They didn’t tell us the name of the next kid that disappeared. They didn’t tell us another kid had disappeared at all. We could all tell by the silence what had happened. It spoke volumes. I’m sure they talked about it in great detail amongst themselves. In PTA meetings and City Councils. My parents made sure to turn off the TV at 5 o’clock before the news came on, at least in my home. They’d turn it back on for the 11 o’clock news, when were were in bed and couldn’t hear the details.
The strange thing is, they never told us to just stop going outside. They told us to go in groups, sure, but they never decided, or as far as I could tell even though, to keep us all indoors. I guess that sort of freedom wasn’t something they were willing to give up. Instead, they did the neighborhood watch thing. For those few months, I remember my folks meeting more of our neighbors than in all the time previously, or since. Retirees would spend their days out in their front lawns, watching kids and everybody else coming and going. They’d even set up lawn furniture, with umbrellas, even all through the rains of spring. Cops stopped sitting in ambushes on the highways waiting for speeders and instead started patrolling the streets, chatting with us as we’d pass by. Weekends would see all the adults out in their yards, working on cars in the driveways, fixing the gutters, and so on. They had this weird way of looking at you as you’d ride by. Not hostile stares, but it was like they were cataloging your presence. Boy, eight years old, red raincoat silver bike, about 11:30 in the morning, heading south on Sorensen. Seemed fine.
The next time we saw it, it wasn’t in our neighborhood, and I was the one who saw it first. We were visiting Russ, a sort of 5th semi-friend from school. We rarely hung out, mostly owing to geography. His house wasn’t far as the crow flies, but it was up a steep hill. We spent a Saturday afternoon returning a cache of comic books we’d borrowed. The distance we covered was substantial, as we had decided to take lots of extra streets as switchbacks, rather than slowly push our bikes up the too-steep hills.
The descent was going to be the highlight of the trip, up until I saw the Hidebehind. We were on a curving road, a steep forested bluff on one side. The uphill slope was mostly ivy-covered raised foundations for the neighborhood’s houses. That side of the road was lined with parked cars, and the residents of the homes had to ascend steep staircases to get to their front doors.
I was ayt the back of the pack when I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. Movement, something brown squatting between two closely parked cars. My head snapped as I zoomed past, and despite not getting a good look, I knew it was that terrible thing. “It’s behind us!” I shouted and started pedaling hard. The others looked for themselves as I quickly rushed past them, but they soon joined my pace.
Ralph’s earlier idea of directly confronting the thing was set aside. We were moving too fast, and down too narrow a street to turn around. Then we saw it again it was to our left, off-road, between the trees. Suddenly it leaped from behind one tree trunk to the next and disappeared again. That hardly made sense, the base of the trees must have been thirty feet below the deck of the street we rode down. One of us, I think it was India, let out one of those strangled screams.
There it was again, back on the right, disappearing behind a mailbox as we approached. That couldn’t have been, it must have outpaced us and crossed in front of us. Logic would suggest there was more than one, but somehow the four of us knew it was the same thing. More impossible still, the pole holding up the mailbox was too thin, maybe two inches in diameter, yet that thing had disappeared behind it, like a Warner Bros. cartoon character. It was just enough to catch a better glimpse of it though. All brown. A head seemingly too bulbous and large for its body. Its limbs were thin but far longer, like a gibbon’s. Only a gibbon had normal elbows and knees. This thing bent its joints all wrong like it wasn’t part of the natural order. We were all terrified to wit’s end.
“The trail!” Ralph shouted, and the other three of us knew exactly what he meant. The top of it was only just around the curve. It was a dirt footpath for pedestrians ascending and descending South Hill, cutting through the woods on our left. It was too steep for cars, and to be honest, too steep for bikes. We’d played on it before, challenging each other to see how high up they could go, then descend back down without using our brakes. A short paved cul-de-sac at the bottom was enough space to stop before running into a cross street.
Ralph had held the previous group record, having climbed three-quarters of the way before starting his mad drop. India’s best was just short of that, I had only dared about halfway up, Ben only a third. This time, with certain death on our heels, the trail seemed the only way out. Nothing could have outrun a kid on a bike flying down that hill.
We followed Ralph’s lead, swinging to the right gutter of the street, then hanging a fast wide left up onto the curb, over a patch of gravel, between two boulders set up as bollards, lest a car driver mistake the entrance for a driveway, and then, like a roller coaster cresting the first hill, the bottom fell out.
It was the most overwhelming sensation of motion I’ve ever had, before or since. I suppose the danger behind us was the big reason, and being absolutely certain that only our speed was keeping us alive. I remember thinking it was like the speeder bike scene from Return of the Jedi, also a recent movie from the time. Only this was real. I didn’t just see the trees flashing past it, I could hear the motion as well. Cold air attacked my eyes and long streamers of tears rushed over my cheeks and the drops flew past my ears, I didn’t dare blink. Each little stone my tires struck threatened to up-end me and end it all. Yet, and perhaps worse, half the time it felt like I wasn’t in contact with the ground at all. I was going so fast that those same small stones were sending me an inch or two into the air, and the arc of the flights so closely matched the slope that by the time I contacted the trail again, I was significantly further down the hill.
At the same time, I had never felt more relief, as the thing behind us had no way of catching us now. Somehow, maybe the seriousness of the escape gave us both the motive and the seriousness to keep ourselves under control. Looking back, I marvel that at least one of us didn’t lose control and end up splitting our skulls open.
We hit the pavement of the cul-de-sac below, and didn’t bother to slow down. We raced through the cross-street, one angry driver screeching to a halt and laying on his horn. This brought out the neighborhood watch. Just a few of them at first. Still, we didn’t slow down, our momentum carried us back up the much shallower slope of our neighborhood. Witnesses saw us depart at high speed, and this only brought out more of the watch. We heard whistles behind us, just like our P.E. teacher’s whistle. We figured that was the watch’s alarm siren. Regardless of what happened to that thing, it was behind us. We returned to our homes, shaken, but safe and sound, our inertia taking us almost all of the way there.
Another kid disappeared that Sunday, up on South Hill. We’d suspected it because we could see the lights of the police cars on a high road, surrounding the spot where it would turn out later, one of the kid’s shoes had been found. Russ confirmed it at school on Monday. It was a kid he’d known, lived down the road from his place, went to private school which is why we didn’t recognize his name.
I remember seeing Ralph’s face the next day when he arrived at school. He looked angry. Strong. Like he’d been crying really hard, and now it was over and he was resolved. He said he’d felt guilty because the thing we’d escaped from had gotten the other kid instead. He tried to tell his old man about it, then his mom, then any adult he could. He’d tell them about the monster who hides behind things. They needed to focus on finding and stopping that instead of looking for some sort of creeper or serial killer. Of course, nobody had listened to him. They hadn’t listened to the rest of us either when we’d tried to tell.
So he’d devised a plan. He was calling it the “Fight Patrol,” which we didn’t argue with. If the adults wouldn’t do something, we would. We’d patrol our neighborhood on our bikes, the four of us, maybe a couple more if we could talk others into it. We’d chase it off like that first time, maybe for good, or maybe corner it. Clearly, it could not handle being caught.
Naturally, we brought up the scare on South Hill. He argued that was a bad place. Too isolated, couldn’t turn around easily. We needed to stay on our home turf, lots of visibility, and plenty of the Neighborhood Watch within earshot. Maybe we and the adults working together was the key, even if the adults didn’t understand the problem.
Well, that convinced us. Our first patrol was that afternoon, after school. We watched everybody’s back like hawks. Nothing had a chance to sneak up on us. Nothing could step out from behind a bush without getting spotted. By Friday afternoon there were eight of us. The next week we split up to extend our territory to the next neighborhoods over.
Nothing happened. We never saw anything. Ben thought it was because we were scaring it away. Ralph just thought we were failing, and took it personally. I myself thought the thing had just moved to different parts of town, where the new disappearances were taking place. I told him we should keep it up until the thing was caught.
It was all for naught.
One day, India didn’t show up for school. I asked everybody, the teachers, the office staff, the custodian, my parents. All of them said they didn’t know, and it was so easy to tell that they were lying. That would mark the end of the Fight Patrol.
Ben didn’t show up a couple of days after that. When I got home and collapsed into bed, my mother came in to tell me that Ben’s mother had called. She’d taken him out of school and they were moving elsewhere. I called up Ralph to let him know the news, and he was relieved too.
My last day was Friday, and then I was taken out. Again, I called Ralph so he wouldn’t worry. I guess when there were only two weeks left of school, and it was just grade school, a couple missed weeks don’t amount to much. So I ended up spending the bulk of the summer out in the country, with my grandparents, which was why I brought up my grandpa in the first place.
I suppose I did fine out on their farmhouse. I was safe. There was certainly no shortage of things for a kid to do. I think my mom felt a strong sense of relief too. Things slipped through the cracks.
My grandparents didn’t have cable, too far out of town. They just had an old-school antenna and got a couple of TV stations transmitting out of Canada, Vancouver specifically. I remember one July day, sitting in their living room. My grandmother had just fixed lunch for me and my grandfather and had gone out to do some gardening as we watched the news at noon.
My grandfather was already being ravaged by his illnesses. He was able to get around, but couldn’t do any real labor anymore. He’d lounge in front of the TV in a special lounge chair. He hardly talked, and when he did he’d just mumble some discomfort or complaint to my grandma.
The lead story on the news was the current situation in Farmingham, despite being in the neighboring country, it was still big news in Vancouver, and the whole rest of the region. It seemed the disappearances were declining, but the police were still frantically searching for a supposed serial killer. I didn’t pick up much about what they were talking about, I was a kid after all, but my grandfather was watching intently, despite his infirmity.
He mumbled something, I didn’t catch. I asked him was he said, and as I approached I heard him say “fearsome critters.”
He turned his eyes to me and said again, distinct and in a normal tone of voice, “fearsome critters,” then returned his attention to the screen. “I don’t know why they call them that. Fearsome, sure. But ‘critters?” Makes it sound silly. Like it's some sort of fairy tale that it ain’t. Guess it’s like whistling past the graveyard. Well, they don’t have to worry about them no more, guess they can call them what they like.”
Then he turned to me. “Do you know what it is?” he asked. “Squonk? Hodag? Gouger? Hidebehind?”
“Hidebehind,” I whispered, and he turned back to the TV with a sneer. I had no idea what on earth he was talking about. Remember, this would be years before I learned he spent his youth as a lumberjack. And yet, somehow, I knew exactly what we were talking about.
“Hidebehind,” he repeated. “That will do it. They give them such stupid names. The folk back East, that is. Wisconsin. Minnesota. Ohio. Way back in the old days, before my grandfather would have been your age. Back when those places were covered by forests. They didn’t give them silly names back then, no. Back then they were something to worry about. Then they moved on, though. They all went out West, to here, followed the loggers. So as once they didn’t have to worry about them anymore, they started making up silly stories, silly names. “Fearsome critters,” they’d call them. Just tall tales to tell the greenhorns and scare them out of their britches. Then they’d make them even sillier, and tell the stories to little kids to spook them.”
“Not out here they didn’t tell no stories nor make up any names. It was bad enough they followed us out. I had no clue they even existed until I saw one for myself. Bout your age, I suppose. Maybe a little older. Nobody ever talks about them. Not even when they take apart a work crew, one by one. They just pull the crews back. Wait till mid-summer when the land is dry but not too dry. Then they move the crews in, a lot of them. Do some burning, make a lot of smoke. Drives them deeper into the woods, you know. Then you can cut the whole damn place down. But nobody asks why, nobody tells why. The people who know just take care of it.”
“I guess that’s why they’re coming to us now. All the old woods are almost gone. So they’ve got to. Like mountain lions. I supposed it’s going to happen sooner or later.”
We heard my grandma come into the back door to the utility room, and stomp the dirt off her boots. My grandfather turned to me one last time and said, “Whichever way you look at it, somebody’s just got to take care of it.” Then my grandmother came in from the utility room and asked us how our lunch had been.
Now that I look back at it, that might have been the last time my grandfather and I really had a meaningful talk.
We moved back home in late August. I had been having a fantastic summer. Though looking back, I suppose it could be rough for a still-young woman to be living in her aging parents' house when she’s got a perfectly good husband and house of her own in town.
First thing I did was visit Ralph. He’d been busy. He’d fortified his treehouse into a proper, well, tree fort. He’d nailed a lot of reinforcing plywood over everything. He hadn’t gone out on patrols by himself, of course, but the height of the tree fort afforded him a view of the nearest streets. He’d also made some makeshift weapons out of old baseball bats, a hockey stick, and a garden rake. The sharp rocks he’d attached to them with masking tape didn’t look very secure, but it’d only take one or two good blows with that kind of firepower. He also explained he’d been teaching himself kung fu, by copying all the movies he saw on kung fu movies late at night on the unpopular cable channels. That was classic Ralph.
As for the monster, it seemed to be going away. Its last victim had disappeared weeks previously, part of the reason my mom felt it was time to go back. This had been at night too. What’s more, the victim had been a college student, a very petite lady, barely five feet tall, under a hundred pounds. The news had speculated that their presumptive serial killer had assumed she was a child. I remember thinking the Hidebehind didn’t care. Maybe it just thought she couldn’t run fast enough to get away or put up a fight when he caught her. Like a predator.
At any rate, the college students were incensed. Of course, they’d been hyper-alert and concerned when it was just local kids going missing. Now that it was one of their own the camel’s back had broken. They really went hard on the protests, blaming the local police for not doing enough.
They started setting up their own patrols, and at night too. Marches with sometimes dozens of students at a time. They called it “Take Back the Night.” They’d walk the streets, making sure they’d be heard. Some cared drums or tambourines. They’d help escort people home, and sometimes they’d unintentionally stop random crimes they’d happen across. I felt like this was what the Fight Patrol could have been, if we’d just been old enough, or had been listened to. This would be the endgame for the Hidebehind, one way or another.
I stayed indoors the rest of the summer, and really there wasn’t much left. It doesn’t get too hot in the Pacific Northwest, nobody has air conditioners, or at least we didn’t back then. It will get stuffy though, in August, and I liked to sleep with my window open. I could hear the chants and challenges from the student patrols on their various routes. Sometimes I could hear them coming from far away, and every now and then they’d pass down my street. It felt like a wonderful security blanket.
I also liked the honeysuckle my mother had planted around the perimeter of the house. Late at night, if I was struggling to fall asleep, the air in my bedroom would start to circulate. Cold air would start pouring in over my windowsill, bringing the sweet scent of that creepervine with it, and I’d the sensation before finally passing out.
This one night, and I have no knowledge if I was awake, asleep, or drifting off, but the air in the room changed, and cooler air poured over the windowsill and swept over my bed, but it didn’t carry the sweet smell of honeysuckle. Regardless of my initial state, I was alert pretty quickly. It was a singularly unpleasant smell. A bit like death, which at that age I was mostly unfamiliar with, except a time some animal had died underneath the crawlspace of our house. There was more to it, though. The forest, the deep forest. I don’t know and still don’t know, what that meant. Most smells I associate with the forest are pleasant. Cedar, pine needles, thick loam of the forest floor, campfires, even the creosote and turpentine of those old timey-logging camps. This was none of those smells. Maybe… rotting granite, and the spores of slime molds. Mummified hemlocks and beds of needles compressed into something different than soil. It disturbed me.
So I sat up in bed. I hadn’t noticed before, but I’d been sweating, just lightly in the stuffy summer night heat. Now it was turning cold. Before me was my bedroom window. A lit rectangle in a pitch-dark room. To either side were my white, opened curtains, the one on the right, by the open half of the window, stirred just slightly in the barely perceptible breeze.
Most of the rectangle was the black form of the protective cypress tree. Only the slight conical nature of the tree distinguished it from a perfectly vertical column. To either side was a dim soft orange glow coming from the sodium lamps of the street passing by our house. It was perhaps a bit diffuse from the screen set in my window to keep out mosquitos. In the distance was the sound of an approaching troupe of the Take Back the Night patrol. They were neither drumming nor chanting, but still making plenty of noise. They were, perhaps, three or four blocks away, and heading my way.
For some reason that I didn’t understand, I got up, off of the foot of the bed. The window, being closer, appeared bigger. I took a silent step further. The patrol approached closer. Another step. I leaned to my right, just a bit, getting a slightly wider view to the left of the cypress tree. That was the direction the patrol was coming from.
That was when it resolved. The deeper black silhouette within the black silhouette of the cypress tree. A small lithe frame with a too-bulbous head. It too leaned, in its case, to the left, to see around the cypress tree as the patrol approached. They reached our block,on the other side of the street. A dozen rowdy college students, not trying to be quiet. None of them fearing the night. Each feeling safe and determined, and absorbed in their own night out rather than being overtly sensitive to their surroundings. They were distracted, unfocused If they had been peering into the shadows, if just one of them had looked towards my house, behind the cypress tree, they might have seen the Hidebehind, poking its face out and watching them transit past. But they didn’t notice.
It hid behind the cypress tree, and I hid behind it, hoping that the blackness of my bedroom would protect me. I stood absolutely still, as I had done once when a hornet had once landed on the back of my neck. Totally assure that if I made the slightest movement or made the slightest sound that I’d be stung. I hardly even breathed.
The patrol passed, from my perspective, behind the cypress tree and temporarily out of view. The Hidebehind straightened, ready to lean to the right and watch the patrol pass, only it didn’t lean. Even as I watched the patrol pass on to the right, it stood there, stock still, just as I was doing.
It was then I became aware that my room had become stuffy again. The scent was gone. The air had shifted and was now flowing out through the screen again, carrying my own scent with it. I knew what this meant, and yet I was too paralyzed to react. The thing started to turn, very slowly. It was a predator understanding that it might have become victim to its own game. It turned as if it was thinking the same thing I had been thinking, that the slightest movement might give it away.
It turned, and I saw its face. Like some kind of rotting desiccated, shriveling fruit, it was covered in wrinkles. Circles within concentric circles surrounded its two great eyes, eyes which took up so much of its face. I couldn’t, and still struggle, to think of words to describe it. Instead, I still think in terms of analogies. At the time I thought of the creature from the film E.T., only twisted and distorted into a thing of nightmares. Almost all eyelids, and a little drooping sucker mouth. Now that I’m more worldly, it reminds of creatures of ancient artworks. The key defining feature were the long horizontal slits it had for eyes. You see that in old masks carved in West Africa, or by the Inuit long ago. You see it in what’s called the “slit-eyed dogu” of ancient Japan.
As I watched the wrinkles on the face seemed to multiply. Then I realized this was the result of its eyes slowly widening. It’s mouth, too, slowly dilated, revealing innumerable small razor-sharp teeth. A person, standing in its location, shouldn’t have been able to see in. Light from the sodium streetlamps lit the window’s screen, obscuring the interior. It was no person. It could see me, and it was reacting to my presence. Its eyes grew huge, black.
My own eyes would have been just as wide if not for my own anatomical limitations. I was still watching when it disappeared. It didn’t see it move to the right. I didn’t see it move to the left, nor did I see it drop down out of view. It simply disappeared. One fraction of a second it was there, and then it decided to leave, and so it did. It was not a thing of this world.
There were no more disappearances after that poor woman from the university. I don’t think it had anything to do with me. The media and police all speculated their “serial killer” had gone into a “dormant phase”. There was no shortage of people who tried to take credit. Maybe they deserve it. The thing’s hunting had been on the decline. All the neighborhood watches and student patrols, I think that maybe all that commotion was making it too hard for the Hidebehind to go about its business. Maybe it had gone back to the woods.
Then again, maybe Ralph had been right the whole time. Maybe it really, really, really didn’t like to be seen.
So.
Now I’ve got some decisions to make. I think the first thing I should do is look at social media and dig up Ralph. It’s been a good thirty years since I last talked to him. He ought to know the Hidebehind is back. He’s probably made plans.
Then, there’s the issue of my son. He’s up in his bedroom now, probably still mad at me. Probably confused about why I’d be so strict. Maybe he’s inventing explanations as to why.
I’m not sure, but I’m leaning toward telling him everything. He deserves to know. It’d probably be safer if he knows. I think people have this instinct where, when they see or know something that they’re not supposed to know, they just bottle it up. I think that was the problem with grown-ups when I was a kid. It was the issue with my grandfather, telling me so little when it was almost too late. I think people do it because we’re social animals, and we’re afraid of being ostracized. Go along to get along.
Hell, my son is probably going to think I’m crazy. It might even make him more mad at me. And even more confused. He knows about the disappearances. “The Farmingham Fiend” the media would end up dubbing the serial killer that didn’t really exist. It’s become local “true crime” history. Kids tell rumors about it. It was almost forty years ago, so it probably feels safe to wonder about.
So yeah, I suppose when I say I know who the real killer was, a magical monster from the woods that stalks its prey by hiding behind objects, then impossibly disappears- that I’m going to look like a total nut. I’d think that if I were in his shoes.
Except… people are going to start disappearing again, it’s only a matter of time. The media will say that the Farmingham Fiend is back in the game. Will my son buy that? He’ll start thinking about what I told him, and how I predicted it. Then he’ll remember that he saw the thing himself, he and his friends, even if it was just out of the corner of his eye.
I hope, sooner or later, he’ll believe me. I could use his help. Maybe Ralph is way ahead of me, but I’m thinking we should get the Fight Patrol back together. Father and son, this time. Multigenerational, get the retirees involved too.
Old farts of my generation, for reasons I don’t understand, like to wax nostalgic over their own false sense of superiority. We rode our bikes without helmets and had distant if not irresponsible parents. Yeah, yeah, what a load. I think every new generation is better than the last, because every generation is a progression from the last, Kids these days? They’ve got cell phones, with cameras. And helmet cams. GoPros you can attach to bikes. Doorbell cameras.
It seems the Hidebehind loathes being seen. This time around, with my grandfather’s spirit, my own memories, and my boy’s energy? I think this time we’re finally going to beat it.

(owing to the reddit character limit, I'm posting this in two parts, but it's one contiguous story)
There are instincts that you develop when you’re a parent. If you don’t have any children it might be a little hard to understand. If you have a toddler, for example, and they’re in the other room and silent for more than a few seconds, there’s a good chance they’re up to no good. I take that back, most of the time they’re doing nothing, but you still have to check. You feel a compulsion to check. I don’t think it’s a learned skill, I think it’s an actual instinct.
Paleolithic parents who didn’t check on their toddlers every few minutes, just to double check that they weren’t being stalked by smilodons were unlikely to have grandchildren and pass on their genes. You just feel you need to check, like getting goosebumps, a compulsion. I suppose it’s the same reason little kids are always demanding you look at them and what they’re doing.
I think that instinct starts to atrophy as your kids grow. They start learning to do things for themselves, and before you know it, they’re after their own privacy, not your attention. I don’t think it ever goes away though. I expect, decades from now, my own grown kids will visit and bring my grandkids with them. And the second I hear a baby crying in the earliest morning hours, I’ll be alert and ready for anything, sure as any old soldier who hears his name whispered in the dark of night.
I felt that alarm just the other day. First time in years. My boy came home from riding bikes with a couple of his friends. I’m pretty sure they worked out a scam where they asked each of their parents for a different new console for Christmas, and now they spend their weekends traveling between the three houses so they can play on all of them.
We all live in a nice neighborhood. A newer development than the one I grew up in, same town though. It’s the kind of place where kids are always playing in the streets, and the cars all routinely do under 20. My wife and I make sure the kids have helmets and pads, and we’re fine with the boy going out biking with his friends, as long as they stay in the neighborhood.
You know, a lot of people in my generation take some weird sort of pride in how irresponsible we used to be when we were young. I never wore a helmet. Rode to places, without telling any adults, that we never should have ridden to. Me and my friends would make impromptu jumps off of makeshift ramps and try to do stupid tricks, based loosely on stunts we’d seen on TV. Other people my age seem to wax nostalgic for that stuff and pretend it makes them somehow better people. I don’t get it. Sometimes I look back and shudder. We were lucky we escaped with only occasional bruises and road burns. It could have gone so much worse.
My son and his buddies came bustling in the front door at about 2 PM on a Saturday. They did the usual thing of raiding the kitchen for juice and his mother’s brownies, and I took that as my cue to abandon the television in the living room for my office. I was hardly noticing the chaos, by this point, it was becoming a regular weekend occurrence. But as I was just leaving, I caught something in the chatter. My boy said something about, “... that guy who was following us.”
He hadn’t said it any louder or more clearly than anything else they’d been talking about, all that stuff I’d been filtering out. Yet some deeper core process in my brain stem heard it, interpreted it, then hit the red alert button. My blood ran cold and every hair on my skin stood at attention.
I turned around and asked “Somebody followed you? What are you talking about?” I wasn’t consciously aware of how strict and stern my voice came out, yet when the jovial smiles dropped off of their faces it was apparent that it had been so.
“Huh?” my son said, his voice high-pitched and talking fast, like when he thinks he’s in trouble and needs to explain. “We thought we saw somebody following us. There wasn’t though. We didn’t really see anybody and we’d just spooked ourselves.”
“What did he look like?” I asked.
“Nothing? We really didn’t see anybody! Honest! I just saw something out of the corner of my eye! But there wasn’t really nobody there!”
“Yeah!,” said one of his buds. “Peripheral! Peripheral vision! I thought maybe I saw something too, but when I looked I didn’t see anything. I don’t have my glasses with me, but when I really looked I got a good look and there was nothing.”
The three boys had that semi-smiling but still concerned look that this was only a bizarre misunderstanding, but they were still being very sincere. “Were they in a car?”
“No, Dad, you don’t get it,” my boy continued, “They were small. We thought it was a kid.”
“Yeah,” said the third boy. “We thought maybe it was Tony Taylor’s stupid kid sister shadowing us. Getting close to throwing water balloons. Just cause she did that before.”
“If you didn’t get a good look how did you know it was a kid?”
“Because it was small!” my kid explained, though that wasn’t helping much. “What I mean is, at first I thought it was behind a little bush. It was way too small a bush to hide a grown-up. That’s why we thought it was probably Tony’s sister.”
“But you didn’t actually see Tony’s sister?” I asked.
“Nah,” said one of his buds. “And now that I think about it, that bush was probably too small for his sister too. It would have been silly. Like when a cartoon character hides behind a tiny object.”
“That’s why we think it was just in our heads,” explained the other boy, “That and the pole.”
“Yeah,” my son said. “The park on 14th and Taylor?” That was just a little community park, a single city block. Had a playground, lawn, a few trees, and some benches. “Anyway, we were riding past that, took a right on Taylor. And we were talking about how weird it would be if somebody really were following us. That’s when Brian thought he saw something. Behind a telephone pole.”
“I didn’t get a good look at it either,” the friend, Brian, “explained. Just thought I did. Know how you get up late at night to use the bathroom or whatever and you look down the hallway and you see a jacket or an office chair or something and because your eyes haven’t adjusted you think you see a ghost or burglar or something? Anyway, I thought I saw something out of the corner of my eye, but when I turned there wasn’t anything there.”
“Yeah, it was just like sometimes that happens, except this time it happened twice on the same bike ride, is all,” the other friend explained.
“And you’re sure there was nothing there?”
“Sure we’re sure,” my boy said. “We know because that time we checked. We each rode our bikes around the pole and there was nothing. Honest!”
“Hmmm,” I said. The whole thing seemed reasonable and nothing to be concerned about, you’d think.. The boys seemed to relax at my supposed acceptance. “Alright, sounds good. Hey, just let me know before you leave the house again, alright?” They all rushed to seem agreeable as I left the room, then quickly resumed their snacking and preceded to play their games.
I kept my ear out, just in case. My boy, at least this time, dutifully told me his friends were about to leave. He wasn’t very happy with me when I said they wouldn’t be riding home on their bikes, I was going to drive them home. The other boys didn’t complain, but I suppose it wasn’t their place, so my boy did the advocating for them, which I promptly ignored. I hate doing that, ignoring my kid’s talkback. My dad was the same way. It didn’t help that I struggled to get both of their bikes in the trunk, and it was a pain to get them back out again. My boy sulked in the front seat on the short ride back home. Arms folded on chest, eyes staring straight ahead, that lip thing they do. He seemed embarrassed for having what he thought was an over-protective parent. I suppose he was angry at me as well for acting, as far as he knew, irrationally. Maybe he thought he was being punished for some infraction he didn’t understand.
Well, it only got worse when we got home. I told him he wasn’t allowed to go out alone on his bike anymore. I’d only had to do that once before, when he was grounded, and back then he’d known exactly what he’d done wrong and he had it coming. Now? Well, he was confused, furious, maybe betrayed, probably a little brokenhearted? I can’t blame him. He tramped upstairs to his room to await the return of his mother, who was certain to give a sympathetic ear. I can’t imagine how upset he’ll be if he checks the garage tomorrow and finds I’ve removed his tires, just in case.
I wish I could explain it to him. I don’t even know how.
Where should I even begin? The town?
When I was about my son’s age I had just seen that movie, The Goonies. It had just come out in theaters. I really liked that movie, felt a strong connection. A lot of people do, can’t blame them, sort of a timeless classic. Except I wasn’t really into pirate’s treasure or the Fratellis, what really made me connect was a simple single shot, still in the first act. It’s right after they cross the threshold, and leave the house on their adventure. It was a shot of the boys, from above, maybe a crane shot or a helicopter shot, as they’re riding their bikes down a narrow forested lane, great big evergreen trees densely growing on the side of the road, they’re all wearing raincoats and the road is still wet from recent rain.
That was my childhood. I’ve spent my whole life in the Pacific Northwest. People talk to outsiders about the rain, and they might picture a lot of rainfall, but it’s not the volume, it’s the duration. We don’t get so much rain, it just drizzles slowly, on and on, for maybe eight or nine months out of the year. It doesn’t matter where I am, inside a house, traveling far abroad, anywhere I am I can close my eyes and still smell the air on a chilly afternoon, playing outdoors with my friends.
It’s not petrichor, that sudden intense smell you get when it first starts to rain after a long dry spell. No, this was almost the opposite, a clean smell, almost the opposite of a scent, since the rain seemed to scrub the air clean. The strongest scent and I mean that in the loosest sense possible, must have been the evergreen needles. Not pine needles, those were too strong, and there weren’t that many pines anyway. Douglas fir and red cedar predominated, again the root ‘domination’ seems hyperbole. Yet those scents were there, ephemeral as it is. Also, there was a sort of pleasant dirtiness to the smell, at least when you rode bikes. It wasn’t dirt, or mud, or dust. Dust couldn’t have existed except perhaps for a few fleeting weeks in August. I think, looking back, it was the mud puddles. All the potholes in all the asphalt suburban roads would fill up after rain with water the color of chocolate milk. We’d swerve our BMX bikes, or the knock-off brands, all the way across the street just to splash through those puddles and test our “suspensions.,” meaning our ankles and knees. The smell was always stronger after that. It had an earthiness to it. Perhaps it was petrichor’s lesser-known watery cousin.
There were other sensations too, permanently seared into my brain like grill marks. A constant chilliness that was easy to ignore, until you started working up a good heart rate on your bike, then you noticed your lungs were so cold it felt like burning. The sound of your tires on the wet pavement, particularly when careening downhill at high speed. For some reason, people in the mid-80s used to like to decorate their front porches with cheap, polyester windsocks. They were often vividly colored, usually rainbow, like prototype pride flags. When an occasional wind stirred up enough to gust, the windsocks would flap, and owning to the water-soaked polyester, make a wet slapping sound. It was loud, it was distinct, but you learned to ignore it as part of the background, along with the cawing of crows and distant passing cars.
That was my perception of Farmingham as a kid. The town itself? Just a typical Pacific Northwest town. That might not mean much for younger people or modern visitors, but there was a time when such towns were all the same. They were logging towns. It was the greatest resource of the area from the late 19th century, right up until about the 80s, when the whole thing collapsed. Portland, Seattle, they had a few things going on beyond just the timber industry, but all the hundreds of little towns and small cities revolved around logging, and my town was no exception.
I remember going to the museum. It had free admission, and it was a popular field trip destination for the local school system. It used to be the City Hall, a weird Queen Anne-style construction. Imagine a big Victorian house, but blown up to absurd proportions, and with all sorts of superfluous decorations. Made out of local timber, of course. They had a hall for art, I can’t even remember why, now. Maybe they were local artists. I only remember paintings of sailboats and topless women, which was a rare sight for a kid at the time. There was a hall filled with 19th-century household artifacts. Chamber pots and weird children's toys.
Then there was the logging section, which was the bulk of the museum. It’s strange how different things seemed to be in the early days of the logging industry, despite being only about a hundred years old, from my perspective in the 1980s. If you look back a hundred years from today, in the 1920s, you had automobiles, airplanes, electrical appliances, jazz music, radio programs, flappers, it doesn’t feel that far removed, does it? No TV, no internet, but it wouldn’t be that strange. 1880s? Different world.
Imagine red cedars, so big you could have a full logging crew, arms stretched out, just barely manage to encircle one for a photographer. Felling a single tree was the work of days. Men could rest and eat their lunches in the shelter of a cut made into a trunk, and not worry for safety or room. They had to cut their own little platforms into the trees many feet off the ground, just so the trunk was a little bit thinner, and thus hours of labor saved. They used those long, flexible two-man saws. And double-bit axes. They worked in the gloom of the shade with old gas lanterns. Once cut down from massive logs thirty feet in diameter, they’d float the logs downhill in sluices, like primitive wooden make-shift water slides. Or they’d haul them down to the nearest river, the logs pulled by donkeys on corduroy roads. They’d lay large amounts of grease on the roads, so the logs would slide easily. You could still smell the grease on the old tools on display in the museum. The bigger towns had streets where the loggers would slide the logs down greased skids all the way down to the sea, where they’d float in big logjams until the mills were ready for processing. They’d call such roads “skid-rows.” Because of all the activity, they’d end up being the worst parts of town. Local citizens wouldn’t want to live there, due to all the stink and noise. They’d be on the other side of the brothels and the opium dens. It would be the sort of place where the destitute and the insane would find themselves when they’d finally lost anything. To this day, “skidrow” remains a euphemism for the part of a city where the homeless encamp.
That was the lore I’d learned as a child. That was my “ancestry” I was supposed to respect and admire, which I did, wholeheartedly. There were things they left out, though. Things that you might have suspected, from a naive perspective, would be perfect for kids, all the folklore that came with the logging industry. The ghost stories, and the tall tales. I would have eaten that up. They do talk about that kind of thing in places far removed from the Pacific Northwest. But I had never heard about any of it. Things like the Hidebehind. No, that I’d have to discover for myself.
There were four of us on those bike adventures. Myself. Ralph, my best friend. A tough guy, the bad boy, the most worldly of us, which is a strange thing to say about an eight-year-old kid. India, an archetypal ‘80s tomboy. She was the coolest person I knew at the time. Looking back, I wonder what her home life was like. I think I remember problematic warning signs that I couldn’t have recognized when I was so young, but now raise flags. Then there was Ben. A goofy kid, a wild mop of hair, coke bottle glasses, type 1 diabetic which seemed to make him both a bit pampered by his mother, who was in charge of all his insulin, diet, and schedule, and conversely a real risk taker when she wasn’t around.
When we first saw it…
No, wait. This was the problem with starting the story. Where does it all begin? I’ll need to talk about my Grandfather as well. I’ve had two different perspectives on my Grandfather, on the man that he was. The first was the healthy able-bodied grandparent I’d known as a young child. Then there was the man, as I learned about him after he had passed.
There was a middle period, from when I was 6 to when I was 16, when I hardly understood him at all, as he was hit with a double whammy of both Parkinson’s and Alzheimer's. His decline into an invalid was both steep and long drawn out. That part didn’t reflect who he was as a person.
What did I know of him when I was little? Well I knew he and my grandmother had a nice big house and some farmland, out in the broad flat valley north of Farmingham. Dairy country. It had been settled by Dutch immigrants back in the homesteading days. His family had been among the first pioneers in the county too. It didn’t register to me then that his surname was Norwegian, not Dutch. I knew he had served in the Navy in World War II, which I was immensely proud of for reasons I didn’t know why. I knew he had a job as a butcher in a nearby rural supermarket. He was a bit of a farmer too, more as a hobby and a side gig. He had a few cattle, but mostly grew and harvested hay to sell to the local dairies. I knew he had turned his garage into a machine shop, and could fix damn near anything. From the flat tires on my bicycle to the old flat-bed truck he’d haul hay with, to an old 1950s riding lawnmower he somehow managed to keep in working order. I knew he could draw a really cool cartoon cowboy, I knew he loved to watch football, and I knew the whiskers on his chin were very pokey, and they’d tickle you when he kissed you on the cheek, and that when you tried to rub the sensation away he’d laugh and laugh and laugh.
Then there were the parts of his life that I’d learn much later. Mostly from odd passing comments from relatives, or things I’d find in the public records. Like how he’d been a better grandfather than a father. Or how his life as I knew it had been a second, better life. He’d been born among the Norwegian settler community, way up in the deep, dark, forest-shrouded hills that rimmed the valley. He’d been a logger in his youth. Technologically he was only a generation or two from the ones I’d learned about in the museum. They’d replaced donkeys with diesel engines and corduroy roads with narrow gauge rail. It was still the same job, though. Dirty, dangerous, dark. Way back into those woods, living in little logging camps, civilization was always a several-day hike out. It became a vulgar sort of profession, filled with violent men, reprobates, and thieves. When my grandfather’s father was murdered on his front porch by a lunatic claiming he’d been wronged somehow, my grandfather hiked out of there, got into town, and joined the Navy. He vowed never to go back. The things he’d seen out in those woods were no good. He’d kept that existence away from me. Anyways…
Tommy Barker was the first of us to go missing. I say ‘us’ as if I knew him personally. I didn’t. He went to Farmingham Middle School, other side of town, and several grades above us. From our perspective, he may as well have been an adult living overseas.
Yet it felt like we got to know him. His face was everywhere, on TV, all over telephone poles. Everybody was talking about him. After he didn’t return from a friend’s house, everybody just sort of assumed, or maybe hoped, that he’d just gotten lost, or was trapped somewhere. They searched all the parks. Backyards, junkyards, refrigerators, trunks. Old-fashioned refrigerators, back before suction seals, had a simple handle with a latch that opened when you pulled on it. It wasn’t a problem when the fridges were in use and filled with food. But by the 80s old broke-down refrigerators started filling up backyards and junkyards, and they became deathtraps for kids playing hide-and-seek. The only opened from the outside. I remember thinking Tommy Barker was a little old to have likely been playing hide-and-seek, but people checked everywhere anyway. They never found him.
That was about the first time we saw the Hidebehind. Ben said he thought he saw somebody following us, looked like, maybe, a kid. We’d just slowly huffed our way up a moderately steep hill, Farmingham is full of them, and when we paused for a breather at the top, Ben said he saw it down the hill, closer to the base. Yet when we turned to look there was nothing there. Ben said he’d just seen it duck behind a car. That wasn’t the sort of behavior of a random kid minding his own business. Yet the slope afforded us a view under the car’s carriage, and except for the four tires, there were no signs of any feet hiding behind the body. At first, we thought he was pulling our leg. When he insisted he wasn’t, we started to tease him a little. He must have been seeing things, on account of his poor vision and thick glasses. The fact that those glasses afforded him vision as good as or better than any of us wasn’t something we considered.
The next person to disappear was Amy Brooks. Fifth-grader. Next elementary school over. I remember it feeling like when you’re traveling down the freeway, and there’s a big thunderstorm way down the road, but it keeps getting closer, and closer. I don’t remember what she looked like. Her face wasn’t plastered everywhere like Tommy’s had been. She was mentioned on the regional news, out of Seattle, her and Tommy together. Two missing kids from the same town in a short amount of time. The implication was as obvious as it was depraved. They didn’t think the kids were getting lost anymore. They didn’t do very much searching of backyards. The narratives changed too. Teachers started talking a lot about stranger danger. Local TV channels started recycling old After School Specials and public service announcements about the subject.
I’m not sure who saw it next. I think it was Ben again. We took him seriously this time though. I think. The one I’m sure I remember was soon after, and that time it was India who first saw it. It’s still crystal clear in my memory, almost forty years later, because that was the time I first saw it too. We were riding through a four-way stop, an Idaho Stop before they called it that, when India slammed to a stop, locking up her coaster brakes and leaving a long black streak of rubber on a dry patch of pavement. We stopped quickly after and asked what the problem was. We could tell by her face she’d seen it. She was still looking at it.
“I see it,” she whispered, unnecessarily. We all followed her gaze. We were looking, I don’t know, ten seconds? Twenty? We believed everything she said, we just couldn’t see it.
“Where?” Ralph asked.
“Four blocks down,” she whispered. “On the left. See the red car? Kinda rusty?” There was indeed a big old Lincoln Continental, looking pretty ratty and worn. I focused on that, still seeing nothing. “Past that, just to its right. See the street light pole? It’s just behind that.”
We also saw the pole she was talking about. Metal. Aluminum, I’d have guessed. It had different color patches, like metallic flakeboard. Like it’d had been melted together out of scrap.
I could see that clearly even from that distance. I saw nothing behind it. I could see plenty of other things in the background, cars, houses, bushes, front lawns, beauty bark landscape.. There was no indication of anything behind that pole.
And then it moved. It had been right there where she said it had been, yet it had somehow perfectly blended into the landscape, a trick of perspective. We didn’t see it at all until it moved, and almost as fast it had disappeared behind that light pole. We only got a hint. Brown in color, about our height in size.
We screamed. Short little startled screams, the involuntary sort that just burst out of you. Then we turned and started to pedal like mad, thoroughly spooked. We made it to the intersection of the next block when it was Ralph who screeched to a halt and shouted, “Wait!”
We slowed down and stopped, perhaps not as eagerly as we’d done when India yelled. Ralph was looking back over his shoulder, looking at that metal pole. “Did anybody see it move again?’ he asked. We all shook our heads in the negative. Ralph didn’t notice, but of course, he didn’t really need an answer, of course we hadn’t been watching.
“If it didn’t move, then it’s still there!” Ralph explained the obvious. It took a second to sink in, despite the obvious. “C’mon!” he shouted, and to our surprise, before we could react, he turned and took off, straight down the road, straight to where that thing had been lurking.
We were incredulous, but something about his order made us all follow hot on his heels. He was a sort of natural leader. I thought it was total foolishness, but I wasn’t going to let him go alone. I think I got out, “Are you crazy?!”
The wind was blowing hard past our faces as we raced as fast as we could, it made it hard to hear. Ralph shouted his response. “If it’s hiding that means its afraid!” That seemed reasonable, if not totally accurate. Lions hide from their prey before they attack. Then again, they don’t wait around when the whole herd charges. Really, the pole was coming up so fast there wasn’t a whole lot of time to argue. “Just blast past and look!” Ralph added. “We’re too fast! It won’t catch us.”
Sure, I thought to myself. Except maybe Ben, who always lagged behind the rest of us in a race. The lion would get Ben if any of us.
We rushed past that pole and all turned our heads to look. “See!” Ralph shouted in triumph. There was simply nothing there. A metal streetlight pole and nothing more. We stopped pedaling yet still sped on. “Hang on,” Ralph said, and at the next intersection he took a fast looping curve that threatened to crash us all, but we managed and curved behind him. We all came to the pole again where we stopped to see up close that there was nothing there, despite what we had seen moments before.
“Maybe it bilocated,” Ben offered. We groaned. We were all thinking it, but I think we were dismissive because it wasn’t as cool a word as ‘teleport.”
“Maybe it just moved when we weren’t looking,” I offered. That hadn’t been long, but that didn’t mean anything if it moved fast. The four of us slowly looked up from the base of the pole to our immediate surroundings. There were bushes. A car in a carport covered by a tarpaulin. The carport itself. Garbage cans. Stumps. Of course the ever-present trees. Whatever it was it could have been hiding behind anything. Maybe it was. We looked. Maybe it would make itself seen. None of us wanted that. “OK, let’s get going,” Ralph said, and we did so.
I got home feeling pretty shaken that afternoon. I felt safe at home. Except for the front room, which had a big bay window looking out onto the street, and the people who lived across it. There were plenty of garbage cans and telephone poles and stumps that a small, fast thing might hide behind. No, I felt more comfortable in my bedroom. There was a window, but a great thick conical cypress tree grew right in front of it, reaching way up over the roof of the house. If anything, it offered ME a place to hide, and peer out onto the street to either side of the tree. It was protective, as good as any heavy blanket.

Timestamp: https://imgur.com/a/R7CHDJy
 
I'm a big fan of this upper but I just don't have the time/cash to invest into reloading for yet another caliber. The upper has about 200 rounds on it, holds about .8MOA with hornady 123 ELDM factory loads, and has easily made hits out to 680 yards.
 
12.5" Grendel Upper - $575 $550 $500 - 12.5" BA barrel & pinned GB - MWI Upper - MWI 12.625" Suppressor Series handguard (allows you to tuck a suppressor up to 1.55" OD under the handguard) - Failzero 6.5 type 2 BCG - SI Extended charging handle - ASC 25 round 6.5 grendel mag - Wilson Q comp with spacer to get it out from under the handguard (intended to replace with mount and can just inside rail but that fell through)
 
not splitting currently as I can't track down my barrel nut wrench (standard pin wrench if I remember correctly). Price is shipped and insured Paypal F&F

Please, feel free to add any events below! Check out the Visitor's Guide for more things to do around town!
Looking to meet up with people? Check out Meetup St. Louis.
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Be sure to continue scrolling past the Weekly Events for Trivia Nights, Live Music, Sporting Events, Local Comedy, and more!
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• Bellefontaine in Bloom
  • Spring 2023
  • Join others for a brisk spring walk through Bellefontaine Cemetery and Arboretum! In the months of March, April, and May, Bellefontaine offers a two-hour walking tour of the cemetery and arboretum. This 2-hour walk will be led by one of their Master Guides who will convey highlights of the cemetery grounds, horticulture, and a variety of intriguing figures who call Bellefontaine their last address. Particular attention will be paid to the Horticulture side of the cemetery while in different levels of bloom during these spring tours.
• Chess at the Brewery
  • Every Wednesday
  • Local meetup group of chess players that meet at breweries on Wednesday nights. They rotate locations each week.
  • See their Instagram (https://www.instagram.com/chessatthebrewery/) for the location this week.
• Chihuly in the Missouri Botanical Garden
  • Running until October 15, 2023
  • The work of world-renowned artist Dale Chihuly is coming to the Missouri Botanical Garden in a stunning exhibition uniting art and nature. With thousands of pieces of blown glass forms in 20 dramatic installations throughout the Garden’s grounds, Chihuly in the Garden 2023 presents these artworks on a grand scale
• Confluence Music Festival at World Wide Technology Raceway
  • June 2 - 4, 2023
  • The 80,000-plus fans projected to attend the upcoming Enjoy Illinois 300, a NASCAR Cup Series race at World Wide Technology Raceway, will be entertained at every turn.
  • In its second year, the Confluence Music Festival will showcase innovation, talent and live entertainment. The festival will feature 30 local, regional and national acts, including headliner Dierks Bentley, performing on multiple stages over the weekend.
• Family Night with Fredbird
  • Wednesdays
  • Join others at Cardinals Nation Restaurant & Bar for Family Night with Fredbird on select Wednesday evenings this off-season! Bring your family down for games, prizes, and meet Fredbird from 6:30-7:30pm.
• Ferguson Farmers’ Market
  • Every Saturday
  • Enjoy live music and special events in a festive family atmosphere, and discover a wide variety of edible delights, including homemade jelly, farm fresh eggs, honey, spices, and meats. You’ll also find an ever-changing array of gift and specialty vendors, selling everything from cut flowers and bedding plants to hand-painted artwork and small-batch soaps.
  • If it’s homemade, handmade or fresh and tasty, you can buy it at the Ferguson Farmers’ Market.
• First Friday at the Contemporary Art Museum: Queer Revolution
  • June 2, 2023
  • Start the first Friday of the month with art, music, and culture in the Grand Center Arts District. This month, join others for an evening celebrating queer revolutionary action and performance.
• First Friday at St. Louis Science Center: Star Trek
  • June 2, 2023
  • Star Trek returns for discovery at the Saint Louis Science Center’s First Friday, focusing on LGBTQ+ voices in the Star Trek universe during Pride Month.
• Green Living Festival at St. Louis Art Museum
  • June 3, 2023
  • Help your family, friends and coworkers live green! The Missouri Botanical Garden’s annual Green Living Festival will host a series of pop-up events during its “Summer of Sustainability,” with the first event taking place at the Saint Louis Art Museum.
• Jackie Joyner Kersee 5K
  • June 3, 2023
  • Don't miss the fun and excitement of the inaugural JJK5K Race June 3 at World Wide Technology Raceway as part of the 2023 NASCAR weekend. This marks the first-ever race named in honor to benefit hometown champion Jackie Joyner Kersee.
  • Jackie will award the medals herself – this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to run on the track and be photographed crossing the finish line, cheered on by our hometown Olympic champion!
• Karaoke Wednesdays at HandleBar
  • Every Wednesday
  • Browse the catalog and find your favorite songs to sing! Songbookslive.com/stlredcarpet
• Karaoke Wednesdays at Mack's Bar & Grill
  • Every Wednesday
• Lafayette Square Summer Concert Series
  • June 3, 2023
  • As part of Lafayette Square’s free summer concert series, Power Play Band will perform in Lafayette Park on June 3. Spanning genres such as jazz, classic rock, R&B, swing, Latin and pop, Power Play does it all! Gather friends and family, pack food and beverages, and don’t miss this lively event.
• Landmarks Downtown Walking Tours
  • Every Saturday
  • Landmarks Downtown St. Louis Walking Tours: History, Culture, Architecture, and Exercise: What could be better on a Saturday morning?
• NASCAR Cup Series: Enjoy Illinois 300
  • June 3 - 4, 2023
  • Enjoy Illinois 300, a NASCAR Cup Series race, returns to World Wide Technology Raceway on June 3 and 4.
• Open Mic Night at Schlafly Bottleworks (Maplewood)
  • Every Wednesday
  • Join others every Wednesday evening and showcase your talents with our Open Mic Night! Open sign up begins at 6:30PM with music starting at 7:00PM. They welcome original material, covers and spoken word! Grab a beer, then play and listen every Wednesday! There are no cover charges and no drink minimums to attend.
• Shakespeare in the Park: Twelfth Night
  • May 31 - June 25, 2023
  • Often regarded as William Shakespeare’s greatest comedy, Twelfth Night is bursting with romance, music and high times.
  • Shakespeare in the Park is free to attend; no reservations are required. Just show up with your blankets, chairs and picnics and find a spot on the lawn. Shakespeare Glen opens at 6:30. Food by Steve’s Hot Dogs is available for purchase, and drinks by STL Barkeep.
• Soccer Pre-Match Street Party at Schlafly Tap Room
  • June 3, 2023
  • Join others before every City SC home match for a Street Party with the St. Louligans Soccer Supporters Group. They will block off the street next to the Tap Room (now known as Louligan Street) so fans can enjoy good beer, great food, music and fun before they march over to the stadium together.
• Soulard Farmer's Market
  • Wednesdays - Saturdays
  • Soulard Farmers Market is located at 730 Carroll Street in St. Louis, Missouri, a half mile north of the Anheuser-Busch Brewery. The market is open Wednesday through Saturday, year round. They feature locally grown and shipped in goods, including: produce, meats, cheeses, spices, gourmet kettle corn, flowers, baked goods, and general merchandise. There are also several different eateries that have many food options, which allows customers the convenience to grab a quick bite to eat and a drink while shopping.
• Sunrise Yoga at Kiener Plaza
  • Every Tuesday
  • Awaken your body and bask in the morning sunlight! This gentle yoga practice is designed to energize and align your body and mind through movement and breath. Bring your own mat/towel and water bottle.
• Thursday Nights at the Museum
  • Every Thursday
  • Kick off your weekend at the Missouri History Museum in Forest Park! Each Thursday Night at the Museum will be the most fun, engaging, uplifting, thought-provoking, perspective-shaping night of your week. And there are drinks.
  • Join others starting at 5:30pm for happy hour and pop-up activities, such as brief tours, games, and performances. The main stage comes to life at 6:30pm, light appetizers and drinks are available for purchase until 7:00pm, and the Museum’s exhibits are open until 8:00pm for you to explore!
• Tower Grove Farmer's Market
  • Every Tuesday & Saturday
  • Join others every Saturday of the 2023 Tower Grove Farmers Market Season. They'll have over 100 vendors with local produce, meat, flowers, eggs, honey, prepared foods, art, jewelry, live music, and so much more.
• Whitaker Music Festival
  • Every Wednesday until August 2nd
  • The Missouri Botanical Garden is an idyllic place to listen to live music. On Wednesday evenings throughout the summer, the garden hosts free, open-air concerts as part of the annual Whitaker Music Festival.

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Sporting Events This Week	Attractions Around the Area	Comedy This Week
St. Louis Cardinals schedule	Anheuser-Busch Brewery	Funny Bone Comedy Club
St. Louis Blues schedule	City Museum	Helium Comedy Club
St. Louis City SC schedule	Gateway Arch	The Improv Shop
St. Louis Battlehawks schedule	Missouri History Museum
St. Louis Billikens schedule	National Blues Museum
Gateway Grizzlies schedule	St. Louis Aquarium
Gateway Motorsports Park	St. Louis Art Museum
St. Louis Ambush schedule	St. Louis Science Center
	St. Louis Zoo

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Trivia Nights
Location	Date/Time	More Information
Anheuser-Busch Biergarten	Tuesdays 6:00 pm - 8:00 pm	Trivia Details
Bar K	Tuesdays at 7:00 pm
City Foundry	Thursdays 7:00 pm - 9:00 pm
Joey B's on the Hill	Mondays 8:30 pm - 10:30 pm	Trivia Details
Nick's Pub	Mondays
Felix's Pizza Pub	Tuesdays at 8:00 pm	Trivia Details
Schlafly Brewpubs (Any Location)	Tuesdays 7:00 pm - 9:00 pm	Trivia Details
Rockwell Beer Co	Tuesdays	Trivia Details (Reservations required)
The Mack	Tuesdays at 8:00 pm	Trivia Details
The Pat Connolly Tavern	Wednesdays at 7:00 pm
The Post	Wednesdays 8:00 pm - 10:00 pm	Trivia Details
Pieces Board Game Bar & Cafe	Wednesdays	Trivia Details
HandleBar	Thursdays at 7:00 pm - 9:00 pm	Trivia Details
Steve's Hot Dogs	Tuesdays 7:30 pm - 9:30 pm	Trivia Details

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Live Music This Week
Music Venues	Live Music Around Town
Blueberry Hill Duck Room	1860 Saloon
Chesterfield Amphitheater	BB's Jazz, Blues & Soups
Delmar Hall	Broadway Oyster Bar
Enterprise Center	City Foundry
The Fabulous Fox Theatre	Gallery Pub
The Factory	Game 6 Honky Tonk
Hollywood Casino Amphitheatre	Gaslight Lounge
Off Broadway	The Heavy Anchor
Old Rock House	Jazz St. Louis
The Pageant	Joe's Cafe
Red Flag	The Lot on the Landing
The Sheldon	McGurk's
St. Louis Music Park	SoFar St. Louis Secret performances around town
St. Louis Symphony Concert Calendar	Venice Cafe
Stifel Theatre	Yaquis on Cherokee

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Recurring Outdoor Activities
Big Muddy Adventures – STL Riverfront Adventure	Big Muddy Adventures was established in 2002. They are the first professional outfitteguiding company providing access to the wild wonders of the Middle Mississippi and Lower Missouri Rivers.
Gateway Arch Events	There are a variety of things to do along the Mississippi River.
Hidden Valley Ski Resort	Ziplining, scenic chairlift rides, and hiking trails opened during the summer. Skiing, snowboarding during the winter.

In Templar On The Run episode 6 we interview Bro. Austin R Shifrin out of Pittsburgh, author of “More Light: Collected Masonic Writings 2017 - 2021”. He calls in to talk about his book and discuss some of the differences between our Masonic bodies, and even Tall Cedars. See more of his work here: https://squirrelhillhistory.org/a-history-of-freemasonry-2/
Austin also recently participated in The Lodge Ad Lucem Symposium on Esoteric Freemasonry. We’re sorry we missed getting it out in time Austin, but brothers, listeners, please follow Austin on Facebook - search: Austin R Shifrin, author - to see what he’s up to!
P.S. from Bryce: Apologies to Sid the Kid lovers…I’ve always been an Ovi fan; but much respect to Crosby and the Pens for all they’ve done!
https://open.spotify.com/show/7dgG5AYIHiSMyvNcjeu5yh
As a spin-off from part of our discussion in this episode regarding differences in Scottish Rite jurisdictions, we’ve also uploaded a minisode. In that, we talk with the degree class from our recent Reunion just after the 29th degree and get their thoughts on what they’ve seen so far, comparing it to lessons from the first 3 degrees and more.
Thanks to all the brethren from the Boise Valley Scottish Rite for another awesome reunion!
And thank you for your support!

Hi everyone,
I am a solo sysadmin for roughly 60 users across two sites and I am in the process of migrating all workstations from MacOS to Windows. Due to budget constraints, our migration is slow. We have ~80 workstations and started replacing one every month in July of last year. The reason this is relevant is that we are going to have a mix of MacOS and Windows for a while and processes can't just be switched over.
Here are a few questions that I have and any advice would be greatly appreciated:

1. Because the office is primarily Mac-based, domain administration tools (AD, GPO, etc.) have never really played a major role except for email (on-prem Exchange server). This gives me the perfect opportunity to rework the domain setup to my liking regarding policies and organization. How have you approached this in the past?
   
2. Some of our users have only ever worked on a Mac so they would need training right from the basics on working with Windows. How have you handled user training on the new OS? Are there any good user guides out there that cover Windows 11 from the basics and would be easy to navigate for tech-illiterate users?
   
3. Due to the sometimes huge process changes, I find that a lot of users will try to tweak the new processes to emulate their MacOS experience, often making their Windows experience a lot more complicated and increasing frustration. How have you helped users adopt new processes and help them see that the new processes, although different, are more efficient and will make it easier for them to do their job?
   

I know this is a pretty lengthy post, but I really appreciate any responses to my above questions.

I've been in the fandom since 2020, but the more I look up things about the members, the more I see there's mix-ups about some info. So I wish to ask:

1. I know some members were scouted but some fans said that certain specific members were scouted while others named different members, etc. Some say that Astel wasn't trained in anything before Holostars, and Izuru was only busking, etc. Maybe previous hobbies or jobs. Are there anything similar that the Stars have shared ON STREAM?

I would appreciate any sources and/or clips of them mentioning it!

1. I'm also curious about the Stars' journey. I watched them regularly but I wasn't that deep into every aspect surrounding them -- as much as I blast about their achievements and greatness, I want to know about their hardships as well. It's personally important to me so that I can appreciate them better.

And I mean, specific events if there are any, not the general idea of "oh they're underappreciated and they're always under fire simply for existing or breathing the same air as the others".
An example are the details shared by Miyabi regarding his debut. The comments and speculations. Another would be the criticism about Tempus HQ's designs before their debut. Their personal struggles as well, such as Shien not being confident in his voice to the point he would mostly mumble before he got into Holostars. Or Astel and his health. Specific things like that.
Are there any other examples?
P.S. this is not to bring up drama, this is about wanting to learn what the boys went through, as a fan myself.

1. Specific beliefs and values that the boys hold close to their hearts, which they have mentioned on stream. An example would be Shien and his belief regarding the fact that one's interests should not be bound by gendesexuality. This in particular I feel is not brought up enough, when it's an important part of their identity.
   
2. Specific things they have mentioned about other members or Holostars as a group. Appreciative words, maybe an awkward experience, maybe if they had some struggles among one another, etc.
   

The reason I'm asking this is because I believe the boys have alot going for them, but it's not discussed enough about what makes them THEM besides "they're boys being boys". There's so many aspects to them that if one actually learns more about them, they'll be able to see this group in a better light.
Feel free to bring up extra infos you feel non-fans and new fans would love to know as well!

A copy and paste from another thread I created on /AMDHelp
Computer Type: Desktop
GPU: GT 1030
CPU: RYZEN 5 2600X
Motherboard: MSI B450-A Pro
BIOS Version: 7B86vAH
RAM: 2 x 8gb CORSAIR VENGEANCE DDR-4 3000 CL15
PSU: Corsair CXM 550 Bronze 550W
Case: Generic tower
Operating System & Version: WINDOWS 10 Home
GPU Drivers: Not sure
Chipset Drivers: Not sure
Background Applications: N/A
Description of Original Problem: Suddenly on startup the PC won't boot. There is also no signal to the monitors. The EZ Debug LED's show GPU missing/Failure (3 from top).
Troubleshooting: I have:

• Removed and reseated the GPU
• Tried the 2nd lower PCI-E slot
• Tried a new GPU - I had a RTX 4070 on order that has now arrived. This showed exactly the same symptoms. I have now shelved the GPU until the issue is resolved. Yes, I understand that the GPU recommends a 650W PSU and yes, the I am aware that the CPU will bottleneck the GPU. I am pretty certain that the GPU itself is not the issue.
• Removed 1 stick of RAM at a time and attempted reboot. With both sticks removed, the RAM fault LED lights as expected. Both sticks of RAM are now back in
• Disconnected all SATA cables and plugged them back in one at a time between reboots
• Disconnected all external USB devices and cables from the motherboard.
• Attempted to reset the CMOS

None of the above have made any difference. The fault still remains.
This now leaves me either with the Motherboard, CPU or PSU. My original plan before the fault was to replace the CPU with a 5600 in a month or so. I had already flashed the BOIS approximately 4 weeks ago in preparation for this upgrade. If the Motherboard is faulty, I may look at a newer generation of motherboard.
I am unsure what I should try next. I don't readily have any spare components available to try.
Any advice on what I could possibly try next, or what components I should attempt to replace?
Thanks

Timestamps: https://imgur.com/a/XnrXdxw
All prices include shipping to the US. More than willing to sell all locally to one person for a discount. No discount can be offered for shipping multiple.
No laptop will ship with a charger because I cannot guarantee that I have one for the device.
All of the devices appear to have perfectly intact displays, but I will check again before shipping the laptops.

Device	Description	Price
HP Spectre x360 Convertible	Does not power on or show signs of life. Needs new CPU cooler, battery, and storage. Possibly more is required.	$50
HP Omen Gaming Laptop	Does not power on but IIRC it does show a charge light when plugged in. Take that with a grain of salt because the last time I tested it was months ago. Will not come with storage, but will come with RAM.	$50
Dell XPS 13 9360(?)	Does not power on. Does not come with storage and battery is untested. I cannot remember which debug code was being flashed, but I'm pretty sure this one flashed something.	$40
Dell Inspiron 13-7537	This laptop does work, just requires some parts to be fully intact. It's missing a key from the keyboard, and needs a HDD caddy. No storage included.	$40
Dell XPS 15 9560(?)	Does not power on. Flashes debug code for CPU failure. May require a board replacement or you may be able to repair it. I believe this also has a 4K Touch display, but don't take my word for that.	$40
Acer Aspire 5 Light Gaming Laptop	This device did work the last time I tested it. I don't know if the laptop is having a power issue, or if I just can't find the correct charger for it in my totes, but I can't get it to power on anymore. The battery may also be shot because I remember it not holding a charge very well even outside of gaming. Storage not included.	$50

a comic page for this story
Sometimes the greatest horrors start with the smallest complaints. Only one thing was missing from Lonnie’s life and his wife never let him forget it. They had a lovely house, money enough to feel secure and have new things, food to eat, and friends to socialize with. But Sarah and Lonnie did not have a child. After trying for years, even going through rounds of IVF treatments, they still had no child.
Had this been a choice they made, perhaps Lonnie and Sarah could have come to terms. But Sarah never made the choice not to have a child. It was all she wanted. And honestly, Lonnie wanted it too. They’d even selected their house on the basis of the lovely positioning of the nursery within.
The day that nursery was converted into a home gym, caused a huge shift in their life.
For a while, Sarah fell into a depression and then she adopted a cat. It was old and had lived a hard life. Sarah seemed to like the idea of caring for it. Lonnie thought that was the end of the baby problem.
Then, one day as they sat on their porch staring out at the sunset, Sarah stopped petting the cat in her lap and turned a darkly serious expression toward Lonnie. “I’m going to get pregnant, darling.”
The odd spark in her eye kept Lonnie awake late that night. He kept picturing her speaking. What new plan had she hatched and how could he get her to talk to him? Over the next weeks, Sarah began making similar unsettling remarks.
“Darling,” she would say, her voice tinged with a disturbed tone. “It will be soon. I’m going to be pregnant. You’ll see.”
Lonnie feared that his beloved wife was losing her grip on reality. Still, life went on and he went to work in the mornings and came home in the evening. As a physicist, he didn’t make what he considered tons of money, but it was enough to support their little household. And that meant, to him, plenty of time for Sarah to find something that gave her life purpose. He imagined painting or gardening. With so much time spent apart, he could almost convince himself that Sarah was normal when she wasn’t making her proclamations.
One evening, after a long day at work, Lonnie arrived home to an eerie sight. A cable-like object extended from the ground and snaked its way into the house. He took a closer look and the material appeared to be organic. Though part of him wanted to inspect the place this cable emerged further, the bigger part of Lonnie instantly thought about Sarah inside the house with this thing, and of her odd statements of late.
The cable reminded him in a way he didn’t like of a giant umbilical cord.
Lonnie hurried inside to find the cable snaked through the house toward the back where the stair up to the upstairs bedroom were. He followed it. At the base of the stairs, Lonnie discovered their cat perfectly still, with the cable attached to its belly. Before Lonnie could react and reach out for the creature, the cable twitched and a pulse of energy rolled out on the air.
The cat began to shrink. With each pulse of energy, time seemed to roll backward for the feline. First all the gray left its whiskers. Then instead of a chubby middle-aged housecat, it instead looked like a lean feral creature, and then it was a kitten, then a smaller kitten, eyes shut as if they’d never opened. Lonnie stared as the last change took place and he was staring at a fetal feline lying at the foot of the stairs.
“Holy…” Lonnie said.
Then, in a jerky movement, something pulled both the cord and the fetus up the stairs.
This was only the beginning.
\***
Lonnie’s life now had almost nothing he would want. The world had almost nothing he would want. Including the awful stench that lay heavy on the air.
And as he strapped his diving helmet on, the stench retreated enough for him to think. He reasoned that the complete lack of anything to live for was all the more reason he needed to do something. He’d found the old model diving suit he wore at a local thrift store and left money on the counter for it—though no one was there to take the payment, Lonnie had a delusion of his own now.
“This can be undone. Someone can be saved.”
Sometimes he even managed to believe.
Lonnie hopped onto a road bike and made sure his prize possessions were secured: a chainsaw and an underwater scooter. With these things in place, Lonnie took off toward what he considered the center of this new monstrous world. A huge swell rose from the ground just outside town; this thing looked like nothing more than an overgrown pregnant belly, right down the red stretch marks and veins that peered out through its “skin”. From the apex of this belly grew a towering corpse flower, larger than any naturally grown flower and with a stink grown to match its size.
If only this mound had been ornamental and the stench had been the worse crime. But that was not true. The monstrous belly, with a towering corpse flower atop it, claimed all forms of life. In a few short months, it had reduced the world to a barren wasteland devoid of plants, animals, and people. Men, women, children, animals, plants… anything with life had been drawn into this horror.
Lonnie was seemingly the only survivor, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that his presence was spared because of his connection to Sarah.
He blazed on his bike across the landscape and glanced behind him at the back of the bike where the last item of vital value rested: a handheld container marked with the word “Atonement.”
It might be too late already to rebuild or repair, but atonement was always possible. Or so, Lonnie hoped as the rotting sweet smell of the corpse flower drew nearer. He could smell it even through the partially sealed suit—he hoped once fully sealed and using canned oxygen, the suit would be able to lock that out.
As he rode toward the bloated mass, pregnant with all the life it had been able to steal, he took strength in a memory. It was not a pleasant recollection, perhaps even just a creation of his own mind, though Lonnie didn’t think so. He recalled a dream.
In this dream that had come to him only once, the night before, Sarah appeared before him, her voice echoing through his mind. “The birth of the Second Desecration is near, darling.”
This cryptic message left Lonnie both bewildered and filled with dread. Determined to confront the abomination that had consumed the world, he steadied his path along the deserted highway.
Not that this had been a deserted highway a year before. He’d driven on it with Sarah plenty of times, usually stuck in traffic jams with only her soft, cool, voice keeping him from raging. Now that same voice drove him on in a very different way.
Now Sarah was part of the monster. But even if could save nothing else, maybe he could save her. The fact he was alive implied she was still in there and still cared. That had to mean something.
Driven by love and a glimmer of hope, Lonnie approached the monstrosity on the horizon. The giant pregnant belly, rooted in the ground, appeared ominous and foreboding. The sickly-sweet stench of decay filled his lungs and stung his eyes. As he drew nearer, he could see the giant boulders that had been tossed aside like pebbles as the belly emerged. Now they lay around the base like bubbles in the worst bubble bath ever. Lonnie contemplated his options and the weight of the responsibility he bore. His wife’s essence resided within this abomination, and he alone could determine its fate.
Summoning his courage, Lonnie hooked up the air to his suit. It cut out the awful scent, at least for a moment. Lonnie almost wished it hadn’t since with that oppressive rot gone from his lungs, he had to face his next task. He had to get inside this monstrosity.
He carefully set a hand on the “Atonement” sticker and then pulled his equipment down from the road bike. The chainsaw came first.
He turned it on and listened for a moment to the sound of its blade, half expecting the horror in front of him to respond. It did not. The rest of the world was still—no, still was too light a word. The rest of the world was dead. He walked on the bones of a corpse, begging for vengeance.
Lonnie swung the chainsaw against the mottled flesh of the belly. It squished and oozed, slicing easily. Red fluid leaked out along with a slimy yellowish substance. Some splashed against Lonnie’s helmet, giving the world a blotchy red sheen. He didn’t stop. There was no turning back, and nothing to turn back toward. In short order, Lonnie had opened a gap in the monstrous belly using his chainsaw.
For a long moment, he stood, chainsaw in hand, and stared into this pathway into the unknown. He had predictions for what lay inside, but this was uncharted territory. To know anything, he’d have to go in. Lonnie turned the chainsaw off and set it on his road bike. He doubted he’d see either tool again, but if his was the last living hand to affect the face of the earth, he’d leave as neat a mark as he could.
His hand tightened around the handhold of the “Atonement” container. All his hope was there.
Then hoisting the water scooter, Lonnie took in a deep breath of canned air and ventured inside the demonic swell. Darkness covered him. Encased in this tomb, Lonnie moved slowly at first, with only his headlamp to guide him. As his eyes adjusted to the eerie reddish light that filtered in through the skin and muscle of the belly, he saw more of his new surroundings. The interior revealed a cavernous expanse of flesh arching above and in meaty walls around him. He traveled with an eye to get to the center. He had an idea of what was there.
After all, Sarah had promised him a pregnancy, and a pregnancy implied a fetus.
Here inside the cloying heat of the belly, Lonnie could not even pretend that anything he did could bring the world back. There was nothing to restore. He’d always known that. For the first time, he truly accepted it. This was all there was, and he was headed toward the center of that evil.
Sure enough, he came to a central lake filled with amniotic fluid. It was too dark to see anything within the vast waters, yet small waves lapped out, implying some sort of movement within. Without hesitation, Lonnie plunged into the fluid, utilizing the underwater scooter to navigate swiftly through the watery depths.
He kept a firm hold of his “Atonement.”
The air inside his helmet tasted stale. Lonnie was sure he had time left before he ran out of air, but not endless time. And he was certain that breathing the air in this place would be death. He couldn’t afford fear or indecision.
The fluid clung around him, hot and thick. Much thicker than water, more like swimming through blood, though it was clear as water. Clear enough to see the bones that floated mixed in the fluid and the vines.
At the lake’s bottom, he encountered the abomination—the twisted fusion of human, animal, and plant—known as the Second Desecration. Sarah had uttered those words to him. He only believed them. Yet somehow, he’d expected it to be horrid, a creature from the deep recesses of depravity. Perhaps it was, but in its way, the Second Desecration was also a baby, though nearly four times as large as Lonnie already. Its facial features were almost human: large eyes, a human nose, and a mouth. Extra appendages grew from its back and sides. But its limbs still had the frail look of a fetus. This monstrosity was not yet fit to live outside its womb.
Now was the only moment.
Drawn closer by a mixture of curiosity, desperation, and love, Lonnie clutched the container tightly. Within it lay something dreadful and oddly wonderful. Something that had only been possible through his work in physics—a devastating mass destruction device—the first anti-matter bomb. It was a weapon he had never desired to see made real. Yet now he saw its potential as a means to reshape the impending reality.
He’d come to destroy this thing as it had destroyed his world and his life.
Amidst the grotesque scene, a thought penetrated Lonnie’s mind. If his wife had transformed into the vessel for the Second Desecration’s birth, could this creature, in some unfathomable way, be the son she had always longed for? That Lonnie himself had always wanted. Images of the world as it once was flooded his thoughts, a world already lost irretrievably.
Ending the Second Desecration now would not bring that world back.
But to do nothing would have consequences. He imagined the horror that would unfold if he allowed the Second Desecration to come into existence—a nightmarish realm akin to hell on Earth.
In the midst of his contemplation, Lonnie understood the precipice before him. The only thing that remained was to decide: should he release the destructive force within the container, returning everything to the void? Or should he permit his “son” to live, thereby allowing the birth of a distorted and contorted new world?
Either act was an end for Lonnie, an end for the world. In the end, Lonnie didn’t have anything except for a choice.

Chapter 1. Friday Night

On that fateful Friday night, Rene, a new master's student at Uppsala University in Sweden, found himself caught in a series of events that would turn his world upside down. Pursuing his studies in Human-Computer Interaction, Rene had embarked on his first semester at the esteemed university, renowned for its rich history and mythical tales.
​
As is customary for international master's students, Uppsala University provided Rene with a room in one of the university's corridors. Sharing this corridor were four other students: Marx Colwell, Sejin Kim, Sandra Moberg, and Shinichi Ozaki. Little did Rene know that this evening would test his patience and challenge his resolve.
​
With a looming assignment deadline at midnight, Rene dedicated himself to the task at hand. Unfortunately, it happened to be a Friday night, a time when parties often engulfed the student corridors. To paint a picture of the corridor, it was a spacious two-floor house, featuring a large kitchen and meeting room on the first floor, and bedrooms on the second.
​
Typically, the parties took place on the bustling first floor, subjecting the residents on the second floor to a cacophony of noise. While Marx Colwell, a spirited individual from the UK, embraced these corridor festivities, Rene and the others were less enthusiastic about the disruptions they caused.
​
In the WhatsApp group, Marx announced his intention to host a party that night, prompting Rene's internal exasperation. Nevertheless, determined to complete his assignment, Rene pushed aside his frustrations and focused on the task at hand, realizing he had a mere six hours remaining and only two paragraphs written.
​
Around 7 o'clock, the sounds of the crowd filtered through the walls, undoubtedly emanating from Marx and his partygoers. The noise grew increasingly deafening, and at certain moments, Rene contemplated moving out of the corridor by the end of the semester. Concurrently, he grappled with the intricacies of ontology and epistemology in relation to HCI research methods.
​
Seated at his desk, Rene vented his frustration through curses aimed at his teacher, blaming them for the tedious and challenging assignment. He cursed Marx, referring to him as a "male bitch," for hosting the bothersome party. Even the inclement Swedish weather garnered his ire, amplifying his disappointment.
​
Little did Rene realize that the circumstances he currently despised would later be cherished in retrospect. Unbeknownst to him, the events unfolding in the corridor that night were merely the prelude to a series of terrifying experiences that lay ahead.
​

Chapter 2. Party and Homework

As Rene diligently immersed himself in his assignment, the relentless barrage of noise from downstairs intensified. Fatigue enveloped him, exacerbated by the realization that his beloved Red Bull had been depleted. Resigned to the necessity of replenishing his energy, he contemplated the uncomfortable prospect of venturing into the midst of a crowd of strangers.
​
The corridor's atmosphere was electric, charged with the contagious energy of the gathering below. With trepidation gnawing at his resolve, Rene steeled himself for the task ahead. An unyielding determination gripped him as he made the decision to leave the confines of his room, entering the tempestuous realm of pulsating music and animated revelers.
​
As Rene swung open his door, he was instantly enveloped in a tidal wave of sound. A lively Spanish Latin song flooded his senses, its irresistible rhythm beckoning attendees to surrender themselves to its infectious beats. Downstairs, the crowd swayed and gyrated with uninhibited fervor, their movements mirroring the exuberant melodies that saturated the corridor. In the midst of the jubilant throng, Rene observed individuals tossing their hair, their locks becoming ethereal extensions of their untamed spirits.
​
Summoning his focus, Rene hurriedly descended the staircase, his gaze fixed upon the promise of relief nestled within the refrigerator. With practiced efficiency, he retrieved a chilled can of Red Bull, feeling its icy touch against his palm. Closing the refrigerator door behind him, he retraced his steps, acutely aware of the prying eyes and the pulsating energy that surrounded him.
​
Returning to the sanctity of his room, Rene sank back into his seat, the familiar metallic tang of Red Bull lingering on his lips. Seeking solace from the chaotic symphony downstairs, he sought refuge in his AirPods. The dulcet acoustic rendition of the Cranberries' "Dreams" flowed into his ears, captivating him with its stripped-down simplicity. The absence of excess instrumentation allowed Dolores O'Riordan's voice to unfurl like a silken ribbon, every subtle inflection and hauntingly beautiful note palpable in the air.
​
Outside his window, the Nordic winter enveloped the world in a shroud of darkness. The inky abyss of the polar night loomed, casting its somber veil over the region. Seeking solace in the embrace of the frozen air, Rene pushed open the window, inviting a gust of frigid breeze into his room. The chill coursed through his body, awakening his senses and momentarily freeing his mind from the shackles of his assignment.
​
And there, amidst the desolate winter landscape, a celestial spectacle unfolded before Rene's awe-struck eyes. The Northern Lights danced across the night sky, a breathtaking symphony of ethereal colors painting the heavens. Ribbons of vibrant green and shimmering purple swirled and twirled, casting an otherworldly glow upon the darkened horizon. The air seemed to come alive, pulsating with an almost tangible energy, as if it held secrets from distant realms.
​
Caught in the rapture of this celestial ballet, Rene found himself momentarily transcending the boundaries of time and space. The worries and frustrations of the day faded into insignificance, replaced by an overwhelming sense of wonder and reverence. Yet, amidst this awe-inspiring moment, a subtle tremor passed through the building. The entire structure quivered, as if responding to some hidden cosmic force. It was a delicate tremor, like a soft sigh from the depths of the earth, a reminder of the profound interconnectedness between all things.
​

Chapter 3. They Are Abandoned

Rene's weary mind grapples with a bittersweet triumph as he finally completes his assignment. Though plagued by self-doubt, he finds solace in the mere act of submission, knowing that he has crossed the finish line, albeit with apprehension about the expected grade. As he surrenders his work to the clutches of the student system, a fleeting sense of relief washes over him, loosening the knots of tension that had constricted his being.
​
Seeking respite from the mental and emotional strain, Rene collapses onto his chair, his body weighed down by exhaustion. In this moment of suspended animation, his ears are met with an unwelcome intrusion—the persistent echoes of revelry from downstairs. Agitated, Rene laments his desire for a peaceful night's rest, a respite from the chaos that has engulfed his surroundings. His distressed voice resonates through the corridors, a plaintive cry for tranquility amidst the tempestuous symphony below.
​
Driven by a desperate need for respite, Rene makes a decision. With hesitant determination, he prepares himself to confront the partygoers, to request their departure and restore a semblance of quietude to the night. Yet, as he musters the courage to open his door, the unexpected sound of farewells reaches his ears. Relief surges within him like a wave crashing upon the shore, alleviating the burden of confrontation. He retreats to his sanctuary, gratitude mingling with his fatigue.
​
Indulging in the simple pleasures of personal care, Rene seeks solace in a cleansing shower, letting the warm cascade of water wash away the residue of tension that clings to his weary frame. Cradled by the comfort of his bed, he indulges in the ephemeral allure of TikTok, its captivating stream of content serving as a lullaby to coax him into the realm of slumber. But as drowsiness encroaches upon his consciousness, the distant clamor from downstairs returns with newfound vigor, rupturing the fragile cocoon of tranquility he had woven.
​
The crescendo of noise intensifies, each reverberation piercing through the veil of exhaustion that cloaks Rene's senses. Just as he resigns himself to this disquietude, a sudden interruption jolts him from the precipice of sleep—a message materializes on his phone's screen. It is Sejin Kim, the Korean girl, expressing incredulity at the audacious disregard for time exhibited by the revelers outside. Shinichi Ozaki, the Japanese student, swiftly joins the conversation, affirming the rudeness of their actions and proclaiming his intention to confront them.
​
Curiosity piqued, Rene's ears strain to capture the sound of Shinichi's footsteps descending the staircase, his presence becoming an emissary of justice in this nocturnal saga. After a brief interlude, Shinichi's voice resonates through the digital realm, injecting an air of suspense into the group chat. The words hang suspended, pregnant with anticipation, before Shinichi unravels the enigma—something inexplicable has transpired outside, something beyond the realm of rational comprehension.
​
Sandra Moberg, ever pragmatic, dismisses Shinichi's claims with a skepticism born from weariness and a longing for normalcy. She attributes their panicked accounts to inebriation and a desire to retreat to the realm of revelry. Shinichi, unyielding in his conviction, counters Sandra's dismissal, his voice brimming with urgency and a sense of impending calamity. As the discussion reaches an impasse, Shinichi declares the hour too late for deliberation, opting to defer further discourse until daylight graces their somber abode.
​
Embraced by the cloak of the night, the weary inhabitants of thecorridor succumb to sleep, their dreams untainted by the sinister shadows that creep beyond their threshold. Rene, oblivious to the uncertainties that loom on the horizon, surrenders himself to the embrace of Morpheus, trusting in the innocence of slumber to shield him from the mysteries that have unfurled in their wake.
​
Yet, as the veil of sleep envelopes him, Rene's tranquility is shattered by an insistent knock upon his door. Startled awake, he finds himself ensnared by a chorus of anxiety-laden voices, their urgency palpable in the air. Sandra's strained plea pierces through the haze of confusion, demanding his presence downstairs—an emergency summons that brooks no delay. Without a moment's hesitation, Rene acquiesces, hurriedly preparing himself for the unknown, clutching his phone as a lifeline in this disorienting reality.
​
Descending the stairs with a mix of trepidation and resolve, Rene joins the gathering crowd that has already assembled. Familiar faces—Marx, Sandra, Sejin, Shinichi—stand alongside strangers whose presence hints at their affiliation with Marx's social circle. Fatigue etches lines of weariness upon their countenances, a testament to the weight of their shared ordeal. Rene's heart quickens, recognizing the gravity of the situation that binds them all.
​
In the pregnant silence that engulfs the room, Sandra's voice breaks through the stifling atmosphere, her words directed squarely at Rene, a beacon of hope and connection amidst the encroaching darkness. Bewildered, he searches for clarity in her anxious gaze, yearning to comprehend the urgency that courses through the room. Marx interjects, weariness etching deep furrows upon his brow, urging Rene to make a phone call, to reach out to a friend, their collective desperation underscoring the importance of this singular act.
​
Confusion mingles with concern as Rene grasps his phone, the weight of uncertainty heavy upon his trembling fingers. He dials the number, hoping for solace in the familiar voice of a friend. But the line remains silent, an echoing void that mirrors the disquietude within their souls. With growing unease, Rene attempts multiple calls, each one met with the hollow refrain of unanswered pleas. Even the emergency services, harbingers of salvation, refuse to respond to his entreaties, further deepening the chasm of fear that yawns before them.
​
A chilling realization takes hold, a seed of horror that sprouts within Rene's consciousness. The haunting words of Shinichi from the previous night resurface with an eerie clarity, the absence of human presence extending beyond their immediate surroundings. Seijin's voice, tinged with desperation, confirms the unimaginable—their isolation extends far beyond their corridor, enveloping the entire tapestry of existence. The veracity of their claims is etched upon their faces, erasing any lingering doubt.
​
Abandoned, a word heavy with profound implications, reverberates through the chamber, mingling with a potent cocktail of disbelief and despair. The fragility of their predicament hangs like a specter, an ethereal veil obscuring the boundaries of their understanding. Reality itself seems to warp, bending to the whims of an unseen force. In the absence of tangible answers, they find themselves adrift in a sea of uncertainty, yearning for a lifeline that may never come.

For context, under contract on a house with a 17 year old handler and 7 year old condenser. Want to get a rough idea on the cost to replace to go back to the seller for credits or to replace. The handler and condenser are both different brands.
Any idea what it should cost to replace? House is 1400 square feet with vaulted ceilings in the livings room and kitchen.

Recently I got to participate in a follow up study on narcoleptics. This let me talk to several of the best narcolepsy-specialised neurologists in my country.
Here is some stuff I doubt I would learn if I didn't meet them. Never heard a peep from my regular neurologist at least.
Hope this helps someone :)
Xyrem:

• Eating within 2-3 hours before dose 1 decreases the effect to an equivalent of taking HALF a dose. This includes drinks with taste without sugar. Just water 2-3 hours before.
  
• You want lights off and in bed IMMEDIATELY after taken. No brushing teeth, no toilet, no phone or screen. Lay down and close your eyes.
  

Modiodal/Modafinil:

• Eating within 1-2 hours before or after you take it causes delayed onset of roughly 1 hour. No lost effect. Best way is probably to take it, wait 1-1.5h, then eat
  
• If you ever heard 2-4h duration, that is a misunderstanding. It takes 30-60 min to start working, and 2-4h for full effect, and it lasts very long.
  

General:

• Goals regarding medication is NOT to completely eliminate sleep during daytime. It is about control. When, where and how long. Aka planned naps.
  
• A typical sign of being overmedicated with too few naps is feeling "Fake Awake". It happens when wakefulness-drugs keep you awake, without addressing the underlying symptoms of narcolepsy. Aka a very unnatural feeling wakefulness. If you feel this, talk with your doctor. You might need to step down in dose and compensate with planned naps.
  
• If you've seen significant improvement on 1-2 meds but still sleep a lot, you might be undermedicated. If you experience no or few side effects on current medication, talk with doctor about another medication using a different mechanism to help with wakefulness.
  
• Food is a bit like sleeping meds for narcoleptics. If you pay attention, you might notice that some of your worst period of sleep attacks is not too long after you last ate.
  
• The concept of sleep debt. For a non-narcoleptic they gradually increase their sleep debt during the day, until they get tired and pay with their sleep at night. Narcoleptics also have sleep debt, but we have a lower debt ceiling before we're forced to pay back. So we wanna pay our debt with powernaps of our own volition before we're forced to.
  

Powernaps vs Medicationnaps.
Just to be clear, managing on just powernaps is not expected. It is a supplement to regular medication, no replacement.
Powernaps is 15-20 min planned sleep to reset your sleep debt. Longer than that and you might enter deeper sleep stages, making it harder to wake up. Longer than 30min increases the odds of sleep inertia (groggy or disoriented feeling when waking up) and might mess with your circadian rhythm, disrupting night sleep.
Medicationnaps are basically powernaps, but you take a dose of daytime meds just before you fall asleep so it activates while you sleep to help you wake up. Much recommended.

Tuesday, May 23 - Monday, May 29

Highlights

score	comments	title & link
2,125	170 comments	(Highlight) Ed Reed 103-yard pick six vs. Cleveland (2004)
1,961	208 comments	[Highlight] Today marks 105 days until the 2023 NFL Season Starts! Let’s remember this 105 yard kickoff return for a TD by Keisean Nixon against the Vikings last season. Packers win, 41-17.
1,809	143 comments	[Highlight] Kyle Juszczyk drags toes along the sideline for a big gain
1,666	117 comments	(Highlight) Donald Penn gets into it with Jared Allen, gives up sack to him on the next play.
1,276	91 comments	[Highlight] Today marks 103 days until the 2023 NFL Season Starts! Let’s remember when Cordarrelle Patterson broke the record for most NFL kickoff return TDs in a career on this 103 yard kickoff return for a TD against the Bears last year. Falcons win, 27-24
1,245	72 comments	[Highlight] Vikings FB C.J. Ham makes a diving catch on 3rd down, which turns into the longest play of his career
911	26 comments	[Highlight] Today marks 102 days until the 2023 NFL Season Starts! Let’s remember this 102 yard kickoff return for a TD by Jamal Agnew against the Broncos in 2021. Broncos would win though, 23-13.
898	43 comments	[Highlight] Today marks 101 days until the 2023 NFL Season Starts! Let’s remember when a 33 year old Andre Roberts ran back a 101 yard kickoff return for a TD against the Broncos back in 2021. Chargers win, 34-13
748	70 comments	[Highlight] Today marks 104 days until the 2023 NFL Season Starts! Let’s remember when Cordarrelle Patterson tied the record for most NFL kickoff returns for a TD in a career on this 104 yard kickoff return for a TD against the Vikings back in 2020. Vikings would win, 19-13.
709	80 comments	[Highlight] Treylon Burks makes a game-ending deep catch over Jaire Alexander before taunting his height
685	397 comments	[Highlight] Dallas penalized for pass interference; refs pick up flag (2014 playoffs)
649	60 comments	[Highlight] Today marks 106 days until the 2023 NFL Season Starts! Let’s remember this 106 yard kickoff return for a TD by Alvin Kamara against the Buccaneers back in 2017. Buccaneers win, 31-24.
510	44 comments	[Highlight] Today marks 107 Days until the 2023 NFL Season Starts! Let’s remember Josh Huff’s 107 yard kickoff return for a TD against the Titans back in 2014. This was his first career NFL TD and the longest in Eagles franchise history. Eagles win, 43-24

 

Other Videos

score	comments	title & link
956	219 comments	[OC] How Matt Patricia burned the Patriots Offense to the ground. | Film breakdown of how Patricia struggled to design plays that worked
647	51 comments	[OC] The Tampa-2 is a lie.

 

OC

score	comments	title & link
647	113 comments	[OC] A Comprehensive Guide to Pro Football Video Game Covers

 

Top comments

score	comment
5,014	jimmyhoffasbrother said It helps to have endorsements from every brand on the planet too.
4,963	JoeyRobot said Can you imagine if he and AB had just kept their shit together for a couple more seasons.
4,381	Rapey_Keebler_Elves said Might as well eliminate the kickoff at this point. The NFL won't though, because it's an opportunity for extra commercial breaks.
3,650	ThatInception said This is as blatant as you can be without actually saying the words “We’re tanking”
3,485	emmasdad01 said Eased? Unceremoniously tossed in the trash.
3,439	Jd20001 said Calling him a free agent and not a former player is very generous
3,347	OrangeForeign said Known successful team the Detroit Lions
3,326	kellybobellyhtown said While having to stay home during Covid, my little nephew decided to write 30-40 NFL players to see if anyone would write him back. One did. Jimmy Garoppolo. He sent some signed stuff, wrote a letter, ...
3,290	Chaz_Maracaz said College fans, does this mean you can fair catch on a kick off, at the 2 yard line, and it comes out to the 25?
3,171	Misdirected_Colors said Idk why a player would ever have a non certified agent. It's such a sleazy business and the league is like "here's a list of guys we know won't fuck you over" and players are like "nah I'd rather use...

 

Awarded Posts

score/comments	awards	title & link
429 - 80 comments	1 All-Seeing Upvote, 1 Gold	[OC] 14 quarterbacks have had 20% of their total yards come from running the ball in a single season. This Bears QB holds the record with 47%. Here's a graph of all 14 QBs and the 22 seasons where they were at 20%+
793 - 1,217 comments	1 Gold	What is your most "my team is cursed" moment that you remember?
5,001 - 730 comments	1 To The Stars	[Steel Here podcast] Former Steelers RB Le'Veon Bell finally admits he made a mistake: "It was like a little petty, the guarantee stuff. I’m thinking could I have just ate it, yeah, I probably could’ve, yeah, I probably could’ve really ate it."
1,072 - 813 comments	1 Gold	[Offseason Post] Who would you say is the “Tim Duncan” of the NFL?

 

Awarded Comments

awards	score	comment
1 Gold, 1 Take My Energy	1	NFL_Warning said The amount of incels in here is too damn high.
1 NFL SB Ring	1,624	Frigglefragglewaggit said The correct answer here is probably Ed Reed.
1 Take My Energy	42	pyreal_ said It was reported that he came back, people just don't care about that. It's the same reason retractions and corrections mean fuck all. People read the first one and run with it. We're all getting...
1 Silver	2,113	pyreal_ said Thankfully, this should make way for an easy path toward getting the correct name in place for the team.. The Washington Department of Football
1 Gold	-25	mjdntn01 said I never had a problem with Redskins.

 

In three days, Jyosh will slay the God Emperor, or die trying.
Wow, where to begin? First off, Zamil is a god at writing blurbs, especially great blurbs without spoiling any of the story. This is the third work I've read of his, after Gunmetal Gods and an excellent novella from the same series, Death Rider. Not only do his books have good titles, but captivating covers and blurbs, and the stories inside don't fail. I'm so impressed.
Lightblade is a progression fantasy story, and somewhat in the same vein as Evan Winter's The Rage of Dragons, except this time it's the horrors of Persian mythology we're dealing with. Imagine the movie Tenet but as a Persian mythology-inspired modern epic fantasy and you have Lightblade. The plot is so full of awesome, epic developments, gods and magic, that it's hard to decide what I want to explore in this review, though I really hope you'll read it for yourself. Despite it's huge scope, the cast of characters sit at just the right number, so you won't have to worry about keeping up with an insanely large cast. This also gives them plenty of time to build bonds and develop, and there are some truly fantastic and shocking revelations concerning them throughout.
In this world, there are dream stones and lightblades. Lightblades function essentially as lightsabers on steroids that instantly transform its wielder into a gigachad, and dreamstones allow one to enter into incredibly deep dreams that can last for days, weeks or longer for every hour one sleeps in the real world. Think Ishiogo from The Rage of Dragons, but way happier. Potentially. Potentially far scarier as well. One can use their dreams to simply have a good time or to cycle light and train. I won't say anymore about the plot, you NEED to discover it for yourself.
Speaking of the lightblades, this definitely has the coolest system using light that I've personally seen. I still enjoy others like Sanderson's Warbreaker though, I'm of the opinion that light based magic systems never get old and can never be dull. There is so much to it that it is a lot for my brain to keep track of, and I am tempted to go back and read it again.
But onto the writing, something I myself assumed was probably quite poor when I first saw the cartoonish (albeit awesome) front cover (this was a while ago before I started reading progression fantasy, so naive back then). My initial assumption couldn't have been wrong. The prose here is excellent, and in fact the only hiccups I came across were a few times when I wasn't sure which character was speaking due to the lack of dialogue tags. I didn't notice any typos, rare for a self-published fantasy book.
The plot is not as fast paced as Gunmetal Gods, but it is by no means slow paced either. It is almost meditative, with plenty of action sprinkled throughout, something many progression fantasy stories are missing. Zamil is a master at building exciting yet terrifying worlds over time, and believe me, this world is as terrifying as any other. There is something new at every corner, and for me at least, it sometimes felt oddly similar to Marlon James' Black Leopard, Red Wolf. Except much more coherent. Though the character is small in the grand scheme of things, he never lacks agency.
"The pen has been lifted and the ink has dried."
Akhtar specializes in fantasy through an existential horror lens. His characters though, at least his main characters, share more with the protagonists of Poe than Lovecraft. Personally, they speak to me and I find we often share the same doubts. Here's a quote that stood out to me:
"Let me ask you -- have you noticed that everyone you meet thinks they are on the true path? Everyone is fighting for what they believe, even if those things are wrong, because believing in something -- anything -- gives you strength. Decide what you want to believe, and do not look back."
There is plenty of poeticness here, but make no mistake, there is a lot of training, progression and explosive action. This is a proper fantasy book. All in all the storyline is something I've only ever dreamt of reading in a book. There main character is flawed and can be an idiot, but when he is, it isn't grating like with so many MCs. Every character action and decision makes sense.
Zamil has quickly rose and cemented himself as one of my favorite modern fantasy authors, along with R.F. Kuang, Evan Winter and Will Wight. I find myself wanting to read his books more slowly, because there's only so much of them. Personally I've been convinced to become a member on Patreon and hope to see much more of his work in the near future.

With only days separating us from the Centenary Edition of the 24 Heures du Mans, it's time again for the Le Mans Primer thread! This is the place if you’ve got any questions about the 2023 Le Mans event, no matter how small! There are no dumb questions about Le Mans!

CONTENTS

• The Race
• Session Times
• The Track
• The Classes
• The Legends
• Videos and Documentaries
• Entry List and Spotters Guide
• Endurance Chat podcast
• Broadcast Details
• Social Media
• Live Timing
• Get Involved!

The Race

It all comes back to Le Mans. A century ago, people asked ‘Could a car continue to drive for 24 hours straight?’, an event was made to test that theory, and a legacy in racing, motorsport, and motoring was born. The 24 Heures du Mans is the holy grail of endurance motor racing, and brings up its Centenary edition this year. In its 100 year history, the 24 Hours of Le Mans is recognised as the most prestigious and gruelling test for innovations and improvements in motorsport technology. Technologies such as disk and air brakes, streamlined bodywork, fuel, oil, and lubricant improvements, improvements to engine efficiency and longevity, even things as simple as LED lighting and windscreen wiper blades have been trialled and tested at Le Mans. The normally hot conditions in the middle of June stretch the limits of reliability, with all the teams knowing that in order to beat their competitors, they must first beat the event. A variety of different engine configurations, displacements, positions, fuels, and hybrids have won over the history of the event. So far, petrol-fuelled traditional piston engines have been the most successful. Mazda managed to win using a Wankel Rotary engine in 1991 with the Mazda 787b (oh god listen to that sound!), while Audi was the first to win with an alternate fuel, taking victory in the diesel-powered R10 TDI in 2006. 2012 ushered in the era of the Hybrid, with Audi taking victory in the R18 e-tron Quattro, featuring a flywheel hybrid engine.

Qualifying

The Qualifying format for Le Mans is unique to the event, and called Hyperpole. In this format, all classes are permitted to use the track in the 1 hour qualifying session on Wednesday evening. The top 6 cars from each of the 4 classes then progress to the Hyperpole session on Thursday night, which sets the top of the grid for each class. This means that each class will be segregated on the final grid.

Session Times

• Ligier European Series Practice 1 – Sunday June 4th, 08:00 Local, 06:00 UTC, 02:00 ET, 16:00 AEST – 45 Minutes
• Ligier European Series Qualifying 1 – Sunday June 4th, 09:15 Local, 07:15 UTC, 03:15 ET, 17:15 AEST – 20 Minutes
• Test Day Session 1 - Sunday June 4th, 10:00 Local, 08:00 UTC, 04:00 ET, 18:00 AEST – 3 Hours
• Ligier European Series Race - Sunday June 4th, 14:00 Local, 12:00 UTC, 08:00 ET, 22:00 AEST – 60 Minutes
• Test Day Session 2 - Sunday June 4th, 15:30 Local, 13:30 UTC, 09:30 ET, 23:30 AEST – 3 Hours
• Porsche Carrera Cup Practice 1 – Wednesday June 7th, 09:00 Local, 07:00 UTC, 03:00 ET, 17:00 AEST – 45 Minutes
• Ferrari Challenge Practice 1 – Wednesday June 7th, 10:15 Local, 08:15 UTC, 04:15 ET, 18:15 AEST - 45 Minutes
• Road To Le Mans Practice 1 – Wednesday June 7th, 11:30 Local, 09:30 UTC, 05:30 ET, 19:30 AEST – 1 Hour
• Free Practice 1 - Wednesday June 7th, 14:00 Local, 12:00 UTC, 08:00 ET, 22:00 AEST - 3 Hours
• Qualifying Practice - Wednesday June 7th. 19:00 Local, 17:00 UTC, 13:00 ET, Thursday 03:00 AEST - 1 Hour
• Road To Le Mans Practice 2 – Wednesday June 7th, 20:30 Local, 18:30 UTC, 14:30 ET, Thursday 04:30 AEST - 1 Hour
• Free Practice 2 - Wednesday June 7th, 22:00 Local, 20:00 UTC, 16:00 ET, Thursday 06:00 AEST - 2 Hours
• Ferrari Challenge Practice 2 – Thursday June 8th, 09:00 Local, 07:00 UTC, 03:00 ET, 17:00 AEST – 45 Minutes
• Porsche Carrera Cup Practice 2 – Thursday June 8th, 10:55 Local, 08:55 UTC, 04:55 ET, 18:55 AEST – 45 Minutes
• Road To Le Mans Qualifying Practice – Thursday June 8th, 12:55 Local, 10:55 UTC, 06:55 UTC, 20:55 AEST – 20 Minutes x 2 Classes
• Free Practice 3 - Thursday June 8th, 15:00 Local, 13:00 UTC, 09:00 ET, 23:00 AEST - 3 Hours
• Road To Le Mans Race 1 - Thursday June 8th, 18:30 Local, 16:30 UTC, 12:30 ET, Friday 02:30 AEST - 55 Minutes
• HYPERPOLE - Thursday June 8th, 20:00 Local, 18:00 UTC, 14:00 ET, Friday 04:00 AEST - 30 Minutes
• Free Practice 4 - Thursday June 8th, 22:00 Local, 20:00 UTC, 16:00 ET, Friday 06:00 AEST - 2 Hours
• Porsche Carrera Cup Qualifying – Friday June 9th, 09:00 Local, 07:00 UTC, 03:00 ET, 17:00 AEST – 45 Minutes
• Ferrari Challenge Qualifying – Friday June 9th, 10:15 Local, 08:15 UTC, 04:15 ET, 18:15 AEST – 45 Minutes
• Road To Le Mans Race 2 - Friday June 9th, 11:30 Local, 09:30 UTC, 05:30 ET, 19:30 AEST – 55 Minutes
• Ferrari Challenge Race 1 - Saturday June 10th, 09:30 Local, 07:30 UTC, 03:30 ET, 17:30 AEST - 45 Minutes
• Porsche Carrera Cup Race 1 - Saturday June 10th, 10:45 Local, 08:45 UTC, 04:45 ET, 18:45 AEST - 45 Minutes
• Warm Up - Saturday June 10th, 12:00 Local, 10:00 UTC, 06:00 ET, 20:00 AEST – 15 Minutes
• RACE START - **Saturday June 11th, 16:00 Local, 14:00 UTC, 10:00 ET, Sunday 00:00 AEST

The Track

The Circuit de la Sarthe covers 13.6 kilometres of the French country side. It combines the permanent race components of the Ford Chicanes, the pit straight, under the Dunlop Bridge and through to Tertre Rouge as well as the normal everyday roads of the Mulsanne straight through to Indianapolis and Arnage. The track has gone through many iterations over the years; originally, the cars raced into the heart of the city, turning just before the river Sarthe, before hurtling down the 8.6 kilometre straight. In 1932, the circuit removed the journey into the city, and more closely resembled the track we see today. Here’s a video of Mike Hawthorn touring the circuit with a camera and microphone attached in 1956, one year after his involvement in the Le Mans disaster. The addition of the Porsche Curves and the Ford Chicanes in 1972 added an extra dimension to the high speed, fast flowing track. In the late 80’s, the Group C prototype cars would reach over 400km/h, achieving average speeds of almost 250km/h in qualifying for the entire lap. This is an onboard of Derek Bell’s Porsche 956 in 1983, showing the ridiculous speeds on this configuration of the circuit. This configuration remained relatively unchanged right up to 1990, until FIA mandations required that for the circuit to be sanctioned, it must not have a straight longer than 2km. The 6km Mulsanne straight was cut down into three relatively equal length portions by two chicanes, giving the iteration of the circuit used today. Allan McNish takes you on an onboard lap of the 2008 circuit in this video. McNish is one of the gods of the modern prototype era, winning Le Mans 3 times; once with Porsche and twice with Audi. For a more comprehensive focus on the track, John Hindhaugh’s track walk takes you on a 30 minute exploration of the track, with in depth focus on corners like the Dunlop Esses, Tertre Rouge, Mulsanne Corner, and the Ford Chicanes.
For some modern on boards, check out the fastest ever lap in the Circuit de la Sarthe: Kamui Kobayashi's 3:14.791 in 2017 Q2, and last year’s Hyperpole lap, by Brendon Hartley, setting a 3:24.408
The Dunlop Bridge
The iconic Dunlop Bridge has been a part of the Le Mans track since 1932, making it the oldest Dunlop Bridge at any track. This part of the track requires a good launch out of the first chicane before cresting the brow of the hill, and plunging through the esses out onto the Mulsanne straight. As the LMP cars are much more maneuverable, caution must be taken passing the slower GT traffic, as Allan McNish discovered in 2011.
Tertre Rouge
Tertre Rouge is the corner that launches the cars onto the long Mulsanne straight. Maintaining momentum through this corner as it opens on exit is imperative to ensure maximum straight line speed heading down the first part of the Mulsanne. The undulation in the road makes for fantastic viewing at night, with some magic images of the Porsches throwing up sparks on the exit in 2014. Finally, this was the location of Allan Simonsen’s fatal crash in mixed conditions in the 2013 Le Mans. The Danish flags will fly at the corner in his memory.
Mulsanne Corner
After the incredibly long Mulsanne straight, the Mulsanne corner nowadays features a subtle right hand kink before the tight 90 degree turn. Here, the cars decelerate from 340 km/h down to below 100 km/h, resulting in a brilliant opportunity to overtake. Again, care must be taken overtaking slower traffic; unaware drivers have caught out faster cars attempting to pass through the kink, such as Anthony Davidson’s spectacular crash in 2012 resulting in a broken vertebra for Davidson.
Indianapolis and Arnage
The Indanapolis and Arnage complex is one of the most committed areas of the track. Hurtling down the hill from the Mulsanne Corner, the road suddenly bends to the right, a corner which only the bravest prototype drivers take flat out, followed by a beautifully cambered open left hander taken in third gear. A short sprint leads the cars into Arnage, the slowest point on the track. The tight right hander was the scene of heartbreak for Toyota in 2014 when the leading #7 broke down and had to be retired after an FIA sensor melted and shut off the electronics. Kazuki Nakajiima was unable to make it to the pits, leaving him stranded on the circuit.
The Porsche Curves
At a terrifyingly high speed, the Porsche Curves is the most committed part of the lap. Getting caught behind GT traffic in this section can mean losing phenomenal amounts of time. This was the site of Loic Duval’s horrific crash in practice for the 2014 event. Keeping momentum through the flowing right-left-right handers that lead into Maison Blanche requires 100% commitment and ultimate precision, with severe punishment for getting it wrong. The exit of the Porsche Curves underwent significant change in 2020, with additional run-off added in the middle part of the section. This has turned the treacherous and claustrophobic sweeping left-hander into an open and sweeping corner, encouraging every little bit of road to be used on the exit. What it hasn’t changed is the terrific consequences for making a mistake
The Ford Chicanes
The final chapter in the 13.6km rollercoaster that is Le Mans is the Ford Chicanes. Two tight left-right handers with massive kerbs are all that separates the driver from the finish line. Watching the cars bounce over the kerbs in beautiful slow motion is certainly something to behold, but 24 hours of mistreatment can lead to suspension and steering issues. The drivers have to be attentive until the very end, lest they throw it all away in the last minutes of the race.
The Circuit de la Sarthe requires over 85% of the lap on full throttle, with the cars accelerating from less than 100km/h to over 300km/h five times each lap. The challenge of having a car finish Le Mans is in itself, an achievement.

The Classes

The WEC consists of three classes on track at once, resulting in three separate races on track each in their own battle for 24 Hours. The classes are split based on their car type, with LMH and LMDh machinery facing off in the Hypercar class, purpose built prototypes with a spec engine and gearbox battling in LMP2, and GT machinery racing in GTE. Each class has its own set of regulations, driver requirements, and relevance for the Le Mans event.

Hypercar

The current top class of endurance sportscars is Hypercar, combining cars built to Le Mans Hypercar (LMH) and Le Mans Daytona (LMDh) specifications. Fighting it out will be LMH machinery from Toyota, Ferrari, Peugeot, Glickenhaus and Peugeot, while Porsche and Cadillac will be racing in LMDh cars. The LMH cars are bespoke sportscars, designed to a strict set of requirements dictating maximum power, drag coefficient, and weight, amongst other parameters, intended to limit the cost of the category. LMDh machines on the other hand are based on the future LMP2 chassis offerings, with manufacturers able to develop their own engines and bodywork, aligning with the power and drag coefficients of LMH. As part of cost-cutting, the Hypercar class is also subject to a Balance of Performance (BoP) formula, to level the playing field and ensure good racing! Hypercars are a little slower than their LMP1 predecessors, with lap times around the 3:24 mark for the Circuit de la Sarthe, which is on par with the 2014 LMP1 cars.

LMP2

The second prototype class is LMP2, and provides an excellent platform for endurance racing on a budget. The LMP2 class features a spec drivetrain and gearbox, using a Gibson V8 producing 400kW, and a selection of three chassis to choose from, of which the Oreca 07 has been the chassis of choice. This ensures that the competition in the class is very tight, and often comes down to the drivers and the team’s performance instead of just having the best car. While LMP2 was capable of 3:25 lap times in years previous, part of the ‘stratification’ of classes with Hypercar’s inclusion, the LMP2 class has lost some power and had some weight added. This should put LMP2 at the heels of the LMH pace, but with laptimes outside the 3:28 mark.
LMP2 is the first class that must feature amateur rated drivers. The Amateurs must drive for a minimum of 6 hours in the car over the course of the race. This means that there's an element of strategy of when to use your amateur driver throughout the race, as the amateur driver is generally slower than the Pros. The pro drivers in this class range from up and coming talent, former F1 drivers, and some of the best sportscar pilots in the world, and with 244 cars in this class, LMP2 is sure to be a hotbed of action over the 24 hours.

LMGTE-Am

GT class cars are cars that are derived from production models, and feature some of the most iconic cars and brands battling it out at the top of the field. The GTE cars are on the border of aero dependency, and can lap Le Mans in around 3:45 in a professional driver’s hands.
This year is the last year of the GTE class, and features 21 cars in a Pro-Am category, with cars from Ferrari, Porsche, Aston Martin, and Chevrolet on the grid. Despite the lack of a Pro category, the driver quality in GTE-Am is still incredibly high, with factory drivers, young stars, experienced champions and every level of experience in between on the grid, with each car featuring two Bronze or Silver rated drivers. With two amateur drivers, the strategy considerations multiply. While GTE-Am might be the class focussed on the least over the course of the race, the stories that come from this class are phenomenal, and it's well worth following.
The GT classes feature a range of different cars and configurations, and to equalise each of these against each other, the class goes through a process called 'Balance of Performance' or BoP. The organisers can adjust each individual car's weight, fuel tank, air restrictor, turbo boost pressures, and aero performance to alter performance levels to enable the different cars to race competitively. This can sometimes be contentious as every team will feel hard done by, but it is a necessary evil to having the variety of cars on the grid.

Innovative Car

Each year, there is the option for an Innovative Car, with untested or innovative technology, allowed to enter in it’s own category. In years past, this has allowed for entries from the Deltawing, or a modified LMP2 to allow amputees to race.
This year, the Innovative Car entry is a modified Chevrolet Camaro ZL1 Next-Gen NASCAR, run by Hendrick Motorsports. The Next-Gen NASCAR features modifications to allow it to run safely on the Circuit de la Sarthe, and will be driven by multiple NASCAR Cup champion Jimmie Johnson, Formula 1 World Champion Jenson Button, and Le Mans Overall Winner Mike Rockenfeller.

The Legends

Part of the allure of the Le Mans 24 Hours is the history, and the legends steeped in history over the course of its 88 previous editions. The race has had many headline battles in its history - periods of time where two or three teams went toe to toe for years, with the drivers, cars, and brands embroiled in these battles given the chance to elevate themselves above the rest, and show their prowess.
In 2019, we at /WEC, took our normal Le Mans Legends celebrations to a new level; each week, members of the community have been writing reviews on some of the closest, most fascinating finishes in Le Mans history! You can check out these reports below!

• The 1966 Dead Heat by kinkymulsanne
• 1983; Factory Porsche dominates with a 1-2 victory, but only just! by Floodman11
• 1987; The colossal struggle between Porsche and Jaguar (Part 1) by Lagiacrus7
• 2016; FUCK by Cybershrike
• 1979; Boogie Nights meets Days Of Thunder by SolHiemis
• 1991; the Hiroshima Screamer Prevails by AE_Racer
• 2010; the Day the Peugeots All Died by kiwichris1709
• 1999; The Le Mans Turning Point by starzonda
• 2011; The Final Audi vs Peugeot Rivalry by Stuff_And_More
• 1988; The colossal struggle between Porsche and Jaguar (part 2) by Lagiacrus7

Bonus CookieMonsterFL Write-Ups

• 3.5L: The Downfall of Group C
• Airborne Crashes

For a bite-sized history lesson on every Le Mans event, check out this post by u/JohannesMeanAd2, describing every Le Mans in a single sentence!
The early races were dominated by the Bentley company in their Speed 6, who won 5 of the first 7 races. Cars were separated into classes by their engine displacement, and the overall winner was based on distance covered. If two cars had finished with the same number of laps, the car with the smaller displacement was declared the winner. The race wasn't run during the second world war, and comparatively very little information is available on the stories of the early days of Le Mans.
After the second world war, teams such as Jaguar, Ferrari, Mercedes, and Aston Martin became the dominant teams. This era featured the legendary Jaguar D type, the Mercedes Benz 300 SLR, the Ferrari 250 Testa Rossa, and the Aston Martin DBR1. Jaguar won 5 times between 1951 and 1957, followed by an era of Ferrari dominance. Drivers such as Mike Hawthorn, Stirling Moss, Juan Manuel Fangio, and John Fitch became household names as Le Mans became a battle between German engineering and British "garagistas".
Ferrari and Ford was the story of the 60's, with Ferrari winning 6 times straight before Ford won four in a row with the GT40 Mk II, taking their first win in 1966. The story of their rivalry is legendary in it's own right - Henry Ford had almost successfully bought out the Ferrari motor company, only to be knocked back by Enzo himself at the 11th hour. In retaliation, Ford planned to hurt Ferrari where it mattered most; on the track. The Ford GT40 was so comprehensively dominant that it won the 1966 edition 21 laps ahead of the next car back - a Porsche 906/6. None of the Ferrari 330P3's finished the race. This battle gave drivers like Bruce Mclaren, Dan Gurney, and Jacky Ickx their first Le Mans victories, and propelled them to the forefront of motorsport stardom at the height of motorsport's popularity.
The 1970's saw the dawn of Porsche, with the 917k taking the brand's first win in 1970, with the same car winning the following year in the hands of Helmut Marko (yes, that Helmut Marko). It would be 5 years before Porsche would win again, with Matra taking 3 victories in the interim, each at the hands of Henri Pescarolo. Porsche returned with the 936 and the 956/962c dominating the race for the next 20 years. In fact, from 1970, Porsche won 12 times in 18 events, including 7 in a row, and they miiight have been a bit cheeky about it. Amongst these 12 wins, there were 4 for both Jacky Ickx and Derek Bell, and two for IMSA legend Hurley Haywood, as well as the first win for the Joest team in 1984. This era coincided with the introduction, and subsequent destruction of the Group C sportscar formula, widely regarded as the best Sportscar championship regulations of all time. Porsche’s dominance was eventually ended by Jaguar in the XJR-9LM, at the height of Group C’s magic. Ickx's 6 wins at this stage had earned him the nickname 'Mr Le Mans', a fitting title for one of the best drivers in the world at the time.
GT cars became a force to be reckoned with at the end of the Group C era, with classes being split into LMGTP and LMP. McLaren and Porsche had wins in GTP cars, in the F1 GTR and the 911 GT1 respectively, while Porsche, BMW and Peugeot scored LMP wins. 1997 saw the first win for Tom Kristensen, while the following year Allan McNish took his first victory, starting their journeys into the legend books of Le Mans.
The 2000’s ushered in the era of Audi, with all 13 of their wins coming since the turn of the century. GTP was disbanded due to safety issues, being replaced by GT1 and GT2. Audi picked up wins in the R8, the R10, the R15, and the R18, often dominating the might of the Peugeot 908. Audi's dominance elevated not only their drivers to legend status, but also their team managers, car designers, and race engineers. People like Reinhold Joest (team manager), Dr Wolfgang Ullrich (Audisport director), Ulrich Baretzky (engine designer), Leena Gade, Howden Haynes (race engineers) behind the wall and Allan McNish, Tom Kristensen, Rinaldo Capello, Marcel Fassler, Andre Lotterer and Benoit Treluyer have become household names in the sport not only for their wins, but their longevity and domination. Audi's dominance was only broken by a win for Bentley in 2003, running basically an Audi under a British racing green skin, and Peugeot in 2009, before being ended for good by Porsche in 2015. After both Porsche and Audi left the top class, Toyota rose to dominance, taking the last 3 Le Mans events in a row!
Between 2015 and 2017, Porsche added to their victories, now holding a record 19 overall victories at the Circuit de la Sarthe. Audi trail with 13, with Ferrari, Jaguar and Bentley holding the next three positions. Toyota finally took their first overall victory in 2018, and have won every year since. Tom Kristensen is has the most victories at Le Mans, with 9 overall victories over his career with Porsche, Audi and Bentley, inheriting the title of Mr Le Mans.

Videos and Documentaries

• Truth in 24 and Truth in 24 II - The story of Audi’s victories against testing conditions and the might of Peugeot in 2008 and 2011.
  
• Le Mans - made in 1971, this movie follows a fictional Le Mans race in 1970, featuring fantastic footage and sounds of the Porsche 917 and the Ferrari 512 starring Steve McQueen
  
• Michael Fassbender:Road To Le Mans Season 1 - Season 2 - Season 3 - The journey that Michael Fassbender has taken from movie star to Porsche GTE-Am driver, detailing his racing through the ranks of Carrera Cup, Le Mans Cup, and ELMS.
  
• The Deadliest Crash - The BBC documentary on the 1955 Le Mans disaster. For more information, see CookieMonsteFL’s amazing post on the incident
  
• Our Return: A documentary of our road to Le Mans 2015 - Porsche’s youtube documentary chronicling their return to Le Mans and their eventual win.
  
• McLaren at Le Mans: Pursuit of Perfection - The story behind McLaren's 1995 victory
  
• The fastest ever lap at the Circuit de la Sarthe. Kamui Kobayashi's 3:14.791 in 2017 Q2
  
• Mark Blundell’s explosive lap - Blundell was going so fast, he was overheating the blowers in the car. After being told to turn down the engine and abandon the lap, in true racing driver fashion he simply turned off the radio.
  
• Clearwater Racing: Journey to the 24 hours of Le mans
  
• Cetilar Racing: The Italian Spirit of Le Mans - A documentary on Cetilar Villorba Corse's journey to Le Mans in 2018
  
• McLaren at Le Mans: Pursuit of Perfection - The McLaren F1 road car's story and development for the historic LeMans race of 1995.
  
• Ford vs Ferrari / Le Mans '66 - Coming out late 2019, this movie tells (a stylised version of) the story of the battle between Ford and Ferrari at Le Mans in the late 1960's. While there are some inaccuracies, the movie has been widely heralded as one of the best Motorsport themed movies ever made, and has been enjoyed by critics and motorsport fans alike.
  
• Michael Fassbender: Road To Le Mans Season 1 and 2, Season 3, Season 4 – Actor and Amateur Driver Michael Fassbender documents his 4 year journey from Porsche Carrera Cup into the ELMS and finally, to the 24 Hours of Le Mans.
  

Entry List

Spotters Guide to be added when released!

Once again, /WEC will have a community spotters guide thanks to the efforts of Ziombel_444! The planned release date is the 6th of June, so keep your eyes peeled for that!

Check out Ziombel_444's other work at Spotters.Guide, and support this great effort!

Endurance Chat

/WEC's podcast, Endurance Chat, will have four episodes in the lead up to Le Mans, as well as a Pre-Pre-Race show in the hours before the event. Watch this space for updates!

• Endurance Chat S8E11 – The Centenary 24 Hours of Le Mans Preview - History, context, and insight into this year’s edition of the Le Mans 24 Hours
  
• Endurance Chat S8E12 - The 2023 Le Mans 24 Hour Hypercar Class Guide – COMING SOON
  
• Endurance Chat S8E13 - The 2023 Le Mans 24 Hour LMP2 Class Guide – COMING SOON
  
• Endurance Chat S8E14 – The 2023 Le Mans 24 Hour LMGTE-Am Class Guide – COMING SOON
  

In addition, Endurance Chat made a series of features detailing the history of sportscars in the late 60’s and early 70’s, at the transition point of GT and Prototype machinery. The series details some of the machinery, events, and drivers in one of the fastest and most dangerous periods in racing history. You can find a playlist to these features here!

Streaming and Television

In the past, the FIAWEC Broadcast has started from Qualifying Practice. We are awaiting confirmation if that is the case this year – Streams for non-FIAWEC sessions after that point will be subject to the organisers of those series broadcasting those sessions.

• Official stream OUTSIDE US ONLY - The Le Mans package gives you access to all WEC sessions (Qualifying, Warm Up and the Race) with a choice of on boards, cross platform compatibility, and up to 5 devices connected at once. Additionally, replays of the event are free after the event. Official comms headed by Martin Haven, Anthony Davidson, and Graham Goodwin, who in my personal opinion properly nail the tone of the event. Has been known to get overloaded and crash however
• Eurosport will likely be broadcasting the event in a variety of locales throughout Europe. This will be updated when confirmed
• Radio Le Mans will be streaming live radio for every session

For American audiences, unfortunately the Official stream is geoblocked for your area. Information on how to watch will be updated when confirmed

• [Official TV Broadcast distribution](COMING SOON) Find out how to watch in your region!

Any further updates on TV or Streaming distribution will be added as they are released!

Social Media

If you're looking for more interaction, you can find most of the teams, drivers and commentators on Twitter, giving you instant interaction with those in the midst of the event.

If someone wants to make a twitter list for the teams/driveetc for this year, that would be greatly appreciated!

Live timing

• Official Live Timing

Be sure to join the discord for alternate timing solutions!

Get Involved!

By far the most fun you can have watching an endurance race is watching it with the official /WEC Discord! It's a lot of fun and a really great atmosphere to watch the race in!
If you want to have a go at picking who you think will be winning in each class, jump into mwclarkson's Fantasy Endurance Contest! It's free to enter, and if you win, you'll get the satisfaction and achievement of being right!
If there's anything you'd like us to add, or need clarification on, please comment below and we'll add it in!`

Hi everyone, I need a new case and I have a rough idea of what I want to buy:

• R7 7700x
• 16 GB (32 GB?) RAM
• Some nice air cooling like NH-D15 or something similar
• A GPU from the RTX 30x0 series (3080?)
• I want to use my 2 current SSDs and 1 HDD

I'm still unsure about the motherboard and case, but my main concern is finding a good case comparison website. I'm looking for a mid tower case within my budget of max €160/€170, and it should be available for shipping to Italy. Here are my requirements:

• Mid tower size
• No windows
• No need for RGB lighting
• Good airflow from front to back
• Front/top panel with USB 3/USB C/3.5mm jacks
• Good cable management options
• Mesh side panel (Preferred)
• Black (Preferred)
• Pre-installed case fans (Preferred 2 front, 1 rear)

I came across the Fractal North case, but I'm a bit concerned about the side "thing" for attaching fans and whether an NH-D15 cooler would fit in it.
What do you suggest? Feel free to also comment on parts other than the case. Thank you in advance!

The attack continues and an opportunity presents itself. Does it work? Or does it have the opposite affect? I hope you enjoy!
Well, today is my last day of vacation. And with any luck my AC will get fixed. The last couple days has been most unpleasant without it. The next chapter will be out on Saturday!
Terran Space Story: The Lieutenant Saga
Academy Days First Previous Next

Chapter 117: Failed to Take the Bait

Minutes Later. March 4th, 2267. 16:35 Paximus System –Outer Asteroid Belt The CNS Ugley had already racked up twelve pirate kills. Her Captain was aggressive in their push against the pirate forces here. No missiles had yet been expended, just the main rail gun and the other secondary batteries. Against another proper Naval warship that would be a recipe for disaster, but against the pirates in this system the handicap didn’t seem to be affecting them that much. Her attitude changed dramatically. Her bow flipped up nearly two hundred degrees as she maneuvered hard to port. The main gun snap fired at the right moment. The large tungsten and ceramic mass shot out from the tip of its barrel. To add insult to injury they were firing high explosive rounds. As if piercing the hull at insane speeds wasn’t enough lethality the added explosive charge adds insult to injury. The fired round’s aim was true. Moments later it intercepted one of the larger pirate vessels on the port side. It was an old Corvette from sixty-some years ago, so heavily modified it barely resembled its past self. Not that those modifications meant a thing to the round that just struck mid-ships. The ceramic layer and tungsten penetrator easily pierced through the hull armor plates. The round then exploded somewhere in the second deck, after a nearly imperceptible amount of time passed. The damage to the ship’s spine couldn’t hold it together. The poor Corvette was bisected in two by the round. Meanwhile, the Waukesha was continuing its dreadfully accurate and brutal assault on the pirate base. Two-thirds of the docked ships were killed before they had a chance to join the fight. Over three-quarters of the base's anti-ship defensive weapons have been destroyed. “Captain, I suggest adjusting our orbit to cross the rings at a perpendicular angle. The poles of that rock still contain defensive weapons,” Ingrid said. “Rex, do as the lady says,” John said. “Adjusting course,” Rex said as he keyed in the adjustments to their orbit. Just as the ship began to angle the forward kinetic shields flared up. The sound of sacrificial relays frying themselves could be heard by the bridge crew. A pirate had gotten a lucky rail gun shot off. Were it not for the angle of the ship and the kinetic shields it was very possible the Waukesha could have suffered noticeable damage. “Find whoever did that and blast them out of the void,” John said with a clenched fist, “Good thing the bridge is buried in the ship.” “With pleasure,” Chester said. “You are not wrong Captain,” Ingrid said, “That round could have made it into one of our forward missile rooms.” “Sometimes it’s better to be lucky than good,” Rex said with a chuckle. “I’d rather be good than rely on luck to see me survive a battle,” John said dryly. “Can’t hurt to have some luck,” Chester said, “Where the fuck is that little fucker that shot at us?” “Sorry Lieutenant, it’s a mess out there. The target is a Shrike-class attack shuttle. Sending you the designators,” Walter said from operations. “Walter, how many enemy ships remain?” “The Ugley just splashed another Corvette. All they have left is modified shuttles.” Chester then added, “And all the weapons batteries left on the station.” “Them too.” “Rex, make sure our course and speed are adjusted on the fly. Make it harder for their targeting systems to get a good read on us,” John said leaning back in his chair. “Consider it done.” The Waukesha’s variable course setting would cause it to roll and pitch at random intervals and speed up or slow down. It wasn’t a guarantee to prevent damage to the ship. But it makes being struck by enemy fire significantly less likely to occur. The Confederate Navy learned that lesson the hard way in a conflict against the Alliance. From that point on the variable course settings had proven to be a valuable deterrent in avoiding enemy fire. Not to mention keeping the lives of those inside the ships safe. “And down goes that Shrike. Fucking punk,” Chester exclaimed from the weapons console. “Incoming fire from remaining weapons platforms on the station are limited to those that are being manned in person. We may have cut systems or power to them,” Walter said. “Verify that. Chester, continue eliminating the asteroid’s defenses,” John said, “Am I reading this tactical output correctly?” “That is an affirmative,” Tess said, “CNS Ugley reports all pirate ships have been eliminated. They are steaming back to assist in the base assault.” “Continue with the bombardment. Have the CAG refocus the drones on the docking bays. I want a full scan of defensive systems before the Marines set foot there,” John stood up then walked towards the front screen, “Tess, have we received any transmissions from the base?” “The pirates are broadcasting a general distress call, but it is going unheeded. No commercial or unidentified traffic is heading this way,” Tess shrugged as she answered her captain’s question. “More than that,” Walter said, “Traffic is avoiding this region altogether. If there are pirates out there, they are ‘noping out’ of this fight.” John walked over to Tess’s console and pressed the button to hail the Marines onboard, “Captain Taylor. Load your men up. We’ll be launching the step in this assault within the next thirty minutes.” “Not that I want to be Debbie Downer, sir,” Ingrid spoke cautiously, “But was this attack really expected to draw out the Icarus?” “Nope. Not directly. But it’s going to generate a hell of a lot of chatter amongst their circles. Plus,” John smiled as he looked back at Walter, “Walter, find me a pirate ship that is currently dead but could potentially be reactivated.” “Sure thing, sir,” Walter looked very confused as he looked up from his console, “Dare I ask why?” “Well, if you go out fighting you need a lure to catch a fish.” Walter immediately put two and two together and determined what his captain was planning, “Say no more. I’ll find a wreck that will work.” Two more orbits were all that it required to finish eliminating the station defenses. As a result of the two engagements, all lances would need to be replaced. Because of the change of tactics, their lifespan was shortened to just two engagements. Marty and his team would grumble about doing spacewalks and replacing them but their discomfort and annoyance was a small price to pay to ensure the Waukesha had sufficient missiles should the Icarus appear. John did make a mental note to pay for a good meal or drinks for the engineering team, even if their actions resulted in good practice for maintaining the ship systems. The Marines from both the Waukesha and Ugley boarded the pirate station at the bottom of the hour. Fighting initially was intense. A great number of pirates never made it onboard the ships the Waukesha had killed while intercepting the base. The pirates had numerical superiority, not to mention fighting on familiar ground. Unfortunately for the residents of that station, the Marines were wearing power armor. Every last Marine was equipped with a suit. More than half were wearing Broadsword heavy-power armor. The pirates ran into an immovable object in the Marine’s relentless and calculating advance. Morale on the pirate’s side broke after the second engagement. The few who continued to fight were mercilessly cut down by the Marines. Those that did lay down their arms were treated relatively well, like any prisoner of the Confederacy. Though their fate likely would result in lengthy prison sentences, if they were lucky then they would still have a chance at life. Multiple prison transports were required to ferry everyone they had captured. The trio of Confederate ships stayed on site for two full days after the engagement began. Six transports were loaded full of women and children, and their destinations were reeducation camps, though the mothers of the children could still be tried for crimes depending on what the investigations come up with. Three more transport ships were used to house the known pirates. John didn’t really care where they were being sent to be tried. That was a feeling shared by his fellow captains in his squadron. Once everyone had been transported off the pirate base the Waukesha and Ugley commenced a calculated bombing of the asteroid. Dozens of armor-piercing rail gun rounds were fired. The asteroid cracked into several pieces. Gravity would eventually pull them back together in a few hundred years, but the base was forever broken. Step two of the mission was now complete. It was a long shot, but John sincerely hoped the next step would lure out the Icarus. But what it would do, if his calculations were correct, is inflame the pirate’s mood. He needed them to act irrationally and put an undue amount of pressure on the Icarus. But John was getting ahead of himself in thought. The bait first had to be tossed out into the sea of stars.
7 Days Later. March 11th, 2267. 03:00 Paximus System – Outer Asteroid Belt John walked onto the bridge just as the shift change had begun. The outgoing shift not only looked but felt bored. Even more bored today than the previous days since the attack. That wasn’t all that surprising though, normally the ship was getting into all sorts of action. Waiting wasn’t the crew’s forte, that was doubly true for their captain. Brian smiled as he saw John walk onto the bridge, “Before you ask, fuck all happened. The ship is still running quietly and isn’t bleeding any signals still. Engineering really wants to get on the move within seventy-two hours.” “Thanks, Brian. Did they say why the hurry?” “Something about fusion balance or some such,” Brian waved his hands as he walked past his captain, “You’ll want to reach out to them to get the specifics.” “Understood. I doubt we’re going to be able to stay out here for another couple of days anyway. Fleet Command is likely going to order us to move on to a new location soon.” Brian stopped at the bulkhead and looked back at John, “Don’t suppose it’ll be a nice warm planet with sunshine and beaches?” Deb laughed as she walked by, “I could use some work on my tan. I’m a little pasty.” “Sadly no. If the rumor is true, then we’re heading to a system with a bunch of mining bases. Won’t be going near the primary settlement which is on an airless hunk of rock.” Deion could be heard in the hallway, “God damn, that sounds depressing as hell.” “You take us to such nice places,” Deb laughed as she headed towards the mess hall.” “Agreed,” Brian shrugged, “At least this system is the command’s decision and not yours.” John grinned, “Would that make much of a difference?” “Yes, yes it would,” Brian turned and waved behind him, “Cya tomorrow.” “Alright, folks let’s get at her. How does our bait look?” “Lonely and unfulfilled,” Chester said sarcastically. “Should we increase the power to the broadcast system?” Tess asked, “We might get a nibble that way.” John nodded, “Work with engineering on that. We don’t want it to be too obvious.” The Ugley had managed to find a shuttle that suffered a simple through and through. While a simple wound that resulted in superficial internal damage it was catastrophic as all atmosphere was lost to the void. The crew had no chance to survive such a wound. To make their bait look more accurate there were a couple of armor plates crudely welded over the wounds. The shuttle never lost power, but the engineering team from the Waukesha was able to get the life support systems operational once again. While on the shuttle they also enabled the communication systems and slaved it back to the Waukesha’s control systems. Several devices were left behind in the ship to fool any friendly sensors into thinking there was still life onboard the ship. John didn’t know what ship they would lure in, but a bigger pirate vessel would definitely be able to perform rudimentary scans of the shuttle. They needed something to temporarily trick those initial scans. As for the Confederate ships, the Basilone did what it does best and was stealthily sneaking around in the void undetected. The Ugley and the Waukesha both had found crevasses in a nearby asteroid. Both ships were rigged for silent running. The only way they were able to communicate with one another is direct beam communication, a frustrating system in this day and age but is perfectly silent to outside viewers unless you cross the path of the beam. Because these large naval ships were hiding in places that weren’t designed for warships to go, a properly janky solution was in place. Several reflectors and amplification devices were carefully spread out on the asteroid's surface. The likelihood of a pirate ship crossing the beam and discovering their hidey-hole was thought to be impossible. Despite being rigged for silent running, they were able to receive general broadcasts from commercial and civilian ships. The Basilone, along with the rest of the Navy for that matter, could contact the ships directly. Responding to those messages would give their positions away to the more advanced pirate ships. Their prey would undoubtedly be able to detect those types of transmissions. “What are the odds that the Icarus shows up here?” Tess broke the silence on the bridge. “Somewhere between zero and zero,” Walter said. “Not happening,” Chester said, “Getting a nibble from anyone seems pretty unlikely at this point too.” “Captain, your thoughts?” Tess asked innocently. “Well, it would be nice if we did lure our that great white whale,” John sighed, “I had hoped we’d get some interest from a pirate ship that we could get some intel from. It’s not looking great at the moment.” Chester leaned back in his seat and swiveled to look towards the front of the bridge, “What’s the pirate’s reaction going to be to our raids?” “Impotent rage,” John said, “We’ve been capturing their children and wives for seventy-plus years and besides some gnashing of teeth they’ve not been able to do anything about our policy.” The universe must have heard John’s sardonic comment. At the precise moment he stopped speaking sensors were triggered. A slip space rupture was forming. “Holy shitballs, we’ve got a ship translating to real space,” Walter said, “Can’t make out the ship type.” “CNS Basilone reports slip space rupture danger close to the bait shuttle,” Tess said, “They successfully identified the ship as the Basilisk, formerly an old Alliance cruiser.” “I want all systems back online, maximum thrust out of here,” John commanded. “That will take thirty to sixty seconds to online everything,” Chester said, “But already on it, sir.” As the bridge crew began working furiously to bring their ship back online, John was staring at the tactical readout. Something was off about the Basilisks' energy readouts. Normally there was a brief surge of power output when a ship transitions back into real space, but that power draw remained. Without warning the Basilisk opened fire on the hapless shuttle. It exploded in a bright green fusion blast. The ship had been entirely atomized in the blast. The squadron was successfully able to bait a pirate into their trap. Unfortunately, the pirates seemed to be prepared for precisely that. “Systems are fully restored, engines are primed and ready for use,” Ken said over the comms from his spot in Engineering. “Helen, get us…” John was unable to finish his sentence. He was watching the tactical readout. Someone, he wasn’t paying attention to who was speaking, was calling out what was happening. John saw the ship abruptly flip over and head directly back to the slip space rupture, which was curiously still active. The pirates were a step ahead, of sorts, this day. The bait was successful. The pirates thought to put their comrades out of their misery. Or maybe they were enemies. It didn’t really matter; the lure was successful to a point. But no one in the squadron had thought of this tactic. Hell, John didn’t even know that this was possible. The Naval guidelines surrounding slip space generators forbade such maneuvers from happening. In fact, if you transition from one space to another the Navy requires one to discharge the generators properly which takes two to three hours. What the pirates did was risk blowing up those generators and getting stuck in a place they didn’t want to be. Though it didn’t seem like it mattered if the pirates gave a damn about Confederate Naval policies. Just as soon as the pirate ship appeared they were back through the portal from whence they came. The bait shuttle was destroyed, and John succinctly summed up their operation. “Well… Shit,” John slunk into his chair and was forced to taste the bitter pill of defeat. 2 Days Later. March 13th, 2267. 14:00 Slip Space – En Route to the Altair system John was soundly asleep and getting some much-needed rest. The paperwork following the letdown of their trap made the days challenging. But the final after-action report on both attacks on the pirate bases had been submitted. He had largely shirked his normal duties to resolve the paperwork. The crew wouldn’t openly tell him this, but they didn’t mind when he hid away in his ready room to do paperwork. That was paperwork that they didn’t have to do. They appreciated John taking one for the team. “Captain, apologies, but you are needed on the bridge immediately,” Brian said over the comms. “Be there in a jiffy,” John yawned as he stepped out of bed. He didn’t bother getting dressed appropriately for a shift. He found a clean T-shirt and quickly threw that on. A pair of gym shorts lay on the ground which he also put on before he looked around for some sandals that he had left in his room someplace. After eventually finding footwear John made his way to the bridge. His appearance, combined with the rubbing of his eyes and yawning, was a clear sign that he wasn’t expecting to be awake. Or wanting to be awake at that time. The crew members that did see John that morning said nothing but giggled internally at seeing their captain in such a light. The doors to the bridge opened and John saw through yawns, “What’s up?” “Play it again please,” Brian said. Deb keyed a few things into her console. The tactical screen then split into two. A newsfeed began playing back on the right-hand side of the screen. “This massive pirate fleet, led by the infamous Folly of Icarus, attacked a munitions plant in the Outer Regalia system this morning. Early reports are a bit scattered, and the Confederate Navy has not yet released an official statement, but it appears that a fleet of well over two hundred pirate vessels, the vast majority being heavily modified retired military vessels, led a successful raid on a military installation.” The newscaster paused for a moment to collect herself. “The loss of life is estimated to be in the low thousands. Three orbital facilities were utterly destroyed and the primary station, and the space bridge connecting it to the surface, were also destroyed. Loss of life on the surface was minimal as the bridge is located in a coastal region that is lightly populated.” The video then switched to one the pirates had sent the newscasters. Rene appeared dressed as flamboyantly as he normally did. But gone was the aura of aloofness. His eyes were hardened. John was used to seeing that look, one full of hate and contempt for one’s enemies. In this case, the enemy was clearly the Confederacy as a whole. “The pirates sent this message. We have not been able to independently identify this pirate. They are claiming to be the spokesperson for the pirate alliance.” “For too long the local powers have abused and attacked those that wish to live a life of freedom without their interference. Our brothers and sisters get callously murdered by an uncaring government bureaucracy. For those unfortunate to survive such a fate all of the powers use us as slave labor. Our children, infirm, wives, nieces, and nephews get taken from us without due process. They are sent to re-education camps to be indoctrinated into believing the lies espoused by the major powers. All of you are guilty of war crimes against those that simply want to live lives free of influence from such tyranny,” Rene paused and stared at the camera, “The grand pirate alliance struck three installations simultaneously, one in each of your nations. Until such prosecutions cease and our loved ones are returned to us, the grand pirate alliance will commence hit-and-run attacks on commerce. We will grind your lovely systems to a halt. When you finally taste that which you’ve dealt us perhaps you will come to the bargaining table and ask for forgiveness from us.” John walked over to Deb’s console and pressed a red button to halt the replay. He turned and looked at his bridge crew. They in turn looked at him. All present knew their actions over the past couple of years had fermented this new rebellion. “Kid gloves are coming off. It’s time to grind another enemy beneath our heels.”

a comic page for this story
Sometimes the greatest horrors start with the smallest complaints. Only one thing was missing from Lonnie’s life and his wife never let him forget it. They had a lovely house, money enough to feel secure and have new things, food to eat, and friends to socialize with. But Sarah and Lonnie did not have a child. After trying for years, even going through rounds of IVF treatments, they still had no child.
Had this been a choice they made, perhaps Lonnie and Sarah could have come to terms. But Sarah never made the choice not to have a child. It was all she wanted. And honestly, Lonnie wanted it too. They’d even selected their house on the basis of the lovely positioning of the nursery within.
The day that nursery was converted into a home gym, caused a huge shift in their life.
For a while, Sarah fell into a depression and then she adopted a cat. It was old and had lived a hard life. Sarah seemed to like the idea of caring for it. Lonnie thought that was the end of the baby problem.
Then, one day as they sat on their porch staring out at the sunset, Sarah stopped petting the cat in her lap and turned a darkly serious expression toward Lonnie. “I’m going to get pregnant, darling.”
The odd spark in her eye kept Lonnie awake late that night. He kept picturing her speaking. What new plan had she hatched and how could he get her to talk to him? Over the next weeks, Sarah began making similar unsettling remarks.
“Darling,” she would say, her voice tinged with a disturbed tone. “It will be soon. I’m going to be pregnant. You’ll see.”
Lonnie feared that his beloved wife was losing her grip on reality. Still, life went on and he went to work in the mornings and came home in the evening. As a physicist, he didn’t make what he considered tons of money, but it was enough to support their little household. And that meant, to him, plenty of time for Sarah to find something that gave her life purpose. He imagined painting or gardening. With so much time spent apart, he could almost convince himself that Sarah was normal when she wasn’t making her proclamations.
One evening, after a long day at work, Lonnie arrived home to an eerie sight. A cable-like object extended from the ground and snaked its way into the house. He took a closer look and the material appeared to be organic. Though part of him wanted to inspect the place this cable emerged further, the bigger part of Lonnie instantly thought about Sarah inside the house with this thing, and of her odd statements of late.
The cable reminded him in a way he didn’t like of a giant umbilical cord.
Lonnie hurried inside to find the cable snaked through the house toward the back where the stair up to the upstairs bedroom were. He followed it. At the base of the stairs, Lonnie discovered their cat perfectly still, with the cable attached to its belly. Before Lonnie could react and reach out for the creature, the cable twitched and a pulse of energy rolled out on the air.
The cat began to shrink. With each pulse of energy, time seemed to roll backward for the feline. First all the gray left its whiskers. Then instead of a chubby middle-aged housecat, it instead looked like a lean feral creature, and then it was a kitten, then a smaller kitten, eyes shut as if they’d never opened. Lonnie stared as the last change took place and he was staring at a fetal feline lying at the foot of the stairs.
“Holy…” Lonnie said.
Then, in a jerky movement, something pulled both the cord and the fetus up the stairs.
This was only the beginning.
\***
Lonnie’s life now had almost nothing he would want. The world had almost nothing he would want. Including the awful stench that lay heavy on the air.
And as he strapped his diving helmet on, the stench retreated enough for him to think. He reasoned that the complete lack of anything to live for was all the more reason he needed to do something. He’d found the old model diving suit he wore at a local thrift store and left money on the counter for it—though no one was there to take the payment, Lonnie had a delusion of his own now.
“This can be undone. Someone can be saved.”
Sometimes he even managed to believe.
Lonnie hopped onto a road bike and made sure his prize possessions were secured: a chainsaw and an underwater scooter. With these things in place, Lonnie took off toward what he considered the center of this new monstrous world. A huge swell rose from the ground just outside town; this thing looked like nothing more than an overgrown pregnant belly, right down the red stretch marks and veins that peered out through its “skin”. From the apex of this belly grew a towering corpse flower, larger than any naturally grown flower and with a stink grown to match its size.
If only this mound had been ornamental and the stench had been the worse crime. But that was not true. The monstrous belly, with a towering corpse flower atop it, claimed all forms of life. In a few short months, it had reduced the world to a barren wasteland devoid of plants, animals, and people. Men, women, children, animals, plants… anything with life had been drawn into this horror.
Lonnie was seemingly the only survivor, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that his presence was spared because of his connection to Sarah.
He blazed on his bike across the landscape and glanced behind him at the back of the bike where the last item of vital value rested: a handheld container marked with the word “Atonement.”
It might be too late already to rebuild or repair, but atonement was always possible. Or so, Lonnie hoped as the rotting sweet smell of the corpse flower drew nearer. He could smell it even through the partially sealed suit—he hoped once fully sealed and using canned oxygen, the suit would be able to lock that out.
As he rode toward the bloated mass, pregnant with all the life it had been able to steal, he took strength in a memory. It was not a pleasant recollection, perhaps even just a creation of his own mind, though Lonnie didn’t think so. He recalled a dream.
In this dream that had come to him only once, the night before, Sarah appeared before him, her voice echoing through his mind. “The birth of the Second Desecration is near, darling.”
This cryptic message left Lonnie both bewildered and filled with dread. Determined to confront the abomination that had consumed the world, he steadied his path along the deserted highway.
Not that this had been a deserted highway a year before. He’d driven on it with Sarah plenty of times, usually stuck in traffic jams with only her soft, cool, voice keeping him from raging. Now that same voice drove him on in a very different way.
Now Sarah was part of the monster. But even if could save nothing else, maybe he could save her. The fact he was alive implied she was still in there and still cared. That had to mean something.
Driven by love and a glimmer of hope, Lonnie approached the monstrosity on the horizon. The giant pregnant belly, rooted in the ground, appeared ominous and foreboding. The sickly-sweet stench of decay filled his lungs and stung his eyes. As he drew nearer, he could see the giant boulders that had been tossed aside like pebbles as the belly emerged. Now they lay around the base like bubbles in the worst bubble bath ever. Lonnie contemplated his options and the weight of the responsibility he bore. His wife’s essence resided within this abomination, and he alone could determine its fate.
Summoning his courage, Lonnie hooked up the air to his suit. It cut out the awful scent, at least for a moment. Lonnie almost wished it hadn’t since with that oppressive rot gone from his lungs, he had to face his next task. He had to get inside this monstrosity.
He carefully set a hand on the “Atonement” sticker and then pulled his equipment down from the road bike. The chainsaw came first.
He turned it on and listened for a moment to the sound of its blade, half expecting the horror in front of him to respond. It did not. The rest of the world was still—no, still was too light a word. The rest of the world was dead. He walked on the bones of a corpse, begging for vengeance.
Lonnie swung the chainsaw against the mottled flesh of the belly. It squished and oozed, slicing easily. Red fluid leaked out along with a slimy yellowish substance. Some splashed against Lonnie’s helmet, giving the world a blotchy red sheen. He didn’t stop. There was no turning back, and nothing to turn back toward. In short order, Lonnie had opened a gap in the monstrous belly using his chainsaw.
For a long moment, he stood, chainsaw in hand, and stared into this pathway into the unknown. He had predictions for what lay inside, but this was uncharted territory. To know anything, he’d have to go in. Lonnie turned the chainsaw off and set it on his road bike. He doubted he’d see either tool again, but if his was the last living hand to affect the face of the earth, he’d leave as neat a mark as he could.
His hand tightened around the handhold of the “Atonement” container. All his hope was there.
Then hoisting the water scooter, Lonnie took in a deep breath of canned air and ventured inside the demonic swell. Darkness covered him. Encased in this tomb, Lonnie moved slowly at first, with only his headlamp to guide him. As his eyes adjusted to the eerie reddish light that filtered in through the skin and muscle of the belly, he saw more of his new surroundings. The interior revealed a cavernous expanse of flesh arching above and in meaty walls around him. He traveled with an eye to get to the center. He had an idea of what was there.
After all, Sarah had promised him a pregnancy, and a pregnancy implied a fetus.
Here inside the cloying heat of the belly, Lonnie could not even pretend that anything he did could bring the world back. There was nothing to restore. He’d always known that. For the first time, he truly accepted it. This was all there was, and he was headed toward the center of that evil.
Sure enough, he came to a central lake filled with amniotic fluid. It was too dark to see anything within the vast waters, yet small waves lapped out, implying some sort of movement within. Without hesitation, Lonnie plunged into the fluid, utilizing the underwater scooter to navigate swiftly through the watery depths.
He kept a firm hold of his “Atonement.”
The air inside his helmet tasted stale. Lonnie was sure he had time left before he ran out of air, but not endless time. And he was certain that breathing the air in this place would be death. He couldn’t afford fear or indecision.
The fluid clung around him, hot and thick. Much thicker than water, more like swimming through blood, though it was clear as water. Clear enough to see the bones that floated mixed in the fluid and the vines.
At the lake’s bottom, he encountered the abomination—the twisted fusion of human, animal, and plant—known as the Second Desecration. Sarah had uttered those words to him. He only believed them. Yet somehow, he’d expected it to be horrid, a creature from the deep recesses of depravity. Perhaps it was, but in its way, the Second Desecration was also a baby, though nearly four times as large as Lonnie already. Its facial features were almost human: large eyes, a human nose, and a mouth. Extra appendages grew from its back and sides. But its limbs still had the frail look of a fetus. This monstrosity was not yet fit to live outside its womb.
Now was the only moment.
Drawn closer by a mixture of curiosity, desperation, and love, Lonnie clutched the container tightly. Within it lay something dreadful and oddly wonderful. Something that had only been possible through his work in physics—a devastating mass destruction device—the first anti-matter bomb. It was a weapon he had never desired to see made real. Yet now he saw its potential as a means to reshape the impending reality.
He’d come to destroy this thing as it had destroyed his world and his life.
Amidst the grotesque scene, a thought penetrated Lonnie’s mind. If his wife had transformed into the vessel for the Second Desecration’s birth, could this creature, in some unfathomable way, be the son she had always longed for? That Lonnie himself had always wanted. Images of the world as it once was flooded his thoughts, a world already lost irretrievably.
Ending the Second Desecration now would not bring that world back.
But to do nothing would have consequences. He imagined the horror that would unfold if he allowed the Second Desecration to come into existence—a nightmarish realm akin to hell on Earth.
In the midst of his contemplation, Lonnie understood the precipice before him. The only thing that remained was to decide: should he release the destructive force within the container, returning everything to the void? Or should he permit his “son” to live, thereby allowing the birth of a distorted and contorted new world?
Either act was an end for Lonnie, an end for the world. In the end, Lonnie didn’t have anything except for a choice.