics of announcing himself to an enemy who played dead by standing in the open and giving orders, letting them try and exact some measure of revenge, or gasping out some warning to the shil'vati. No, a strike was to be calculated, and that calculation was to be total.
Two minutes later and a clear picture of the aftermath had emerged. Over five hundred prisoners rescued from the cells, cramped together like sardines, hastily erected concrete laid in a grid backstopping a prefab prison. PVC pipes ran from room to room for toilets no less roughshod in their construction, set straight into the dirty linoleum. Quite a few of the prisoners were deafened somewhat. The skeleton crew of Security Forces personnel hadn't stood a chance- supposedly, most were out, working from some kind of list, or perhaps had finished their shift after a long day of throwing people into prison.
Vaughn gestured with the shotgun. "There's your exit, people. If you're still undecided about the Shil'vati, then this was your wake-up call. If you're still undecided about us, then I'm not sure what to tell you. We just risked our lives to save yours. You want to pay it back? You can either pay it forward by helping us with the next prison, or you can help the Emperor of Mankind. Blankets, food, water, soldiers, guns, ammo, whatever you've got that you think might help. He hasn't said it, but I reckon you all owe him, if you've got a decent bone in your body, you'll at least bring him something, offer to try and help. If you want, you can listen in on the radio for instructions, and if you haven't got a shortwave, I'll separate off a few from our strike squad who can fill you in and get you there, if you feel like chipping in on the war effort."
Vaughn lowered the shotgun, taking a shell off his bandoleer and loading it in to replace the one he'd fired.
"That went well," Parker remarked. "And not a bad speech. Short, to the point, and all that. Honestly, I wish I'd brought a whole crew. One for the close-up on that impact. But, uh, that execution..."
"Completely necessary," Vaughn snapped, irritatedly. "That guy was fatally wounded. Putting him out of his misery was an act of mercy. And you'll remember to narrate that, if you got that on film."
"Of course." Parker didn't deny where he'd been aiming the camera- saving Vaughn at least the headache of reviewing the footage, and then having to kill Parker, if it turned out he'd been lying.
"I'm starting to think of these jail cells as something more like a pinata full of prizes. Namely, insurgents and good PR," he muttered. Truth be told, he'd wanted more of a fight. Vaughn pulled the radio from his pocket, and sent out the broadcast. "Done here. 202 North has been cleared. About four fifty good to go in some sense of the word, though where's anyone's guess. Tried sending them your way, don't know if they'll take it. Another fifty will need medical treatment. No casualties on our end. Surprise was total. We've got pictures. No enemies taken prisoner."
Vendetta stared around the lobby, an idea slowly dawning on him.
"Hey! Hey hey hey! Snag armor off any of the ones that you can. Grab any goods that are stocked up, and arm up anyone who says they're headed to Camp Death with the weapons the guys had here. Come on, we can't stay too long here. You-" he pointed at a man who had held down the trigger on his rifle, spraying the building at full auto. "-You're fucking useless at fighting. Gather up the ones who are able and willing to fight, get them packed into a civilian-style police cruiser, and drive them on over to Camp Death. Everyone, help him load up. Get everything you can out of the Evidence lockers into the trunks- they can fit a lot, trust me, I'd know. Camp Death's going to need goodies. Come on, move, people, move!"
Morningstar Squadron had re-mustered on Vendetta.
"Alright, now what?" They almost seemed eager for more.
A smile crept across Vendetta's face, invisible to all as he pointed at the row of vehicle keys.
"I think it's time we hit 141 and a couple more," he muttered, pulling it off the hook. "Now...wheelman, shotgun, or turret?"

"Accidentally Cut Content"

[Author's Note: Hey Everyone. I made a really dumb mistake and included part of the next chapter in the previous one's end in my rush to get it out the door. So the first couple paragraphs will be a repeat, but this IS a new chapter. I even updated those first four or five paragraphs slightly.]
I couldn't sleep well on the cot that night. Though I noticed hours ticked by, every moment seemed to be spent tossing and turning. I even tried resting with the mask off, held in my hands, but the risk to my identity being discovered if anyone barged in caused me enough stress to worsen the situation. Eventually, I gave up, kicked the covers off and donned the mask again, making my rounds around the camp, trying to calm myself down by taking a midnight stroll. Instead, I felt eyes countless following me, and I had to force myself to stand tall for them. For the thousandth time, I thought of this as my Valley Forge.
As I patrolled, I could hear whispered prayers, muttered plans of action, and mercifully, snores. At least some were getting some sleep. I could see orange lights reflecting off the clouds from where I knew Wilmington lay. It seemed Vaughn was keeping busy, if indeed it was his handiwork.
A few shipment inspections and a routine update from a sentry later, and I felt caught up to speed. I noticed Radio from the corner of my eye, seemingly also unable to sleep.
I almost jumped a foot in the air when I felt the tap on my shoulder, only to find G-Man's mask staring into mine. How strange that such a haunting visage was a comfort to me.
"Hey. Can't sleep?" He sounded surprisingly serene. Or maybe it was just tired resignation. His hands seemed stuck in a familiar claw-like shape after holding the soldering iron for so long, and my fingers ached in sympathy. My mask's filters took much of the scent of smoke I could smell from the distant fires, but I was sure that if I wasn't wearing my mask that G-Man would smell faintly of molten silver solder. I'd wondered how we'd repaired and updated so many railguns so quickly. Now I knew what he'd put himself through.
"I can't," I confessed. "G-Man, I'm sorry what happened with your father. Hell of a birthday." I hadn't even had a chance to give him the present I'd bought him- a couple new filters, and vintage craftsman toolkit, 'from before they sold out,' as Verns had phrased it. The memory of his voice already felt distant, somehow.
"Wasn't your fault. Even if Town Hall wasn't your big idea to get them to retaliate, you know? Then they'd still have done something. But, uh, thanks for saying that. And thanks for trying to get dad out. I'll remember that." George said quietly, then the conversation ended when he turned away and went to the edge of the embankment. Just like that.
I could never quite get a read on him, but I wanted to respect his distance. Whatever he was feeling, he seemed to want to feel it alone, and to keep his own counsel on the matter.
I continued course toward Radio.
"Any word from Miskatonic?" I asked hopefully.
Radio offered a noncommittal shrug, then dropped it in a hurry, raising one hand to massage his chest. "They say 'this is your war,' but did ship us a small container."
"I saw."
I hadn't exactly expected them to line up alongside us in the trenches in their white coats, but I'd hoped they'd have had some kind of wonder drug or noxious gas we might deploy. Something toxic to the Shil'vati but not us. The best they'd given us so far were experimental bullets and toxic-tipped arrows and knives, the former of which supposedly could potentially the armor, if fired with enough force and impacted with a good angle. If true, then I supposed they might be moderately useful in an ambush, and they had helpfully included a pair of compound bows. I had conducted a pretty decent survey of the defense, but I hadn't thought to ask if any were experienced archers. I also couldn't imagine taking someone off a railgun, large caliber rifle, or even an old cannon to hand them a bow and arrow without feeling like I was somehow offering them an insult without equipping it myself, and there was better I could think to do with the remaining minutes before the Shil'vati would inevitably come looking than to practice.
They'd fallen out of favor for a reason, and it wasn't that the earliest guns outperformed bows.
They had also supplied a small cache of rifles that were more likely to pulverize than penetrate unless the armor had been compromised already. These were still appreciated, but hardly the game changer I wanted in return for all we'd sent them.
Then Radio leaned in, voice kept conspiratorially low. "They did, however, mention an exfiltration for you."
Sam had been right, I wouldn't get back anything close to the value of what I'd sent out. At least, not unless I was willing to abandon everything and everyone, to cut and run for my life. Such a decision would be the inglorious end of the revolution, spelling doom for everyone in it, and all of humanity's culture. I'd forever be remembered as a coward, if I was so lucky to be remembered at all.
"Well, I'm not going."
"Okay, but here's a real head-scratcher. Did you show them where Camp Death is? I've been careful not to broadcast our coordinates, and my little helpers haven't been talking with Miskatonic. And the person on the shortwave mentioned that the border would free up tomorrow morning, then mentioned the interstate right up against the back of our base as a meeting point. They said Last Exit Before Pennsylvania. That's right there." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "And I didn't mention broadcasting without a cat's paw or relay. I mean there's a chance they triangulated, but throwing together a plan that fast? Nah, man, they knew."
I searched my memory. "I'm certain that I didn't mention it to them...did Hex? She did that internship. No, wait, she got picked up and dropped off at Warehouse Base. Unless she mentioned something on the drive past? She said they were somewhere North." Now that Radio had mentioned it, I was left with a bit of a puzzle. How did they know? How much did they know about us?
"They had to have known somehow. And if they didn't know before and just figured our location out, then I bet you it's not long before the Shil'vati figure it out themselves and come sniffing," Radio resignedly threw a hand up. "Should we update the signal? Start directing people straight here?"
We had numbers, yes, but we could still do to take more in, especially if the fighting dragged on or casualties mounted higher than I projected. "How long until they're sure we're here?"
Radio yawned under his mask, the animated glass-plated mask he wore misinterpreting it with an ASCII shocked ":O" face. "We've been broadcasting all night, so, who knows?"
"Well, if it was just a signal they picked up on any random given day, how long would it typically take for the Shil'vati to muster a response?"
"Depends on the day." At my silent stare, he objected further. "They sometimes respond pretty fast to that sort of thing, but these aren't normal times, E. They used to come to check out wherever I broadcast from within an hour or two or two, but remember, they've kind of got their hands full right now thanks to Vendetta's jailbreaks. Plus, there's so many more signals." He checked the screen of his shortwave and chuckled, then lightly massaged his chest again. "I'm sure we've already gone way past."
"Alright. If we see anyone snooping around us, add our location to the broadcast. That way, anyone in the resistance or is sympathetic but isn't sure where Camp Death is can find their way here. In the meantime, though, I still think we're best not leaking it. At least with the sentries having set in the final claymores and outer defenses, we should be well-situated to ward off anything they throw at us."
"Maybe. Maybe not," George said from behind me, and I froze.
"Why not?"
He'd helped build this place. He'd know any weaknesses as well as his father.
"They might have cloaking tech, or some other means of infiltration," his voice was a dry rasp.
I shuddered thinking about it. "That's a good point," I muttered. "Assassination and recovery might be up their alley...except, I think they're terrified of what losing me might mean for their hostages."
"I'll be honest. I don't think she cares at this point," G-Man countered. I couldn't fault his gloomy disposition. I could just hope that he didn't want something bad to happen to us, to balance out that something bad had happened to him, from some weird sense of fairness.
"Yeah?"
"Think about it for a second. What happens if you die? Then what does that let her do if that happens?"
It was with a startle I realized he had a good point. Azraea had committed to a shocking all-in, something that would shake the political landscape and memories of countless denizens of the state. Months of carefully planned schemes involving carefully planned defensive patrols meant to reinforce one another, frustrate, and hinder our operations had culminated in us adapting, learning. We thought we had her beaten, especially when we destroyed her monitoring, data collection, and reporting asset in Something Else Square. Then she'd pulled something like this out of a hat, catching us totally flat-footed, rounding up who-knew how many of us before we could muster. What other assumptions had I made that were incorrect? Would she hold fire, if she knew where I was if it meant sparing the hostages? Or were they now just an 'acceptable, if regrettable' loss? When your opponent becomes unpredictable, issues arise, especially when you're counting on them to do certain things.
If it was, then I'd just done her work for her, and all of us would be dead the moment she figured out where we were, and at least the end would come faster than I knew it had arrived.
I realized I was staring up into the orange-lit cloudy night sky. I could voice none of this, not without undermining morale and potentially sparking a panic.
"If she was going to start bombarding the state, she'd have started already by now," I chuckled. "The borders are sealed, right? Why wait? Why bother trying to build some sense of dread? She's not a vampire who feeds on fear. I choose to not be afraid of what she may do. I instead intend to plan around it, to the extent that we can. Besides, if I die, what would the twins do to the hostages?"
George made a disappointed growl, his sore hands turning from awkward claws into shaking fists. "That may be the point. If the Twins do anything to the hostages in retaliation for your death, then maybe as long as she didn't pull the trigger, she thinks she'll be absolved of whatever damage their deaths mean to them."
I wasn't sure she thought that way. Heck, after months, the woman was still an absolute enigma to me. Governess Bal'shir, I understood- the flurry of speeches and photo-ops and handshakes at civic meetings with 'literally-who's-that' of 'what-community' had been carte blanche for us to grow. Ministriva was a lying snake, and once we pieced that together, I ripped her apart. But Azraea? What drove the Fleet Admiral to come down here? Duty. There wasn't any sort of hard policy she followed that I could tell, not that I knew Shil'vati military doctrine well, being an outsider such as I was. Perhaps it was the greater liberty afforded her of being both Governess and General that made it seem like her plans shifted and changed in ways that made it hard for me to keep up. Or maybe she was just at such a rank and in such a position of power to where she could make her judgment calls. If so, that begged the question: What was 'the line' for her? I had a feeling I'd somehow crossed it already. Probably Radio's tape of me fucking the Empress, if I was to be honest. Most unfair to be judged for something that hadn't been my decision, though I doubted an apology from either of us would amount to much.
I looked over to my Lieutenants. They'd helped carry me this far. I'd be foolish to ignore them now. What could I do to at least mitigate the risk that he was right, and there was someone looking to kill me, right here and now?
"Alright, fine, you've convinced me. Instruct the sentries to get the next dozen people who we intake to help patrol the inner perimeter, and to keep a watch for...well, I mean, a stealthy seven foot tall purple alien with giant tits?"
"Something invisible," George supplied.
"Alright, for anything shifting in the tall grasses that they can't immediately see- I can't really ask them to keep an eye out for something they can't see, can I?" I was suddenly too tired to think properly.
"I'll explain it," G-Man offered.
"And I'll get the sentries ready to take over the radio, explaining how it works, then I'll try heading to bed, too," Radio offered, and I realized that a yawn sounded very strange through a voice modulator- his ASCII helmet seemed to fritz out again for a second.
"I should change my sleeping quarters, too," I muttered. "They'll almost certainly check the command cabin for me, if they manage to enter. I'll pick a tunnel- uh...somewhere."
"Might be smart. Could be they'll try and take out the explosives shed, too. Make it look like an accident on our part, get rid of any hostages, and then get a free pass to exact vengeance on the state. Got anywhere in mind?"
I thought to myself. Where might be a good resting area? There were many tunnels that led to bunkers, firing outposts, and even to stowage areas. Any one of them might do in theory, but I knew of one that overlooked one of the two streams that ran along the side of Camp Death. I didn't want to situate myself either too low to where I was on the very front of the lines- why make an assassin's job even easier by putting myself on the perimeter, after all? But the creek should make a pleasant bit of white noise- and also get me away from the center shed. "Probably facing North, along Perkins run. G-Man, you look absolutely dead on your feet. Get some rest if you can, you've certainly done enough and gone through enough for today."
"There's...still things to do."
"There always will be. If the others are finished doing their repairs, lock the shed," I muttered. "I know the hostages are in there, so post a sentry or two there, too, to watch over the entrance. You're right that she may try some kind of underhanded tactic." It wouldn't do much if they decided to set charges against the side or something, and the subsequent explosion would be, in a word, 'cataclysmic'. "This was supposed to be a relaxing walk to help me rest..." I scratched at my chin under the mask, feeling the beginnings of the few scratchy hairs that had grown since I'd last shaved, and feeling the cool fresh air without the filter as the wind kicked up.
"Sorry," G-Man offered sheepishly. "I'll go tell 'em."
While he ambled off, I followed Radio back to his pile of equipment.
"Before we split then, one last thing."
"Yeah?" Radio asked.
"Have we recovered Verns?" I asked Radio. "Any word?"
"No, not that I've heard," Radio confessed. "Vendetta's been mostly quiet, I think to hide his heading from anyone who might be listening, but I know that he's struck at least three jails and counting. Some of the ones he's freed are trickling up to us here on foot, and it seems he and Morningstar are acting like a human wrecking ball. The troops are calling it Operation Smash-and-Grab."
"Smash-and-grab," I laughed, thinking of the pun. "I like it. Do we have a more recent headcount?"
"Sam said we've got enough to last about three days of continuous, round-the-clock fighting with the hundreds of people we have here. If we get a resupply run- well, I suppose it would depend upon how big a hole gets blasted in the encirclement. Or, well, something to that effect. Look, man, I'm 'Radio', not 'Telephone,' and I don't have the head for this logistics shit that you two do. You want to talk to Sam, you get the man on the radio yourself, or ask one of the Sentries I'm sticking here to manage the comms. Point being, you try and get hold of him. I'm done for the night."
I could have said something witty back, but it felt counterproductive, and would only delay the sleep I was now well overdue for.
"I've got an idea for an update. The ones Vendetta's letting loose? They can gather supplies and wait for the signal to reinforce, or to agitate, or can organize people into a more focused group, one that can punch through whatever blockade they try and form up. It'll also force the Shil'vati to not concentrate forces on our back door-" I pointed back at the interstate. "Even if they clear them out, the opportunity for us to encircle and destroy and then break out is too high for them to really try to do a mass deployment along our back." Sam was, I knew, something of a career criminal. Able to rub elbows with the worst elements of humanity. He was a facilitator, I knew, not really a leader. "Can you tell him-"
Radio was already fiddling with the dial. "Already on it," he muttered. "Lotta profit in looting, should be easy for him to steer people with that, or something. Get some sleep, E."
I went up to a sentry, requisitioned a sleeping bag someone had helpfully brought, went into a trench and told him where I'd be if I was needed. I waved to Radio, and crawled into the gunnery tunnel, almost stepping on another four people already laying in it. I loosened my laces, clutched my sheathed knife, and fell into a fitful sleep.
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The blade forging left Sorore exhausted, the failure left her frustrated, and the cold gave way to fear as the night drew closer. As day faded into dusk, she reflected on a morning that had been as full of ups and downs as the mountain paths they’d travelled. The very fact that she had been able to use magic, that it had crashed from the realm of fairy tales and church warnings into the very real everyday occurrence was already an earth shattering experience.
Then she’d moved water with a thought, seen monsters fall from the sky, and watched the paladins cleaving them in two. Her head spun with the strangeness of it all, the sheer onset of fanciful things blurring and mixing together with reality. She began to wonder what else might be true, of the fairy tales in the myth she had heard on the seas in her father’s ship. Of the old folk stories of Erratz, often dismissed as nothing more than old wive’s tales.
A new world had opened up before her, and she wasn't sure to be fascinated or terrified of it. Certainly the paladins didn't want any part of it, and they certainly didn't want her to be involved. And from everything she knew of the church scripture, they were absolutely right. She felt the danger, the power of the matter, and knew that it was only a small fraction of what it could do. She even felt a certain degree of fear towards the masked man in the black robes, as respectful as he had been as a tutor.
At least he didn't use a switch to reminder of when she had failed.
But even in the murk of her disquiet in that moment, she also felt a smouldering frustration underlying it. The knife had been hers, her project, her duty, and she had resolutely failed to craft it. Part of her shifted the blame elsewhere - it was a new technique she had picked up over the course of an afternoon. Efrain himself had said as much, even going as far to say that he hadn’t expected her to do it.
Now that was something she didn’t like at all. When people expected her to fail, despite all her efforts.
However, that resolution meant little now, given that she had been excused from the effort. At least now the mage had the basic shape to work on. She let her hand drift on the rough stone walls of the church. Thousands of individual perfections, many thousands of years old, the stone functioning despite it. Perhaps it would be enough, the basic, overall function, but she recalled all the pittances and channels carved in her vision of the knife.
She knew what was driving the doubt. It was curiosity, that sticking bug that clung to her, despite all her prayers to the contrary. She just couldn’t seem to shake it, despite the ‘assistance’ of church teachers when it reared its head particularly high. She had expected the snap across the palms from Efrain when he drew that piece of wood. It had been a relief when he’d tossed it over his shoulder.
The thought was an unworthy one, she immediately considered. She should’ve been grateful to the various priests and scholars who’d spent years teaching the twins. Some had even prepared their entire lives, just on the chance they’d meet the beloved Bequeathed. If they were strict, then so be it, it was for the sake of preparing her and Frare for their duties.
The church was once more a buzz of activity as people prepared for the night ahead. She and Lillian found their way to the altar, attracting only minor glances. The villagers clearly had gotten used to their presence, although some offered a respectful and perhaps wary gaze for Lillian. One of Frare’s eyes opened as they approached, but he quickly returned to his half-rest leaning on a pillar. Aya was still very much asleep, chest gently rising and falling under the furs where Sorore had left her.
Sorore sat on the wide steps, put her chins on her hands, and began to think. It was a rather dangerous proposition, considering her recent failure. She had a tendency to ruminate on them, and often her twin would find her staring plaintively before loudly disrupting it. This time was no different, as before anything but impotent frustration could boil over, he plopped down behind her back.
“Stop that,” he said, “I can hear your teeth beginning to grind.”
She leaned back to lie upon his lap, despite the admonishment she heard in her head about proper sitting position. His eyes were closed again, and she followed suit, letting the minutes wile away as night crept into the word. She was shaken out of this reverie by a loud pop and Aya’s yelp. The girl was both mid yawn and bright red as both the paladins and the twins turned to look at her. She insisted that she was fine, and took to straightening her clothes subconsciously.
It was a mere temporary distraction for Sorore, who was largely engrossed in considering the knife. Rather than merely wallowing in her problems, she was invested in its function. She could almost see the stone parting before her, revealing the source of that smothering cold behind the door. Maybe if she had tried one more time, maybe if she reduced the complexity of the form, then increased when she got the basic shape. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.
It was all of very little use. She was inside her head once again, at a complete loss of what to do. Maybe, within the grand archives of Angorrah, the answer was contained in a dusty scroll. Some offhand fact or technique of forging, long forgotten in the darkness of the shelves. But these were several weeks of travel away, and she wasn’t sure that she’d see the next sunrise. So then, what could she do to get them to bridge that gap? Just one more day, that’s all they needed, to hold out until the next sunrise.
Nothing. That was the simple truth of it - she was a lost little girl in a small village surrounded by terrible things. The thought was not a comforting one, and she wriggled, trying to nestle deeper into the legs of her twin. Aya by that point had come to sit down beside them, looking greyer as the dark came on. No wonder, for she knew she all felt the chill roll forward as the fog waxed in the night.
Another meal of common fare came and went, though Sorore noted that many soldiers were taking care with it. Perhaps it was common practice, to relish what very well may be your last meal. For her part she found it rather difficult to keep it down, the coming dread of the hours ahead offsetting her appetite.
The faces of the paladins had settled into that implacable, stoney cast once more. They quietly rebandaged their injuries, readjusted their armour, and set to sharpening their great blades with long deliberate strokes. Sorore idly thought that their sleeping faces were significantly more pleasant, if rarer to see. Thus it was that they crossed over into the late afternoon, where the light was quickly fading.
“I would like to take one last little walk,” Aya spoke up, “before… you know.”
The paladins looked up, their eyes twisting with barely veiled misapprehension at the request.
“My lady…” Lillian began.
“We can’t,” Niche said, “Not now. Not so close to dark.”
“Just barely outside the door,” said Aya, “Just so I can see something other than the church. Just to stretch my legs.”
The paladins looked at each other, looked back, and set their faces.
“Well, I suppose it can be accommodated,” Lillian said, “only just outside the church, and only for a few minutes.”
Her tone warned of dire consequences if these conditions should not be strictly adhered to. The children all collectively nodded and the party of five set out past the doors. The barricades within the church had grown in size and strength, at least as far as Sorore could judge. The villagers, under the supervision of the soldiers, had proven diligent in the daylight hours. She could only hope that it would be enough for the onset of the creatures, should they breach the church.
She had a dread certainty that it would indeed be breached, sooner or later. Though she hadn’t heard of any specifics, whispers of just how many of the things lurked outside were passed around. It was a small stroke of fortune that the windows were narrow and ensconced in stone. The last thing they needed was one of the flying beasts to crash through the glass.
The faint red-pink cast to the grey outside was beginning to fade into blackness as the sun shrank. Occasionally, the banks of fog would strip away, revealing the abominable silhouettes standing still past the wall. They would close just as quickly, removing any clarity, and leaving only the icy fear in its place. The remaining soldiers and villagers watched them with anxiety and exhaustion.
The garden around the front of the church was almost non-existent. Most of the flowers had been trampled either in preparation for or during the course of the battle. The only things left relatively untouched were the central beds around the side of the church, which grew produce for its tenants. Some trees still stood, showing minimal damage from the fog and its creatures.
The five ducked under the boughs of the closest one to the doors. The additional chill brought by its shade was a trifling concern at the present. The green, muted as it was by the overcast sky beyond, was a lively anchor in the cold, dead mists. Such was the comfort of the place that Soroe let herself lean back onto the bark of the tree and eyes drift closed.
The trunk was solid, a comforting sensation that seemed to offset the malevolence of the fog.
Enough so that Sorore began to wander the netherworld of half-sounds and sights that characterised pre-sleep. They all wandered with her, some staying, some peeling off, guided by their own demented logic. Little and less was coherent, but it took her away from the horrible reality of what lurked a few hundred steps away all the same.
She fell deeper into this other-state, letting the visions wash over her as the real world slipped away. Time became a mercurial concept, which led her to question when exactly everything had settled. But settled it had, into a hazy blackness which the eye could not pierce. There, in the distance, a bright ribbon of twisting warm color glowed. A piece of fresh-forged metal perhaps, the day’s task going straight to her head. Or maybe it was the remnants of another dream that day, one that was already a blurry memory.
From a great distance, she heard a crash, unmistakable in its ringing clarity. A forge hammer singing out a song of its own, for now merely a rhythm. It shifted in tone as it rang out through the abyss once more, adding progression, then melody, all written in singing steel. Sorore’s fingers began to drum out the sequence on her thighs as she felt it reverberate through her. Then, with a sliding screech, she was left alone in the half-dream, with nothing but darkness remaining.
Still, the bright memory of the song remained, and in the darkness another voice took shape. It was a deep, rich, and handsome sound, that spoke of a confidence of such immensity that you were convinced its wielder could do anything. Sorore had never heard the likes of it before, either on the docks, or in cities, or on the open waves.
“Come now,” it said, “this little thing is giving you trouble?”
Sorore’s eyes slowly open, pulling her from the dreamscape back into the dreariness of the real. Aya had her knees pulled to her chest, leaning back into the trunk. The paladins, tired but alert, scanned the endlessly shifting banks of fog.
Sorore had a fleeting impression that the answers were just beyond the pale mists. Maybe something would come through, parting it like thin curtains, and impart the inspiration she needed. Or maybe a whole set of schematics will drop into my lap from the sky, she thought with dark irony.
The vision was quickly fading into the abyss of forgetfulness. Perhaps Aya had shared it once more with her, but she was in conversation with the paladins. Not wanting to interrupt, Sorore looked at her outstretched legs. Past them were a handful of leaves that had fallen despite the summer of the valley, with a couple long decomposed to nothing but their skeletons.
She reached out to grasp at the leaves, looking at the yellow-grey veins that raced across its surface. The large ones spread from the central stem and the hundreds of smaller capillaries that interconnected them. Holding up to the sky, she screwed her face, trying to discern the details of this piece of nature. After a few moments of tepid stillness, the clouds parted for just a moment, letting a ray of sunlight lance down to catch their hill in its beam.
For a second, the leaf seemed to glow, shimmering like metal catching glare.
And Sorore had her inspiration.
With that, she sprang to her feat so fast that one of the paladins almost jumped. Both looked around with questioning and slightly alarmed expressions. Sorore didn’t have much of an answer - in fact her mind was going so fast that she could hardly even articulate the solution that had been revealed to her.
“The- the- the-” she said, snapping her fingers, trying to put words to the idea, “I know what to do. I need to find him.”
“Find who? The mage?” asked Lillian.
The fiery certainty of the thought sent Sorore tramping out onto the grass, leading to calls from the paladins to slow down. She didn’t bother to wait for them, consumed by this need to find the mage, the knife, to try again.
The forge was more or less empty, save for the few labourers packing up the tools and ferrying them into the church proper. With a furious set of questions, she gleaned that he’d vacated the premises some time ago. The paladins called for her to stop as she doubled back, but she couldn’, not now.
The scenery seemed to blur as she rushed through the church doors, past the bustling barricades, and to the captain’s tables. A somewhat perturbed Damafelce told the young girl that Efrain had been seen entering the door at the end of the church. With that, Sorore broke out into a run, past the altar, through the door and down into the darkness of the Catacombs.
She stepped out onto the sand floor, the members of her party at her heels as she tried to seek out the path to the black wall. She stumbled more than once as she felt her way along in the darkness, fortunately with no skeletal interruptions this time. Down the stairs and into the long corridor she came, the smothering cold increasing as she pushed forward.
As she had surmised, Efrain was there, just about to start whatever process pried apart the stone. The tip of the blade was raised, pressed into the stone above his head. He turned at the approaching footsteps, cocking his head at the lack of isolation. Sorore didn’t even wait for him to say something, instead thrusting out her head for the crude metal knife.
“ I know- I can- I can do it now,” she said, breathless from the long run from the surface.
Delicately, Efrain removed the metal from the stone, and looked down at her. There seemed to be a questioning quality to the look, at least as far as she could read the emotionless mask. He looked at the cat, then back to the girl, and then to the rest of her party.
“How?” he said, “ If I let you undo this, we may not have enough time to recreate it before the attacks begin.”
“Leaves,” she said, putting a hand on the wall to steady herself as her lungs complained, “it- was the leaves.”
“The… leaves?” he said, “ All right. Stop, take a few breaths, and start from the beginning.”
And so she did, explaining how she sat under the bows of the trees, the half-awake dreaming, and the skeleton of the leaf.
“I got it. I was trying to build the whole thing out myself, all at once,” she said, stumbling over her words, “instead of letting nature do what it wants. The metal wants to come together - I don’t need to force it into its final shape. I just need to build a- a-”
She snapped her fingers at the air, trying to reach past this new blank as Efrain regarded the knife.
“You want to build a frame,” he said, “and let the metal fill in the rest of the empty space.”
After a moment’s hesitation, he turned over the knife, hilt first, to the girl.
“Well then,” he said, “let’s hope you know what you’re doing.”
She did, or at least she hoped she did this time. Within moments, the metal was flowing over her hands like a cold stream, but instead of trying to sculpt it, she began to spin filaments outwards. Like the skeleton of the leaf, little veins of metal stretched outwards, stopping abruptly, and folding back into themselves. If it had been hard before, it was now brutal, the smothering cold dragging at every attempt to shape the material.
Hands trembling, sweat beginning to bead on her forehead, she managed to split the metal into dark fingers. All she had to do was resist gravity and prevent it spilling over the imaginary bounds of the shape. From those dark fingers, snaking vines spread out and connected with each other. Slowly, slowly, branching and arcing, they filled in the skeleton she’d created and fused.
The final product wasn’t altogether too different from what they’d created during the afternoon. The shape, a heavy chisel tip, tapering out to twin furls like a plough, a longer tang. Sorore, half blind by stinging salt, didn’t fail to notice swirling furrows spreading across its surface. She had no idea how she’d managed to etch those designs, or perhaps the metal remembered, just as the stone did.
“Well,” said the mage at last, “suffice to say, I am impressed. Now, hold it up.”
She did so, despite the exhaustion of her arms, the tip wavering as his finger touched its point.
There was a rush of something, extending over the surface of the blade, stopping just short of her hand. It was like a coat of mail had been pulled taught, the links aligning at the same time, snapping together in a regular structure. From the tip of the chisel, down to the tang, the metal shuddered and settled. By the time it disappeared under her grip, it was rigid as any steel tool.
The mage gently took it from her, holding the blade up to that little flickering light above his head. Flicking it this way and that, he seemed to find whatever he was looking for, and pressed the tip to the wall. Sorore, despite her fatigue, was practically exploding with excitement. She’d done it, not only conquering the task, but she was about to see what was behind those dark walls.
Then, before he pressed the blade into the stone and drew it down, he paused.
“Paladins,” he said, voice quiet, “it would be best to take the children back into the church.”
Lillian frowned and put a hand onto her hilt as she stared at the door.
“What?” said Sorore, aghast, “ But I-”
“No buts,” said Efrain, “we don’t know what’s behind this door. It may be dangerous, it may not. But I strongly suspect it’s not something you would want to see. Very well done, little one, but this is something I should deal with on my own.”
The tone of academic authority was not an unfamiliar one to Sorore. But unlike in virtually all other occasions in her life, she attempted to object. Before she could speak more than a few words, Lillian took her by the shoulders, her mind apparently made up. All three of them were carted up the stairs as barely contained rage began to bubble up inside her.
“Do you think we should…?” said Niche, gesturing to the surrounding stone.
“No, not yet,” Lillian said, “putting aside everything else, we still might need him.”
Niche nodded and said no more.
They had made a steady pace, overtaking half the hallway as the scream of metal on stone echoed out. It was followed by a grating rumble as presumably the doors opened. If the temperature below the surface was cold when they came, the resulting drop was freezing. The mist that rose up behind them whispered things in long mournful sighs as the surroundings began to buzz with what must’ve been magic.
Then, from up the stairs there was a long, terrible wail.
[←Chapter 47] [Cover Art] [My Links] [Index] [Discord] [Subreddit] [Chapter 49→]

from the ijwthstd blog where you can also find download link
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I was going to let this one go but the version up on Dime is missing a song.
It was another date night, and I also had edibles, homemade and much stronger than expected. The wind was bugging again and I could barely keep the mics mounted, more due to the substances coursing through my system than any technical problems. And you only have some other taper to blame for giving me infused treats to capture his avant garde favorites, where a heavy dose of THC is a must for endurance.
This tour was a little controversial in my digital neighborhood from all ends to the people who think just because they are fan they are entitled to be one of the 15,000 inside out of the 25,000 who wish they were at either the lowest price possible or the highest, outbidding everyone else in the process. And the brokers who think feel entitled to grab all the tickets and charge whatever they want for them to Michael Rapino who was a bit inconvenienced but would rather suck it up and play along and maybe give some money back than let AEG book the tour.
Reeves Gabrels might be my favorite guitar player ever, not just his work with David Bowie (and I still maintain "Outside" is my favorite album of his) but his solo album "Ulysses" is particularly spectacular. Though his work with The Cure is a bit more restrained to that particular style, I was very happy for him when he landed this gig. And I wish I had something resembling an adult income when he was doing his regular residency at the Baked Potato where I would see the show, eat a massive spinach potato topped with jalapenos smothered with Tabasco sauce and then walk the 5 miles home to get up in 4 hours and go to work. Was only able to manage that a few times but if it were ten years later I would go to every single one and Lyft it out of there.
Speaking of good gig eats, it wouldn't be a Hollywood Bowl show if it didn't have a fair amount of wrapper crinkling thanks to the Bowl's infamous BYO policy and my love of hot peanuts and addiction to infused edibles. I tried to secure to my mics to a mask under a hoodie because these mics don't like even the slightest breeze but didn't quite work the way it used to especially with me stuffing my fat face all night.
There were T shirt kiosks crammed into corners I had never seen them before and every line like Space Mountain 4th Of July. The price? $25! Only 3 or 4 with simple designs as not to overwhelm the senses, and credit card. I don't think they cost that much since the 1990's. I never buy arena shirts but I still had to get one for my dearly neglected. Already seeing these shirts everywhere now. I doubt KISS sells as many in November as The Cure did on a Wednesday night. Wouldn't be surprised if they can even best regular merch sales record holders Iron Maiden in equivalent venues. I bet The Cure would even be undercutting the bootleg guys outside selling for $20 if the Bowl and LiveNation's hefty fees allowed.
Being date night with a traditional buy your tickets a year in advance and pay for parking patron, and I did what I almost never do anymore and buy advance in the fan to fan exchange so she would have something to look forward to, and crossed my fingers they wouldn't be canceled. I paid $192.40 for the pair, beating my record high of $40 to get into Pasadena Daydream. I got the dreaded U31 error on the first try but switched to another browser and pulled them again, but unfortunately was logged into my (former) business buy account so I was a little nervous because for a while I was spending an amount that seems so unreal to me still, even now. All that was left active were stacks of Matchbox Twenty that were sold or refunded in early 2020 for a tour that just kicked off a few weeks ago.
If anyone knows Michael Rapino, tell him to get his IT guys on that error. Not everyone says fuck it and buys in the lot day of show like I do. He may be rich but it's Never Enough and he can always use more so there is no reason regular fans with money to spend should be denied tickets they took the time to try to purchase. People are missing shows and his $122 million payday could be a little higher if he can take these customer complaints seriously and fix this constant issue.
There is so much I can say about Robert Smith's ticketing policy, especially since I am of the opinion "my ticket, my money, my property" but that opinion has evolved a bit with this tour and I can't really say I am unsatisfied with how it worked out. On it's face it looked fair to everyone and those looking to profit were sufficiently warned. Now those regular fans who had their tickets canceled might think different. It's all algorithmic, it's not like they were using a secret list of known offenders. For example, if you go to a lot of shows and have eclectic tastes you are eventually going to get your tickets canceled for something in addition to never getting the verified fan codes.
Now Eddie Vedder did the same no transfer and fan to fan resale for his YouTube Theater show. When it half sold, he lowered the prices while previously purchased tickets listed for resale were locked into the price floor at the original price, twice what even closer seats were eventually listed for. Or Ed Sheeran, notorious for inconveniencing fans in addition to resellers with his spurious ticket verification checks for secondary purchased tickets outside venues where they would cancel the tickets on the spot and resell them. Now I am getting regular notifications of discount Ed Sheeran tickets from stadiums across the continent. In a kinder, gentler era where the free market reigned it would be the third parties assuming some of the promoter's risk and taking those losses. But this tour sold out 100% instantly and any unwanted tickets had the auto refund built in because tickets resell the second they are listed on the Fan To Fan exchange, unlike Eddie Vedder where that money spent was lit on fire.
I know I get always get a clueless knee-jerks from drooling mouthbreathers when admitting to the cardinal sin of selling a sacred ducat for more than face value, especially on The Cure Reddit where I got multiple accounts banned for harassment for merely explaining how the business works from my perspective. Maybe one of those folks can answer this simple question, if I don't even qualify for housing anymore, why should I care what someone spends on a concert ticket? Or better yet, will anyone in Glendale or Burbank, California who bought their house 2010 or earlier sell it to me for what they paid? The worst is thinking of life without teeth because after three decades of neglect, once I hit the tipping point I was able to go to the dentist I liked and say do what you gotta do then just paid the bill. Still my biggest splurge, spending more than my Ireland and Finland trips combined. So what if you spent $40 more than me for a pair to Dancing With The Stars.
Right now if it's not The Cure, Taylor Swift or K-Pop, pretty much everything is $10 or so day of show. Prices fall so hard, so fast I am legitimately worried brokers will start going bankrupt and stop bulk harvesting inventory leading to the collapse of the secondary market and Ticketmaster might actually become an almost monopoly.
For those of you still looking for tickets, keep in mind there is no guest list and Robert Smith is personally handling sales to friends and family but god forbid any of Bob's friends have to pay a very fair price to see this show, and anything still unsold goes back to Ticketmaster and even the box office day of show where my friends were getting Garden Boxes out the window for all three shows.
Enough about tickets, now that the cat is out of the bag how I funded my all concerts all the time lifestyle for so long, I hope to tell that story someday. The secondary market is not what you think it is. And with the exception of Ebaying my Inland Invasion 2003 ticket for rent money because I couldn't get a ride, I have never sold a single ticket for The Cure. For more on that subject I highly recommend the Bob Lefsetz podcast interviews with both Ticketmaster founder Fred Rosen and current LiveNation chairman, the aforementioned Michael Rapino who talks a bit about this tour.
Nice to see a few classic Reeves style solos on "A Night Like This" (replacing the sax solo on the original) and "From The Edge Of The Deep Green Sea" especially with the absense of "Wrong Number" and "Yesterday's Gone" in the set. I know they are keeping a dividing wall between his projects but I sometimes wonder how David Bowie's "The Motel" would sound interpreted by this band.
The music itself was nothing short of divinely inspired and perfectly delivered but the backlighting and inefficient use of screens means you can pretty much get a seat anywhere in any building and it won't really matter. Sit in the back row, eat an infused chocolate and enjoy the sights and sounds even if you don't see much of the actual people onstage. I liked the 2016 visuals better with Reevesvision on the left jumbotron all night. Got to hear at least some of my favorites though I have soft spot for my first ever purchase "Wild Mood Swings" but they do play "Want" some nights, if not this one. Got "Disintegration," "A Night Like This," "From The Edge Of The Deep Green Sea" as well as many yet to be released songs that are meant more than sending people to the loo or for more underpriced merchandise. Robert Smith believes in them enough to put them in the set every night and should be given the same attention as the classics you, if not me, grew up with. He still takes his craft seriously in addition to the business.
There are likely better recordings, even of the same night, and as is often the case this serves as more of a vehicle to tell my story than just kicking another show out there for the obsessive compulsives to put on a soon to crash hard drive without ever hearing.
I was planning on going the last night and splurge on a garden box if possible but I did have a free show by Kara Jackson on my calendar and though I had yet to hear a note, I sampled a song and decided to save myself the cash. It was worth it to spend, but the Bowl is just a bit too much to deal with three nights in one week. Foot, car, shuttle, there is just no easy way to get out of there.
And I will leave you with a link to my most played song by The Cure, which would likely blow at least a mind or two if it returns to the set.
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https://youtu.be/-yF_PLJfe7Q

I started my dread journey almost 2 years ago and I started with freeforms. After about 10 months of freeforming I decided to get a retwist for traditional locs and I was pretty happy with it. About a year later I’m trying to turn my traditional locs back into freeforms is it possible to just get them back by not retwisting?

Hi Firstly strength to all who are facing this dreadful disease. My father 58 yr was diagnosed with GBM in nov 22 after craniotomy. The tumour is in left parietal lobe. He suffered a seizure in Sep 22 that's when we went through MRI. He has undergone chemoradiation which ended in Feb 23. Currently he has undergone 3 cycles of TMZ. After the radiation he has been suffering from weekly focal seizures which we control by administring Medistat nasal spray. He is currently on Valproit 750 mg , lacosamide 50 mg and brevacetam 100 mg and dexa .5mg. I am unable to understand the reasons behind these seizure which started after radiation therapy ended. I would be grateful if someone could shed some light on it. It becomes very difficult to see him in such phase.
PS : Whenever we taper down dexa he suffers a seizure. Currently after seizure I give him 4 mg of dexa injection so that edema gets reduced. Currently he is on .5 mg dexa.